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.”
Bennett bowed. “Lady Chloe.”
As she scampered away, his spirits improved. There was a great deal of satisfaction to be gained in assisting others. Perhaps he should begin a service; it was certainly a welcome distraction from his own personal upheavals.
Without warning, a hand clamped on his shoulder. “Tunbury. Do you have a moment?”
He turned in surprise at Lord Hurst’s oddly strained voice. “Of course, my lord.”
“I need a favor, undertaken with the utmost discretion,” whispered his former trustee as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.
“You’re in luck—‘tis my night for granting favors.”
Lord Hurst didn’t smile. “It’s Fletcher.”
Somehow Bennett refrained from snorting. Although how curious that the earl hadn’t swept up the matter personally as he usually did for his obnoxious heir. “Yes?”
“My son was tricked into submitting a membership application to that sinner’s club, Deborah’s Temple or whatever it is. Fortunately the lowborn owner declined! But now Fletcher is on his way there to protest the decision, and…ah…he’s had a little too much to drink. Of course I cannot be seen at such a notorious location…”
Hell and damnation.
“Sir Giles as well?” he asked curtly.
“No, he wanted to stay and dance. Say you’ll assist. You do owe me so much after all.”
Bennett’s fists clenched. But there wasn’t time for a verbal duel, he needed to warn Delilah. If he could just get to Golden Square before that cretin created a scene, perhaps her business could be spared a visit from a constable, or worse, being closed by order of a magistrate. Under no circumstances could he let her pride and joy be ruined by bloody Fletcher.
“I’m on my way,” he growled.
Hopefully he would get there in time.
“Never mind, ma’am. I’ll clean it up.”
Delilah smiled apologetically at the maid, all while muttering darkly at the small mound of clotted cream and berry tart now decorating the gaming hell floor. Since the moment she’d come to the startling realization that she had feelings for Ben, all skill and common sense had flown out the window and absolutely nothing had gone right.
This evening alone she’d broken a shoe heel, failed to order sufficient salmon from the fishmonger, singed a gown hem with a too-enthusiastic stoking of the fire in her bedchamber, and now she’d managed to drop her bowl of dessert. The only small mercy had been the bowl remaining intact and not smashing into a thousand pieces; if she’d interrupted the card playing going on around her there would have been near-riots. Aristocrats took their whist and vingt-un extremely seriously.