But as he slipped into his own dreamless slumber, a piercing thought intruded. There was a screaming voice he couldn’t silence that told him he was wrong. That maybe, for once in his life, he should want more. That maybe, for the first time ever, he could have more.
Portia’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked around the chamber in a moment of confusion. This wasn’t her tiny room with its rickety furniture and lumpy bed that made her back ache. This was…
Then her mind cleared. This was Miles’ house. This was her husband’s bed, where she had spent her wedding night exploring pleasure and discussing a shocking future she could scarce imagine.
She rolled onto her back, lifting the sheet to cover her bare breasts. She was alone, though the rumpled sheets spoke of Miles being there with her through the night. That and a neatly folded note resting there with her name scrawled across the face.
She plucked it from its place and sat up. Before she read it, she shook her head. How had she not heard him get up? Normally, she was on pins and needles all night long. The slightest blowing of the breeze would wake her. But here…she had apparently slept like the dead.
With a sigh, she opened the note and read, “When you wake, ring and someone will help you ready yourself. If I am not in the dining room, please find me in my office. M.”
The words weren’t exactly romantic, but they weren’t cold either. They were simply there, a deeper meaning unreadable, just as everything was with Miles. He showed her a surface self, but nothing more.
“Do I want more?” she muttered as she got out of bed.
Her clothing was gone. Another piece of evidence that she had slept very well, indeed, but a robe had been left draped across the chair for her. She pulled it on and rang for a servant.
Almost immediately, a girl arrived with a smile.
“Good morning, Lady Weatherfield,” she said, cheery as she entered the room.
“Oh my,” Portia said with a shake of her head. “That is me, isn’t it?”
The young woman laughed. “Indeed. You’ll get used to it soon enough. My name is Bridget and I’m a maid for the house, but I’ll serve as your lady’s maid until you choose another. Why don’t we go into your chamber?”
Portia blinked but followed the girl slowly. Now that it was daylight, she could finally see the bedroom that would be called hers. As she passed through the door, she caught her breath.
It was beautiful. It was three times as big as her chamber in the house her brother provided, with a massive cherry wood wardrobe and a matching dressing table. A full-length mirror sat in one corner. The walls had been painted a soft, rabbit-fur gray with white and slight rose accents throughout the fine paintings and other décor.
Portia swayed on her feet and only just caught the back of the chair beside the dressing table to steady herself. Immediately Bridget was at her side, her eyes wide.
“Oh, my lady, are you well?”
Portia blushed. “Yes, I am fine, I’m sorry. It’s only—” Tears stung her eyes and she covered her mouth to keep a sob in. “I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve had such a fine room. Since I’ve had anything that was just…mine.”
The maid’s expression softened. “Well, you have that and more here, my lady,” she said quietly as she produced a handkerchief seemingly from nowhere. “And his lordship has already declared that you should change anything you like in this room to personalize it.”
Portia shook her head. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” she whispered.
Bridget chose not to answer and instead turned toward the wardrobe. “Let me select one of your pretty new gowns and we can have you ready in a moment.”
Portia smiled as the girl opened the wardrobe and began to flick through the small collection of gowns. She was very good. The very best servants knew when to be kind, but also when to give an employer his or her space to compose themselves.
Which Portia did before the young woman turned back, holding up a new dress. It was a lovely pale green with fine hand-stitched accents.
“This one will be very pretty with your hair,” Bridget suggested.
Portia nodded. “Very well.”
In a moment, the maid had stripped her from the silken robe and began to help her into the dress.
“His lordship said to let you have your breakfast, but if you’d like a bath after, we can begin to prepare one.” Bridget cast her eyes down. “It may…help.”
Portia blushed, but what was there to be said? The previous night being her wedding night—the entire household knew what she had been doing.
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Portia said, then hastened to change the embarrassing subject. “How long have you worked here?”
Bridget smiled as she fastened buttons and smoothed silk carefully. “Oh goodness, near five years now. My mama was once a maid here. When she died, I was offered a place by Lord Weatherfield himself.”
Portia shook her head. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty-one. To lose her mother so young hurt Portia to her soul.
“That was kind,” she replied when it was clear Bridget expected a response.
“Oh yes, very kind. But he is the very best of masters, as any of the servants will tell you. Never sharp and always willing to help. He is generous in his wagers and the days we have to ourselves.”
Portia sucked in the new information like a greedy sponge. She knew full well that a man could easily be measured by his treatment of his servants. Her father and her brother were both terrible to theirs. That Miles was respected and even liked by those in his employ spoke highly of him.
“And what of the house?” Portia pressed. “Is there anything I should know as I embark upon my new life here?”
Bridget finished with the gown and motioned for Portia to sit at the dressing table where she began to brush her tangled blond hair.
“Let me think. There is a glorious library downstairs that Lord Weatherfield encourages everyone in the house to enjoy freely. And a music room where Lady Tennille…” The girl blushed. “I’m sorry, Lady Brinforth, once practiced her pianoforte daily. She is a talented musician.”
Portia bit her lip. Although it was expected for ladies of her station to be proficient in some kind of art, she had never been encouraged to play or sing or sew or anything else. Either money or mocking had kept her from pursuing those things.
“I cannot wait to have the pleasure of hearing her play,” Portia finally said with an only slightly forced smile.
“Oh and the garden is most beautiful,” Bridget added as she pressed a final pin into Portia’s locks and smiled at the reflection. “There, you look lovely, my lady. I’m sure your husband and your mother will be enchanted.”
Portia jolted a little at the statement and stared up at the maid. “My—my mother?”
The girl seemed to sense her surprise and shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. They are having a meal together in the breakfast room that faces the east.”
Portia swallowed, trying not to think of how that was going. “How long have they been together?”
Bridget shook her head. “Half an hour, perhaps?”
Portia pushed to her feet. “Show me to the breakfast room, Bridget. Hurry!”
Chapter Thirteen
Miles smiled as he passed a plate of toast down the table to his mother-in-law. Instead of taking the topmost piece, she took the second one down, then buttered it as she continued talking.
“My husband was just the same way, I fear. Stuck on the idea of catching some ridiculously large fish from that pond. I told him again and again that there were only minnows in the water, but he never believed me.”
She laughed and Miles laughed with her, stricken by how funny and aware she could be. He had seen her detached and broken before. His heart hurt for Portia. In some ways, these times of lucidity had to make the longer stretches of madness all the more difficult.
“I imagine all men are driven to catch the biggest fish,” he said as he smiled at her. “I
t is in our nature, you cannot change it.”
Portia’s mother’s laughter faded a bit. “But sometimes it is better to be satisfied with the fish we have caught. Otherwise, you will never get to supper at all.”
Miles arched a brow at her words and her rather sharp expression. It seemed her ladyship was making a point, and it wasn’t a bad one. Apparently his reputation preceded him, even with a mother-in-law who had been shut in for years. He would have to tread very carefully here if he didn’t want to bring himself grief or cause Lady Cosslow any pain or confusion.
But before he could respond at all, the door to the breakfast room flew open and Portia was revealed in the entryway, her eyes wide and her face pink with both exertion and emotion. She stared, first at her mother, then to him, then back to Lady Cosslow a second time. Her panic was obvious and it cut him to the bone.
“Portia,” he drawled, rising to his feet. “How lovely to see you this morning—did you sleep well?”
She looked at him as if she didn’t understand the question and then her focus drifted back to her mother. “I—”
Lady Cosslow didn’t seem to be aware at all of her daughter’s distress. “Portia, darling. I was just breaking my fast with your husband. Will you not join us?”
Portia drew in a few long breaths and then moved toward them with slow uncertainty. “Mama, how are you feeling?”
Her mother blinked. “Why, I am very well.”
“I see.” Portia swallowed and her disbelief and wariness was lined across her face.
How many times had she had this conversation with her mother? How many times had it deteriorated into something terrible?
“Please, Portia, join us,” Miles said, coming around the table to take her hand. The second their skin touched, he was jolted by desire and keen awareness of her scent, her warmth, her being in general.
She seemed just as moved, if the slight increase in her breathing was any indication. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, but she didn’t pull away and allowed him to take her to the table and help her settle into a place across from her mother and beside him.
He motioned to a footman waiting at the door. Immediately the young man stepped to his side.
“Portia, how would you like to break your fast?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t usually—” She cut herself off with a furious blush and Miles’ heart almost stopped.
She didn’t eat breakfast…because her brother hadn’t provided her with enough funds to afford it. He had never wanted to pummel a man so much in his life. But he remained calm.
“Bring her ladyship some tea, eggs, bacon and toast. Oh, and be sure Mrs. Flynn puts her homemade jam on the tray.”
The young man bobbed his head at the order and slipped silently from the room. Portia said nothing, but stared at Miles, eyes wide.
He ignored the expression and instead smiled at her. “Once you have eaten, I would greatly like to take you on a tour of the London house. We will stay in Town until the weather improves, so I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Yes,” Portia nodded, and her voice sounded a little more normal now that they were having a rational conversation and she wasn’t having to defend her mother or herself. “I would like that.”
“Lady Cosslow, you should join us in that tour,” Miles added, extending his smile to his new mother-in-law.
Lady Cosslow blinked at him, as confused by this request as Portia seemed to be by finding them breaking bread together a few moments before.
“I would be in the way,” Lady Cosslow said softly.
Once again, Miles saw his mother-in-law’s awareness of her limitations and his heart ached for that pain she tried to hide.
“Nonsense, you wouldn’t be in the way in the slightest. After all, you will be living here, as well.” Miles touched her hand briefly. “I would like for you to come.”
Slowly, Lady Cosslow cast a glance to her daughter and when she found Portia smiling at her, she nodded. “If you would like me to join you, I wouldn’t be so rude as to deny you. I look forward to seeing this beautiful home more thoroughly.”
“Then it is settled,” Miles said as the servant placed a plate before Portia. “When you are finished, we shall begin.”
She nodded and began to eat, but Portia never took her eyes from his face. And though he shifted beneath her close regard, he couldn’t help but feel that this brief moment where someone saw him as a hero was a feeling he could grow accustomed to.
If only he weren’t such a rake.
Portia trailed a few steps behind her new husband and her mother as Miles led them on a tour of his home. She couldn’t help but ponder how very different the man was than he had ever led anyone to believe. A rogue, a rake, even a cad were words she had sometimes heard used about him…but he was nothing of the sort.
He was intelligent, he was amusing, and he was kind…so very kind to her mother that she almost couldn’t bear it, for no one had been kind to Thomasina in years.
Even now, her mother had her arm linked through his and was chatting and laughing with him as if the world was a normal place for her. It was only the occasional twitch of her eyes or hesitation in her step that would let anyone know that her mother wasn’t well. She had even done reasonably well when they all met the servants, though her mother had taken Portia’s hand and clung to it rather than saying hello.
Portia smiled, tugging herself from her musings. “You have taken us all over this beautiful house, Miles, but you have not shown us the one place that intrigues me most.”
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at her and their eyes met briefly. He had mischief in his eyes, mixed with a flash of powerful desire that hit her low in the gut and made her ache with her own mirrored need.
How could he do such things to her with just a heated glance?
“And what have I withheld?” he teased. “I would not wish to leave you unsatisfied.”
Portia swallowed hard at his choice of words. “Why, your library, my lord,” she managed to squeeze out past a tight throat.
He arched a brow and then nodded. “Of course! But I have not forgotten, I merely saved the best for last.”
He pointed to a set of large double doors at the end of one of the twisting hallways they had come by. He released her mother’s hand and moved to them. Before he opened them, though, he turned back.
“My library is open to all who live in this house. I hope you will take full advantage.”
Then he smiled, an expression filled with pride and boyish glee at what he would reveal. His excitement was catching, for Portia’s heart lodged in her throat as the doors opened and revealed the most magnificent thing she had ever seen.
The room was massive, twice the size of his splendid ballroom where they had taken their vows, with vaulted ceilings at least two stories above where they stood capped with a glass dome that allowed natural light to merge with that of the lamps and fire.
The fireplace was a giant thing with a mantel of rock and decorated brass that reflected columns of gold along the bookshelves that lined every wall.
They were so high that there were ladders all around the room to reach the upper reaches of the shelves.
“Great…God,” Portia breathed, stepping in beside him to stare.
“Close your mouth, wife,” he said close to her ear, mimicking his words from the night before when she first saw him naked.
She was nearly as impressed now as she had been then, but she smiled up at him at their shared reference. He stared at her a long moment, his gaze hooded and unreadable, before he turned to her mother.
“Lady Cosslow, won’t you excuse us a moment?”
Her mother nodded. “I will take the opportunity to greedily peruse your shelves.”
He smiled, caught Portia by her elbow and dragged her out of the library, down the hall and into a small parlor nearby. He hauled her inside, slammed the door and suddenly he was pressing her against the b
arrier, his mouth hot and hard against hers as he dragged his tongue against hers.
She gasped for breath as he pulled away and gave her a sliver of space between them. There was the rake, the rogue, the seducer he had been hiding. But the curtain had been pulled back and now she saw him as more.
“What is that appraising look,” he asked, wiping his mouth. “Are you judging my techniques already?”
She laughed softly. “No, I am simply thinking about what a charlatan you are.”
His eyes grew wide. “A shocking accusation, indeed. And very serious.” He paced away. “But I have no idea what you could mean.”
“Don’t you?” Portia asked, folding her arms as she watched him shuffle in discomfort. “You are known as a cad. In fact, you seem to revel in your bad reputation…but you are not at all what you pretend to be.”
He stared at her. “What am I, Portia?”
“You are a good man, with far more depth than you allow anyone to see.” She motioned to the door behind her. “Anyone with eyes could determine how proud you are of your library, how eager you are to share it. That is not the hobby of a libertine. And your kindness toward me, toward my mother, under the worst of circumstances—” She caught her breath. “Well, not even my own brother can manage a fraction of your goodness when it comes to her.”
He stared at her for a long moment and then he moved on her. He pushed her against the door a second time, pinning her with a hand on either side of her head, his face close to hers.
“Portia, I’m leaving for a while, going out to take care of a bit of business that cannot be avoided,” he said, his sweet breath warm on her face. “But I would suggest you take your bath and ready yourself while I am gone, for when I come home, I will not be good. I will not be nice. I will prove to you that whatever you think you know about me after just a few days of being close, I live up to my wicked reputation perfectly well.”
Her breath caught as she stared up at his handsome face. “Is that meant to be a threat?”
He smiled, but there was darkness and sensuality in that expression. “A promise, my dear.”
Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) Page 12