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Miles watched how Delilah tried to control her feelings. In her defense, she was very good at it. He could hardly tell that she had been astonished by what he said. There was only a small movement of the jaw and a flicker of the eyes that betrayed her.
He took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, feeling relieved that he had finally said it. Now he simply had to wait for her response. Over the past three years, he had heard enough stories of how she had helped others that he felt certain that she could help him. Although, it was not pleasant having to admit to a woman that you’d once slept with that you could not get an erection.
Delilah cleared her throat, laced her fingers, and placed her hands in her lap. This seemed to be something she did when she needed to compose herself. He had noticed it before when she spoke of her grandmother.
He had never been more shocked to learn that a person had a grandmother, although, of course, it was only natural. She was not a siren that had been hatched from an egg on the bottom of the ocean and drifted ashore as a fully grown woman. Although, up till this point, if someone had asked him about her origin, that might very well have been how he would have described it.
“Is it a problem that only happens when you’re with others? Or does it also occur when you’re on your own?” she asked in a professional sounding voice, not at all betraying her amazement. He was impressed with her and even more relieved that they could finally get to solving the problem.
“Only when I’m with others,” he answered, trying to rid his mind of the past frustrating endeavors.
“Good,” Delilah said and leaned back a little in the couch as if she matched the way he sat. “If it occurred when you were alone as well, there might be a physical problem behind it, and I can’t treat that.”
“And now, why do you think it happens?”
“Because of something in your mind,” she said decisively.
“My mind? But I want to sleep with the women I’m with,” Miles said, a little taken aback. If this was her reasoning, perhaps she was not able to help him. He had hoped for a quick fix. He had even made an arrangement with Mrs. Crampton tomorrow night, thinking that Delilah would definitely have cured him by then.
“I suppose that you do, but there has to be some part of you that doesn’t. Otherwise, you would not experience this problem,” she said calmly. Miles was about to object when Delilah continued: “Have you been more preoccupied than normal recently?”
Miles mentally went through the last week in his head. It was the beginning of May, meaning that the Parliament was in session, and he was busy with both the House of Lords and the many ton events that his mother wanted him to attend. She had found him a bride, since she felt it was necessary for him to marry before he turned thirty in October.
“It’s time for you to sire an heir, George,” she kept saying.
She was the only person who called him George. Given the nobilities affection for using and reusing the same names, there had been eleven Georges attending Eton at the same time as him. Since three of his older cousins also answering to the name Stanhope were there as well, it had seemed natural that he would use his middle name, Miles, rather than George. It was what his mistresses called him, too, and a few of his childhood friends when they were in private. Everyone else usually referred to him as Lindley after he had inherited the title two years ago.
“No more than usual,” he was finally able to answer Delilah after having gone over his week.
She pursed her lips and nodded with an introspective look on her face.
“How long has this problem been going on?” she asked.
Miles shrugged, trying to think. There had been one time in February, but he had not thought anything of it. He had been drinking heavily, as had the widowed Mrs. Hayward that he had been with.
A woman of only five and twenty who had married a much older — and much richer — man in the hopes that he would die soon and had been rewarded with his swift demise only three years into their marriage. Miles had pleasured her with his hands and mouth, and she had not seemed to mind it one bit. The next morning everything had been working as it should and he had blamed alcohol and the fact that he was getting older.
The next time had been in March with Lady Cowlam. She was older than him, close to forty, but still very attractive. Probably due to the fact that the minute she had given birth to a spare to her husband’s heir, he had stopped touching her, meaning that she had only been pregnant twice.
He had not been able to get an erection in the evening nor in the morning and this time he could not blame it on alcohol. This was when he had started to worry that perhaps something was wrong, but when he had visited Mrs. Crampton a couple of days later, everything had been fine.
“March, perhaps, or February,” he allowed, “But then it was not all the time. Now it’s . . . whenever I try to be with a woman either nothing happens, or it goes away.”
It had come to the point where he was so embarrassed that he had stopped seeing the women that he usually took his pleasure with. He had gone to a brothel last week, one of the very best places in town, that only catered to men of his standing. He had paid to have the best and most discreet of the women there, but no matter how much she tried, nothing had happened.
It was after that experience that he decided that he needed Delilah’s help, no matter how mortifying he found it.
“February is a long time ago; that’s three months,” Delilah said in a neutral voice.
He looked at her dark brown eyes that seemed sincere. She had a look in them that made him feel she would do her utmost to help him. Her appearance besides that was just as reassuring: her dark brown hair had been pinned back in a simple coiffure, she was wearing a dress that, color-wise, seemed to be somewhere between dark grey and dark purple and was so high-cut that he could not see any of her bosom.
Of course, her dress could not entirely hide her generous curves. Even though she was tall, her bosom and bottom were just what men wanted. He had noticed that she took both cream and sugar in her tea and had wondered whether it was to maintain her curves.
“Yes, well, it hasn’t been every time since February,” Miles snapped at her.
“When did it start to be every time that you were with a woman?” she asked cleverly, her voice still calm.
Miles swallowed and tried to calm himself. This was clearly not her fault.
“Three or four weeks ago,” he said without looking at her. “My doctor recommended tepid baths, sleeping less, and that I go riding every day, but it does not seem to be working.”
“Flagellation?” Delilah asked and there was a glimmer of humor in his eyes.
Miles instinctively moved his legs a little, as if to protect his private parts.
“No,” he said disgusted, although he could not blame her for asking. He had heard that it could help as well.
“Good, I wouldn’t recommend it. Unless you like that sort of thing, but in that case, I assume you would have reacted differently.”
She was smiling broadly now. Her front teeth overlapped, which was quite charming actually. Miles smiled back, knowing that she was not smiling because of his problem. For a moment they were simply smiling at each other and the oddest feeling of having a companion emerged in Miles. Then Delilah diverted her gaze and shifted in her seat.
“Well, there’s no definite cure,” she said and cleared her throat. “Are you sure, my lord, that nothing out of the ordinary has happened during that time?” she asked again.
Miles thought about it. The season was as stressful as always. The only thing that might have changed was the fact that his mother seemed more determined that he marry this year.
“I’m . . . well, I’m engaged to be married,” he said reluctantly. “But that can hardly be the reason. I mean, Eleanor is a sweet girl and I’m sure she’ll make a perfectly lovely wife . . .”
Delilah nodded, but did not say anything. He was glad that she did not comment that marriage certainly would have to be stressful for a man like him or something of the sort. Eleanor was primarily his mother’s choice, but he could hardly disagree.
She was beautiful with fair skin and lovely blonde curls and a slender figure. She was one and twenty and would be two and twenty by the time they married, meaning that she was past the stage of being a giggling debutante. All in all, he imagined that they would suit each other well: She would stick to her duties and he to his and they would only have to meet a couple of times a week to attend functions together and then, of course, to make an heir. This was how his parents’ marriage had been and he saw no reason to change it.
“Well, I would assume that the preparations for a wedding can be stressful,” Delilah said. “Although, I’m not convinced that this is your problem. Do you think about it when you’re with other women?”
“That I am to marry?” Miles asked, knowing he was dodging the question, but what he thought about when he was with a woman was extremely private. “I don’t think so,” he said evasively.
“The next time you’re with a woman, it would be good if you could try and be more conscious of what you think, and then we can talk about it,” Delilah said with a tone of voice that seemed to conclude their conversation.
“The next time?” Miles said almost breathlessly. “I’m not going to sleep with a woman again until my problem is solved.”
Delilah leaned forward, drawing in a deep breath, as if she wanted to explain something simple to a child.
“If you don’t sleep with a woman, how are we to know whether my treatment is working?” she asked gently.
Miles thought about it, looking not at her, but at her cabinet again. He desperately wanted to go over there and examine her figures. There was a figurine of a chubby woman with large breasts and a round belly that had to be a fertility statue. It looked like clay, and he wanted to run his fingers over its smooth surface.
“Can’t you just give me something?” he said, “Isn’t there some kind of herb or medicine that you can give me?”
Delilah shook her head with a sympathetic look.
“I’m not a witch that distributes herbs, nor a doctor who prescribes medicine. I think it’s a matter of your mind. And I suppose you do as well, my lord. Otherwise, you should find a witch — since the advice your doctor gave you is not helping.”
Miles felt his heart sinking. No quick fix then. He would have to cancel Mrs. Crampton tomorrow. He had already been with her twice where he could not get it up. It would start hurting his reputation if it happened a third time.
“What do you propose that I do then?” he said, looking at her shoulder and noticing the fine tailoring of the dress, despite it being a bit dull. It had to be one she wore for conversations like this, in order for men not to find her too attractive. She had been one of the most sought-after courtesans six years ago when she had been looking for a new patron.
“As I said, you need to be more aware what happens around the time your problem occurs. Is it something you’re thinking or something you’re doing . . .?”
“I’ve already told you; I’m not sleeping with another woman until I’ve solved my problem,” Miles snapped at her. Honestly, he might as well have asked the first person he met on the street how to solve his problem if this was her advice.
“Well, we can continue talking about it, and perhaps you will grow your confidence enough to . . .”
“I have plenty of confidence,” Miles exclaimed loudly and rose. He walked toward the door and reached for it before he stopped himself. If he left now in anger, she probably would not help him. And who then could he turn to? His friends at the club? One of his mistresses? All of them would laugh if he told them. No, he needed her help.
He took a deep breath and turned around slowly.
“I’m sorry; I just find this so frustrating,” he said with all the charm he could muster. It was not much. He didn’t feel like his usual charming self.
“Of course, this is frustrating,” Delilah said as she walked around the low table between the settee and chairs and stopped a couple of paces from him. She wasn’t being condescending, Miles felt. She genuinely knew how frustrating it had to be for him.
She was so close now that he could smell her perfume. Something light and flowery, like spring flowers. It did not at all match the dark purple and golden colors of the room, which called for a much heavier scent like that of orchids. He wanted to reach for her, bury his nose at her neck, where her warm skin was exposed and take a deep breath of her scent.
He felt himself looking startled at her at the realization. He had only slept with her once, six years ago before the Duke of Camborne became her patron. They had met at a ball, one where courtesans were allowed, and they had snuck out to an empty anteroom. He had liked that she had told him exactly what she wanted him to do; first to lick her, then to take her from behind up against the wall. But he had never wanted to be her patron. Women gave themselves to him freely; he did not want to pay them for it. After the ball, he had gone round to his friends for different hunting parties and when he had returned to London a couple of months later, the Duke of Camborne had snatched her up.
Miles remembered being a little sorry that they would not have a chance for another casual round encounter in an anteroom, but, then again, you couldn’t have everything in life, and he certainly had enough women who wanted him already.
“You should sleep with me,” he heard himself say.
“What?!” Delilah exclaimed, then: “That’s not what I do. Not what I do at all. If anyone has told you that, they have been lying to you. I help people with their sexual problems, but not by sleeping with them . . .”
She took a breath and was about to go on, and rightfully so, when Miles interrupted her.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested it. I know that you don’t sleep with the people you help.” He looked sincerely at her, hoping that she was able to tell that his apology was heartfelt. “Otherwise, there would probably be a lot more men suffering from the same problem as me, needing to be cured,” he could not help but add with a crooked smile.
Delilah smiled as well, seemingly understanding that his suggestion had shocked him as well.
“It’s just,” Miles went on and took a tiny step closer to her. “It’s just that I would not feel as vulnerable being with you. I know that whatever happened between us would stay between us. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of the other women.”
Delilah looked at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her cheeks had decidedly more color than before, making her look like a young girl. Miles wondered how old she actually was. She had been a courtesan for men of the ton for about nine or ten years. That would place her at least in her mid-twenties if she wasn’t as old as him.
“I’ll think about it,” she then said and swallowed audibly. “I don’t normally do this but given what you said . . . and our history . . . I’ll think about it.”