“Or an employer attempting to prepare something nice for his staff?” Bennett shot back, in no mood for social niceties. They had invaded his library after all.
Judith and her husband exchanged a meaningful glance. Knowing they had that special bond, two people who actually loved each other alongside the rampant lust that he now understood but definitely did not want to think about in relation to his sister, only increased his irritation.
“I’ve ordered tea,” said Judith surprisingly gently. “We’ll help with these baskets, but I hope that you’ll also tell me what is weighing on your mind. Is there someone who must perish from an untraceable poison in their syllabub? Perhaps fall from a castle turret in the middle of a violent storm?”
“Those bloody novels. Preston, why do you permit it?”
His brother in law shrugged. “As long as it’s not me being poisoned or shoved off a turret, I really don’t mind. And reading makes her happy.”
The couple exchanged another look, sweet enough to give him toothache. But then Judith marched straight over to the chaise and sat down, Preston following to settle his lanky form next to her.
“What is troubling you, Bennett?” asked his sister bluntly, her gaze concerned. “Is it that the anniversary of Father’s death rapidly approaches? I don’t hold with the ‘buck up, soldier’ nonsense, and neither does Preston. It is quite, quite acceptable to be sad. Or is it a winter malaise, perhaps? London weather is truly terrible, so cold and bleak and miserable.”
He hesitated. Alongside countless lectures on the folly of sin and self-pleasure, how often had he been told that a duke remained stoic at all times, that accepting comfort was a weakness? Yet he needed to get these chaotic thoughts out of his head to reduce their power, much like he’d done when confiding in Delilah.
“Father’s death will always be on my mind, as will my abrupt inheritance,” Bennett began slowly. “I dislike the cold, and have no great love for Christmastide. Because of these elements, it is true December is my least favorite month of the year. But it is not any of those things.”
“If I didn’t know better, Tunbury,” said Preston, tapping his knee, “I might think it someone rather than something.”
“No,” he replied swiftly. “Of course not.”
Judith clapped her hands and sat forward on the chaise. “Liar!” she crowed. “Oh my word. You’ve met someone and they’ve turned you upside down and inside out. I’m torn between offering a hug and dancing a jig. Now you can throw away that foolish list drawn up by the three old windbags, and wed for love instead.”
Bennett jerked to his feet and stumbled over to the hearth. For the longest time, he concentrated fiercely on an unnecessary stoking of the fire. Then he sighed. “No. I can’t.”
“Oh dear. May I ask…are we talking about a woman? Or perhaps…a gentleman?”
He blinked at the unusually tentative question, but Judith had always been far worldlier than him, even though younger in age. “A woman. But she is…we are…I don’t even bloody know. I thought there was more than a strong attraction between us. A certain closeness, the ability to discuss any matter, even delicate ones. She is wise and thoughtful and plainspoken. I feel…at ease in her company.”
Preston nodded. “That’s how I feel about Judy.”
“Except my sister returns your affection,” Bennett said sharply. “And you’re both accepted in the ton.”
Silence greeted his words, and he cursed at revealing such telling details. Straightening his shoulders to at least vaguely resemble a man possessing composure, Bennett turned back to face them. The deep sympathy he saw did not improve his temper.
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Judith.
“Yes,” he replied, tightening his robe sash. “Assist me with these damned baskets. You know how much cloth is required. But I swear on the good book, if even a single sweet goes missing, it will be you two falling from a castle turret.”
“Outrageous tyranny,” said his sister with a sniff, but they were soon hard at work.
Bennett exhaled in relief.
This was the answer, staying occupied. As long as he remained busy, he could banish Delilah Forbes from his mind and find a measure of solace, even contentment.
Surely.
Chapter 6
“I cannot believe you dragged me along to a hospital fundraising meeting of all things, Dee. This is quite beyond the reasonable bounds of friendship.”
Delilah grinned at Naomi as they strolled arm in arm about the large Curzon Street drawing room. “I’ve attended many. Without fail, they are fifty percent gossip, thirty percent afternoon tea, fifteen percent skullduggery, and five percent fundraising. More importantly, they are an opportunity for you to win over the most important society matrons in London. Let’s make Wickham’s Confectionery as well known for sweets as Gunter’s is for ices.”
“Are they…” Naomi lowered her voice, “…kind to you? Knowing your occupation?”
“It does help that I’m very wealthy,” she admitted. “And that several high-ranking ladies here attend the Temple. Of course others give me the cut direct or are rude, but I try to ignore that. I’m not angling for soiree invitations or to marry their sons or brothers. I just like to contribute to a good cause, enjoy a nice afternoon tea, and tut over aristocrats behaving badly.”
Naomi giggled. “Sounds excellent. Not a lot of scandal in my Cheapside kitchen.”
“Apart from you and Wickham decorating each other with spun sugar when the children are sleeping,” Delilah said pointedly.
“I don’t know how that shocking rumor started. Everyone knows that a couple wed ten years with three in the nursery is naught but dull and respectable.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“As are yours. So feel free to confess the truth about you and Mr. Innsworth, a man who looks remarkably like a certain duke.”
Heat scorched her cheeks. “You know.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “He is a handsome, rich bachelor with an ancient title. Dressing up as a clerk doesn’t change that, although it was rather endearing how much he enjoyed the sweets. And the way he looked at you, I might add.”
Regret stabbing like a dagger, Delilah stopped to admire a gilt-framed portrait of playful spaniels on the wall. Five days had passed since she’d politely tossed Ben out of her bedchamber; and while a part of her hoped he might return or send a note, of course he hadn’t. Why would he? And she couldn’t exactly visit him in Grosvenor Square. Society gossiped about each of them sufficiently already.
Two very different lives had collided and intertwined in the most wonderful way, but their time together could be nothing but a blissful memory. With only a few weeks left owning the Temple, business had to be the center of her world. Not Ben. No matter how much she missed him and their conversations, the shopping, and eating supper in front of the fire. Or how much she craved his kisses, his cock inside her, to scream with pleasure as he made her come…
“Ouch!” Delilah yelped as Naomi’s elbow gouged a hole in her ribcage. “What that was for?”
“You whimpered.”
Good grief.
“Beg pardon. Let’s continue over to the afternoon tea table and add some Wickham’s Confectionery calling cards. The matrons need an address to send their staff to after they’ve tasted your samples. Oh yes, and the latest news is most likely to be heard there.”
It took a quarter hour to cross the drawing room; several ladies greeted her and she introduced Naomi to them and praised her sweets to the sky. Ben’s generous purchase would stave off the creditors for a while, but her friend needed new customers and regular orders. As they both knew, signs and invitations were nothing compared to word of mouth for a business, especially at the speed that it travelled across London.
When at last they reached the table near-groaning with pastries and tarts, each poured a cup of tea with lemon, then added a selection of food to a plate. Delilah and Naomi didn’t speak, just ate while excha
nging smiles and nods as they learned Lady Byron had birthed a daughter named Augusta Ada, Napoleon loathed his new accommodations on Saint Helena, and the latest Ackermann’s Repository included a bewildering array of floral detail on hems.
But Delilah’s smile dimmed as two more women joined them, loudly discussing ‘Humdrum Tun.’
“I was delighted when Humdrum accepted the ball invitation; you know how particular he is,” said the first with a smug smile. “There were only five names on the marriage list, this means he has all but settled on my Chloe for his future bride. We must move quickly and decisively though, get them married at once. I don’t trust those other girls not to try and force a wedding, even with a groom so cold and lacking in genial conversation. How often is there an English duke wandering about unwed?”
“Oh indeed, get them leg shackled without delay,” said the other woman, sipping her tea. “It adds a certain cache to have a duke in the family. And unlike some peers, Tun’s actually wealthy, almost vulgarly so. I hope you ordered Chloe a low-cut gown that tears with little encouragement, and she’s well-versed in turning an ankle or being discovered in a library with her hair disheveled.”
“Naturally! One does what one must to land the biggest fish, and there is none bigger than His Grace. Chloe can always seek amusement elsewhere after she’s done her duty.”
“A most civilized arrangement.”
Rage boiled through Delilah, and she set down her teacup before it shattered in her hand. The way these women spoke about Ben! Not a man, just a walking, talking, titled bank account. They didn’t know that he cared about others, possessed a dry sense of humor, and could eat sweets by the plateful. Or that he’d been able to shrug off the chains of his trustees’ influence and learn all sorts of splendid skills. This Chloe wouldn’t invite intimate conversation over an informal parlor supper, or welcome him into her bed for hours of sensual bliss. She wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t understand his painful past and mind him properly…
“Dee,” muttered Naomi, tugging on her arm. “You are hissing like a boiling kettle, but a drawing room is never the right place for a bloodbath. We should leave.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Taking a deep breath to calm her temper, Delilah permitted her friend to escort her back to the carriage. She couldn’t have managed alone; not seething with righteous indignation and jealousy.
“Oh hell,” she mumbled, when they were settled inside and the carriage began to move. “I think I might have tender feelings for Ben.”
Naomi smiled. “Indeed? I’m very relieved, after you locked yourself away for so long.”
“I wasn’t locked away, just busy,” said Delilah with a frown.
“You have twenty staff, lovie. You choose to oversee everything yourself.”
“It’s my business. No one cares about success or failure of it as much as I do. And I don’t have a Wickham at my side to share the burden with.”
Naomi leaned forward and took her hand. “Because you’ve never allowed a lover close enough to try. But His Grace is different, isn’t he? Free tour of the Temple, supper for two, a shopping excursion…and don’t lie to me, I wager you know exactly what he looks like naked.”
She sighed in defeat. “Magnificent. In every way. But afterward I said all the wrong things and told him to leave rather than inviting him to stay. I think I hurt him, which I regret. And I hurt myself, for now I can’t stop thinking about him. All the damned time.”
“Delilah Marie Forbes, for an intelligent woman, you are behaving like a complete henwit. Just apologize! Write a groveling note. Send sweets. Offer to dress up or paint him or suck his cock. But do something. You’ve never been a woman who sits back and waits. Don’t start now.”
Delilah smiled morosely. If only it were that easy.
But everything felt different with Ben. With tender feelings involved, and that rampant lust as well, every step seemed a higher risk with a greater chance of failure. They were similar in a surprising number of ways, yet the gulf between a pleasure club madam and a duke might be too wide.
She had risked a great deal to start the Temple. Did she dare risk her heart?
Lord and Lady Nawton’s ball was probably a good indicator of his future life; stern approval by stuffy old men, those his own age slyly thumping his shoulder and calling him ‘Tun’, a beautiful, well-mannered lady standing next to him that he didn’t love and who didn’t love him, both assessing how they could discreetly drift apart.
Bennett finished his brandy, just for something to do. He should have declined the invitation rather than accepting because the Nawtons were related to Lord Hurst and Lady Chloe Nawton sat atop the marriage list. In truth, one thing had become obvious: after the events of the past few weeks, a society marriage was not for him. Now he’d had a taste of passion and companionship, of the freedom in asking questions and discovering his true self…he couldn’t return to the dour, stifling cage of his former existence. He wanted a wife who he cared about and who cared about him in return. Friends he liked and admired, not those judged appropriate by others.
“How do you find the brandy, Your Grace?”
He forced himself to smile at Lady Chloe. The host’s daughter had practically planted herself next to him the moment he’d walked in the door, but he saw no lust or affection or even shy excitement in her eyes. The young lady danced attendance on him only because she’d been instructed to do so. “Quite tolerable, thank you. I’m just contemplating another.”
“Oh! Papa keeps the best vintage in his library. Would you like some of that?”
“You are very kind, but I’ll just accept one of these,” he replied, wanting to hug the footman who passed by at that moment with a full tray, much to Lady Chloe’s visible dismay.
Actually, after observing interactions between mother and daughter comprising of frowning head tilts and hand signals, he wanted nothing more than to trail the footman around the ballroom until the tray was empty and his head pleasantly fuddled. Perhaps then he would stop pondering how Delilah might be spending the evening. Overseeing a game of whist or dancing half-naked? At play in the costume room or being painted with red and green candle wax? Even retreating to her bedchamber for another quick, stolen orgasm?
“No, damn it,” he muttered when his imagination helpfully provided explicit thoughts of each.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace?” said Lady Chloe, stepping closer. “You do not care for the art of Mr. Constable?”
Bennett gripped his fresh brandy glass while estimating the distance to the ballroom door. Did a man seeking to escape the marriage mart first create a distraction, or just plow ahead while avoiding all eye contact? “I am a great admirer of his landscapes. One has pride of place in my library.”
“How very interesting,” she replied, tentatively resting her hand on his sleeve. “Mr. Constable painted my portrait, it’s in the gallery. You simply must come and view it.”
“Ah—”
“Tun, Tun, Tunny!” bellowed two familiar if slurred voices beside him.
Christ. The men he disliked most in the world, yet he’d never been happier at an interruption.
“Evening, Sir Giles,” said Bennett. “Fletcher, are you here with your father?”
“I am, old boy, I am. He’s delighted to see you in the company of the lovely Lady Chloe, thinks you look divine together. My dear girl, I hope the duke isn’t boring you too dreadfully.”
“Not at all,” Lady Chloe tittered, her gaze darting over his shoulder before returning. “We were just discussing art. But His Grace is naughty and won’t accompany me to the gallery to look at my portrait.”
“Oh. Bad form, Tun,” said Sir Giles with a frown. “And you’re not dancing, either. Must I sit you down and offer lessons in being a gentleman? Thought Fletch’s father had taken care of that, but perhaps not.”
Bennett gritted his teeth, a frequent occurrence whenever the two men were nearby. But there would be a terrible scandal if he succumbed to temptation and finally
let fly with a right hook in the middle of the Nawton ballroom. “You are right,” he said curtly. “I have been remiss. Lady Chloe, would you care to dance?”
“I would adore that,” she replied, her bright smile quite false.
They had barely taken the floor, perhaps two turns into the set, when Bennett could no longer hold his tongue. “Why did you stay and talk or agree to dance when your heart isn’t in it even a little?”
Lady Chloe’s eyes bulged, and she actually stumbled. “I…er…”
He succeeded in halting her fall and twirled her twice more, closer to the wall so they might converse without being overheard. “Is there someone you do wish to be with?”
“Ah…well…” the young lady’s shoulder’s sagged. “Yes. My family doesn’t approve because he’s a third son, a new curate with only modest wealth. But if Seth could just find a parish, I’m sure I could eventually coax Papa around…”
“It’s not easy when the expectations of others weigh heavily. If you must pretend to be someone you aren’t.”
Lady Chloe shook her head, a small but genuine smile lifting her lips. “No. It isn’t easy at all. Do you know, you are the first person to ask my preference and the last person I thought ever would. I apologize for my silliness earlier and mean no offense, but not every woman wishes to be a duchess. I desire a simpler future away from the ton, as a clergyman’s wife.”
“If that is the truth, then have your Seth send me his credentials,” Bennett said gruffly. “I may have an opportunity on one of my estates.”
She gasped. “But why would you do us such a great favor? You barely know me.”
“Not everyone has the chance to wed for love. But if he cares for you, and you return that affection, then it is only right to do something in my power to assist. Don’t tell anyone, though. I have a humdrum reputation to maintain.”
“Your Grace, I…” Lady Chloe looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “I don’t really know what to say. But thank you. Thank you so very much. You’ve no idea what a difference that would make to my life. I must apologize again, for the times I’ve listened to gossip instead of discovering the truth for myself. I wish you future happiness, that you might know love like I do with Seth. Now I hope you’ll permit me to flee to the powder room before my face turns blotchy and Mother has a fit of the vapors.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 125