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He grinned, and kissed her, and they sealed their promises as passionately as they knew how.
Epilogue
“I received a letter from Mama today,” Vivianna said, setting down her soup spoon. A servant came to remove her plate, while Hodge stood, supercilious, his eye upon the room.
“Lady Greentree?”
“Yes, Oliver. You know she is my mama. I call Aphrodite ‘Aphrodite,’ or it becomes too confusing.”
“Of course, my sweet.”
The next course was served.
“She says that Marietta is longing to return to London, but Mama thinks it would be best to wait. She knows about Aphrodite, of course, but she won’t meet her yet. And Francesca, how will Francesca cope with the news that she is the daughter of a famous courtesan?”
“How indeed.” Oliver gave her his lazy, charming smile. Beneath the dining table, Robbie Burns brushed against his legs, purring monotonously. He slipped a piece of roasted fowl beneath the board and was rewarded as it was snatched unceremoniously from his fingers.
“I sometimes think Aphrodite and Dobson are fonder of each other than they let on,” Vivianna was saying. “I must ask if she has written any more in her diary.”
Oliver had his own thoughts on Aphrodite and Dobson. It wasn’t the ideal setup, having a wife who was the daughter of a famous courtesan, but it didn’t particularly bother him. Nor did it seem to bother Lady Marsh, who stated herself more than content with Vivianna as Oliver’s wife.
Hodge sent a servant to clear the meal. Vivianna caught his eye, and then rose gracefully to her feet.
“I must instruct the chef with regard to dessert,” she said. “It’s something very special tonight. I’ll only be a moment, Oliver.”
He nodded, absently stroking the cat beneath the table. Married life suited Oliver. He had never realized before just how restful it could be, married to a woman one loved as much as he loved Vivianna. They had their disagreements, but it didn’t seem to matter, because they shared such a deep and abiding commitment to each other. There was something very wonderful in waking up in the night and finding Vivianna by his side….
The door opened and Hodge appeared. Behind him, upon a sturdy trolley with wheels, was a very large serving plate with a cover concealing whatever was upon it. Under Hodge’s instructions, a pair of servants wheeled the contraption into the dining room and then, with a nod from Hodge, lifted the covered plate and placed it carefully upon the dining table. Before Oliver.
He sat up straighter and looked inquiringly at Hodge.
Hodge’s face was inscrutable. “Lady Montegomery’s instructions. Dessert, my lord,” he said. He nodded at the servants and, with one on either side of the cover, they lifted the cover off the dish and carried it swiftly from the room. Hodge followed, and closed the door behind him.
Oliver couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind had gone numb, even as other parts of him had come very much to life.
Before him, prettily posed upon the serving plate, knelt Vivianna. She was completely naked, apart from some cream decoration. Rosettes covered her nipples, and swirls meandered across her belly, ending in a rather large dollop of cream at the juncture of her thighs. Swags of flowers had been placed upon her flanks, and the rounded cheeks of her bottom were patterned with green cream leaves and what looked like reproductions of cherries.
Oliver met her eyes.
She looked a little uncertain. As if it had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that she had actually gone and done it she wasn’t quite sure how he would react.
Oliver stood up. He climbed onto the chair and onto the table, divesting himself of his jacket and cravat as he went. Reassured, Vivianna’s mouth curved into one of her most seductive smiles. She gave her head a little shake and her hair, knotted at her nape, came tumbling wildly about her.
Oliver tore off his shirt.
And then his mouth closed on hers, and he felt as if he were going to explode right there, with just their lips touching. His hands hovered over her, frightened to touch, not wanting to spoil…anything. He bent and licked the rosette off one of her breasts, and then the other. His palms closed possessively over the cherries and the leaves. Her fingers were on his trousers, hurriedly unbuttoning them, as he returned to her mouth.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Vivianna said between licks and kisses. “Aphrodite told me about a dinner she once held, and I’ve been wanting to replicate it ever since.”
“Mind?” he groaned.
He pulled her into his arms and she straddled his thighs, knocking a bowl and some silver cutlery to the floor. Then Vivianna suddenly stilled, held his face in her palms, and gazed into his eyes with perfect trust and perfect love.
“Oliver,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his and smearing him liberally with cream. “Let’s eat dessert.”
