No. She had a business and twenty staff to manage.
Forcing a smile, Delilah glanced over at Ben. “I’ll fetch your clothing in just a moment. My tailor promised to brush and iron the garments then leave them in my parlor.”
“Most obliging of him,” said the duke, his face frustratingly unreadable.
“He’s a marvel. I consider myself fortunate to have his expertise, even if he does lose his temper and hurl things when a costume is torn,” she replied, wanting to cringe at her over-bright babble and yet unable to curb her tongue. “Some of the most powerful men in London have cowered before him in contrition after committing crimes against fashion.”
“A good tailor knows his worth. Same for a good valet or chef.”
Delilah snatched up her quilted robe and put it on as she hurried toward the connecting door. “Indeed. Indeed. I’ll be back in the wag of a pup’s tail.”
What on earth was wrong with her?
Anyone observing would think she fled a disappointing bedchamber encounter rather than the best she’d ever had. But her heart and mind were battling for supremacy in an age-old quandary; love and pleasure against duty and responsibilities.
Why could she not have it all?
Because such is the way of the world. It’s one of the reasons you sold the Temple, remember? Balancing love and pleasure with duty is impossible.
Gritting her teeth against a stab of resentment, Delilah scooped up the neat pile of perfectly pressed garments and returned to her bedchamber. “Here you are. Feel free to make use of the warm water, there is plenty left.”
Ben nodded, and walked to the fireplace. She couldn’t help but stare as he began to sponge himself, the sensual way he dragged the flannel across his chest and around his cock, and her body demanded she drag him back to bed. Instead, Delilah handed him his fine linen shirt and trousers before walking over to the bellpull to ring for a maid to help her dress.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Forbes,” he said again, as he fastened his trouser buttons. “I do not know the proper etiquette for taking leave of a lover, so I hope I don’t offend. But…thank you. For everything. Shopping and bed.”
Delilah bit her lip. It seemed that with each item of ducal clothing, her passionate and wicked-talking Ben disappeared further into the repressed, remote Tunbury, and she wanted to unleash every curse word she knew. But there was no time to discuss this in the manner required, not when pressing Temple matters awaited her. “You are most welcome. I’m honored you entrusted me with your first bedding.”
He inclined his head as he stepped into his shoes. “I could not have chosen better. I trust the Temple will be exceedingly profitable tonight. Your carriage can still transport me and my purchases home to Grosvenor Square?”
“Of course—”
A knock sounded at the door. “Ma’am? I’m here to help you dress.”
Frustration burned, only adding to the emotions roiling and threatening to spill over. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Tunbury bowed. “Good evening, Mrs. Forbes.”
“Good evening,” Delilah whispered, curtsying.
As soon as he left her bedchamber she felt the loss keenly. How could the lavish room seem so empty, so damned lonely, when it never had before? For God’s sake, she hadn’t even known him a week!
But Ben is a man who has known terrible loss, just like you. Who understands that great wealth and position comes with great responsibility, just like you. Who made you come so hard you almost forgot your own name…
“No more,” she muttered furiously, as she marched to the dressing room. The maid sent her worried glances as she helped Delilah put on a fresh chemise, stays, petticoat, and a ruby-red velvet gown studded with pearls, but wisely said nothing.
A quarter hour later, a footman brought up a supper tray, and informed her that His Grace had returned home. Delilah toyed with her food; the baked chicken in dill sauce, vegetables, and raspberry meringue for dessert had no doubt been perfectly prepared, but it tasted like ashes in her mouth. There had been evenings in the past where she’d wanted to be anywhere but the Temple: most often the anniversaries of her father, mother, and Archie’s deaths, or a few times when she’d been unwell. But never had she felt as reluctant as this; January first suddenly seemed an eternity away.
Should she have asked Tunbury to stay?
Yes, you twit. He was a virgin. You took everything he had, then tossed him out like vegetable peelings.
Delilah groaned and rubbed her forehead in an effort to stave off both a thumping headache, and the temptation to just put on her nightgown and retreat to bed. But a full evening of Temple activities stretched ahead of her, with guests expecting their usual charming, solicitous, professional hostess.
Business stopped for no owner.
The following morning, Bennett sat in his library wearing a quilted satin robe rather than appropriate clothing, his chin rough with stubble because he’d actually declined a shave. Surrounding him were fifty baskets, a dozen boxes of sweets, enough linen, calico, and buckskin to start his own drapery, and two large leather purses filled with coins. Unfortunately he hadn’t completed a single Christmastide basket. Instead, he’d spent several hours staring broodingly at the fireplace, like one of those tormented heroes from the gothic novels that Judith so enjoyed reading.
Hell.
If his former trustees—or anyone in society—saw him like this they would have an apoplexy, but shockingly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was Delilah. Yes, he understood that she had responsibilities, just as he did. That an excellent businesswoman did not just abandon work on a whim, or to please a man they had known less than a week. However this sensible logic did not lessen the sting of what felt very much like rejection. He had given her pleasure, he knew that much. But perhaps not enough? Had he been quite dismal and lacking in stamina compared to her previous lovers, or was this just cold reality, the way stolen hours with casual lovers always ended?
How brutal.
Not for a moment did he regret the day he and Delilah had spent together shopping in Cheapside, the interlude in the carriage, or the erotically intense fucking in her bedchamber. In fact, he was relieved to no longer be a virgin, or hold nonsense thoughts in his head about his own body and its need for touch and pleasure.
But no one had warned him about the emotions, damn it. How the elation of making a woman come repeatedly, the peace of resting sated and spent atop soft curves, could be so easily snatched away. Or how he could be so easily dismissed. Delilah had been on his mind from the moment they’d met, but perhaps she didn’t feel anything for him at all. Perhaps now that his virginity had been taken care of, she considered any duty or indulgence toward him completed and would seek a new lover.
Bennett scowled at the flickering flames in front of him. It was all so damnably complicated. When he'd bedded Delilah, he’d understood why lovers broke rules, ignored propriety and risked all for pleasure. Alas, now he also understood the uncomfortable aftermath, when fantasy gave way to real life. That feeling of rightness he’d felt in her arms had obviously been an illusion—at least if he wed one of those five young ladies on the marriage list, never again would he be knocked flat on his backside by an unwanted emotional tempest. So today he would brood; tomorrow he would shave and dress and be the dignified duke he’d been trained to be.