Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  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?”

  Chapter 2

  A virgin duke!

  If she’d been curious about Tunbury earlier, now Delilah positively burned to learn more. It was simply impossible to reconcile cold and dull Humdrum Tun with this reserved but attentive man who blushed at the sight of pleasure rooms and was currently attempting—very unsuccessfully—to disguise an impressive bulge in his trousers. She’d already suspected he might be inexperienced because of the sheer wonder on his face and the halting questions he asked during the tour. His reaction when she oh-so-casually mentioned the word virgin had practically confirmed it. But how could that be? How had a wealthy, handsome Londoner who must be at least twenty-four or twenty-five, not yet bedded even one lover?

  Strolling into the sixth room, which was decorated in soothing tones of ivory and primrose, Delilah halted in the center before turning and smiling encouragingly at the younger man. Tunbury remained as skittish as a colt; throughout the tour it seemed he’d been torn between staying to learn more about the Temple, and fleeing for the sake of his ducal dignity. She needed to tread very carefully if she wanted to coax the story out of him, if it was a religious preference to remain a virgin until marriage, then she could admire the willpower. But she sensed it was a different reason entirely, and that made him even more intriguing.

  “Do come in,” she repeated softly. “I am an excellent listener who will take all secrets to the grave. Discretion is a cornerstone of Delilah’s Temple; we are not here to judge others in their preferences or choices, but to assist them in embracing their true selves and discovering lasting happiness.”

  Tunbury stepped a few feet into the room, his shoulders stiff but his gaze darting about. “It is well appointed. All the rooms are.”

  “Thank you,” Delilah said, beaming. “I chose the furnishings and fittings for each of them. I do redecorate regularly though, then if anyone attempts to make money by selling information to the scandal rags, it would soon be out of date. I assume I can rely on you to stay away from Fleet Street, Your Grace?”

  He hesitated. “You place too much faith in me, madam. I…lost a wager. A usually reliable horse finished fourth and my forfeit was an evening here so I could report back to a lord interested in membership. I’d much rather have handed over some guineas, but had I refused, he would have publicly branded me dishonorable. And, er, ruined my standing in the eyes of appropriate marriage prospects.”

  “I see,” she said, unable to halt a raised eyebrow at ‘appropriate marriage prospects’. Never would she understand the aristocracy and their ludicrous insistence on marrying without love or affection. “Well, of course I cannot stop you providing a report, but I also cannot grant membership to your friend—”

  “Fletcher is not my friend,” Tunbury replied bluntly, his fists flexing.

  Delilah bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “Then your sworn enemy. Those who season a favor with a sprinkling of blackmail are unwelcome in the Temple. My patrons pay a great deal of money to ensure their comfort and privacy, and I stake my reputation on that.”

  “Hmmm. I’ll tell him I made it as far as the card room before being forcibly escorted out of the building by two men the size of barn doors. One I might have bested. But two? Alas not.”

  “My dear duke, that sounded remarkably like a jest. Beware lest your halo of humdrum be tarnished.”

  Delilah almost regretted teasing Tunbury when he looked away and rocked on his shoe heels, as though debating whether to leave. Then he sighed. “If I am humdrum because I choose not to bed other men’s wives, keep a mistress, or leave a trail of maids with swollen bellies, then so be it.”

  “I believe you choose to bed no one, Your Grace. Have never done so,” Delilah said gently. “If I am wrong, I shall beg your pardon, but I do not think I am.”

  The duke stared at her for the longest time as he weighed and measured her bold words. Several times it looked like he might say something only to halt and reconsider, and while that might be frustrating for her curiosity, she certainly understood his caution. The scandal rags were often filled with betrayals; people sharing tidbits for money or to inflict vengeance, and trust could be extremely difficult for those who’d been burned.

  Delilah Forbes, Mistress of Sin knew that better than most.

  A waving handkerchief down the hallway caught her eye, and she beckoned the maid toward her. “Yes?”

  “Beg pardon, ma’am, but supper is ready. Do you wish it served in here or your parlor? Will His Grace be staying? I can fetch an extra plate and cutlery.”

  Delilah glanced at her guest. “Would you like to join me for supper? You’d be most welcome, and I can guarantee the food is as good as anywhere in Mayfair thanks to an eye-wateringly expensive French chef. His desserts are nearly as good as an orgasm, but don’t tell him I said that or he’ll pout for a week. He believes they are better.”

  Tunbury coughed, with a slight hint of wheeze. Good gracious, had he almost laughed? Or would that be a step too far this evening? It might well be a step too far for her pussy. The duke looked attractive enough grave and reserved or even blushing, she could only imagine how handsome he would be with a wry little grin…oh dear. Clearly it had been too long between lovers if she could be seduced by the thought of a smile. Over the years since dear Archie’s untimely death, several suitors had attempted to woo her, some just her bank accounts, but they never lasted long. Men didn’t take kindly to ranking second after a business, and she certainly had no intention of ceding her hard-won fortune or being dictated to. But an affair with a handsome virgin duke who didn’t want her money, before she departed the Temple to begin her new life?

  That just might be worth considering.

  He coughed again. “I believe I will. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” Delilah assured him, discreetly pressing her legs together against a pulse of arousal. Even now she could imagine that dark brown hair brushing her inner thighs as she taught him how to please her with his tongue, or his big, hard body pressing her into the bed as he fucked her rough and deep with all the vigor a younger lover could muster. “Let’s retire upstairs to my parlor, shall we?”

  They walked in silence up the wooden stairs, although each click and clomp of heel only seemed to heighten her awareness of him. Tunbury had a pleasant scent of soap and peppermint rather than the far more common Sandalwood, and the arm under her hand, currently hidden by linen shirt and immaculate black jacket, felt strong and firm.

  On her best behavior so she didn’t frighten him away, Delilah refrained from glancing at his trousers again for further confirmation of a large cock or hard thighs. There would be plenty of time for that later. Instead, she gestured for him to enter the parlor and sit in one of the leather armchairs in front of the fire, while she lit more candles so the room had a warm, buttery glow. A few minutes later two maids brought in a covered tray each, set them on the low table between the armchairs, then left the room and shut the door behind them.

  The duke stared at the trays. “I find myself curious as to what your chef has prepared. Are his other courses also nearly as good as, well, you know?”

  Delilah nodded. “They certainly are. Now, I won’t make you sing for your supper, but I would encourage you to speak for it.”

  “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 a
ccepting 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?”

  Bennett froze. Well, all parts of him except his cock did. It seemed that foolish appendage had woken again, and as the madam’s gaze flicked between his face and his groin, it grew harder and harder. Hell, the constriction in his trousers was becoming nigh on unbearable. Yet she didn’t take pity on him and look away, just kept watching his cock rise and strain.

  Was he hallucinating? Surely the Mistress of Sin couldn’t want Humdrum Tun. Not after all his embarrassing confessions. Yet her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, and the expression on her face could only be described as pure hunger.

  “Not the rooms,” he blurted, as his heart pounded with excitement, arousal, and anxiety that he might do something wrong. “You.”

  “Not the rooms. You.”

  Delilah shifted on her armchair, lust sizzling through her entire body. Tunbury had surprised her in many ways this evening; his interest in the Temple, careful questions and halting candor, even hints of humor alongside the rather endearing awkwardness. Not humdrum at all. But to know the attraction she felt for him was mutual…well. This virgin duke deserved a taste of pleasure. He’d certainly earned it.

  She leaned fo
rward to take his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “You didn’t answer my first question, Your Grace. When did you last make yourself come?”

  Tunbury hesitated. “A while. The consequences were…well, it’s been a while. I denied myself so often, all I could hear were their voices telling me how wrong it was, that I shamed myself and my late father’s memory when I lost control and gave in to baser urges. I’ve had more than a few cold sponge baths in that time.”

  “That’s no way to live. May I suggest—”

  “Mrs. Forbes. I should have asked sooner…do you have someone special in your life? A fiancé perhaps? Perhaps it’s foolish in this city, in this day and age, but I wouldn’t be comfortable dallying with another man’s lover.”

  Delilah shook her head. “No lover or fiancé. My late husband Archie would be terribly hard to replace; he was a dear, sweet man…although in saying that I’m not sure he would have approved of the Temple.”

  “He would have once he realized all the good you do. I think it…I think it most admirable that you assist others.”

  “Really?” she asked, pleased. “I don’t assist patrons all that much, just nudge them onto the path of fulfillment. For instance, if a gentleman needed to come I might encourage him to unfasten his trousers and free his poor engorged cock. Perhaps test the girth in his hand.”

  Tunbury hesitated. “I’m…not a patron.”

  “No,” she agreed. “I’m spending time with you because I want to.”

  He blinked, as though that fact startled him. Then he blushed. “Mrs. Forbes—”

  “You can call me Delilah. That is my true name, even if no one believes me. They think it too convenient for the owner of a pleasure club; I say I was born to do this.”