Page 85 of Marry in Scandal

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 itiscorrect to eat it with one’s fingers.”

“Don’t be sorry, I know. And you must never hide yourpleasure 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 increments. Without taking his eyes off her, he took another spear, dipped it in sauce and fed it to her, inch by slow inch.

The atmosphere hummed with a strange tension. She was embarrassingly aware of the little sounds she made as she ate. And achingly aware of his fingers, brushing her lips as she nibbled the asparagus to the end.

Why wasn’t he eating? Didn’t he like asparagus? Some people didn’t.