Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars)

by Jess Michaels

  The facts hit him like punches to the chest. His life had always been so charmed, despite the painful past he hid from the world. In public, though, he had never suffered from a lack of friends, a lack of female interest. He had never considered those things might actually hurt his wife.

  He nodded. “Yes, I see. Then I should go and find her.”

  He turned to do just that, but Ava caught his elbow. When he faced her, her expression was grave.

  “I only ask that you do not give her something you intend to take away later, my lord,” she said, her voice wavering just a little. “If a person is shattered enough times, they will become incapable of picking up the pieces.”

  She released his elbow and backed away. Miles stared at her a moment, then left her without another word, moving into the crowd to find his wife. But even as he maneuvered, unseeing, through the increasing crowd, he couldn’t help but be very troubled by Ava’s words. They rang too close to Tennille’s comment that he could make Portia love him.

  He didn’t want that. And yet the thought of it was not entirely unpleasant as he moved toward the terrace where he was certain he would find Portia waiting.

  Portia felt Christian staring at her, his kind gaze burning into her back as she leaned on the terrace wall, staring out over the gardens below. Slowly, she turned to look at her friend’s handsome husband with as real a smile as she could manage.

  “You have been most attentive, but Christian, you are not required to spend your evening with me, watching my every move like a hawk.”

  He arched a brow. “You think not? My dearest Portia, you are the closest friend my wife has and she loves you as she would a sister. Therefore, your happiness is hers and your heartbreak is hers. Because I love her, my job is to take care of anything and anyone that affects her so deeply. Consequently, it is exactly my job to stand with you and offer you comfort…or refreshment…or anything else that will aid you.” He smiled and his stern face softened slightly. “Aside from all that, I like you and I hate to see you hurting.”

  Portia’s smile because far more real at his words, but she couldn’t help but feel the sting of them as well. Christian was living proof that a marriage born from a history of pain and despair could blossom into one of deep love, friendship and mutual respect. He adored Ava beyond measure.

  And he stood there, a handsome, walking reminder of what she could never have.

  “You are so kind,” she said, trying to keep her tone even so he wouldn’t hear the pain in her voice. “And I am so very lucky to have you and Ava in my life. But I need a moment to myself.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “Please.”

  His brow wrinkled, but he nodded slowly. “Very well, Portia. We will be just inside.”

  She watched as he walked away, but the moment he had gone into the house, she spun back to the terrace wall with a gasp of all the emotion she’d been keeping inside.

  Her heart ached with humiliation and pain, and she could hardly bear it. She felt so…so…foolish. Foolish because she knew every person in that ballroom was fully aware of what a sham her marriage was, whether she found powerful pleasure in Miles’ bed or not. Their passion didn’t change the truth, it only made it more palatable when they were alone.

  Behind her the terrace door opened, and she tensed, not wanting an intruder, good-intentioned or not, to be a part of this desperate moment.

  But as the door clicked shut, something in the air around her shifted, grew heavier, and she knew, even without turning, that it was Miles who had come onto the terrace with her. Miles, the one man who wouldn’t leave even if she begged. She felt his stare on her back, burning through her clothing, through her body to her very soul.

  But he did not speak. Even as she kept her back to him, even as the moments stretched out.

  Finally, she turned to face him. “Miles,” she whispered.

  He held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

  She blinked in confusion. That was the last thing she expected him to say and in the shadows of the terrace, she couldn’t read his expression.

  “What?”

  He moved closer and took her hand to draw her closer. He was warm compared to the brisk winter air and smelled of pine and other masculine things. She couldn’t help but think of his bare skin against hers, his mouth on hers, even in this tense moment.

  “Come inside and dance with me, Portia,” he repeated just above a whisper.

  She shook her head, unwanted tears flooding her eyes. “Miles, I don’t want your pity—” she began, but he cut her off by placing two fingers on her lips.

  “It is not for my pity, it is for my pleasure,” he insisted. “Come inside and dance with me.”

  She looked down at her hand in his, feeling the protective warmth of his fingers. With a shiver, she nodded and allowed him to lead her inside and through the crowd to where the orchestra had just begun to play the strains of a waltz.

  Portia had danced with Miles a handful of times over the years. She had always been impressed by how graceful he was, how effortlessly he moved. Now that she had been in his bed, she could see that the act of sex and the act of dancing were linked, that he was proficient in one likely because of a high proficiency in the other.

  He caught her around the waist with one firm hand and they spun into the crowd. She felt the eyes of the ton move to them immediately and had to force herself not to bolt from the room.

  “Look at me,” he said softly, as if he could read her discomfort. “Never take your gaze from mine.”

  She shuddered at the thought. As if that would ease her distress. It would only compound it when she was lost in his dark, swirling gaze.

  But she did as she had been told and soon she forgot the other couples around them, she no longer heard their pointed whispers or felt their judgmental stares. All the world, all her world, was focused on Miles, and he gave back the same intensity as he received. For a moment she believed she was the only important woman in his life.

  She swallowed as she tried to cling to some reality.

  “I-I was never given permission to waltz,” she stammered.

  A foolish thing to say since it only reinforced her pathetic history, but it jumped from her lips anyway.

  He smiled. “It is a good thing that as a married woman you can tell those biddies at Almack’s to fly a kite. You may waltz with me any time. In fact, I insist that you do so any time there is an opportunity.”

  “Why?” she said, laughter escaping her lips despite her uneasiness. “I certainly cannot be the best dancer you have ever encountered in your long, illustrious career as a rake.”

  “Was it illustrious?” he asked with a grin that made her stomach clench with quick, unexpected desire.

  “You know it was, you cad,” she giggled.

  “Well, I shall not debate a lady on the subject,” he said, twirling her gently. “But I have found you are the only person interesting enough to share a waltz with. So I will repeat my insistence that you make yourself available every time the dance is to be danced.”

  The music faded and she slowly came to a stop and curtseyed playfully. “Whatever his lordship desires.”

  His smile faded, and he took her hand, raising it to his lips. He gently brushed them across her knuckles until she sighed with pleasure.

  Then he released her and offered his arm. She took it, brought back to reality in that moment. Their dance had been so private, so intimate that she had all but forgotten the stares on them. Now they were back, but as they left the dance floor, she couldn’t help but notice those stares had…changed.

  Instead of judgmental, those around them now looked…confused. She couldn’t blame them. Had Miles just claimed her on the dance floor? If she had seen their dance from afar, would she judge them to be a real and happy couple?

  What a fallacy.

  They reached the edge of the crowd to find Ava and Christian had been joined by Miles’ sister Tennille and her husband Richard
. Portia forced a smile, for she wanted Tennille to like her.

  “Good evening, my darlings, I am so sorry we’re late,” Tennille said with a smile as she pressed a kiss to first Miles’ cheek and then surprised Portia by repeating the action to her. “Don’t you look beautiful?”

  Portia glanced down. Everyone kept saying that, and she could admit that the expensive, perfectly fitted gown did flatter her, but did it truly make her pretty? She had never judged herself as such.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to squeak out.

  Tennille smiled. “But you must be thirsty after the dance—won’t you join me at the punch bowl?”

  Her husband immediately stepped forward. “I would be glad to fetch drinks for all the ladies.”

  Tennille smiled at him but waved him away with one hand. “And deprive me of the chance to gossip with my new sister? For shame, my love.”

  Everyone else laughed, but Portia couldn’t help but tense. If Tennille wanted to speak to her alone, what would she say? She had been very kind so far, but that could easily change if she had done something wrong.

  “Of course I would be pleased to join you,” Portia choked out, sending a quick look to Ava in the hopes her friend would save her.

  But Ava smiled broadly and instead slipped to the dance floor with her husband. Christian’s limp from old injuries kept him from dancing much, but he did so from time to time, with his wife’s encouragement.

  Portia swallowed hard and jolted as Tennille linked arms with her and drew her away from their husbands. As they moved slowly through the crowd, her sister-in-law squeezed her gently.

  “I must say, you and my brother looked very happy during the waltz.”

  Portia sent a side-glance to Tennille. “He is a fine dancer. I’m certain he makes any partner look vastly improved.”

  Tennille laughed. “Perhaps, but that was not what I meant.” She nodded to a few ladies who smiled at her then looked at Portia with uncertainty.

  She blushed at the pointed nature of Tennille’s stare. “Then what was your meaning? I’m apparently too daft to guess it.”

  There was a crowd around the table with the punch, so Tennille stopped and turned toward Portia.

  “I meant you looked happy. Your smiles and laughter and the way he did not remove his gaze from you tell me you two are connected.”

  Portia dropped her chin. Connected. Perhaps physically, yes, but he made it so clear that there could be nothing more to it than that.

  “After everything my brother has been through…” Tennille began, then trailed off with a shake of her head.

  Portia stopped worrying about herself and instead focused her attention on her sister-in-law.

  “Been through?” she repeated, trying to picture whatever she could mean.

  Miles had lived a rather charmed existence as far as she could see. He had lost his parents young, of course, and that obviously troubled him based on their brief conversation in the carriage. But he had never seemed to suffer or want for anything.

  Tennille bit her lip. “He wouldn’t want me to go into detail, and it is a tale a husband should tell a wife, no one else. But Portia, remember that sometimes scars are not where they can be seen by all. My brother has suffered…and I hope that you will keep that in mind if he says or does things that—” She stopped with a shake of her head. “I’ve said too much. I’m sorry.”

  Portia stared at her sister-in-law, but before she could say anything further, space opened at the refreshment area and the two women wedged their way into the crowd to take their punch.

  But as they returned to their husbands and Tennille changed the subject to more benign topics, Portia couldn’t help but wonder what she didn’t know about Miles.

  And if he had suffered some unknown pains, what more they had in common than a mere physical attraction.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was after midnight when the carriage pulled away from the home of the Duke and Duchess of Laurelgreen and into the busy streets of London. It had been a hectic night and yet Miles felt strangely at peace as he sat, Portia tucked up against him, his arm around her and the silly fabric butterfly he had created earlier in the evening perched in her lap. Her eyes were closed, a tiny smile on her face.

  Just that small expression made his heart swell with pride and pleasure.

  “You survived the night,” he murmured.

  She opened one eye to look at him and the smile grew. “I did. Thanks entirely to you, your family and our friends. Somehow by the end of the evening, even the congratulations on our marriage were beginning to sound sincere. Perhaps I imbibed in too much punch.”

  He laughed, though he knew the humor of her self-deprecation hid a deeper discomfort with her place in the world. But perhaps that would slowly melt away as she felt acceptance from him and from those around her.

  “You may have done just that, but I believe those in attendance were beginning to see that our forced match is a good one. You were magnificent and you look beautiful.”

  He slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face toward his. She sighed just as his lips touched hers and he glided his tongue between them to taste her. She melted against him, her soft fingers weaving into his hair as she arched against his chest with a tiny moan of pleasure.

  He drew back to smile at her. “Very nice, but you will have me losing control in this carriage…again…if you aren’t careful.”

  She tucked her head back into his shoulder. “I recall the last time you lost control in this carriage, it was more than pleasurable for me. So your warning does not discourage me.”

  “Good,” he murmured, stroking his hand along hers slowly.

  It was a long ride and he was in no hurry now. He had all night to seduce and worship her.

  She began to smooth her hand over his chest gently, tucking it inside his jacket to where his body warmth was trapped. He was about to lift her into his lap and drag her in for another, far more passionate kiss, when she spoke again.

  “I had a very interesting, albeit brief exchange with your sister tonight,” she said.

  He shook his head. “One does not generally want to discuss one’s sister when one is about to tumble his wife against a carriage seat.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Is that what you were about to do?”

  He arched a brow. “Do not pretend that you didn’t know, you were most definitely encouraging such an act.”

  “Perhaps I was,” she mused, holding his gaze.

  He could see she would not be deterred and he sighed. “Well, then we must get all talk about Tennille out of your system, mustn’t we? What very interesting things did my very interesting sister have to say?”

  Portia hesitated long enough that Miles’ stare filled with alarm. Perhaps Tennille was unwell or the children had an issue or a thousand other terrors that clenched his heart.

  “Portia?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I was only trying to think of a good way to explain. You see, it wasn’t what your sister said, it was what she held back that drew my interest.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” he replied, leaning back to look at her more closely in the dim carriage.

  “She implied that perhaps there is more to your past that I should know about,” she said slowly. “That you have suffered without anyone ever knowing it and that is why you understand my own suffering so well. Is that true?”

  Desire left Miles in an instant, replaced with a roaring voice in his head that screamed at him to push away, to lock out, to make her stop. He had already decided not to tell her those intimate secrets and he now fought against her intrusion with all his might.

  He ignored that voice, calming himself before he spoke.

  “How ridiculous,” he said, but he heard the strain in his own tone. Judging from Portia’s softening expression, so did she.

  “Is it?” she whispered.

  “Of course,” he snapped, pulling away and forcing her to straighten up so
she wouldn’t slump on the seat. “You have reminded me more than once that I have lived a very charmed life, haven’t you?”

  She tilted her head, her gaze boring into him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Charmed for all to see. But there are things that happen behind closed doors that perhaps we never see.”

  He flinched. She was far too close to the truth now.

  “You are being preposterous.” He pushed to sit across from her in the opposite seat and folded his arms.

  “Your mother and father both died,” she mused. “How difficult that must have been.”

  He measured his breath with difficulty and glared at her. How dare she intrude upon his memories?

  “Stop,” he growled.

  “Your mother died when your sister was born, didn’t she? How old were you?”

  “Too young for it to matter,” he lied. “And you are invading a subject that is far too personal.”

  “You know of my mother’s madness,” Portia said with a shake of her head. “How much more personal could we go?”

  “That is different,” he insisted.

  Her brow wrinkled. “How?”

  He opened his mouth, but no explanation came. He could think of nothing to say. She didn’t seem to require him to speak though, for she tapped her chin with a forefinger.

  “No, I think it isn’t your mother who troubles you, at least not enough to make your sister refer to it. It’s something else.” She shook her head. “You were a man when your father died. We talked about it tonight, but perhaps you miss him more than you let on.”

  Miles tensed and his teeth ground as nausea bubbled up inside his stomach. Her saying those things, implying his father was worthy stole all reason from his mind temporarily.

  “Miss him? I could only wish he would have left this earth a decade before. If I had been more of a man, I would have killed him myself.”

  The harsh words echoed in the carriage and Portia flinched back from them, surprise reflected all over her face. He bit back a curse. She had forced his hand and he had lost control. That was something he never did. Ever.