Taste of Desire (29 page)

She had worried that Violet had given her so little advice beyond the setting of the scene, but now she understood – once the carriage was set in motion there was no stopping.

It took only the look in his eyes to pull her forward, to capture her for eternity. She took the step towards him, then turned, preserving the space between their bodies. “I cannot undo my laces. With no ruffs do we move on to Sequences. I believe that is the next in order.”

“I thought you did not know how to play.
” Tristan’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, rubbed softly, then slid down to her laces. He unfastened them with a practiced hand. He held her chemise caught in his hand and pulled it lower as her corset loosened. As he pulled the cord through each loop he placed a kiss on the flesh revealed. She shivered and shook with each touch. She was far beyond the world she knew and could only trust where he would lead.

When the last remnants of her clothing fell to the floor he pulled her tight against him
. She could feel the moisture of his bare flesh against her own. He slipped his arms around her and cupped her breasts. “The second to last play of the hand is Sets. I think these will do.”

She gasped as he flicked his thumbs across her nipples
. The nubs drew to ever tighter peaks. The sensations far surpassed her earlier self-exploration. Her head fell back against him and he nuzzled at her neck.

He caressed her again and again, she moved against him helplessly, her body his to control
. When one of his hands slipped lower, skimming through her blond fuzz, she jerked, startled. Her buttocks pressed firm against his hardness. She moved, pressed them further against him, feeling his length, his breadth with her body. His hand moved further, sliding between her legs. She jerked again. She had never felt such a thing. It was pain. It was pleasure. It was more than she had ever imagined. She tightened her thighs. It was too much. She would never bear it. She tried to pull away, to find a way to breathe.

“Shh, relax
. I would never hurt you. You do know that, don’t you?” He whispered the words into her hair, caught her ear between his teeth, nipped, laved. The fingers between her legs moved again. A moan tore from her. Her legs were collapsing from under her.

He turned her then, bringing her full against him
. His arousal rose firm and proud against her belly. She had yet to see him, but the velvet of his skin covered steel beneath. She moved slowly, luxuriating in the sensation. She closed her eyes and only felt. He pressed her back, and she groaned at the separation between them.

“Sets
are all about seeking equal size. Do you think we are equal?” His voice teased against her ear.

She opened her eyes then, and gasped
. No, never. There was no way. She had been sure the book exaggerated. It was one thing to feel pressed against her, but to imagine it in her. “No,” she squeaked. “I do not think so. You win.”

He stopped
. He did not move at all, but simply looked deep into her eyes. She looked back and saw desire, but also warmth and care. Something deep within her core melted. Fear could not win against such odds. She inched closer, pressing their bodies tight again.

He swallowed, she could feel the movement where her breast lay pressed deep tight against his chest
. She pressed a kiss just above his heart.

He swallowed again
. His body strained against her. “The loser has the right to examine the winning set, to be sure. Is this your wish?”

She slipped her hand between them, took him in her palm
. He was as soft as she had dreamed, and as hard. She swallowed, herself, as she took his full measure. His whole body was pulled tight, the sting of a bow, the arrow ready to fly. She moved her hand again, felt the tension her action wrought, understood her power. She clasped her fingers tight about him. His lips pressed tight, whitening as if with pain, but he made no further movement. She felt a tiny bead of moisture against her palm.

“Are you trying to kill me?”
he croaked.

She ran her fingers up his length again
. His whole body shuddered. “I am not sure what comes next. I think you win, you hold the greater size, but I do no know how to tell for sure. Will you teach me?”

His hands grasped her then, sliding down her shoulders, her back, cupping beneath her buttocks
. He lifted her, her legs separating and wrapping around him. He shifted her higher, positioning her until he pressed against the very heart of her.

“Are you sure
? There is only one way to declare a winner. There will be no going back,” he gasped the words, one by one, as he moved her up and down. The sensation of the pressure between them built within her. She could only nod her agreement against his chest.

He turned, lowering her to the couch
. When she rested fully on the couch he ran his hands down the inside of her thighs, nearing, but not touching. He ran them back, exquisite sensation flowing with the contact. She turned, twisted – she needed more. He held firm, when his hands reached her knees he lifted her legs, drawing them over his shoulders. She felt him prod against her, seeking the entrance to very core.

There was a single prick of pain.

Her body tensed. He stopped held still, then slid in further. She shifted, unsure, flexed her hips beneath him.

He thrust
in, pulled out. Again.

She moved seeking
. The pain was gone, but not the agony of need. She gripped with her thighs – more she needed more, wanted more. What was missing?

Then she felt it, a slow burn that started low between her legs, at the spot of their joining, then spread, growing greater, drawing her deeper into a world that was only feeling and sensation
. Nothing existed except that magic spot between them. It grew tighter, became unbearable. She knew she cried, she twisted, she fought for release.

And then exploded
.

Her whole body
spasmed with the pleasure of it and then fell back to earth, exhausted. He dove in deep then, deeper than he had before, burying himself within her. She could feel the shudders take him, grip him. He head strained back as a single great cry left him.

He collapsed, heavy upon her.

What had happened
? He’d been with many women, experienced many forms of pleasure, but this – this had been beyond all measure. Had he died? What else could explain such ecstasy? He rolled to the side, wrapping his arms about her and taking her with him until she lay cradled on his chest.

She was so small, so delicate
. He hoped he had not hurt her. He had lost control there at the end. He opened his eyes and stared up at her. She gazed back at him with languid eyes, a look of womanly satisfaction clear upon her face.

“I do declare, I think we are equal
. It must be a tie,” he said.

She
pushed up on her elbows and surveyed him. “That was wonderful, but I believe the last part of the hand is still to be played. Tricks, is not it? Do you know any?”

He grinned
. “I do, but perhaps we should go up to bed first. It may take a while to explain them all and I’d hate to startle the maids when they come in to bank the fire.”

Morning peaked through the cracks in the bed curtains as Marguerite opened her eyes. Tristan’s arm lay across her chest and one of his legs lay sprawled across her own. She let her head rest back against the pillows, savoring the sensation, the very weight of him was dear to her. For a moment she knew only joy, she had fought for her magic and won true to the end.

Then she frowned, uncertainty filling her.

Had everything been as it was supposed to? She had no way of knowing. It had been wonderful, but was it all that he expected? She needed to be sure. She eased out from beneath Tristan and slipped from the bed. He stirred, his arms moved, seeking her – or somebody.

She closed the bed curtain behind her
. Her chemise and dress lay scattered on the floor. She picked them up and glanced about. It was Tristan’s chamber. She had never been in it before. The furniture was old and heavy. She could sense the generations that had treasured it. She ran a hand over the bureau, picked up the silver brush. A few light hairs lay trapped in the bristles, the color so similar to her own. She placed it back on the dresser.

A closed door was to her right
. It must be the door to her own chamber. She padded over. The key was in the lock, but had not been turned. Had she lain so many nights alone, an unlocked door between them? She opened the door with hardly a creak and slipped to her own room.

Her maid was sitting stiffly in a corner
. She did not say a word, but shot Marguerite a glance full of curiosity and speculation.

Marguerite ignored the look and murmured a few directions
. She needed to be out of here before Tristan awoke. She needed time to understand what had happened.

She had won
. She had found the magic.

But, what did that mean?

Her body still hummed with pleasure, but her emotions stirred with uncertainty.

She let her maid dress her and then took a hurried sip of cooling chocolate from the tray by the bed
.

If anybody could help her Violet could
. She set the cup back on the saucer with a clatter and asked for her gloves. She needed understanding before she saw her husband again.

The porter looked decidedly disconcerted as he opened the door, Marguerite not certain whether it was merely the unsuitableness of the hour or her own apparent agitation. It was hard to stand still when her whole world stood at a pinnacle.

The porter took her card and
scurried up the stairs. There was the sound of a knock and then the whisper of voices, one decidedly gruff and masculine. She had come at an inopportune time. She thought of slipping back out the door. Maybe a walk in the park would give her the chance to think? She did not need to bother Violet. Her hand closed on the door handle.

“What has that blasted man done now?
” Violet came floating down the stairs, a gauzy wrapper trailing behind. “Do forgive my lack of dress. My servants are used to my informality. I couldn’t wait to hear what has you about at this hour. Come to the parlor and I will send for chocolate and pastries.”

Marguerite’s jaw dropped
. But, it was not at Violets disarray. A man’s face had peered around the corner after Violet. A face Marguerite knew well.

What was Peter doing here?

Oh, that was a stupid question. It was obvious. She looked at Violet again, the mussed hair and swollen lips. Were her own lips as red and obvious?

But, if Peter was here that
meant. . . She had seen the closeness between the brothers. They might bicker and the disagreement with their mother might stand between them, but they were brothers to the core. Peter would not be here now, with Violet, if Tristan had ever been.

Violet turned and caught her still looking up the stairs
. “Oh dear, did you see something you shouldn’t? I have tried to be discreet, but he is like a brand new puppy. His nose must poke into every corner.” Violet turned and stepped forward catching Marguerite’s hands in her own. “I don’t think Tristan knows, although it is always hard to be sure with him. He always seems aware of everything.”

“Yes.
” The one word was all that Marguerite could manage. She was still trying to understand all the repercussions of what she had seen.

“I won’t ask you to lie
. I don’t think you’d be very good at it, but can you manage not to say anything unless asked?” Violet dropped one of Marguerite’s hands and holding tight to the other led her to the parlor. “It wasn’t something I ever intended, but well – he’s irresistible. There is something about the way he looks at a woman from under those shaggy brows that just makes it impossible to say ‘no.’ He is so filled with delight at every smile. Don’t you agree?”

Marguerite did not see the attraction that Violet spoke of
. It was not like Peter had his brother’s penetrating silver glance that could see into a woman’s very soul, but Marguerite could see the glazed look in Violet’s eyes and knew that no comment would make a difference. She nodded.

Violet gave herself a little shake and sat, pour
ing out cups of chocolate for each of them. “But enough of my secrets, tell me yours. What has brought you calling at such an early hour?” She put down her cup and perused Marguerite. “You do look different, so something must have happened.” Violet stared at Marguerite’s lips and then touched her own swollen ones. “Yes, something must have happened.”

Marguerite was not sure what to say
. She had come here intending to tell Violet all and then to ask her further advice, but when confronted with the moment words failed her. How did a woman speak of such things?

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?”