| |
Charles found himself fidgeting a button in his jacket as his carriage slowed down to turn a corner. He immediately stopped since he hated people who fidgeted. When the carriage picked up speed again about a minute later, he found that his right leg had started bouncing up and down on its own accord. He immediately stopped that as well and leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at his ankles.
He was way too busy for this, and he already had an appointment with Delilah tonight, but it seemed that this desire would not go away. The sight of Millie in her dressing gown had been enough to ignite a fire in him that was not easily put out.
Even though he had been in meetings all morning, he had found himself distracted by her more than once. He would lose his chain of thought when he was speaking, or confusing others, which was something he never did. He had tried to take care of matters on his own in between meetings but found that it was not enough. Hence him being on the way to his mistress in the middle of the day instead of at night as planned.
His left foot had started tapping on the floor of the carriage without him noticing and he immediately stopped as he looked out the window. The carriage was turning a corner again and they would soon be at the house he had bought for Delilah.
He leaned back with a sigh, trying not to think of what the two of them would be doing in only... ten minutes or so. If he did, it would most likely mean that he would have to exit the carriage with a rather evident proof of his desire. Even though the driver and footman knew why he was there.
Perhaps he could ask Delilah to wear a dressing gown. They sometimes used props and she had to own a simple dressing gown. Not something with laces that Millie would never wear. Come to think of it, he did not know what had happened to the see-through nightgown that she had worn on their wedding night. He certainly had not seen it again.
He jumped out of the carriage as it stopped in front of Delilah’s house, hurrying as much as he could without running up the steps to her front door. Delilah’s housekeeper opened it for him. The elderly lady normally greeted him very pleasantly, clearly aware who was paying her wages. Today she looked rather weary though.
“Your Grace,” she said, surprise evident on her face. “Miss Delilah is not expecting you.”
“Oh, I know,” Charles said and stepped past her, handing her his hat and then his overcoat.
“What I mean to say is that Miss Delilah is not receiving.”
“Not receiving?” Charles echoed already on his way to the staircase. “Is she ill?”
Delilah would suffer from terrible cramps when it was her time of the month. So much that she was bedridden for at least a few days. Charles tried to calculate but could not remember whether it was now. He already cursed at the thought of having to go back to his office without having been satisfied.
“No, but Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, following Charles up the staircase, still carrying his hat and coat. “I’m afraid that Miss Delilah is occupied.”
Charles turned on the landing to look at her, forcing the housekeeper to stop a couple of steps below him. Given that Charles was already tall, he was practically towering over the middle aged woman now.
“Occupied?” he said in an icy voice, that he normally reserved for members of the opposition or younger members of his own party that would not behave. The tone of voice had the effect he wished.
“Well, yes, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said in a small voice. “Occupied. You should not go in there,” she said a bit more fervently.
Charles did not dignify that with an answer. He had paid for this house, he paid for Delilah’s dresses, her upkeep, her jewelry. Even though he liked to think that she gave herself to him willingly, and he felt quite certain that she did, he could not deny that there was a monetary aspect to this. Even though he was only there every other evening, he certainly did not wish for her to entertain other men.
He strode directly to her bedroom, fuming with anger; the desire he had been consumed by only a moment ago had completely vanished. But it came right back upon entering Delilah’s boudoir:
His tall brown-haired mistress was standing with her back to him kissing a shorter, blonde woman in front of the large four poster bed in the middle of the room. The two were so consumed with passion that they had not noticed he had opened the door. They turned in their passion, allowing him a better view of the blonde woman’s face.
Charles felt as if the blood in his veins froze to ice, and he had to hold on to the doorframe in order not to fall.
“Millie?” he croaked.
***
Millie collapsed on Delilah’s bed when her husband slammed the door shut to the room. She hid her face in her hands, half expecting Charles to storm back in there and scold her. What had she done?
She looked up, astonished when she heard Delilah’s clear laughter.
“Oh,” Delilah said, clutching her stomach, still laughing. “Did you see the look on his face?”
“Delilah, this isn’t entertaining, it’s horrible,” Millie said in a voice that could only have been graver had her death sentence just been signed.
Delilah sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hand. She was clearly trying to stifle her laughter, but small bursts would still erupt from her, and she used her free hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. Finally, she was able to say:
“This will be the perfect time to tell him, Millie.”
Millie gulped, looking from Delilah to the violet wallpaper with a golden pattern that matched the mauve carpet and the plum-colored bedspread. It was a bit much for her taste, but apparently men liked this. Or at least her husband did.
“I don’t know,” Millie said, because she had paused for so long and felt that she needed to say something.
“At this point I think that it could hardly hurt. It might even be beneficial to your marriage,” Delilah said and squeezed her hand.
Millie looked at her and smiled meekly.