have wakened you."
"Good Lord, don't tell him that." Beau shifted into an upright position. "He's impossible enough already. It's not a problem to cook for us, is it, Remy?" he quietly inquired, a hint of steel beneath his mannered drawl.
"Not at all," the young Frenchman readily agreed, as if he'd not been churlish, as if such contretemps between himself and his employer were commonplace. "I'd be honored, milord. Perhaps I could suggest some succulent coquilles St. Jacques a la Parisienne now that morning has come," he added with a meaningful glance in his employer's direction, "or some tender veal and mushrooms. Or perhaps a sweet genoise with chocolate buttercream icing."
Even as the saliva rose in her mouth at the thought of such delectable food, Serena hesitated. The che fs sudden volte-face was as unnerving as his i ll humor.
"We'll have the coquilles St. Jacques and the genoise," Beau interposed. "I don't like veal."
"Maybe the mademoiselle likes veal," Re m y delicately remarked.
"Oh, no," Serena blurted. "I mean, I do . . . but, well . . . scallops and cake would be . . . more than enough. I'm afraid even that will put you out enormously."
"Not your usual sort," Remy murmured, his comment for Beau's ears alone. "So enticingly polite." .
"Thank you for your favorable endorsement," Beau sardonically replied, his voice equally subdued. "Would you like Champagne, darling?" he inquired, addressing Serena in a normal tone. "Remy tells me we have a bountiful supply."
"If you don't mind."
Remy smiled, moving a step closer to Beau before softly asking, "Does she say thank you after you fuck her too?"
"Very sweetly." Then in a voice that carried to the bed, he said, "Send the cake first while we wait for the scallops. And three bottles of Champagne."
"Yes, milord," Remy answered, his gaze sportive. "How much time will I have to rest between"— h is brows rose in lecherous ascen t —"meals?"
"I'd sleep when you can," Beau quietly replied. "Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, milord."
******************
The cake when it arrived was magnificent. Decorated with candied violets intertwined in a latticework piping of pale yellow almond-flavored buttercream, the chocolate-iced layers stacked atop creamy praline filling that trailed down in enticing rivulets onto a luscious base of macaroons, the presentation was enough to dazzle the most jaded palate.
Lying beneath the covers, Serena held her breath, awestruck as the young serving lad carefully placed the dramatic cake on the table. Once the boy left with the remains of their previous meal, she sat up, inquiring breathlessly, "How does Re m y manage such spectacular food in a galley kitchen so far from the markets? Candied violets ..." The delicacy had been unknown to her the last few years.
"Re m y ' s resourceful," Beau casually replied. Beyond that blanket avowal the concept of food preparation was foreign to him. "Ask him if you like," he went on, cutting a slice of cake and easing it onto a plate. "Although I know he has a walk-in cold chest because we loaded several wagons of ice on board." Handing the plate to Serena, he took pleasure in seeing the delight on her face.
"Ice?" She looked up, her first forkful already halfway to her mouth.
"For the Champagne, I expect," he said, deftly twisting off the cork on a bottle, "and maybe these." He touched a spun sugar violet. "You don't mind having dessert first, I hope."
She shook her head, her mouth too full to speak, glimpses of paradise within touching distance as the luscious blend of flavors melted on her tongue.
Touching was very much in Beau's mind too as he poured two glasses of Champagne, although his sensations were less visionary and more graphic. She was a delicious sight lushly nude, seated in the middle of his bed, her golden hair in tumbled disarray on her shoulders, her breasts ripe and full, her slender waist and graceful hips incarnate female allure, like the pale silken hair between her
"Good Lord, don't tell him that." Beau shifted into an upright position. "He's impossible enough already. It's not a problem to cook for us, is it, Remy?" he quietly inquired, a hint of steel beneath his mannered drawl.
"Not at all," the young Frenchman readily agreed, as if he'd not been churlish, as if such contretemps between himself and his employer were commonplace. "I'd be honored, milord. Perhaps I could suggest some succulent coquilles St. Jacques a la Parisienne now that morning has come," he added with a meaningful glance in his employer's direction, "or some tender veal and mushrooms. Or perhaps a sweet genoise with chocolate buttercream icing."
Even as the saliva rose in her mouth at the thought of such delectable food, Serena hesitated. The che fs sudden volte-face was as unnerving as his i ll humor.
"We'll have the coquilles St. Jacques and the genoise," Beau interposed. "I don't like veal."
"Maybe the mademoiselle likes veal," Re m y delicately remarked.
"Oh, no," Serena blurted. "I mean, I do . . . but, well . . . scallops and cake would be . . . more than enough. I'm afraid even that will put you out enormously."
"Not your usual sort," Remy murmured, his comment for Beau's ears alone. "So enticingly polite." .
"Thank you for your favorable endorsement," Beau sardonically replied, his voice equally subdued. "Would you like Champagne, darling?" he inquired, addressing Serena in a normal tone. "Remy tells me we have a bountiful supply."
"If you don't mind."
Remy smiled, moving a step closer to Beau before softly asking, "Does she say thank you after you fuck her too?"
"Very sweetly." Then in a voice that carried to the bed, he said, "Send the cake first while we wait for the scallops. And three bottles of Champagne."
"Yes, milord," Remy answered, his gaze sportive. "How much time will I have to rest between"— h is brows rose in lecherous ascen t —"meals?"
"I'd sleep when you can," Beau quietly replied. "Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, milord."
******************
The cake when it arrived was magnificent. Decorated with candied violets intertwined in a latticework piping of pale yellow almond-flavored buttercream, the chocolate-iced layers stacked atop creamy praline filling that trailed down in enticing rivulets onto a luscious base of macaroons, the presentation was enough to dazzle the most jaded palate.
Lying beneath the covers, Serena held her breath, awestruck as the young serving lad carefully placed the dramatic cake on the table. Once the boy left with the remains of their previous meal, she sat up, inquiring breathlessly, "How does Re m y manage such spectacular food in a galley kitchen so far from the markets? Candied violets ..." The delicacy had been unknown to her the last few years.
"Re m y ' s resourceful," Beau casually replied. Beyond that blanket avowal the concept of food preparation was foreign to him. "Ask him if you like," he went on, cutting a slice of cake and easing it onto a plate. "Although I know he has a walk-in cold chest because we loaded several wagons of ice on board." Handing the plate to Serena, he took pleasure in seeing the delight on her face.
"Ice?" She looked up, her first forkful already halfway to her mouth.
"For the Champagne, I expect," he said, deftly twisting off the cork on a bottle, "and maybe these." He touched a spun sugar violet. "You don't mind having dessert first, I hope."
She shook her head, her mouth too full to speak, glimpses of paradise within touching distance as the luscious blend of flavors melted on her tongue.
Touching was very much in Beau's mind too as he poured two glasses of Champagne, although his sensations were less visionary and more graphic. She was a delicious sight lushly nude, seated in the middle of his bed, her golden hair in tumbled disarray on her shoulders, her breasts ripe and full, her slender waist and graceful hips incarnate female allure, like the pale silken hair between her
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