I look forward to hearing more about those thoughts later Baroness" he had murmured to her in the dining room.

Later came soon enough. After dinner the whole family always gathered to do their own activities together - read, play chess, practice music, or do homework - then it was bedtime for the children. Though bedtime was now staggered for the older children so that they could stay in their rooms and read, Maria and Georg would often retire early after putting the little ones to bed and bidding the older ones goodnight. If the household staff noticed that the Baron and Baroness had such a scandalously early bedtime they were too discreet to mention it, undoubtedly also making allowances for the couple's newlywed status.

Georg opened the door leading to their bedroom, his impeccable manners letting Maria go ahead of him as usual. He shut the door, leaning back against it with one hand behind his back still holding the door handle. "Well?" he asked as he watched her move to the far end of the room, his eyes gleaming, not needing to elaborate on the question of what had caused her blushes at the dinner table. She could feel her face turning pink again, as she attempted to dismiss it with an airy "Oh it was nothing really."

He went over to the gramophone and put on one of their favourite pieces - Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. With a slight crackling and scratching sound the record started, bringing delicate violin notes wafting into the room. Having already shed his jacket on a chair he walked slowly towards her while undoing the cufflinks that she always struggled with, "Maria you have always been terrible at lying," he murmured.

She felt a thrill of excitement as he approached, anticipating what would happen. Her back was against the wall as he stood close to her. Placing his hands on the wall behind her on either side of her head, he leaned forward, his mouth tantalizingly close. "Tell me" he whispered.

His nearness, the warmth of his body, the smell of his aftershave mixed with his own personal scent, that beautiful mouth so close, and the exquisite notes of cello and violins reaching crescendo, were all playing havoc with her senses as she struggled to focus on what he had asked her. Her eyes on the scar on his chin that she loved to kiss, she reached up to undo his tie and the top buttons of his shirt. Her delicate fingers pulled his shirt from his trousers and reached underneath his shirt to stroke the skin of his waist and back loving the feel of the smoothness and hardness of skin and muscle.

She heard his sharply indrawn breath as her fingers found that particular spot under his ribs that always had him closing his eyes in pleasure. When he opened them again they were dark with desire. She undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt letting it hang open, her hands roaming, caressing sensitive areas of his chest, placing soft kisses on his throat and tasting the skin there. She could see the movement of his throat muscles in response, his breathing ragged.

He still did not kiss her, trying to maintain control over the situation and force an answer from her, though the rapid rise and fall of his chest told her that he was losing the struggle. She too was finding it hard to breathe as her heart began to beat faster, the heat rising in her, a familiar ache within her feminine core as her need for him rapidly escalated.

Watching her intently, with one hand he reached down and drew her hips into the hardness of his and she realized with a jolt of need that he was already deeply and passionately aroused. She felt her whole body clench in response, the ache becoming unbearable. She reached up and brought his lips down on hers, at the same time pressing her hips desperately against him, helpless with desire. And then they were both lost, the question long forgotten, both of them struggling to free each other from their clothes without breaking the kiss, as he edged her rapidly towards the bed.

Much later, the music had changed by the time their breathing and heartbeats had slowed. The superb soprano duet 'Barcarolle' from the opera Tales of Hoffman by Offenbach was now playing. The soprano voices were almost unearthly in their beauty, and she felt her heart soar with it.

They had started playing music in their suite of rooms soon after returning from their honeymoon. It always added an exquisite dimension to their private moments because they both loved music so deeply. It also served the purpose of hiding their intimate sounds, because as Georg had teased her – they were sometimes rather noisy. She had been horrified to think that the staff, or worse – the children, would be able hear them, even though they were on the third floor. So the dramatic sounds of Beethoven, the exuberance of Mozart, the romance of Chopin or the intricate pieces of Bach were often heard coming from their bedroom using his latest model gramophone or the wireless which he had had moved into their suite.

Now they lay together her head pillowed on his shoulder while she drew small circles with her fingers on the surprisingly soft sprinkling of hair on his chest, unable to resist pressing her mouth to his slightly salty skin now and then. She sighed blissfully as the ethereal music flowed over them. The Barcarolle had become her favourite piece since their honeymoon. Georg had taken her to see the opera Tales of Hoffman when they were in Paris. Later that night he had translated the words from the Barcarolle from its original French - Belle nuit , o nuit d'amour (Beautiful night, oh night of love), interspersing each line with kisses along her body. It still made her shiver with the pleasure of it.

Barcarolle* (Tales of Hoffman opera, by Jacques Offenbach)

Lovely night, oh, night of love
Smile upon our joys!
Night much sweeter than the day
Oh beautiful night of love!
Time flies by, and carries away
Our tender caresses for ever!
Time flies far from this happy oasis
And does not return
Burning zephyrs
Embrace us with your caresses!
Burning zephyrs
Give us your kisses!
Your kisses! Your kisses! Ah!
Lovely night, oh, night of love
Smile upon our joys!
Night much sweeter than the day
Oh, beautiful night of love!
Ah! Smile upon our joys!
Night of love, oh, night of love!
Ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!

Paris. She smiled with remembered happiness of their honeymoon. Memories of long languorous afternoons in their honeymoon suite, the windows and shutters thrown open to the muted sounds from the streets below, sunlight streaming in while a ceiling fan whirred overhead, soft as a breeze cooling their heated skin. She remembered the many hours lost in wonder and delight at the beauty of each other's bodies, when they would lose track of time and meals and only emerge occasionally to stroll the boulevards and parks. Often it would only take a look or a touch on the arm from one to the other to send them rushing back to their hotel, barely making it into their private suite before the desire would overwhelm them again.

She continued to be astonished, even now eight months into their marriage that her sophisticated and very experienced husband seemed to find her irresistible. She was frankly amazed at the power she seemed she seemed to have over him. A feeling of joy and even feminine pride coursed through her at the knowledge that her touch, her caresses and her kisses could elicit gasps, shudders of desire and agonized groans of pleasure from him. She remembered how as she overcame her shyness in those early weeks of their marriage he had encouraged her to explore his body with her hands and her lips as he had done with hers. A blush crept up her face as she remembered the things they had done, as well as his tender amusement at her initial shock during their honeymoon that he did not feel the need to constrain their activities to the bed or the bedroom or even nighttime hours.

"Maria?" he murmured, interrupting her reminiscences and bringing her back to the present.

"Mmm? Yes darling?" She had thought he had already drifted off into sleep.

"You didn't answer my question."

* lyrics translated by