Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) Page 4

  “Stop!” she cried out, looking around for salvation, but in the midst of sin and seduction and ruination, no one seemed to be in any hurry to render aid. In fact, the few people who bothered to look up from their tables or lovers had a flash of interest in their eyes.

  She was going to be accosted. Raped. In the backroom of a place where she did not belong. As the reality of that set in, Portia felt a scream bubbling up in her throat. But before she could express it, the man who was holding her was suddenly torn away from her with enough violence that she staggered as he released her.

  She spun around to see what had freed her from his hands and was shocked to find Miles standing over the man, his breath heavy and his eyes flashing with anger.

  “I believe the lady said no,” he growled.

  Portia expected the other man to jump to his feet and challenge Miles, but he only cowered there.

  “She’s a whore, Weatherfield. ‘No’ is a game,” her captor whined.

  Miles spun on her. “Was it a game?” he asked, anger in his tone that she wasn’t certain was directed at her or the other man or both.

  She shook her head. “N-no. It was no game.”

  Miles offered a hand to help her attacker up to his feet. As the man brushed himself off, Miles snarled. “Apologize.”

  He glared at her, but he muttered, “Sorry, miss.”

  Miles shook his head and shoved a bit of blunt into her attacker’s hand. “Now go back to your game.”

  The other man stared at the money and then eagerly returned to his table without a second glance for Portia or Miles. She stared at him, eyes wide, then turned her attention to Miles. He was glaring at her.

  “You, come with me,” he snapped, grabbing her arm much as the other man had done and taking her to the alcoves. He peeked behind a few screens before he managed to find one that wasn’t occupied by moaning visitors.

  Once they had some small privacy, he folded his arms and looked at her. “I don’t know what your story is, miss,” he began. “But it is evident you are far out of your element in this place. So why are you here?”

  Portia swallowed hard. She couldn’t say why, but she was reluctant to tell the truth to Miles, even though she knew he might be able to help her.

  “I’m waiting for an answer,” he pressed.

  She masked her voice and whispered, “I was looking for the Earl of Windbury.”

  Miles’ eyes went wide for a moment, not that she could blame him for the shock he expressed. After all, Liam had been in hiding for months. She doubted many people looked for him.

  “I see,” he said after a moment. His shock seemed to have been replaced by irritation. “I had heard, but—”

  He shook his head and left the sentence hanging. Portia stepped closer. “What have you heard of him?”

  He stared at her, his gaze burning hers. “He never keeps a mistress, you know,” he said. “The best you will get is a few nights in his bed. If you are looking for a more permanent arrangement, I would be a far better choice.”

  Portia’s lips parted. Was he offering to make her his mistress? This man who could have, and probably had had, any woman he wished? This man who had, at least in his mind, only seen her twice at a masquerade?

  She shook her head. “I assure you, my lord, you don’t want me.”

  Now it was his turn to move on her. The alcove was small and there was no place to hide as he slipped an arm around her back, gathering her closer, until her body molded to his. He was hard as steel against her softness and smelled of pine and mint and masculinity she couldn’t define but made her shiver.

  “You think I don’t want you?” he whispered and his fresh breath stirred her cheek as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She lifted to meet him and realized she had been craving this kiss since the last time they were in this position. She had dreamed of it, dreamed of him. And even in the midst of all the upset currently in her life, Miles’ touch was the one beacon of something good.

  Even though she knew full well it could not last, that she could likely never visit this place again or see him unless it was someplace proper where he wouldn’t recognize or desire her anymore. She knew all that and she didn’t care. She wanted this stolen moment and she would do anything it took to have it last as long as possible.

  If Miles sensed her desperation, that didn’t seem to deter him. He delved his tongue deeply between her lips, dragging her closer until there was nothing between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her tongue explore as she had been too nervous to do the last time he kissed her. She tasted him, uncertain of how to proceed, but enjoying how her body reacted as the heat between them rose.

  He maneuvered her back as they continued to kiss, and suddenly she was being lowered on a narrow velvet seat in the corner of the tiny space. He knelt on the floor in front of her and continued to kiss her. His fingers slid along her cheek and stilled at the edge of her mask.

  He slid one finger beneath the silk. She gasped and pulled away.

  “No.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  She shook her head. “Just let it be, Miles.”

  He hesitated, and then he returned his mouth to hers without touching her mask another time. She felt a flutter of something akin to disappointment, but shoved it away. If he knew who she was, it would only ruin everything. She instead focused on his touch and how her body reacted.

  She…tingled. That was the best way to describe this unexpected feeling. It was as if every nerve in her body had come alive at once, making her skin sensitive to every touch and her stomach flutter like mad as he moved his mouth from her lips and down to her neck.

  She shuddered as pleasure swept through her in a wave. He smiled against her skin and began to unbutton the back of her gown.

  She tensed as his fingers moved adeptly. He was about to take her clothes off and then…well, then she wasn’t entirely certain beyond what she’d seen here and through sketches, but suddenly she very badly wanted to know what he would do. And it wasn’t as if seeing her naked would reveal who she was. He’d never know and whatever happened here would be a secret only she would keep.

  Her dress drooped in the front and he met her gaze as he slowly lowered the cheap silk from her shoulders. Her chemise beneath had no frills or pretty embellishments, but it was almost sheer after multiple wearings.

  She fought the urge to cover herself, only keeping her hands at her sides out of pure willpower. No man had ever seen her so exposed, and she could scarcely think out of embarrassment and confusion about her feelings.

  Then he caught his breath and smiled, and all her thoughts cleared her fevered mind. If no man had ever seen her so revealed, certainly no man had ever looked at her like Miles looked at her now. As if she was…beautiful. Special. Desirable.

  She wanted more of that feeling.

  He leaned closer and she readied herself for another passionate kiss, but instead he pressed his lips to her collarbone. Then his mouth glided lower, lower until his mouth closed around her barely covered nipple.

  She arched with a cry that she hadn’t meant to voice but couldn’t help. Not when electric, focused, concentrated heat was flowing from the place where he suckled and settling between her legs. An unexpected throbbing had begun that was quite like what she felt when she touched herself, only this was a more intense and powerful reaction.

  He swirled his tongue around and around the peak, but despite the thin scrap of silk between them, she felt every touch with exquisite clarity.

  “God,” she whispered, driving her hands into his hair as she lifted her body to meet his mouth. She wanted more. She wanted to make sure this never ended. She wanted…

  “Portia!”

  Her eyes flew open, and she was met with bright light from the ballroom. A figure stood in the light, one who had pushed the barrier aside and intruded upon this private moment.

  Her vision adjusted and she gasped as she lifted her hands to cover herself.
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  The intruder who had kept her from more pleasure, more passion, more utterly wicked exploits, was her brother.

  Chapter Four

  Miles recoiled as the Marquis Cosslow opened his mouth and one word came out, seeming to echo around them.

  “Portia!”

  He stared at the man, then slowly turned his attention to the lady in his arms. She was fighting to lift her dress, her cheeks hot red and her eyes sparkling with tears.

  She did not deny the charge.

  He slipped a finger beneath her cheap mask and pushed it aside before she could stop him a second time. His heart all but stopped at what he saw there.

  It was all true. The woman he had been intent on seducing, the one he wanted in his bed so much that he could scarce think of anything else, the one he had offered to become protector of…was Portia. Portia, the spinster sister of a former friend.

  Portia.

  “Hammond,” she said, pushing Miles away as she pulled the dress over herself and staggered to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  Cosslow glared at her with a coldness Miles never could have mustered for his own sister, no matter what she had done. He flinched at it.

  “Your driver was kind enough to report to me about your whereabouts. I thought the man was drunk, and yet here you are splayed out like a whore.” She dipped her head in shame, shame that Miles hated more than anything. But her mournful expression didn’t put a stop to Cosslow’s verbal attack. “The greater question would be why are you here?”

  She glanced quickly at Miles, apology in her deep brown eyes. “I-I—”

  She looked remarkably like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter’s gun as she struggled for an explanation for the unexplainable.

  “What the hell can you say?” Cosslow snapped and moved on her. He reached for her, but Miles caught his arm before he could touch her.

  He rose to his feet and pushed Cosslow away. “Put your hand down, sir,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet as the two men faced off.

  Cosslow’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Weatherfield, I will handle my sister as I choose.”

  He was all but shouting, and his voice carried into the main ballroom. Worse, thanks to Cosslow’s loud interruption, a small crowd was beginning to gather behind him, peeking in to see the source of the commotion. Some in that crowd were from a far different class than they and could cause no damage to Portia.

  But many were lords of houses who would talk. Who would tell. Who would take such pleasure in destroying Portia’s reputation.

  “Mind your tone,” Miles growled, motioning to the crowd.

  Cosslow tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You two did this, not I. If you suffer, that is what you deserve. And you are lucky I do not raise my hand to you, Weatherfield.”

  Miles moved toward him. He was taller than Cosslow by more than five inches, and he towered over him. “Do you wish to challenge me? With fists or pistols?”

  Cosslow, who had always been a cowardly bastard, hesitated, just as Miles knew he would.

  “N-now see here,” he stammered. “I have a right to be angry about my sister. I have a right to take her with me and punish her as I see fit.”

  “Like bloody hell,” Miles snapped, ready to duel right there if it came to it.

  There was a gentle touch on his arm, and Miles looked down to see Portia, her face streaked with humiliated tears, staring up at him.

  “Miles, please. Please. I’ll go with him. Don’t make any more trouble for yourself, not over me,” she whispered. With a start, she pulled her hand back when she realized it still rested on his forearm.

  “Unlike the trouble you’ve created for yourself?” her brother snapped, an ugly laugh bubbling from his lips. “You stupid, stupid bitch, there is nothing you can do to fix this.”

  Miles stared at him for a moment, then let his gaze drift to her. He had always been a man of passions. Honor was secondary to him. But he was raised a gentleman. He certainly didn’t want to turn into his father and become less than that.

  And a gentleman only had one way out of this situation.

  “The obvious solution to this problem is marriage,” he said, the words echoing hollow in the now-silent room around them.

  Silent until the crowd gasped.

  “Marriage?” Portia repeated, the blood draining from her face. “Who would marry?”

  “You,” her brother barked. His tone was still cruel, but Miles saw the light of pleasure in his eyes at the suggestion.

  “Who would I marry?” Portia said after a hesitation that seemed to stretch out forever.

  Miles stared at her. She had come here to find a man, but it hadn’t been him. She had said she was looking for the Earl of Windbury. Liam. His reaction to that was not one he wished to consider overly long, because it was entirely unpleasant.

  “To me,” he responded. “You will marry me.”

  Portia flinched as the carriage rumbled over a rut in the road and forced her to bump against her brother. He recoiled as if touching her would pass some horrible disease to him. Her heart ached at how low his regard for her had sunk.

  But even more, she wondered about the regard the other man in the carriage had for her. She looked across at Miles. It was his carriage. A very fine carriage, much finer than hers or her brother’s.

  “This wasn’t necessary,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying, even in the silence.

  “I would not send you alone with him in his current state,” Miles said, just as quietly.

  He did not look at her. He did not look at Hammond. His expression was utterly unreadable.

  Hammond shook his head, lips pursed with disgust, but very intelligently said nothing. Portia was too humiliated to speak further, and the rest of the trip back to her small home was uncomfortably silent.

  As the carriage stopped, Miles stepped from the vehicle before his driver could come to help them. To her surprise, he turned and held out a hand to her.

  She bit her lip before she took his offering. Even through two pairs of gloves, she felt how warm he was. The warmth was comforting, despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them to this moment.

  After she was safely on the ground, Miles released her and turned toward her home. She tensed. He was coming in? Her brother stepped down behind her and followed them to the door. Apparently, everyone was coming in. How she hoped Potts still had a fire going in the parlor or else it was going to be a very cold conversation, indeed.

  Potts opened the door and her eyes went wide when she saw it was a party to greet her.

  “Good evening, Lady Portia, gentlemen,” she said, looking toward Portia with questions crinkling her eyes.

  “Potts, I hope you can tell me there’s a fire,” Portia whispered, motioning her head toward the parlor.

  Potts shook her head slightly, and Portia blushed. They didn’t light fires in rooms they weren’t using in order to save funds in whatever way they could.

  She turned toward the men, determined not to show how bothersome this fact was. “We could light a fire or—”

  Miles moved toward the room. “I only require a lamp, Portia. We won’t be here long,” he said over his shoulder as he entered her parlor without asking for additional leave.

  She left her brother’s side and followed Miles, watching from the doorway as he lit the lamp himself. He stepped back and looked around. What he saw could not be denied. Her parlor was a pathetic sight, with its worn carpet, lack of decoration and austere furnishings. He sent a brief glance her way, but it was unreadable. Still, her cheeks burned. There was a reason she kept no company.

  “When will you marry?” Hammond asked from the doorway, without even closing the door. Anyone could hear this humiliation. His tone was almost bored with all this.

  Portia shot him a look, but he didn’t acknowledge it or her. He was…smiling.

  Miles folded his arms. “Soon. There were too many people there from our sphere tonight. Normally they keep q
uiet about these things, but this is too good a piece of gossip and I’m sure the news has already begun to spread like wildfire. They will talk tomorrow. Tonight. Forever.”

  Portia sucked in a breath. She had expected a great many things from her life. First she had foolishly hoped for love, but when it became clear that was not going to happen, she had wished for a staid marriage and family. Eventually she had resigned herself to spinsterhood.

  But never had she thought she would be the topic of utter and complete ruination. Or become half of a marriage forced upon a man she had once thought of as a friend.

  She looked at him, willing him to look back. Willing him to smile. Willing him to forgive her for her part in this.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Miles’ shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look at her.

  “Shut up,” Hammond growled. “Your choices are over now.”

  Portia squeezed her eyes shut. As if she had ever had any choices.

  Miles jerked his face toward Hammond and in the dim lamplight she saw a dangerous expression on his face. Hammond was too stupid to notice it, but her brother was treading on very thin ice. She feared what would happen if it broke.

  “We will discuss all of this further tomorrow,” Miles growled. “I will come here at two o’clock to finalize the terms.”

  Hammond nodded. “I will be here.”

  Miles stepped toward him. “You will leave now, Cosslow. You will not come back tonight. Do you understand?”

  Portia stared at him. Miles was defending her. Still. Even though she had caused his life to implode around him.

  Hammond’s jaw set, but he nodded once. “Fine. I have nothing to say to her at present anyway.”

  Her brother spun on his heel and moved toward the front door, where Potts still stood, gape-mouthed, since with the door open she had obviously heard everything.

  Miles finally let his gaze settle on Portia. He held it for a long moment, long enough that she shifted beneath the focused attention he gave her.

  “I will be back to speak to you, Portia,” Miles said softly.