“You want to know how it is that I’m still a virgin.”
“Yes. If the choice is a heavy weight, unburden yourself.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
Delilah Forbes must have some otherworldly power. He shouldn’t still be here at the Temple, let alone accepting an invitation to dine, when she’d already extracted several pieces of information and a jest from him. But she was captivating well beyond mere attraction; in fact he could barely remember the five names on the marriage list. Not just beautiful, but trustworthy and kind.
Bennett rubbed a hand across his chin as he pondered how best to explain his virginity. A part of him shied away at the thought of being frank about such a delicate topic. On the other hand, he’d become so very weary of feeling crushed by shamed secrecy. “While I attend church regularly,” he began, “I do not hold fixed beliefs on sexual activity prior to marriage.”
“So you would accept an experienced wife?”
He blinked in surprise at the calm directness. Judith was equally direct but volatile, and society mostly offered sly jabs. He liked this. “That is a fair question. A fair answer is yes. However there is the matter of ensuring an heir is of my blood.”
Mrs. Forbes nodded. “I can appreciate the notion, although I will never understand the aristocratic habit of marrying those they can scarcely tolerate. Why don’t peers wed a woman they like and desire? So they might enjoy it, each be faithful, and thus never wonder if a child is theirs or the lord’s next door?”
“It’s not as simple as that—”
“It is exactly as simple as that, Your Grace,” she replied, leaning forward to lift the cover from her tray. “Gracious, I’m hungry.”
Heavenly scents filled the parlor and his mouth watered at the sight of thickly sliced rare beef, buttered new potatoes, green beans in cream sauce, and freshly baked dinner rolls. “That does look delicious.”
His hostess sampled a bite of juicy beef and winked. “Oh, it is. And all you have to do to enjoy the first course is tell me how you are still a virgin.”
Bennett sighed. How humbling to discover the master key to unlocking his best-kept secret was a beefsteak. Perfectly prepared and served, yes, but still a damned beefsteak. “The truth isn’t very interesting, or dramatic. I was fifteen when my father passed and I inherited the dukedom. Until the age of twenty-one, I remained surrounded by a gaggle of guardians and trustees—actually the trustees oversaw my father’s fortune until I turned twenty-five back in October, as per the terms of his will. They had…certain expectations. Certain rigid beliefs that provoked punishment or reward. I soon learned it was easier to…”
“Yes?”
Bennett stared at the fireplace, his brow furrowing. Even with Judith’s open loathing of the trustees, he’d been too busy to seriously examine his treatment by them. As he’d said to her, he was mostly grateful that three scrupulously upright peers hadn’t cheated him or stolen funds. But in truth, to receive his quarterly allowance he’d had to follow strict, non-negotiable rules, laughably dressed up as ‘guidance’ and ‘advice’. All those weekly reports sent on the progress of his studies, who he spent time with, the cleanliness of his rooms, even asking about the bedsheets. Worst of all, he could still recall with great clarity his intense humiliation after several thundering lectures on the terrible physical and moral dangers of self-pleasure. He’d learned not to risk it, especially when dispersal of funds could be slow as a team of oxen when the trustees were displeased, or swift as a brown hare when he behaved as they wished.
“I…ah…”
“Perhaps have something to eat first, Tunbury,” said Mrs. Forbes softly, as she removed the cover from his tray.
In no time at all he’d cleared his plate, although the expensive French chef would be grossly offended, for he could not describe the quality of the food, or the taste. All he could think about was this abrupt understanding of how the trustees had shaped his path. No, not shaped. Carved. His sister knew the truth, that their influence had been unduly negative. Which then begged the question: why was he a virgin, really? Might it have nothing to do with personal preference or lack of a strong attraction to the women he’d met, and instead be because of instilled shame about his body’s natural functions and desires, his need for affectionate touch?
Good God. A lot to absorb in one evening.
“Tunbury? I’m not going to ask if you are well, because it is quite obvious you are grappling with uncomfortable thoughts. But if there is anything I can do to assist, please tell me.”
Bennett turned to his hostess. Mrs. Forbes gazed back with genuine concern. Actually, she might be the only person in London who wouldn’t laugh at his question, tell him he was weak or foolish, or to buck up. “Earlier you said you helped couples suffering discord. Those who had perhaps experienced something painful. Would that just be, ah, physical?”
“No. Words can leave deep scars, whether people realize or not. My ladies and I have worked with many women who’ve had their heads filled with nonsense in regard to the marriage bed. That the act should hurt, that it’s not ever for their enjoyment, just conceiving children. Or that they must suppress lust and desire because they are wives and mothers…oh, it makes me furious. Others are ashamed of their bodies. Too fat or thin, too short or tall, the color of their nipples or the thickness of their bush, even some who have never pleasured themselves.”
“Any…men?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, his cheeks hot enough to boil water.
“Of course. Many men also hold shame about their size or shape, whether they’ll admit it or not is another matter. Some struggle to come. Others worry about the size of their cock, or if they are truly pleasing their lover. Quite frequently though, the battle is in their mind and requires a retraining of thought undertaken in a private and caring place.”
Bennett nodded slowly. “I think that is my issue. A mind battle over things said to me as a younger man. Acts I was punished for with lectures or delays in dispersal of funds.”
“Acts such as touching yourself?” asked Mrs. Forbes as she took a spoonful of the berry syllabub with vanilla cream the chef had also provided on the tray.
“Yes,” he replied eventually, resigning himself to having no control whatsoever over his suddenly talkative tongue. If someone had told him earlier that he would be spending the evening sitting in a pleasure club parlor, eating supper with the scandalous madam, and casually discussing the most awkward and forbidden of topics, he would have declared them drunk.
But Delilah Forbes was just so easy to talk to. So thoughtful. And these qualities were perhaps more impressive than her beauty and wonderfully lush figure.
He liked her, damn it.
“Mmmm, syllabub is scrumptious,” Mrs. Forbes said with a contented sigh as she put down her empty dish, before stretching her arms above her head so her gown pulled tight against those perfect breasts. “Although I’m still not convinced dessert is better than orgasms. Talking of orgasms, when did you last make yourself come, Your Grace? I noticed downstairs you sported a rather prominent erection during the tour. Which room aroused you most?”