As if they were caught in a storm—she’d clung onto him for dear life, giving herself up to the rhythm and the power—and oh, if that wasn’t glory, it was close. Then that sound he’d made at the end, primeval and masculine—possessive?—before he collapsed on top of her. She had held him tight—her husband—feeling his ragged breathing slow, his big, beautiful, powerful body, relaxed and satiated, stroking him through his jacket.
What might it be like if they were both unclothed, lying skin to skin? Another delicious ripple of sensation passed through her at the thought. She smiled to herself. She knew now what those inner shudders meant.
Emm had said it would get better with practice. Lily couldn’t imagine how, but she was eager to try.
Poor Aunt Agatha, with her unpleasantness to be endured. Three husbands and it seemed as though none of them had made her feel the way Lily had felt after one time with Edward.
A sound outside startled her. Oh, heavens, she’d been dreaming for goodness knew how long. Dinner would be here any second and she didn’t want strange and unknown servants to catch her in her beautiful but flimsy nightdress. She put on the bed jacket that went with the nightdress, but a glance in the looking glass showed her that it was just as delightfully improper and failed entirely to protect her modesty.
She looked in the wardrobe and found a pretty Chinese-style silk wrapper. She slipped it on and was searching for slippers when a knock sounded on the connecting door.
“Are you ready? They’re here with the food.” Edward’s hair was damp and combed carelessly back. It curled a little at the end. He wore a robe, a long green brocade banyan, embroidered with glints of silver thread that brought out the color of his eyes in his somber, tanned face. He looked magnificent, like some exotic eastern potentate, with glittering, frosted emerald eyes.
At his command, the door opened and in came two footmen carrying trays ladened with covered dishes. The butler followed with a silver tray on which rested glasses and a champagne bottle, gently fizzing. They moved a side table close to the bed and set out everything on it, then, at a silent signal from Edward, the servants withdrew.
“They’re very well trained,” she said when they’d left. They hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. “They must have wondered—well, you can imagine what they must be thinking. But they didn’t look in the least bit shocked.”
“I never worry about what servants might think.” Edward picked up the silver covers one by one and inspected the contents. “In any case these fellows are accustomed to much more scandalous goings-on when Tremayne is in residence.”
Really? Lily wanted to ask for further details, but the food smelled wonderful. Her stomach rumbled again. So embarrassing.
“What would you like first?” he asked her.
She hurried over to inspect their dinner—it was a feast. Everything looked delicious.
A juicy capon roasted to golden perfection rested on a bed of lacy greens, carrots glistened with honey and a hint of nutmeg and delicate spears of asparagus came with a bowl of herbed buttery sauce, for dipping. There were tiny crispy tartlets containing scallops and mushrooms in a creamy pink sauce, potatoes sliced in layers and oozing butter, and fresh rolls, still warm from the oven. Lastly there was a sherry trifle in a crystal dish, a bowl of jewel-like berries in syrup and a dish of thick country cream.
“Everything,” she said, and immediately wanted to bite her tongue. She always seemed to be stuffing herself in front of him. She could almost feel Aunt Agatha’s lorgnette boring a hole in her.
But Edward only laughed. “A woman after my own heart. I’m starving too.” He picked up one of the little tartlets and popped it into his mouth whole.
“How ungallant!” Laughing, she reached over, grabbed one herself and nibbled on it. “Mmm, that’s delicious.”
“Hop into bed and I’ll serve you.”
Lily slipped into bed. Dinner in bed; how delightfully decadent.
He set up a bed table, then poured the champagne and sat on the bed, the bed table between them. He raised his glass. “But first, a toast to my lovely wife.”
“To my magnificent husband, and to a very happy marriage,” she responded, clinking her glass against his.
He raised an eyebrow, and she wondered whether she’d been too effusive; her emotions were spilling over.
But he didn’t comment, just drank and then began to carve the capon. “White meat or dark?”
“Dark, please. It’s juicier.”
“I prefer breasts,” he said, his eyes on her. “They’re more delicate and tender.”
Lily felt herself blushing. He was flirting with her. She’d never been much good at that. But all things improved with practice. Which reminded her . . .
She took a large gulp of her champagne and said, “About before—”
“Don’t worry about it. Here”—he handed her a laden plate—“eat it while it’s hot.”
“But I need to know, did I do something wrong? I mean before, when we—”
“You did nothing wrong. Eat your dinner.” He served himself.
“But I think perhaps I—”
“Don’t talk. Eat.”
The food looked and smelled glorious and she’d hardly eaten anything all day, so Lily, recalling she’d promised him obedience, ate.
For a while there was only the clink of cutlery against china and the sounds of two people enjoying their food. But after a while, Lily realized he’d stopped eating.
She looked up guiltily and found her husband watching her with an intent expression. “You enjoy your asparagus, don’t you?”
Flushing, she used her napkin to wipe her mouth. “Sorry, but it is correct to eat it with one’s fingers.”
“Don’t be sorry, I know. And you must never hide your pleasure from me.” Without waiting for her answer, he picked up a spear of asparagus, dipped the end in the rich, buttery sauce and offered it to her. “Open up.”
She parted her lips and he slipped the delicate morsel between them, tilting it so the sauce ran into her mouth, feeding her the tender shoot in slow
