Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars)

by Jess Michaels

  Mrs. Potts opened the door and her face reflected surprise at Miles being there. “Good afternoon, my lady, my lord.”

  “Potts, isn’t it?” Miles asked, handing over his greatcoat to the blinking housekeeper.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Will you bring us tea in that little parlor? And then Lady Portia and I will require a bit of privacy.” He looked at his apparent fiancée closely. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

  Portia trembled as Potts poured the tea and then stepped to the door. “Will you require anything further?”

  “No,” Miles answered for her. “Close the door.”

  Potts shot Portia a look but did as she was told. As the click of the door shutting all but echoed in the room, Portia shifted with discomfort.

  “You should not be ordering my servants about.”

  He arched a brow. “That is what you are worried about in this moment?”

  She stared at him. “What am I worried about in this moment could fill a room in itself, one far bigger than this one.”

  He motioned to the settee and took his own place on the chair. She tried not to think about what her twinge of disappointment meant, not when her body still tingled from his intimate touch in the carriage.

  What he had done to her body was far more intense than any pleasure she had ever brought to herself.

  “I think we have established that this marriage is not something either of us would have chosen. Certainly not in this matter that is thrust upon us?” Miles said.

  Her warmer thoughts faded. “I thought you wished to accuse me of entrapping you.”

  He frowned, and the lingering doubt on his face made her turn her gaze from him. He didn’t trust her, and she supposed she deserved it. But she had little choice but to trust him.

  “Miles, I realize I don’t deserve it, but I need your help,” she whispered. She looked up and he was staring at her intently.

  “My help?” he repeated. “With what?”

  She drew in a breath. The idea of explaining the full horror of her life was so painful she could hardly take it. More to the point, she wasn’t sure she could fully explain her plight.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Please.”

  He hesitated, then motioned toward the door. “Lead the way.”

  As she exited, Potts poked her head out of the dining room. When she saw Portia going upstairs, she stumbled into the foyer. “Where are you going, miss?”

  “Is my mother…is my mother dressed?” Portia whispered.

  Potts recoiled. “Lady Portia…”

  Portia sucked in a breath. “I know. I know it is a vile intrusion, but I need Miles to see. It is the only way to ensure her future.”

  Potts squeezed her eyes shut and Portia could see the housekeeper struggling. Miles remained silent through their exchange, only watching Portia carefully.

  Finally, Potts nodded. “She is dressed. In her chamber.”

  Portia swallowed and started up the stairs again. “Showing you is the only way,” she murmured, more to herself than to Miles.

  And it was possibly the way she would send the man screaming away from her, despite the ruination that would follow for them both. But it was a risk she would have to take…for her mother.

  She hesitated outside her mother’s door, staring at the barrier that separated her from something she dreaded deeply. She turned.

  “People speak of my mother and her…her outbursts, I know,” she began with as much dignity as she could muster. “But no one knows the full extent of her pain. I want you to see, but Miles, I haven’t told her yet about our engagement.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “You haven’t?”

  “No.” She shifted.

  “You must tell her at some point,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “It is complicated,” she pleaded. “And I will tell her. I will.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she lightly knocked and turned the knob to let herself into her mother’s room. As the light from the hall joined the low light from her mother’s lamp, she heard Miles gasp.

  And why wouldn’t he? She tried to forget it when she came into this chamber, but she knew what he saw.

  The room was sparsely furnished with only a chair and a bed, and the walls had padding on them. The windows had been barred and there was a crack in the glass from a time when her mother had thrown something at an intruder who did not exist. The cheap wallpaper was torn and hung in strips from where her mother had pawed at it.

  Her mother sat on the lone chair, blond hair uncombed around her face. She was softly singing as she stared off into nothingness.

  Portia swallowed at tears that choked her and stepped into the room. “Mama?”

  Her mother did not respond, but continued her empty crooning beneath her breath.

  “Mama,” Portia repeated, setting her hand down on her mother’s shoulder.

  Her mother jolted and looked up at Portia with pure terror on her face. When a moment passed and she finally recognized her daughter, the high emotion faded, if only slightly.

  “Hello, my dear,” her mother said, almost sounding normal.

  “Good afternoon, Mama. How are you feeling?” Portia asked with a false smile. She refused to look at Miles. Not now.

  Her mother blinked. “I-I am well enough.”

  The hesitation made Portia’s heart sink. There were sometimes voices in her mother’s head. She wondered what they were saying now.

  “Mama, we have a guest,” she said softly.

  Her mother jerked her face toward the door and stared at Miles. “Who is he? Another man from the madhouse like your brother sent?”

  Portia finally looked at Miles herself. His face was so unreadable, she couldn’t tell if he felt horror or pity or disgust or nothing at all.

  “No, my lady,” he finally said, moving closer slowly. “I am Miles. I was a friend of your son and daughter when they were young. I visited your old house where Hammond now lives while you were still in residence there.”

  Her mother wrinkled her brow, and Portia could see her trying to remember. But memories of that house brought her pain and she had developed the ability to cut them off. Portia watched her do just that as her face went blank again.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recall.”

  Portia smiled. “It—it’s all right, Mama. I have news. Miles and I are to be married.”

  Her mother paused for a moment as the words sunk in, then looked at Miles, then back to her. “Married?” she repeated on the barest of whispers.

  Portia nodded. “Yes. And soon.” She swallowed. “Before the week’s end.”

  There was a very long silence. Long enough that Portia leaned toward her mother.

  “Am I invited to the wedding?” her mother whispered.

  Portia squeezed her eyes shut in pain. Her brother had excluded their mother from his wedding just as he almost always excluded them both from his life.

  Portia looked at Miles. He moved forward another step.

  “Of course you will be, my lady. No one would deprive you of seeing your only daughter wed.”

  Portia smiled at Miles through her tears as her mother’s face relaxed. “Very good. I’m so pleased, Portia.” She blinked a few times. “What about your father?”

  Portia tensed. She hadn’t realized her mother’s dream world had come to include her father again. She hadn’t mentioned him as though he still lived for a long time.

  “Mama, you remember, don’t you?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mother’s shoulder. “Papa is dead.”

  Her mother stiffened and stared up at her. “Dead.”

  “Yes, eight years ago. Do you remember?”

  Her mother shuddered. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Portia whispered as she leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

  “Lady Portia?”

  Portia turned to find Potts standing in the doorway. “I’ll stay with he
r.”

  Portia nodded her thanks. “I’ll come speak to you again in a little while, Mama. I have a few things to discuss with Miles.”

  Her mother blinked a few times again and then nodded. “Very well, dear.”

  She squeezed her mother’s hand and then turned to Miles without meeting his eyes. “Shall we step out?”

  He ignored her and instead bent to take her mother’s hand. “Lady Cosslow, I shall look forward to seeing you at the wedding. Good day.”

  Her mother smiled and this time the expression was reminiscent of who she had been years ago. But as Miles led the way out of her mother’s chamber and Portia shut the door, she heard her mother ask Potts, “Is Oliver truly dead, Potts?”

  She leaned against the door as exhaustion overwhelmed her.

  “There you have it, Miles,” she said, trying to keep her focus on the wooden floor beneath her feet.

  “Yes,” he said, softly, gently. “Why don’t you come back downstairs and we can discuss this more thoroughly?”

  She nodded and followed him back to the dingy parlor. She made no offer to pour more tea, she simply sank into the settee and then looked at him.

  “I hope you do not feel doubly lied to after seeing the state my mother has degenerated to.”

  He held her gaze. “I feel nothing but shock and sadness at the condition of your mother, Portia. It has been a long time since I was in your home, but I remember her far differently. How long has it been so dire?”

  She hesitated. Her natural inclination was to play down her mother’s woes. But she had to be honest with Miles.

  She shivered. “It started when I was eight or nine, her episodes. But her problems progressed for years. I would say when my father died and my brother took over as Marquis that it truly hit a peak.”

  “So for eight years you have endured this,” he murmured.

  “No, my brother endures it. I simply grieve what should have been.” She rubbed her eyes. “You know some of it, I’m certain. Her outbursts have occasionally been very public. It is why my brother hid us away in this hovel, though she escapes from time to time even today and roams the streets making what Hammond calls a spectacle.” She frowned. “As if she could control it.”

  “I am sorry,” Miles said, his tone gentle.

  She shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Not when you could help me.”

  He took a small step away. “Yes, you asked for my help before we met with your mother. What is it you think I can do?”

  Portia drew a breath. “My brother wants to have her committed to Townshend House. He has wished to do so for some time, but I believe he will follow through when I am no longer in this home to watch over our mother.”

  “He would put his own mother in such a place?” Miles breathed.

  She nodded. “Both to rid himself of her and to punish me for humiliating him thanks to the circumstances of our engagement.”

  Miles’ lips pressed hard together. “This is exactly why I am no longer friendly with him.”

  Portia drew back, uncertain what he meant by that comment. But at present she had more important matters to attend to.

  “I cannot see her put in such a place, Miles. It would kill her. And it would break me.”

  He looked as though he intended to speak, but she rushed to keep him from denying her without hearing her out fully.

  “I understand you likely do not want to claim responsibility for someone with her difficulties, but I would not ask you to do something without offering you something in return.”

  He hesitated. “Something in return?”

  She nodded. Her cheeks felt hot and her hands shook as she continued, “Miles, there is something between us. A physical draw. And my understanding is that many wives of our sphere do not allow their husbands to take liberties beyond the barest requirement for producing a child.”

  His eyes went wide. “A-and?”

  “Wh-whatever you wanted me to do…whenever you wanted me to do it…I would not argue. I would not disagree.” She swallowed hard past a suddenly thick tongue. “Miles, I would give myself to you entirely.”

  Chapter Seven

  Miles could hardly speak as he stared at Portia. She sat primly on the edge of the settee, for all the world a lady, but offered him the pleasures of her body in any and every wicked way he could imagine.

  “Are you bargaining for the safety of your mother with your body?” he asked, knowing full well that was what she had done, but somehow needing to hear it again.

  She shifted. “Yes. I realize it is small payment for what I ask, but I hope you would find it a worthwhile-enough temptation that you would say yes.”

  Miles turned away from her and paced to the window. What she must think of him to believe she had to offer herself in order to gain his assistance. He thought of Lady Cosslow in that horrible room, so lost to the world, and his heart ached for everything Portia had been through. He would no more see his future mother-in-law sent to a horrible place like Townshend House than he would see his own beloved sister placed there. That Hammond would even consider such a thing made his stomach turn.

  He glanced at Portia. She was worrying her hands together in her lap as she awaited his decision. She had shattered in pleasure in the carriage. What else he could do to her…

  And she had no idea that he would help her mother without asking for anything in return.

  So why not take advantage of her…well, desperation when he was honest with himself. It wasn’t gentlemanly, but it was oh, so very tempting, wasn’t it?

  He cleared his throat. “Do you know what you are offering me?”

  She hesitated. “I have heard a little, looked at a few pictures and I have…I have touched myself sometimes in the dark of my bed.”

  He groaned as images of such a thing bombarded him. “I am a man of certain appetites, Portia. If you tell me I can do with you what I wish, I will take full advantage of that offer. I will do things to you, with you, that you have never dreamed of. Would you really be ready for that?”

  Her eyes were wide and glassy as she nodded. “I keep my word. If I say I will do what you wish, I will. Even if it hurts.”

  “It won’t hurt,” he reassured her. “I will make sure of that. What you felt in the carriage, did that hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “That is only the beginning. I will make you feel so much better.” He moved toward her and she gasped as he sank onto the settee next to her. “I will make you beg me for more. I will make you weak with pleasure. But I cannot promise that you won’t fear what I want. That you won’t be changed by it.”

  Her breath came heavy for a charged moment, and then she nodded. “If you help me, I will do anything you desire, Miles. Anything.”

  He drove his fingers into her silky blond hair and tilted her face toward his. His mouth collided with hers and he kissed her, pouring passion into her with his lips the same way he would soon with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. Oh, the ways he would debauch her.

  He pulled back. “I take your offer, Portia. Your brother, greedy bastard that he is, will easily fold under my demands to remove your mother from his care.”

  “Are you sure?” Portia shook her head. “If he feels he can gain something from refusal, he will do it.”

  Miles scowled. “If he doesn’t, I will make certain he changes his mind. You will not have to worry about your mother’s future.”

  Portia went limp in his arms as she buried her face into his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and her voice cracked as she trembled in his arms. He stared down at her, smelling the freshness of her hair, feeling the warmth in her quivering limbs. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her. A powerful shot of protectiveness rocked him as he did so. Now that he had seen the full power of what she had endured, he wanted to help her. To make her smile. To give back a tiny bit of what circumstance and selfish men had taken from her.

  Couldn’t he do that? Couldn�
�t he shower her with kindness and joy without entangling emotions? Since they were to be married either way, it seemed like he could give her that.

  She pulled away and looked up at him with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He stood and smoothed his jacket. “Don’t trouble yourself, Portia. I wasn’t offended by your emotion. I would be more offended if you were like your brother and felt nothing toward your mother. Now I have some arrangements to be made with him about this, since I fear he will act swiftly if I don’t intercept him.”

  Portia got to her feet and followed him into the foyer. “Thank you.”

  He turned and looked her up and down in her cheap garment and her dim and ugly hall. “Portia, my sister’s dressmaker will call tomorrow for you and for your mother.”

  “Oh no—” she began, cheeks flushing just as they had at his sister’s earlier in the day.

  “Hush. I will pay for it and I will brook no refusals,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You are to be my wife, no matter what circumstances brought us to this. I will not see you treated as anything else from now on.”

  Portia nodded after another moment’s hesitation. “Very well.”

  “Good day,” he said as he exited the house. But as he walked to his horse, he smiled. Indeed, he had much to plan. Both for Portia’s new life, and for the pleasures he would shower over her as soon as she was his, body and soul.

  By the next morning, Portia had spent hours making a list. A list of everything she would have to do to ready for a wedding in a few days’ time. It was very long and so overwhelming that she feared she might weep.

  She rested her head on the edge of the flimsy dressing table in her chamber and sighed heavily. She was about to lift it again and return to her work when she heard the bell downstairs ringing to indicate a guest.

  She paused and listened as Potts answered it and let someone inside, a woman judging by the lilting tones floating through the thin walls to Portia’s room. She stood up and turned toward the door, ready when Potts knocked, then entered a moment later.