Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (11 page)

Portia shook her head. “Not at all. I am pleased to see you.”

“May I present Miss King?” Tennille asked, holding a hand out to the other woman. “Probably the best mantua maker in all of England, so don’t tell anyone else about her for fear they will drive her prices up and her availability down.”

Miss King laughed and held out a hand. “A great pleasure, my lady. I hear we will also be fitting your mother for a gown for the wedding. Is she at home?”

Portia caught her breath and glanced at the two women. “I—well—”

“Lady Portia’s mother is unwell,” Tennille interrupted kindly. “And my understanding is that she may not be able to join us today.”

“I would have to look in on her and ascertain her…fitness,” Portia whispered, cheeks hot with a blush.
 

Miss King must have sensed the undercurrent, but made no indication. “I see. Of course it is best to have a true model by which to create a gown, but if she is unable to come down to be measured, I could also look at one of her current gowns and make something likely to fit very well.”

Portia nearly drooped with relief. “That may be best, but I will check.”

“Shall we start with you, though?” Miss King asked, motioning to a place by the light of the window. “I have a great many delicious fabrics that will suit your fair looks well.”

Portia followed her to the table and found a pretty pile of fabric. Much of it seemed very appropriate for a wedding, but there were other selections that couldn’t possibly be for that special day. Her confusion must have been reflected on her face, as Miss King smiled.

“Your future husband has asked that after I complete your wedding gown posthaste, I also create a full wardrobe of new gowns for you. So you will choose those fabrics today as well.”

Portia gasped. “I—he—?”

“Don’t question, my dear, just enjoy a new wardrobe,” Tennille said with a squeeze of her arm.
 

Portia shook her head. If Miles already believed she had been part of a trick to capture him as a husband, the amount of money he was spending now had to bother him immensely. Would he even be speaking to her by the time they wed?

Tennille gave the seamstress a quick look, and the other woman smiled. “I realize I have left something in the carriage. Excuse me.”

As she stepped from the room, Tennille touched Portia’s arm. “Please don’t look so forlorn, Portia.”

Portia all but wailed. Could she do nothing right?

“I don’t mean to. I appreciate all you and your brother are doing. Your kindness, especially given the circumstances, is entirely unexpected.”

Tennille tilted her head. “Portia, there are two options in this world. We can make the best of our circumstances or we can fight them with every step. Perhaps the beginnings of this marriage you will enter with my brother are not the best, but I hope in time you will find some happiness together. That you will take your place in our family without lowering your chin or feeling the heat of a blush at the circumstances.”

Portia let out a sigh. “Yes. I will try.”

“Good.” Tennille smiled over her shoulder as Miss King returned. “Now let us get you measured and pick some fabrics, shall we?”

Portia moved toward the table and the stunning array of beautiful things to be found there. Miles and his family continued to present her with kindness.

She could only hope it wouldn’t run out once a ring had been put on her finger. And that the bargain she had made with Miles wouldn’t break her in every way that was important.

Chapter Eight

The beautifully appointed carriage Miles had sent for Portia pulled up to the massive home right on the edges of St. James Park. Portia peeked around the curtain and sucked in a breath. It was huge. It was beautiful.

It was hers…
somehow
.

At least after tomorrow morning when she and Miles would be wed. Since the dress fitting a few days before, the final arrangements had been made, the last signings of contracts had been done and a few select invitations had been sent.
 

All without her seeing Miles for more than ten minutes all put together. Certainly without her spending any time alone with him.
 

She sighed as the footman opened the door and helped her out. There was a party tonight. One she wished she could avoid, but appearances were stressed to her daily by her brother.
 

She moved to the front door, which opened even before she reached it. A tall, very official-looking butler greeted her.

“Good evening, Lady Portia,” he intoned in important tones as he allowed her into the warm parlor out of the frigid winter air. He took her wrap. “Lord Weatherfield awaits you in the blue parlor.”

Portia blinked. She had not lived in a home with multiple parlors for so long, she hardly knew how to respond. “I see. Are the other guests already here?” she asked as she followed the man to the apparently blue parlor.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Other guests?” he repeated.

She nodded. “Yes.”

The butler paused at the door and shook his head. “There are no other guests, my lady.”
 

Before she could respond, he opened the door and announced her.

Miles was standing by the fire and turned. “Thank you, Armstrong. Stay a moment, will you?”

The butler stepped aside and led her into a parlor that was quite blue indeed. The walls had a navy hue with bright white wainscoting and the furniture had hints of blue as well. She wondered, briefly, what lady had picked these designs…and hoped it was Tennille and not some mistress.

Miles interrupted her troubling thoughts by saying, “Portia, I would like to present my butler, Armstrong.”

She turned and smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’ll meet the other servants later, I’ll present them the day after we are wed.” Miles shrugged. “But Armstrong is a good sort, very accommodating, and he will make sure your things are put away once you are officially the lady of this house. He has also found a few candidates for a lady’s maid for you, so you may interview them after we wed.”

She looked at the butler with a start. She hadn’t even thought of such a thing. “Oh…thank you. I hope it didn’t put you out at all.”

The servant appeared surprised for a moment. “It is no trouble, my lady. I certainly hope you will find the candidates satisfactory when you meet them next week.” He glanced at Miles. “Will you require anything further, my lord?”

Miles shook his head. “Supper in two hours?”

“Yes, sir.” The butler tilted his head toward her and then exited the room, closing the door behind himself.

Portia swallowed hard as she returned her attention to Miles. “I-I thought there would be others, but your butler said there were no other guests.”

He tilted his head. “Are you disappointed?”

She couldn’t answer that question. In truth, she had no idea how she felt. When she had been quiet for a moment, he smiled and moved on her a few steps.

“Now you remind me of how you were the first night I saw you at the masquerade. Silent. Would you like to nod or shake your head for me instead?”

Portia felt blood flood her cheeks. “You mock me,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

He moved on her again, his face gentle.
 

“Not at all.” He was right on top of her now, his heat permeating her skin, his scent filling her and making her weak with what she now recognized was powerful desire. “I found you very fetching that night. I find you equally fetching now.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She couldn’t help but lean into his palm with a ragged sigh.

He swallowed and then stepped back.

“I brought you here with a purpose.” He smiled. “Two purposes. The first is your mother.”

The desire faded to the background and Portia swayed as fear overwhelmed her. “My mother?”

He caught her elbow to steady her. “Great God, Portia, sit.” He urged her to the settee and took a place beside her. He stroked her hand. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted to tell you the arrangements I made with your brother.”

“Which were?” she asked, blinking rapidly because the fear would not subside, no matter how much he reassured her.

“He will release her to my custody,” he said softly and released her hand to stand. “In fact, he seemed eager to do so.”

Portia flinched at the tightness in his voice. “At what price?”

He hesitated too long before he shook his head. “Do not worry yourself.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. His silence must mean a great deal indeed. Which her brother would squander, no doubt.

“I cannot help but worry, Miles. You have already been forced into this situation and now it becomes more and more difficult and expensive for you.” She shook her head slowly. “You must despise me, though you are too kind to outright tell me so.”

His brow wrinkled. “Far from it.”

She stared at him, trying to stay strong, trying not to allow the tears she felt stinging her eyes to fall. She didn’t want to play on his emotions in that way, not after everything else.

“How could you not?”

He leaned in, taking both her hands. “You transfer your brother’s cold regard to me, Portia, but you will learn that I am not like him.”

Portia steadied her breath, difficult to do when he was touching her, when his face was so close to hers. “Will my mother stay in our current home?”

“Great God, no. That hovel isn’t fit for rats.” She flinched, but he didn’t stop speaking. “No. In Town, she will have a wing in this home. I can show you if you’d like. And in my country estate, she’ll have a cottage on the estate. Somewhere she can have privacy…and so can we.”

Her eyes went wide. “You would bring her here to your home? Even knowing that she has caused…
scenes
that might be embarrassing to you?”

He shrugged. “We will handle that problem if it comes up, but I intend to provide her with a sympathetic companion whose only duty will be to watch her and tend to her needs.”

Portia covered her mouth. “Potts and I were just talking about how much that would help her.”

“I’m sure it would,” Miles agreed. “In fact, I wonder if your housekeeper herself might wish to take that position since she appears to have affection for your mother and she will be out of a job otherwise. Somehow I doubt your brother will provide her with any kind of reference worth having.”

“Potts,” Portia whispered, but she didn’t have to ponder the question. Potts would take that position gladly and be very good at it. “Yes, I think she would be a wonderful choice.”

Portia nodded and Miles smiled. “Excellent, I will broach the subject with her as soon as I can.”

He seemed to be ready to continue talking, but he suddenly stopped and stared at her.

“What is it?” he asked, his brow wrinkling. “Why do you look at me that way?”

Portia licked her suddenly dry lips. “You—you cannot know what this means to me, Miles. To know I will no longer have to worry about my mother and her safety. To feel she is protected.” She sucked in a breath. “It is a gift greater than any I could have asked for.”

She didn’t think about what she was about to do. She simply did it out of instinct, out of loneliness, out of a deep desire to give Miles something, anything.
 

She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Miles stood stunned as Portia’s lips collided with his. But he couldn’t deny how powerfully he reacted. Her technique was artless, innocent, but there was simmering passion in her touch that could not be denied. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer as he tilted his head and parted his lips to taste her.

She hesitated, and he drew back to look down at her. She had a dazed look on her face that both intrigued and troubled him. He didn’t release her, but he whispered, “Portia, I don’t wish for you to do things you don’t want to do in order to repay a debt I do not place upon you.”
 

His voice was rough with need he doubted…or hoped…she didn’t fully understand.
 

She blinked, and he waited for her to extract herself from his embrace, but she didn’t. She simply looked up at him, her lip trembling, her warm body still in his arms.

“I cannot tell you that I am doing something I don’t wish for with all my heart.”
 

The soft power of those words had blood flowing to a rapidly hardening cock. One that wished to be buried to the hilt in the flexing wetness of her slit.

“But,” she continued, her gaze darting away. “I also cannot tell you that my kiss isn’t offered as a repayment of a debt. A gift to somehow match yours, though it can never mean as much to you as what you are doing does to me. But my kiss, my body…it’s all I have. So won’t you take something from me in order to balance the discrepancy your kindness has created?”

Once again, the faint gentlemanly urges deep within Miles whispered to him to release this woman. To stop himself from taking advantage of the offer she made after a lifetime of cruelty from other men.