Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars)

by Jess Michaels

Portia blushed. “Yes.”

  “He wants you?” her friend pressed. When Portia hesitated, she laughed. “He wants you. You could…use that to your advantage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ava shrugged. “Men like Weatherfield are driven by passions. An untouched lady who is willing to give him everything he desires is…well, I know of no man who would turn that down. If you feel he will resist helping you out of gentlemanly reasons, don’t fear using your body to your advantage. It could be beneficial to you in more ways than one.”

  Portia stared at her friend in utter disbelief. “Barter for my mother’s safety with…with my body?”

  “From everything I’ve heard about Miles, I do not think it will be an unfair bargain to you. You liked what he did to you the other times, didn’t you?”

  Portia swallowed hard. She had spent a lifetime being told not to want physical pleasure, not to allow desire. And yet she felt it burn within her every time she thought of Miles.

  “Yes,” she admitted on the barest of whispers.

  “Then why not take what you want and get what you need for your family?” Ava asked. “It seems as if everyone wins in that scenario.”

  “Ava!” Portia gasped, unable to grasp this concept that she would bribe her soon-to-be husband.

  Before she could say anything more, there was a light rap on the parlor door. It opened to reveal Potts, whose lips were pursed together and pale.

  “Lord Weatherfield is here, my lady.”

  Portia blinked in confusion, then turned to look at the clock. “I—it isn’t two yet.”

  “Yes, but he is here regardless. And asking to see you.”

  “Demanding,” came a correction in Miles’ low voice out in the foyer.

  Portia lifted her hand to cover her lips and stared at Ava. Her friend shrugged.

  “Let him in,” Ava suggested. “I doubt he would leave if you turned him away, and what good would it be to do so?”

  Portia could hear her breath rattling in her ears over the whoosh of blood that made everything swim around her.

  “Let him in,” she whispered, hoping she would stay upright.

  Potts gave her a long look, then nodded once before she pulled the door open more fully and said behind her, “Lady Portia will see you now.”

  Miles shook his head as he swept around her servant and into the room. “Yes, as if I couldn’t hear everything. These walls are abominably thin.”

  Portia flinched. He didn’t know the half of it. She could tell him horror stories of hearing the screaming fights of the couple who lived next door or having the brisk winter wind make sleeping impossible.

  Instead, she stepped forward, hand outstretched. “My lord, what a surprise,” she managed to say, her voice trembling on each word. “I did not expect you until two—did I misunderstand you?”

  “No,” he said, ignoring the hand she offered. “I came early because I wish to speak to you.”

  He looked past her to Ava. “Good afternoon, Lady Rothcastle. I suppose I should have assumed you would be here; you two are the closest of friends, are you not?”

  Ava got to her feet and went to him with a smile. Portia flinched as he took the hand she offered without hesitation.

  “We are, my lord. I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Miles blanched. “I suppose some would say that. Thank you.”

  Ava frowned slightly. “Portia is one of the best women I have ever had the pleasure to know, Lord Weatherfield. She deserves happiness and I hope, despite the inauspicious beginnings, that you will endeavor to grant her that.”

  Portia stepped toward the two as horror and shock mingled. “Ava! While I appreciate your kind words, Lord Weathefield does not need advice on how to treat me.”

  Ava arched a brow. “I hope not.”

  Miles pressed his lips together into a thin line. “Thank you, Lady Rothcastle. Now I hate to be rude, but I would like to speak to my…to my…to Portia alone for a moment, if you would excuse us.”

  Ava stared at him for a long moment, then she cast her gaze toward Portia. “Do you wish to be alone with him?”

  Portia nodded. “Yes.” She blushed. “I only mean Miles and I have a great deal to discuss and I would like to have a few moments before my brother arrives and takes over the proceedings in his usual highly unpleasant manner.”

  “Then I will go.” Ava hugged her briefly. “Be careful,” he friend whispered before she pulled back and smiled at Miles. “Good day, my lord. I look forward to the friendship I’m certain we will all develop after your nuptials.”

  “Good day,” he said, watching her go and quietly pull the door shut behind her, regardless of the propriety of them being left so utterly alone.

  “Would you like tea?” Portia whispered, uncertain now that she was alone with this man who seemed to fill the room around her and steal all the air within.

  “No.” He stared at her, his dark eyes sweeping over her and giving no indication of what he thought. “Why were you there?”

  Portia caught her breath at his abrupt question. “Wh-what?”

  His lips thinned in irritation. “You heard me. Why were you at the Donville Masquerade, Portia?”

  She swallowed. There was no way to explain what she did not fully understand herself.

  “Because of your friend’s brother. The Earl of Windbury? Liam?” he pressed, his tone suddenly cold. “You said that you were looking for him.”

  Portia hesitated and then nodded slowly. “I-I was.”

  Miles frowned. “Are you his lover?”

  Portia staggered back from that stunning question. “How dare you?” she whispered, barely able to elevate her voice to a level that would carry.

  He frowned, and she could see he took as little pleasure in these questions as she did. And yet he continued, unwavering.

  “You pretend shock at such a suggestion, Portia, but you were very willing to fall into my arms.”

  She drew back. “Do you accuse me of having a lover or of being little better than a whore willing to give herself to any man?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what to accuse you of, my dear. You were in a place you did not belong and when I approached you, you offered none of the resistance I would have expected from a woman in your position. I have no idea why you would do what you did unless…”

  He trailed off and stared at her.

  She swallowed. “Unless?”

  “Unless you were hoping for entrapment.”

  Entrapment. The word hung in the room between them like a slap and Portia took a moment to regain her composure before she responded.

  “You believe I purposefully deceived you,” she said. “With the intention of forcing a scandal.”

  He shrugged. “Your brother came very quickly to find us. And made a scene. I do not think it is beyond the realm of possibility.”

  Portia sighed. “You do not know the relationship my brother and I have, obviously. He would not help me cross a street, let alone plan something so elaborate as to entrap a man to wed. And as for my part in such a thing, Miles, you have known me for years. Do you truly think me capable of such deceit?”

  “I think if a woman was desperate enough, she might be capable of anything,” he retorted softly.

  She flinched. Desperate. That was how people saw her. A desperate, sad spinster.

  “I don’t want this,” she said, pushing each word out with enough clarity that they could not be misunderstood.

  “Thank you,” he said, hard.

  She glared at him. “Is it what you want?”

  He folded his arms, but before he could reply, the door flew open to bounce against the thin wall behind it and Hammond stepped inside.

  “At least I do not find you two wrapped in some disgusting embrace,” he barked as he glared at them. “But I do question why you are alone together.”

  Miles stepped in front of Portia and gave her brother as dark a look as Hammond had on his own face.
“I arrived early, you ass, and was talking to your sister.”

  “What is there to talk about with her?” Hammond asked as he poured himself tea and ate one of Portia’s few remaining cakes. “Your negotiations are with me.”

  “There are no negotiations,” Miles snapped. “We will marry in a week. My people are already making the arrangements.”

  Portia took a long step toward him. “A-a week, Miles?”

  He met her gaze and for the first time she saw a flash of softness there. Of kindness.

  “It is the only way, Portia. The faster we do this, the sooner it will be out of the minds of those around us.”

  Her brother maneuvered between them and cut off her line of sight. “Very good, very acceptable,” he gushed as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a paper. “Now, if you will just sign this paper that you have agreed to marry my sister, I would appreciate it.”

  Miles stared first at him, then at the sheet Hammond held out toward him. “You do not trust my word, even after all our years of acquaintance?”

  Hammond shrugged. “I feel a need to protect my interests. And it also acknowledges you will receive no dowry in exchange for the marriage.”

  Miles glared at him, then snatched the paper and pen from his hands and scribbled his name across the document before he threw it back in her brother’s face.

  “There. Is that satisfactory?”

  “Very much so. Please send all the information about the arrangements to my solicitor, as my wife and I will wish to attend, for appearance’s sake.”

  Portia squeezed her eyes shut but managed to keep a sob from escaping her throat. It was done, finished, with as much romance as one might find in the slaughter of a chicken for supper.

  “Now I would appreciate if you would depart with me,” Hammond continued. “In case the neighbors are aware.”

  Miles clenched his fists as he turned to Portia. “I will speak with you more later.”

  She nodded but could manage no other words before she watched them leave the room and head to their respective carriages.

  She was to be married. In a week. To a man who suspected that she had purposefully entrapped him into that position.

  Potts entered the room to clear the tray of tea. “Are you well, Lady Portia?” she asked.

  Portia turned to face her housekeeper and shook her head. “I thought being a mocked spinster was the worst thing in the world. I fear this ranks just above it in terms of humiliation. But it is done now, isn’t it? And there is nothing that can change it.”

  Chapter Six

  The last thing Portia had ever expected was an invitation to Miles’ sister’s home for luncheon the next day. And yet she sat in Lord and Lady Brinforth’s beautifully appointed dining room the next afternoon with a spread on the table before her that she was certain the king himself would envy.

  Miles sat a few places down the table from her, as quiet as he had been since her arrival half an hour before. He had hardly looked at her and she couldn’t help the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Was this to be her future? With a man who resented her and half-believed she purposefully entrapped him? Would he ignore her forever?

  “Lady Portia,” Lady Brinforth said as her servants finished serving the first course and slipped from the room. “Or may I simply call you Portia?”

  Portia forced her attention to her hostess and smiled. “If you would like to do so, I would be happy to allow it.”

  “Good, then you must call me Tennille. I have always wanted a sister, I confess, and now my brother has finally provided me with one.”

  Portia shifted. Certainly Tennille must know how their engagement came about, but so far she had behaved as though their impending marriage was nothing but a pleasure to be celebrated. How she really felt, though, Portia couldn’t help but wonder.

  “We did hope your mother would join us today,” Tennille continued with a quick glance toward her husband that spoke volumes and made Portia stiffen.

  Her mother had been in a state for a few days. Portia hadn’t even told her yet about the wedding.

  “She is…not well, I’m afraid,” she stammered, using the same terms she had been using for years to describe her mother’s problems. “I’m sure she would have loved to join us were she able, but she rarely leaves the house.”

  Tennille’s expression softened. “Well, if your mother will not be able to help you plan the wedding, perhaps I can be of assistance in her stead. You have begun having your dress made?”

  Portia shot Miles a desperate look in the hopes she might find an ally. He still had his gaze firmly on his plate.

  “With everything happening so quickly, I fear I hadn’t thought of it,” she explained, hoping she wouldn’t have to add she had no funds for such things.

  “But you must!” Tennille said with a laugh. “I will send my own seamstress to you immediately!”

  Portia clutched her napkin. “You are too kind, but I couldn’t put you out in any way.”

  Tennille seemed confused. “To share my seamstress’s name with you? It does nothing to put me out at all. A pretty silk, perhaps in gray, would look lovely on you.”

  Portia caught her breath. How many times had she pictured a happy wedding? This was not it.

  “You are so very kind, but I can’t. I will…I will have to make due with something I have already.”

  Tennille stopped speaking and stared at her. In that horrible moment, Portia realized her future sister-in-law had realized the problem. Funds, or lack of them.

  “It is something you and my brother will decide, I’m sure,” she said after an awkward moment had passed.

  “Yes,” Miles finally said, joining the conversation at last with a brief glance for her. “Portia and I do have a great deal to discuss. I will escort you back to your home after our luncheon, Portia, and we can talk about the details of our wedding.”

  Portia nodded, but inside she wondered when they would discuss the details of their marriage. What did Miles expect from her? How would he treat her? Would he ever touch her again now that he knew who she was?

  Or had his desire for her died the moment her mask was removed?

  Miles looked across the carriage to Portia as they took the trip across London back to her tiny hovel of a home. She didn’t seem to notice his regard as she stared out the carriage window with a faraway expression.

  He wanted her.

  It was a strange thing, to see the young woman he had known and spoken to and even pitied over the years and now feel a driving, powerful passion to possess her body. But he did. It kept him up at night. It made him ache with desire.

  And yet he had not acted on that impulse since they were caught together at the masquerade. There were so many questions, so many plans to make, that he had been able to avoid his need.

  Until now when he sat in a quiet vehicle with her with at least half an hour of privacy stretched out before them.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  She glanced over to him in surprise. “Miles?”

  The way she said his name undid him. He moved to her side of the carriage with aching slowness and took a deep breath of her scent. How he hadn’t made the connection between his mystery woman and Portia, he couldn’t be sure now. They both smelled of fresh lemon and lilac. He should have known.

  Perhaps he did know, on some level. Perhaps that was why he had been so driven to say hello to her at that ball the night following their first heated encounter at the masquerade. Perhaps his body had been leading him to Portia all along.

  He pressed his palm to the angle of her jawline and spread his fingers open. She gasped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. She merely stared up at him, dark eyes wide, body shaking.

  “Miles,” she said again, her voice broken and filled with need he couldn’t deny.

  He tilted her face and kissed her. Immediately, he was struck with a feeling of coming home that was quickly replaced by a raging desire that boiled hi
s blood and inspired fantasies of hiking her skirts and rutting with her here and now.

  Somehow he controlled that and instead dove into the pleasures of her mouth. He stroked his tongue along hers, reveling in the tiny moan that escaped her lips into his mouth. He wrapped an arm around her back and drew her closer, closer.

  She shuddered and her hands lifted to clutch at his lapels. He was utterly undone and he knew he could no longer control himself. He dragged his mouth to her throat, sucking at the slender column even as he began to inch her skirts up around her thighs. She gasped, and for a moment she tensed, but as he cupped her knee and began to glide his hand upward, she fell back against the carriage seat with a sigh of surrender that rocked him to his very core.

  He would not take her. But he would have her in some way.

  He found the slit in her flimsy drawers and parted it to press him palm flat against her sex. She was already wet and his cock swelled against the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers.

  “Miles,” she whispered as he ground his palm down against her body, creating pressure against just the right spot. Her breath caught, and she turned her face into his neck, shuddering as he increased the stroke of his hand. When she was trembling he slid a finger into her sheath and held back a low, possessive groan.

  She was slick and hot and oh, so very tight around him. He pressed a thumb to her clitoris and began to circle the nub as he rocked his finger in and out, in and out. Her back arched and she gave a little squeal as her body began to convulse from release. He continued to stroke her through the crisis and only stopped when she went limp against the carriage seat.

  He pressed another kiss to her parted lips before he glided her skirts back into place and moved to his original position in the carriage, just as the vehicle came to a stop at her doorstep.

  She stared at him in disbelief. “I never imagined it could be so powerful.”

  He arched a brow at that unexpected observation and could not help wondering how much she knew about the pleasures of the flesh. But he did not ask as his footman opened the door and held it for their exit. Miles stepped from the carriage and held out a hand to her. The same hand that had touched her so intimately not a moment before. She stared at the outstretched fingers for too long before she took them and allowed his assistance.