chest, lifting it forward. Her stomach fluttered, and not with unease.
It was growing difficult to look anywhere except at her husband, his lips, his eyes, the tight damask of his jacket, those broad shoulders – there was a table between them, but she felt his every move. When he took a bite of eel her mouth watered in response.
The servants arrived to clear the half finished plates. Was it time for the sweet? She hoped so. She wiggled in her chair trying to regain her earlier comfort. She was hot and shivery all at once. Her breasts were tight her nipples peaked and she did not even dare glance down to see how the appeared against the thin fabric. She took another swallow of wine.
“What’s next?” Tristan’s voice was hoarse.
“Peaches stewed in honey, with fresh raspberries.”
“Sounds harmless enough.” He spoke quietly, as if to himself.
The plates arrived, two half peaches, globes lush and glistening in a pool of honey, the raspberries perched on top. It looked like – it looked like naked bosoms. Bosoms drenched with honey. She felt her own breasts swell and grow even tighter. Her glance shot to her husband. He had no response. He sat as if frozen. Unsure, Marguerite scooped a raspberry and honey to her mouth. A drop of honey caught, and then slid in slow motion off her lips, down her chin, and . . . she quivered as the warm sauce dribbled between her own globes.
Tristan stood with a start he took one step forward, two steps.
Stopped.
Was he going to lick it off? Was she really even imagining his cool lips moving over her heated flesh?
He stared at her for the longest moment, battle apparent in his face, then turned and marched from the room.
“It did not work. He left again.” Marguerite turned to Violet, fighting the tears that threatened to come. “I just do not understand. I think that you were right that he enjoyed the food – although he did not eat much. I was feeling the magic, I thought everything was working according to plan. I actually felt a heady power I have never felt before. Then he left.”
“I am not sure that you are right that it didn’t work. You must tell me all.” Violet patted the seat beside her and Marguerite slowly parsed out the events of the night before, ending with her alone in her bed. “I did not even look at the book again. I thought about it, but I was so miserable I could not bear to realize even more how alone I was.”
“I don’t think you will have to worry about that for long. If your husband’s attention is your goal, I think you are well on your way to achieving it. You did say he watched you last night, could not in fact take his eyes off you?”
“Yes, but he seemed almost in pain. He didn’t look much like he was enjoying it all of the time, more like he had no choice. It was as if I held him in a thrall.”
“Perfect.” Violet grinned.
“Perfect?”
“Yes, perfect.” Violent leaned back in the chair. “Tonight before dinner I want you to look at the book again.”
“I do not know if I can. Sometimes I have felt almost driven to, and then when I actually try, mortification overcomes me.”
Violet sat up straight. “Listen, this is perhaps the most important thing I will tell you. Nothing you do either by yourself or, hopefully, with your husband in the privacy of your chamber are wrong. I mean nothing. I know what they teach ladies of our position. I was taught well and it made my first marriage even more of a misery than was necessary.
“There is nothing wrong with desire, with hunger, with wanting to seek every bit of passion you can from life. That is the magic. That is what makes you alive, what makes you human. Do not be ashamed of your humanity.”
“But, Mama said –“ Marguerite twisted her hands in her lap.
“I don’t care what your mother said. Think about how you feel. Tristan is your husband. There is nothing wrong with the feelings he arouses – and I use that word deliberately – in you. The greatest gift you can give him is to simply enjoy.”
“I am still not sure. I thought men wanted their wives to be silent and still. That is one of the few things Mama told me. I must be sure not to move too much. Even before I