Guy made a move to seize hold of her and she jumped up, dancing away from him, laughing. Guy was on his feet just as the door opened and a footman carrying a silver tureen came into the room. Muttering an oath Guy turned sharply aside toward a bookcase, pretending to be deeply engaged in the spines of the leather tomes on display.

“Thank you, Neil. I’ll ring when we’re ready for the next course.” Petra tried to sound dignified, in her best lady of the house manner, but she could see the speculation in the footman’s eyes. He bowed and left the room.

“Do come and sit down, Guy, and eat your soup.” Petra took her own seat at the table in front of the fire. “Alphonse will get so upset if we linger over the soup and his turbot gets cold.”

Guy took his seat opposite her and dipped his spoon into his bowl of chicken consommé. He glanced across at his wife, who was demurely spooning her own soup. “To be continued,” he said.

Her eyes danced. “Oh, I hope that’s a promise.”

“It might even be a threat,” he responded, his dark gaze a swirl of liquid smoke.

Petra pushed aside all doubts and misgivings and let the evening’s momentum carry her forward. It seemed that Guy too was prepared to set aside any bones of contention in the interests of a succulent evening where sensual promise simmered beneath everything they said to each other, the suspense and anticipation building with each mouthful of Alphonse’s dinner, each sip of rich dark wine.

When the table had been cleared and they were finally alone, Guy sat on the sofa and beckoned to Petra. “Come to me, madam wife.”

She crossed the room to the sofa and he drew her down onto his knee, shifting her so that she lay back with her head against his shoulder, her legs stretched across the sofa. His fingers moved to unbutton the tiny pearl buttons of her silk robe, his hands slipping inside. “Ah,” he murmured on a sigh of satisfaction, “I had hoped you would be naked beneath this.” He cupped the soft rounds of her breasts, a fingertip teasing first one nipple then the other, bringing them both to hard peaks. He stroked down her body, playing a tune on her rib cage, before circling her navel. His fingers dipped lower, twined in the dark tangle of hair at the base of her belly, slid lower, teasing the full lips of her sex, opening them as one finger tantalized the swollen opening of her vagina before sliding within her, moving with wicked intent as a liquid warmth spread through her loins, weakening her limbs, a pulse throbbing fiercely against his probing finger.

And just as the wave was about to break over her, it all stopped. He withdrew his hand and matter-of-factly rebuttoned her robe.