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, Bennett 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.”
He couldn’t move as Mrs. Forbes looked at him, her gaze gentle but knowing. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
How did she know? No one knew.
She is an expert, you fool. The acknowledged Mistress of Sin can probably identify a virgin at fifty paces.
“I’m not…” Bennett choked out, “I mean…how interesting.”
“Then why don’t you step inside and we’ll take a closer look?”