Taste of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  Violet sat, sipping her chocolate, and waited.

  “He fell asleep,” Marguerite managed to spit the phrase out.

  “Oh, that is most unexpected. I would not have expected it from what I had heard.” Violet put her cup down with care. She tapped a finger on the edge of the cup. “Did you do everything as planned?”

  “Yes, and it seemed to be working. But then he fell asleep without saying anything.”

  “You must tell me more. Had he had much to drink?”

  “Two glasses of wine with dinner. He was in his study before that with the accounts. He does not normally indulge then. And after dinner – when we went to the library, he did not even touch the port or brandy.”

  “So, not too much.” Violet stood and began to pace the room, trailing her fingers along the edges of tables. How could she look so refined while in her nightwear? It was an art to be studied. Marguerite looked down at her shoes. They were spotted with mud. Thirteen spots on the left. Five on the right.

  “Did you dress as I suggested?” Violet spun to face her.

  “Yes, I made sure it was a dress of thin fabric and easy to remove.” Marguerite felt her color rise. Would she ever learn not to blush?

  “I don’t understand it then. I’ve never known a man to fall asleep while still aroused and I cannot believe your husband was unaffected by your appearance. Even my first husband never fell asleep once he’d become – Oh, that doesn’t matter. Still, you say he fell asleep, not that he left. Did he lie down on the couch? You were in the library you say?”

  “Well no, it was in bed,” Marguerite answered.

  “His or yours?”

  What did it matter? “His.”

  Violet sat back down. “So you were in his room. Things had progressed then?”

  Progression, that was a good word for it. “Yes.”

  Violet picked up her cup again and sipped. “I am just not understanding. He took you to his chamber and then he fell asleep. What exactly had happened?”

  Marguerite did not believe she had ever been so red. She looked at her shoes again. She was wrong. There were six spots on the right.

  “Well?” Violet let the question hang.

  “He just fell asleep. I was next to him, in the bed, without my clothes on and he fell asleep.”

  “You were in bed wit the man, bare-assed, and he fell asleep?”

  Marguerite nodded.

  Violet closed her eyes. “It sounds so unlikely. I’ve never even heard of man getting a woman naked and then falling asleep – unless there were drugs or liquor involved. Did he smoke anything? Did the room smell funny?”

  Marguerite shook her head. She was a failure. Her husband had fallen asleep. Tears began to build behind her eyes. “No, he just rolled off me and closed his eyes. Then he started to snore.”

  Violet suddenly looked alert. “You say he rolled off you? I believe I asked if you understood the mechanics of the situation. Did he try to – Did he have an erection?”

  Marguerite was not exactly sure of the meaning of the word, but she could guess. There were still six spots. She rubbed her toes together. “Yes, although it,” her voice shook, “it did grow smaller afterwards.”

  “Afterwards. You mean you did have intercourse?”

  Marguerite was glad Violet had used the word. She did not think she could have. “Yes, four times, but then he just fell asleep.”

  Violet blinked. She blinked again. “Four times and then he fell asleep.” She started to laugh. The laugh grew until it was nearly a guffaw. “Four times and then he fell asleep.”

  “Do not laugh at me. Mama always cautioned that men had insatiable needs and were never satisfied.” Marguerite had to resist joining in the laughter herself. One look in Violet’s face and she knew the truth. “I know I am ridiculous, but how can I be sure that he was happy? How is a woman to know these things? What if I bored him?”

  Violet pushed a napkin to her mouth and attempted to stop laughing. Tears began to stream down her face. “Four times and he fell asleep – you think you bored him?”

  Violet stopped laughing abruptly. She put down the cloth. “You, my dear, I am afraid have an amazing talent for sin. I think I had better explain things more fully.”

  She was gone. Tristan rolled over and reached for his wife. The bed lay cold beside him. He stretched and stared at the canopy above. The events of the night before ran through his mind.

  He pushed up on his elbows. The curtains were still drawn and only the faintest tinge of light seeped into the room. The floor was bare, his wife’s clothing gone. Had Jackson been in? No, he was too well trained to interrupt. Marguerite must have taken them with her when she scurried out. She was probably at her bath or toilette. He stretched, that settled in his mind.

  He lay back on the pillows. Considered. Rang for his coffee and toast. He had not planned on this.

  He should regret it. He stretched again, sighing with satisfaction. No, he could not regret it. If he had known how passionate Marguerite was it would have happened long ago.

  She had seduced him. He had not doubt of that.

  For whatever reason she had decided that she belonged in his bed.

  She was his wife.

  Was it as simple as that?

  Jackson entered with a tray. Tristan swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. Jackson placed the tray on the writing desk by the window. Tristan waved him away. He walked over and poured his own coffee from the tall china pot.

  He took the gulp, the tingle of the bitter fluid played down his throat. He swallowed again.

  His wife was not a simple woman. He had been mistaken to see her as sweet and innocent, and think that was the meat of her. She was a woman of intellect and depth.

  She had seen what she wanted and gone after it.

  The question was why? For what purpose had she sought her rightful place it his bed?

  He had given her independence and wealth – she would not want for more. They were already wed – she could not be seeking position and title. Was there some favor she desired, something she feared he would not grant? She had certainly approached him with purpose and plan.

  Where had innocence ended and intent begun? He pictured her lips closing about the pastry, while her eyes shone with delight. He remembered her stretch before the fire last night, she must have known how little her dress concealed. His body responded to the memory, and he picked up his robe and drew it on.

  It required thought. He would find out her purpose. He must remember it was a game of desire and not love. She might have played the siren with great success, but he was the master. He would find her secrets, whatever efforts were required. He grinned. Yes, he would do whatever was required. He anticipated the task. Husimans’ card party would be the perfect place to start.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marguerite stepped slowly as she walked home from Violet’s. She should hurry so that nobody would realize she had left her maid behind, but the day promised to be beautiful and she let her head fall back. The sun was hot and felt wonderful on her skin. It was wonderful. She did not care if she freckled. Nothing could ruin her mood.

  She had a talent for sin.

  Violet’s words ran through her mind. She had pleased her husband. All her doubts were gone after Violet’s explanations. She took a little skip, then, unable to resist, twirled, her skirts spinning about her. She had found the magic.

  All of her risks were paying off.

  She stopped a moment.

  Tristan had not said he loved her. Did it matter?

  No, men were often reticent about expressing emotion and sentiment. Marguerite might have misunderstood some of what she had been told, but her mother had always been clear on that point. Mama said that Marguerite’s father had never once spoken of love.

  For the first time in a long time she felt a pang of sympathy for Mama.

  But, Marguerite had a home of her own, and a husband who desired her. Her annoying blush rose at the thought. Wha
t more could she want?

  She started walking again, her pace light and carefree. She turned the corner.

  Lord Simon Moreland and Mr. James Langdon stood before her. Langdon swayed slightly. Both gentlemen wore evening dress, their cravats loose and their coats wrinkled. She imagined she could smell the sour stench of whiskey and perspiration from where she stood.

  She started to step back behind the hedge that marked the corner.

  Marguerite saw the exact moment they saw her. Langdon’s head jerked and he patted Simon on the back. Simon turned, took an unsteady step towards her, and swayed into a low bow.

  “And a fine morning to you, my lady,” he said.

  “And you too, Lord Simon, Landgon.” Marguerite inclined her head in greeting and tried to pass.

  “Ah, not so fast, my dear,” Simon caught her arm, “don’t you have a few moments for a few good friends.”

  Marguerite stepped back, putting a more comfortable space between them. He was being very forward. It must be the result of his night of indulgence. “Of course. Is there something you needed to tell me, some message for my husband perhaps?” She stepped back again.

  Simon stepped forward following her. Langdon leaned back against a lamppost and watched.

  “I just thought a few words with a lovely lady on beautiful morning would be nice. Don’t you agree?” Simon stopped. He shrugged his shoulders in question.

  Marguerite glanced around. There were plenty of people on the street. There was no reason for her to be frightened.

  “You are right. A few words among friends on a sunny morning are nothing but a delight. It was wonderful seeing you – and Landgon.” She gestured in his direction. “I will be sure to pass on your greeting to Wimberley.” She started to walk on down the street. Any threat was all in her mind. She would be sure to take her maid the next time she ventured out.

  Simon fell into step beside her. Langdon followed a few paces behind. She picked up her pace. She was being foolish, but she wanted to be home.

  “And what are your plans today, Lady Wimberley?” Simon matched her step for step. “Is there a reason for your hurry?”

  “I am eager to be home. I find myself fatigued.”

  “Hence your rapid pace.” Simon sounded sincere. Did he not realize the hypocrisy in running because you were tired? Probably not.

  “Yes, I am dreaming of putting my feet up.” Marguerite moved even faster.

  “Must say I am looking forward to the same.” Langdon spoke up from behind. “A nice nap with the sun shining in the window.”

  “We don’t have time for a nap. We promised my mother we’d accompany her this afternoon.” Simon snapped at Langdon.

  Langdon look dismayed, but then brightened. “Still a nap is quite the thing after a night on the town, don’t you agree?”

  “I was not out all night. I merely ran a morning errand.” Marguerite spoke through gritted teeth. She worked to relax her jaw.

  “We never suspected differently. You must behave now that you’re married.” Simon smiled at her pleasantly.

  They reached the path up to the house and the gentleman finally halted. Marguerite turned to them and spoke with firmness, “Thank you for accompanying me, but now I must say farewell.”

  She turned toward the door giving them no chance to demur. She had a goal to accomplish – it was time to see Tristan.

  The door swung open as she approached. She tilted her head to Winters – only it was not Winters. Tristan stood in the doorway, his face stiff with formality.

  “And where have you been, wife?”

  He had not meant to sound so harsh. It had been almost an hour before he realized she was gone. He’d actually come down to breakfast and sat at the table for twenty minutes waiting for her to appear. It was only when he summoned her maid that he learned she was gone and that nobody knew where she was.

  He was torn between worry and annoyance.

  And she’d arrived back with Langdon and Moreland in tow. This whole thing was one big circle. He turned towards the library and gestured for her to proceed.

  “I had an errand to run.” It took a moment for him to realize she answered his question.

  “An errand, and what pray was of such importance this bright morning?” Did he sound the jealous fool? Of course, he wasn’t jealous, he just didn’t like her going out without informing anyone.

  She was going to lie. He could see her brows draw together and her lower lip tremble. He’d never seen such a guilty looking face.

  “I needed to . . .” Her eyebrows were almost touching. She stopped suddenly. Her shoulders pulled back. “It was nothing. I just woke and wanted to be out. Does it matter where I went?”

  How did she always manage to turn the question back to him? “Of course not, merely idle curiosity.” He sat in the high wing chair, swung his feet up on the stool. Her eyes followed the gesture and her lips curled up. He raised a brow in question.

  “I was just discussing how much I wanted to put my feet up and now I find myself standing watching you,” she said.

  “Ahh, are we not going to argue then.”

  She placed a hand on the arm of his chair and leaned towards him. “I am not sure we know how to talk without arguing. It seems whatever I say you feel compelled to say the opposite.”

  “And here I was thinking the same of you.”

  “Then do we actually agree on something?” she asked.

  “We do. Are you going to tell me where you were?” He swung one foot down and guided her until she stood between his legs. He closed his thighs about her. He could see the pulse in her neck flick to life.

  “I thought it did not matter.” She bent further forward, granting him a clear view down the front of her dress. She licked that maddening lower lip.

  “It doesn’t. I just wanted to make sure I had not displeased you in some way. I had plans when I awoke and finding you not present, it put, shall we say, a damper on them.” He waited and watched, sure enough, the blush came. He watched it rise over her chest, spread up her neck until it pinkened her cheeks. She was a delight.

  He grasped the hand that rested on the chair and used it to pull her into the chair. “So are you going to tell me?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Tell you what?” she whispered back and planted a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

  “Where you were?”

  “A woman must keep some mysteries.”

  He ran a finger across her collar bone, enjoying her shudder. She kissed him again. He turned his mouth so the kiss landed fully upon his lips. “Will you at least tell me why you were with Moreland and Landgon?” He kissed her again.

  “I was not with them, they merely followed.”

  “They followed you on your errand?” He pushed down the edge of her bodice and nibbled one white shoulder. He ignored the growing pressure of his arousal. He was getting close to an answer.

  “No, they followed me home.” She turned over until her chest was pressed fully against his. She trailed kisses up his neck and nipped the point of his chin. “Are you really going to spend the rest of the morning asking me questions? I thought there was something you wanted to do that you needed me for.” She rotated her hips against him.

  He suppressed a groan. She was an enchantress, blushing and innocent one moment, Aphrodite the next. He pulled up her skirt. “We have time for stories and my plans before we go. Is there something you are trying to avoid telling me?” He drew circles on the back of her knee, the fine silk of her stocking causing only the slightest friction.

  “Going where are we going?” She bit his chin again.

  “Huismans card party. I believe I will accompany you.”

  He almost missed how she paled at his answer. Was she still trying to find an excuse not to tell him where she had been? Had it not been as innocent as he imagined? His mind began to spin with possibilities.

  She drew back. “Oh, I think I need more practice then.” Her fingers moved from his shirt
to the upper fastening of her dress. “I daresay I could use another hand of piquet.”

  He forgot what he’d been thinking about.

  As she entered the small drawing room on her husband’s arm, Marguerite understood for the first time the power of her title. Walking up to Huismans’ house she had almost turned and run, confessed to her husband that she had no invitation, that it had all been pretense, but instead she held strong.

  She need not have feared. The porter gestured them in, the butler waved them towards the party without question. If the Marquess of Wimberley was here, then he belonged here.

  Huisman’s strode up to them as they entered.

  Before he could comment Marguerite spoke quickly, “It was wonderful of you to invite me. I have been practicing, but fear I am no match for a man of your skill. I hope it is no difficulty that my husband has accompanied me.”

  Huismans measured her with his glance. She could feel the questions he did not ask. “Of course, I am delighted by your company. I am sure we have much to discuss.” His words addressed Marguerite, but his glance had turned to Tristan. “If the numbers are uneven we will take turns sitting out – a true gentleman does not mind letting someone else do the work.” He gave a small laugh, almost a titter. “It is of course the purpose of men such as myself – the merchant class.”

  Tristan made no response beyond a proper greeting and gestured to Marguerite to precede them into the room. There were no chairs available at the card tables. She gulped as she spied Landgon, Simon, and another young gentleman seated at a table with Simon’s mother. Lady Harburton did not look pleased to see her. She turned back to her son.

  Tristan looked amused at the lack of remaining seats and with the smallest quirk of his mouth he indicated she should take a seat on the couch. He followed and stood beside her.

  “The tables look set for whist, not piquet,” he said.

  “Perhaps I misunderstood, or perhaps . . .”

  “Perhaps?”

  “Perhaps I was looking for a game only for two.” She felt heat begin to rise. She stared with force at the tulips on the mantle. They shone a polished black, not a deep purple, but a true black. She started to try to think of other objects that color, coal, polished boots, ebony – If she thought hard enough she would not blush. She could pretend a sophistication she did not feel – continue the verbal joust at which her husband was so accomplished.