“Very well,” Bennett agreed reluctantly. “How much do I owe you, then?”
“Oh, I don’t want money,” said the other man, his eyes gleaming. “I’m requesting a favor instead.”
His stomach churned. A better man would have stood firm rather than be goaded into accepting a wager with this cretin. While their parents always encouraged a friendship, Bennett had never liked the popular viscount. Since joining the Prince Regent’s Carlton House set Fletcher had grown even more obnoxious; now he drawled rather than spoke, drank to excess, and treated his wife shabbily. But if Bennett gave him the cut direct, or even unleashed a long overdue right hook, it would only start a scandal and society gossiped enough already.
“A favor? And what might that entail?” Bennett asked, with great trepidation.
“Nothing too daunting, old chap. I’m considering membership at Delilah’s Temple. I’d like you to go there tonight and tell me if it’s worth the exorbitant cost.”
Delilah’s Temple?
Bennett sucked in a breath. Bloody bastard Fletcher knew he blushed and became tongue-tied in social situations, especially ones involving ribald conversation or women. Naturally the favor would be visiting the most hedonistic pleasure club in the city, owned by the notorious Delilah Forbes, a widow from Cheapside who now reigned supreme as London’s Mistress of Sin. Such a lark, sending him into a den of debauchery to be humiliated, after which he would endure the wrath of his trustees for bringing the dukedom into disrepute.
“I can’t,” Bennett blurted, his damned annoying cheeks beginning to heat.
“Why not?”
“Er…surely Lord Hurst would disapprove.”
The viscount’s face hardened. “My father need not know. Unless you are reneging on our wager? I’d hate to have to share that tidbit around town.”
Christ. Bad enough to be gossiped about, but called dishonorable as well? Father would turn in his grave.
“Of course I’m not reneging,” Bennett replied slowly. “I…ah…received an invitation to inspect the premises some time ago, so will visit Delilah’s Temple and provide a full report.”
“Excellent! I’ll return in the morning. Not too early—you’ll need time to recover after a night of drunken depravity, eh Tun? Fare thee well,” said Fletcher, waggling his fingers and whistling a jaunty tune as he departed the library.
Trying not to shudder, Bennett unlocked his desk drawer and withdrew the gold invitation he’d hidden beneath a pile of legal documents. Really, it should have been thrown away years ago, but sometimes he pretended he was the kind of bold and lusty rake who frequented an establishment like Delilah’s Temple. Usually he shoved the invitation back in the drawer, because torturing himself was unproductive.
Not today, though.
“You can do this,” he muttered. “It’s an easy quest. Just Humdrum Tun trying to use an expired invitation for a full tour of a pleasure club without being seen.”
Good God.
Delilah Forbes loved the Temple. Had built it from nothing, created a sanctuary where patrons could discreetly, safely, and consensually explore their wickedest fantasies, and made a fortune so large she would never spend it in her lifetime.
But what nourished had also consumed these past five years. Between the relentless drive for business perfection and suppressing her own desires to manage those of London’s wealthiest each day from dusk ‘til dawn, she’d quite lost herself. It was time for a different adventure, a different life outside this luxury cage. Recently she’d come to terms with a buyer, and while Temple staff and her friends supported the decision, her banker had wept for a week.
He still looked utterly woebegone today.
Delilah stifled a chuckle as she lounged on a chaise in the lavish private parlor where she attended to employee matters and interviewed prospective members. “My offer of a fresh handkerchief still stands, Mr. Kelly, but may I add this is the month of Christmastide. A time to give thanks and be joyful.”
The dapper silver-haired gentleman sighed. “You have ever been my joy, Mrs. Forbes; never have I met a soul with such talent for turning penny into pound. But then you proceed to break my heart and give large sums away. You built a schoolroom, two soup kitchens, and that accommodation for widowed mothers…”
“All causes close to my heart,” she replied firmly.
Indeed they were. After her father was killed in a warehouse accident, she and her mother had been left in dun territory. While Mama worked long hours as a seamstress, more often than not they’d gone hungry in their cold, damp rented room. By a stroke of luck Delilah had met and married Archie Forbes, a prosperous widowed mercer, but less than a year of marital bliss later he’d fallen from his horse as it attempted to leap over a fallen tree branch. Then her exhausted, weak-lunged mother had succumbed to a fever. All alone, with her tears run dry at the staggering losses and a modest bank draft from Archie’s family in her reticule, Delilah had sworn to make her own luck. So she’d sewn a fancy gown, coaxed a loan from Mr. Kelly, and opened the Temple in Golden Square the following year.
But now, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she had other dreams. Dreams like a spacious home of her own with rose gardens and an orchard rather than rooms above a club. To find a man who wanted Dee Forbes rather than the Mistress of Sin; a man who would share supper beside the fire, support her charitable causes…and fuck her so thoroughly, so dominantly, that afterward she would slumber peacefully in his protective embrace. Perhaps they would travel. Leave London altogether and explore the seaside, the mountains, or the wild moors, even the continent now Napoleon was under British guard and soon to be imprisoned on Saint Helena.
Indeed, a whole new world awaited.
Mr. Kelly sighed again. “I can see you have quite made up your mind. But I hope, no matter what you do, that I may continue to serve. I find myself intensely curious about your next venture, and will even admit a twinge of sadness at the thought of no longer visiting this parlor. Do you know a scandal sheet offered me fifty guineas to reveal the wallpaper color? Ha. As though I would turn for such a paltry sum. A few thousand at least.”
“Your loyalty and discretion is precisely why you shall continue as my banker, sir,” said Delilah, before adding with a reluctant grin, “Also the fact that you refrain from telling me not to worry my pretty head about something.”
“I have a strong sense of self-preservation. The only woman in London who alarms me more is Mrs. Berkley, with her birches and floggers. How I managed to secure the accounts of not one but two proprietors of scandalous establishments, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“You are a fortunate man. Theresa and I recently discussed this inarguable fact over a brandy.”
“Which is why I’m so bereft you are selling,” said Mr. Kelly mournfully, as he picked up the signed contract and tucked it into his leather satchel. “But it’s official now. From January first, the Temple will no longer be yours. So enjoy the festive season, stay warm, and do call on me at any time if you require assistance.”
“Thank you. For everything. Delilah’s Temple wouldn’t have existed without you.”
He stood and offered one of his rare smiles. “I knew you would succeed. Some people have that air about them. Good evening, Mrs. Forbes.”
After her banker departed, Delilah leaned back on the padded chaise and reveled in the delicious warmth and comforting crackle of the fire, and the pleasant scents of beeswax candles and pot pourri. All were reminders of how far she had come; never would she take her wealth for granted, or deny herself a pleasure. In January she would stay in Cheapside with her oldest and dearest friend Naomi until she purchased a new house, and while she would indeed return in triumph, it would be strange to once again hear the nightly curfew peal of the Bow bells. There, nine o’clock ended a working day for many. Here at Delilah’s Temple, the doors opened to begin it.
Eventually, she forced herself to check the time. Nearly seven. Supper would be served shortly, after which the staff
would make their last rounds of the rooms downstairs to ensure all was perfect for their patrons when the club opened.
A delicate throat clearing interrupted her reverie and she turned to see one of her maids hovering at the parlor door.
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but, ah, there is a gentleman here to see you.”
Delilah’s brow furrowed. “Who? I only expected Mr. Kelly this evening.”
“You won’t believe me. I hardly believe it myself. It’s Humdrum Tun!”
She sent the maid a chiding look. “As that nickname is not affectionate or ironic, please refer to him as the Duke of Tunbury. But you’re right, I don’t believe you. There’s as much chance of him appearing on the doorstep as me being crowned Queen of England.”
“I swear His Grace is here, ma’am.”
Delilah sat up. “With a constable? Is he attempting to have us shut down?”
“No. Tunbury says he wants a tour, before everyone else arrives. He even has one of them fancy gold invitations you sent out to all the dukes, marquesses, and earls back when the Temple first opened.”
“Well I never,” she said, blinking in astonishment. “Then please inform the duke I shall be there in a few minutes.”
The maid curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hurrying to the looking glass in her dressing room, Delilah swiftly assessed her appearance. Thankfully the chignon taming her ebony hair remained intact and her sapphire-blue silk gown only had a few wrinkles. Unfortunately, though, her complexion looked a little wan and her blue eyes were shadowed, as she’d had to forgo her usual afternoon nap to read through the final bill of sale. All she could do was splash on some rosewater, pinch her cheeks, and hope for the best, because this particular arrival intrigued her greatly. Tunbury’s sister and brother-in-law were Temple members, but the siblings were as different as two people could be. A desperate shame, for she’d heard the duke was rather handsome.
With one last glance in the mirror, Delilah straightened her shoulders and made her way downstairs to the entrance hall.
“Your Grace,” she said crisply as her heels clicked on the polished marble floor. “What a pleasure.”
Tunbury turned from his position near the fireplace, and Delilah almost gasped. Good gracious. Rather handsome did not even begin to describe this devastatingly attractive young duke; so tall and broad shouldered, with thick brown hair, winter-pale skin, and eyes the silver of a rainstorm. Not even the overly austere black jacket and trousers, starched cravat, and plain waistcoat he wore could detract from those good looks.
But what was a man with such a stuffed shirt reputation doing here?
Delilah’s Temple—and its owner—were both entirely unexpected.
Bennett swallowed hard. After several trustee lectures railing against sin and this club in particular, his mind had conjured up nonsense like rooms decorated with stained red velvet and garish gold leaf, where intoxicated staff and guests stumbled around wearing little more than shoes and a smile. But the entrance hall was spotlessly clean and elegant as any grand townhouse, with cream wallpaper, wood paneling, and flecked marble floor. A shimmering crystal chandelier heavy with candles lit up the space bright as day, and one wall sported a board specifying the club rules and activities available.
As for Mrs. Delilah Forbes…she might well be the most beautiful woman in England. Quite petite; the top of her head would barely reach his chin, with pitch-black hair, deep blue eyes, creamy skin, pouty pink lips, and long, dark lashes. But most enticing of all: her gown did nothing to disguise lush breasts or the sensual sway of ample hips. No wonder London’s wealthy clamored for membership here. How odd though, that he was so attracted to her when he’d met many beautiful society women who inspired nothing more than tepid interest.
Abruptly aware he was staring like a gauche lad, Bennett somehow wrangled his limbs into a gentlemanly bow. “Good evening, madam. I appreciate you seeing me.”
Mrs. Forbes smiled. “You sparked my curiosity. I sent the invitation a long time ago, never thinking for a moment you would use it.”
“Why not?”
“Come now, Your Grace. From what I understand, you rarely indulge in theater or the opera, let alone any of the city’s wilder entertainments. If you have a mistress, you are extraordinarily discreet. Gentlemen with a reputation for—”
“Humdrum.”
She tilted her head, her gaze softening. Not with pity, but something kinder like compassion, which was perhaps most unexpected of all. Then she held out an ungloved hand. “If you truly wish a tour of the Temple, come with me.”
Bennett nodded, took her hand, and placed it on his sleeve. Good God. Her skin was so smooth and soft, the warmth near scorching through his jacket and shirt. Unnerved, he remained silent rather than betraying himself with speech.
“We’ll begin over here with the gaming hell,” she said. “Guests enjoy a constant supply of freshly prepared supper and sweets from the kitchens until a half hour before we close at dawn, alongside wine, brandy, whisky, and lemonade. The card tables are for high-stakes whist, vingt-un, commerce, and speculation. All debts must be settled before a guest leaves.”
“Sensible.”
Even as he replied, Bennett almost groaned at how stuffy he sounded. Why did he have to be so awkward? In truth though, one-word answers were preferable; perhaps then she wouldn’t discover that the touch of her hand had him perspiring, or that the mere scent of rosewater made his heart pound like he’d just run the length of Rotten Row.
“Through this door is an antechamber,” Mrs. Forbes continued. “We always have two footmen waiting to direct patrons to the theater or escort them to their allocated room for the evening.”
“Theater?”
She led him into a large space that rather remarkably resembled Drury Lane. The stage was brightly lit, but where they stood next to several tiers of cushioned seating curved in a semi-circle for unobstructed views, remained in shadow.
“It has many purposes,” she explained. “Sometimes a lecture hall—I invite experts from across the realm and beyond on topics of interest like sexual wellbeing or pleasure toys. Occasionally a play deemed too risqué for public theaters. On Tuesdays we host sensual dancing lessons. I must admit I enjoy discarding my usual clothing for a short linen tunic to twirl, shake, and skip about with the other ladies.”
Bennett closed his eyes briefly, grateful for the dim light so he might disguise his blush. His hostess was just so matter-of-fact. As though it were perfectly normal for people to talk about pleasure toys, or dance half-naked.
Perhaps it was. Perhaps most Londoners did so every night.
Yet far more troubling was an intense curiosity stirring within himself. What would it be like to listen to such a lecture, or discard one’s clothing and dance for sheer enjoyment? Did Mrs. Forbes find it arousing?
Horrified at the wayward direction of his thoughts, he cleared his throat. “The other rooms?”
“Back this way,” she replied briskly. “There are six.”
But the more Mrs. Forbes showed him of the Temple, the more wayward his thoughts became. All six rooms were decadent and possessed every comfort imaginable, such as soft beds, oversized cushions, thick rugs, silk-lined walls, and gilt mirrors. However each had been fitted for a different purpose. The first room had a vast array of costumes, everything from Spartan warrior to Shakespearean forest nymph for those who liked to role play, and he found himself wondering what it might feel like to be someone else for a few hours. The second room had a studio where fledgling artists could discard clothing and propriety to paint, and he could almost see Mrs. Forbes draped across a table while artists tried and failed to capture her bold sensuality. The third room boasted accessories to enhance sensation such as satin blindfolds, tapered feathers, lengths of silk for light bondage, and carved jade dildos of various sizes. Did she prefer the light teasing touch of silk and feather? Or to be penetrated by one of those jade items?
His blush at fever point, Benne
tt nearly asked to halt the tour. But three rooms remained.
The fourth room contained two beds that could be pushed together and a sturdy looking chaise, for— as Mrs. Forbes delicately put it—those who preferred more than one lover. He nearly gasped at the thought of her directing a group to pleasure each other. The fifth room…Christ. Rows of tiered seating along two walls, except in here the audience watched a couple or trio bedding each other. Did Mrs. Forbes ever watch? Did she slide one of those soft, warm hands down between her thighs and stroke herself as she did so?
By the time Bennett reached the sixth and final room, his mind was awhirl and his long-neglected cock harder than stone. Yes, it might just be the surroundings, but for the first time in his life he felt…rakish, like he could be one of those wicked men in the poems or etchings. Except he didn’t want to dash out and bed every woman in London, just Delilah Forbes. He’d been captivated by the beautiful and deliciously plump madam; the way her eyes shone with intelligence and pride as she escorted him about, the way she’d eased his nerves with kindness and a reassuring touch. He could almost imagine kissing her, exploring her naked body, hearing his name as a moan when he took her again and again…
“Your Grace?”
“Yes?” he rasped, attempting to sound like a dignified duke rather than a depraved one, and failing utterly.
Mrs. Forbes patted his arm. “This is the final room of the tour.”
“And the purpose?”
“This might be my favorite, although I don’t really know why. Perhaps the awe of first-time discovery.”
Bennett stilled. “How…how do you mean?”
“Some couples suffer discord in the bedchamber and desire to remedy that. So they come here for regular lessons, things like finding pleasure in their own body, intimate communication, massage, proper preparation of pussy or cock, and surrendering to orgasm. ‘Tis wonderful when two people who care deeply for one another can overcome their inhibitions or shame, perhaps a painful past experience, and receive exactly what they need in bed. Oh yes, and this is also the room where we instruct virgins or those with limited experience.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 119