Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (22 page)

“Why?” she asked, turning toward him and hoping she had some strength to her face, rather than only pathetic fear. “Everyone knows the circumstances under which we were wed. Why cannot I stay in this house or your country house with my mother, away from it all?”

He shook his head. “Portia—”

But she refused to hear his protest. “No one would say a word to you about it, that you hid your unwanted wife away. You would probably be lauded by many for your good decision. And you and I would know the truth.”

“The truth?”

She threw up her hands “That we get along, that we share passion. Does anyone else have to see us for that to be true?”

He held her stare a long moment, then reached out to take her hands. “I would no more relegate you to a prisoner in this home than I would allow your mother to be put into a madhouse. To do so would make me no better than your bastard of a brother.”

Portia tugged at her hands, but he would not release them.

“You think you would be happy locked away, but you wouldn’t be,” he insisted.

“How would you know?” Portia asked. “You only know what my body desires, you know nothing of
me
and you have made it clear you never will.”

He flinched at her peevish tone and tugged her a little closer. “I know you are a passionate advocate for your mother. I know you love Ava as a sister. I know you are kind to those who need kindness. I know you doubt yourself.”

Portia tried to wave him off, tried to block out his words that burrowed into her soul, but he would not be deterred, and continued.

“I know that you would tap your foot to the music as you waited along the wall long before we were wed.” He shook his head. “Portia, I know that whether or not you believe it, there is a part of you that would hate being cut off from everyone in our sphere.”

She blinked. “How did you know I tapped my foot to the music at balls?”

He shrugged and let go of her hands. “I
did
notice you, Portia. You recall, I did come and ask you to dance from time to time.”

She pursed her lips because there was no denying it. “Yes, you did do that.”

“We are going to this gathering tonight,” he said.

She parted her lips to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her.

“We
are
going. Ava and Christian will be there, my sister and Richard will also be in attendance, so you will not lack friends to comfort you. And I will stay at your side at all times.”

Her brow wrinkled. “At all times?”

He nodded. “Yes. And I will make you a bargain. If, after we do this duty a handful of times, you still feel the same way, I shall banish you away and not ask you to attend anymore.”

Her eyes went wide. “Never again?”

“Never,” he promised.
 

She nodded. At least there was an option of hiding at some point. “Very well, then I shall attend. But I cannot promise you I will be a first-rate companion.”

He smiled slightly. “I could picture you as no less, no matter what you say to convince me. Now come, why don’t we join your mother and Potts for their turn about the garden?”

Portia went through the motions to take his arm and allow him to lead her outside into the brisk air, but even as she pretended to be comfortable, to be relaxed, her mind raced. Whatever Miles said, tonight would be anything but pleasant.

And she only hoped that seeing her at her worst, that his hearing the poor opinions of others, wouldn’t damage the tenuous bond she and her husband had begun to forge.

The carriage crept through the icy London streets, busy with many who had taken advantage of a full moon to guide their rigs to parties, balls and other entertainments.

Miles let the curtain fall against the images outside and looked across the vehicle at Portia. She worried a handkerchief in her hands, staring at the fabric as she tugged it to and fro. There was no denying her resistance to going to this gathering was very real, couched in true fears he couldn’t understand. Balls bored him; they did not inspire terror at the level she exhibited.

He reached out to cover her hand, and her gaze jerked to his. For a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to comfort her.
 

“You will tear it in two,” he said softly, removing the mangled cloth from her fingers and smoothing it in his lap.

She blushed but didn’t reply, even as he began to fold it carefully. Her silence troubled him, so he chose a topic he knew would please her.

“Your mother has seemed to take to my home quite well,” he said.

Just as he had expected, her expression softened and the anxiety left her face and body.
 

“Oh yes. She seems so much lighter there, so much more at ease. There was a minor episode yesterday morning when her tea was placed on the wrong side of her plate, but other than that, she is much improved thanks to your kindness.”

He tilted his head as he looked at Portia. Yes, she seemed pleased, but there was more to it than that.
 

“You know, we have never spoken with much depth about your mother,” he said, continuing to fold the handkerchief carefully. “She can be very attentive, so that you could never tell she suffered from any issues. But in the next breath—”

Portia shivered. “Everything changes,” she finished for him. “That is how it has always been, I fear.”

“Always?” he pressed.

She shrugged. “Well, at least as long as I can recall, though others have told me she was once very different. More able to control her troubled thoughts.”

“Why did she change?” he asked and was surprised that he truly wished to know the answer.
 

She hesitated a moment, her gaze focused on her lap as she struggled.
 

“My father wanted her because she was beautiful,” she began, her voice very soft. “And because she had suitors lined up to woo her and he wished to win the prize that all desired that Season. I suppose also because she came with a handsome dowry that would help replenish the coffers his bad gambling had emptied.”

Miles drew back. Portia’s father’s gambling was well known before his death, but Miles had never heard how far back the origins went.
 

“Even then?”

She laughed, though the sound had no joy to it. “Always. He was compelled to give his money away, I shall never understand that.”

“But he won your mother,” Miles encouraged.

“Yes. And yet, just like so many other things he had won over the years, he lost interest in her almost as quickly as he wed her. She became a way for him to create his heirs and spares, nothing more. And with her sensitive nature, I’m certain it must have hurt her deeply to see his interest wane.”

She turned her face away and he couldn’t help but think of their recent conversation about love and the future of their union. How similar that must have seemed to what her father did to her mother and now Miles regretted not being more tactful.
 

“She bred him a son quickly enough, but then the problems began.” She blinked as if to control tears. “My mother suffered the loss of child after child, and her state deteriorated with each one. And when she did birth again, it was me, a girl. My father was cruel. He blamed her, reminded her constantly that she was shirking her duty, potentially destroying his legacy. That constant strain broke her down even further.”

“I had no idea he was so devilish toward her.” Miles shook his head, filled with sudden anger at the past Portia and her mother had suffered…and the reminder of his own past. “Cruelty is the weapon of too many men, hidden behind closed doors while they pretend to be so true and decent to the world.”

Her gaze lifted. “You sound as if you have personal experience.”

Now it was his turn to tense with anxiety. The history he and Tennille shared with their violently abusive father wasn’t something he had ever shared with anyone outside of their family.
 

And yet Portia felt like anything but an outsider now. He wanted to tell her, to let her know that he understood.
 

“My father—” he began, then stopped.

This was too much. It wasn’t just a confession, but something more intimate. It would bind them in a way he had never allowed himself to be connected to a woman.

And even with this woman, it was too far.

“Your father?” she repeated when he was silent.
 

Her gaze was soft with understanding and empathy, but he ignored that and shook his head.

“Well, you know he died when I was young. And I don’t think I ever lived up to his lofty expectations.” That much was true, at least. “But I suppose most sons do not.”

She nodded slowly, though she searched his face as if looking for more. Finally she moved to his side of the carriage and slipped her hand into his.

“We will do better,” she whispered. “With our children.”

He jolted at that statement. Of course there would be children, sometime in the future. Children who would be a hodgepodge of the two of them. Children he suddenly saw very clearly and longed to give the life neither of them had experienced.

“Yes,” he said, unable to say more as those powerful images continued to bombard him.

She straightened up, her cheeks pink with as much discomfort with this topic as he felt. With a laugh, she pointed at the handkerchief, breaking the tension of the moment.
 

“You say that I was mangling that thing. What are
you
doing with it?”

He released her hand, ignoring the difficulty it was to do so and lifted the handkerchief. With a few more folds, he revealed he had turned it into the shape of a butterfly, complete with flapping wings when one tugged its little tail.

Wide-eyed, Portia took the item from his hand and balanced it on her palm. “Remarkable! Where did you learn such a thing?”

He shrugged, though her wonder at his little skill warmed him in ways he could hardly acknowledge.
 

“I have had occasion to interact with some performers.”

She arched a brow. “A lover?”

“Long-ago lover,” he reassured her, though he marveled at the fact she could point out his past indiscretions with no judgment or jealousy on her countenance.

“Well, if all the people we meet leave us with something, this pretty skill is certainly quite unexpected and delightful.” She glanced up as the carriage slowed. “But now we are here, so I shall leave this on the seat so that it will surprise me again when we return.”

He watched as she gently did just that, then drew a very deep breath to calm herself as they waited for the footman to open the door and assist.
 

He frowned. Was she right that every person one interacted with left a mark?

And if so, what mark would they leave on each other when their passion had faded and they became another loveless couple in the sea of Society?

Chapter Seventeen

Portia did her best to keep a smile plastered on her face, but Miles knew her well enough to see it was utterly false. There was none of her light there, nothing that said pleasure or joy since they had entered the ballroom.

Oh, she tried very hard to cover those things, but he saw her shrinking, easing into the wall, trying to be invisible. Her attempts were doomed to end in failure. After all, since their entrance to the party, no one had stopped whispering, staring and coming up to wish their felicitations, whether real or pretended.

He wanted to help her, but he had no idea how.

It seemed Ava was just as concerned, for she and Christian had not left them alone since their arrival. Ava watched her friend like a mother hen, concerned about a wayward chick in her brood.

Now she slipped an arm around Portia and smiled.

“You do look beautiful in that dress,” she said.

Portia looked down at herself and waved a hand to dismiss the new clothes.
 

“Thank you.” She shifted her focus to Miles. “When will be depart?”

He frowned. “We’ve been here but an hour, Portia. It is far too early to leave without causing a scene. A third of the guests haven’t even arrived.”

She turned her face away, lips pursed in upset. “Wonderful, more to look and judge.”

“Why do they matter to you?” Miles asked, tilting his head so he could see her face more clearly.

She jerked her gaze to him with a shake of her head. “Because they all know you didn’t want me, Miles. Because they are talking and judging with every breath that passes through their lungs. Because The Earl of Sandeford’s wretched daughter Elinor has been glaring at me all night.”

Miles wrinkled his brow. “Why would she do that?”

Portia gasped in what appeared to be frustration and rolled her eyes in Ava’s general direction, as if he were an idiot for not understanding her meaning at once.
 

“Everyone
knows
she had her eyes on you,” his wife hissed.

Miles drew back. He could not be included in that “everyone”. Although, now that he thought about it, he had noticed Sandeford’s extra attention in the last six months, and last Season Lady Sandeford had seemed to be in his way quite a bit.