the remaining sauce of her finger and watched him recover. She shimmied slightly in her chair. Power was intoxicating and this was power.
The next course was served. Tristan swallowed again, audibly as the food was set before them.
“Should have known,” was his only comment as he stared on the oysters on the half shell.
“I considered asking Cook to try a new lobster recipe, but it actually called for having the lobsters served in the shell and then using the fingers to remove for the rest meat. Why would a recipe want you to use your fingers to probe in crevices? I am afraid I did not understand and it seemed ill mannered. What do you think?” Marguerite dropped her gaze and then peered up at Tristan from beneath her lashes. He seemed to actually be having trouble forming words. He was often quiet, but she had never seen him have an effort talking before.
She scooped up her first oyster and let it slide between her lips. Cool. Slippery. Wonderful. Think about the food. She ignored her husband’s dazed expression and savored the salty flavor. Cook had topped the oysters with soured cream and caviar and it was extraordinary. Her eyes drifted closed again. This was not hard.
She took another oyster. Relished. Enjoyed.
They were like silk upon her lips. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across her face.
There was not a single sound from across the table, not even the chink of silver on china. She raised her lids and looked at Tristan.
He was staring again, his full attention on her. He had not even picked up a single oyster.
“You are staring. Do I have a dot of cream on my nose?” She brushed it with the napkin. “I am afraid these are so good I have been ignoring you.” She circled her lips with her tongue. He was still staring without speech. She peeked down at her chest, his glance seemed to make frequent detours in that direction. Her breath grew more rapid with his every glance. She could almost feel phantom hands moving over her, pinching her like the men in the books. She knew it was what she had wanted, but she was growing hopelessly heated under his continued gaze.
She shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs tight together. He was so intense. She took a sip of water. It did not help. Tristan finally picked up an oyster of his own. She watched him place it to his lips, watched it slip between, saw the pleasure of his expression. His glance never left hers. Her breath quickened to a near pant. Was she blushing? She saw his glance travel slowly from her bodice up to her warm cheeks. Yes, she was blushing and he was watching its flow. She grew even warmer.
The next course arrived, eel in sweet pepper sauce, supposed to enrich and heat the blood. She hardly dared taste it. She was already an inferno. Tristan lifted his glass to her. She swallowed hard and nodded in return. Together they dipped forks into the sauce and brought it to their lips. Flavor exploded. Honeyed, hot, spicy, excitement. Could food really be this good? She had not even been focusing on it and still it overcame her. She shut her eyes and moaned with ecstasy.
She had not really done that, had she? Flushing even deeper with embarrassment, she opened her eyes. Tristan had a most peculiar expression, somewhere halfway between pleasure and pain. The man’s expression in the book when the woman was . . . oh dear, the asparagus. She must have looked like . . . still, Tristan did not seem at all put off by her moan or any of the rest.
She dared another bite of eel. It was so succulent, so sweet, the flesh so rich and tender. It was a forbidden taste, like nothing she had ever experienced. Her mind again filled with the images in Violet’s book. She found herself leaning towards Tristan as she sampled another bite. He had given up all pretense of eating and merely watched. She lapped a morsel from the fork, fighting to concentrate on it and not the flush that now began to color her husband’s cheeks. He leaned forward, pushing his plate aside, sipping at his wine and watching.
It took effort to bring the next bite to her mouth. It had gone dry, despite her frequent sips of wine and water. It was getting hard to breathe, each breath seemed to fill her