“You felt alive when he only stroked your hand? I always suspected he was good, but never that good.” Violet lost her look of indecision and smiled like a cat at the cream.
“I am not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, that’s simple,” said Lady Carrington airily. “You must seduce your husband.”
“Seduce my husband?”
“It is almost always the answer with men, and in this case doubly so.”
“Why doubly so?”
“Because Tristan has clearly built some scenario where he believes he is doing the right thing. That is something else to learn about your husband. He always does the right thing, only in this case I reckon he’s wrong. How delicious. You’ll have to let me know how he reacts when he realizes all his noble self-sacrifice has been for naught.” Lady Carrington stood up and walked to a cabinet. “I think this is a discussion for sherry, not tea.”
It seemed a little early for sherry to Marguerite, but she had to admit she was in need of some fortification. Tristan desired her. She did not know whether to laugh or . . . The idea seemed preposterous – and yet – could she have been so mistaken?
“Here you are. I think that looks about right. Just enough to make things easy.” Marguerite felt her eyes bulge. It was a tumbler full, not the dainty portion her mother had sometimes served when they had company. She took a sip, the sweet followed by the bite was wonderful. She took another.
Lady Carrington watched her and took a taste from her own glass. She sat back down. “So, have you ever seduced a man?”
Marguerite fought down a cough, and instead took a large gulp. “No.”
“I thought not. It would be so much easier if you knew what you were doing. You do at least know the mechanics, I hope.”
Mortification, there was no other word for it. “I believe so, but I have been known to be wrong. The physician told me something of it recently, and I,” how red could she grow, “saw some cats in the alley once. It did not look like much fun.”
“Fun, oh, it can definitely be fun, and almost any other adjective you can think of.”
“If you say so.”
“I do, most definitely. The question is how to make you believe it and how to give you the confidence to proceed. There is nothing more desirable than confidence.” Lady Carrington put her glass down and perused Marguerite. “You certainly have the necessary physical material to begin with and if Tristan already finds himself avoiding staring at you this should not be too difficult.
Marguerite was beginning to wish she could blend in with the upholstery. When Felicity had discussed learning to understand her husband Marguerite had certainly never imagined this.
“Hmmmm, where to begin.” Lady Carrington began to pace. “I know. I have some books. A few glances at them and we’ll get you turned about in no time. She slipped from the room and returned momentarily. She had several beautifully bound volumes in her arms. She placed them on the table before Marguerite and sat beside her.
Marguerite took another gulp of the sherry. This did not look too bad. The fine leather and gilt edgings were certainly fine. What could possibly be in a book?
Lady Carrington opened the first. “This has always been one of my favorites.”
Marguerite could only stare. She had never even imagined such a thing. The people in the pictures were nude. They were, they were – did people really do that? Marguerite covered her eyes. It was unbelievable that anybody would – She peeked between her fingers. The woman had her hands on the man’s – manly part. Marguerite might be working on her swearing, but still she could not say the other words for the – even in her mind.
Her hand trembled as she picked up the glass of sherry and took another large gulp. She could not pry her eyes from the page. It was so unbearably indecent. Why, it actually looked like the woman was enjoying it. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted, a look of supreme pleasure spread across her face. The artist was quite good. Maybe she could concentrate on that and ignore the content of the picture. Oh dear, look where the man’s hand was. Could the woman really enjoy that? It certainly had not been nice when the doctor had insisted on – Marguerite wasn’t sure she had even touched herself there.