Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (23 page)

He cast a quick glance toward the aforementioned Lady Elinor. She was tall and thin, with blue eyes narrowed to angry slits. She seemed to be all angles and frowns.

“I think I made a far better match,” Miles said with a shake of his head.

Portia took a long step away from him, her lips pale and shaking and tears flooding her eyes.
 

“Do not mock me,” she whispered, then turned on her heel and marched away from their group.

He stared, not fully comprehending what had just happened. But she was upset and that was all that mattered. He moved to follow, but Ava placed a hand on his arm and shook her head when he looked at her.

“Christian, will you find Portia and bring her a drink, preferably strong?” Ava asked with a brief smile toward the Duke.

He glared at Miles, but nodded once. “Of course.”

Miles tugged his arm away from Ava as the other man left them alone and glared at her. “What is the meaning of sending your husband to comfort
my
wife?”

“In this moment, she wouldn’t accept your comfort,” Ava said with a sigh. “You must be patient, my lord.”

“Patience is not one of my virtues,” he grumbled.

She smiled. “I have heard very little spoken about virtue when it comes to you at all, except for virtue stolen.”

He looked at her, uncertain if Ava was teasing or judgmental. But there was no anger in her stare, only concern for Portia that could not be hidden.

“A man has a reputation, yes, and mine has not been the best,” he admitted.

Her expression softened. “I think I, of all people, know that one cannot be measured by reputation alone, my lord. Your actions toward my friend show that you are worthy of far more than has been whispered about you.”

He pondered that a moment. “I appreciate that you think so, but it seems my wife does not.”

Ava shrugged. “It is always hard to ascertain what Portia truly thinks or feels. She makes certain of that fact.”

Miles nodded. There was no truer statement than that one. Their short time together had proven it.

He cleared his throat. “You know Portia better than anyone, I think.”

Ava nodded and her smile widened. “Indeed, that is probably true. We have been friends for fourteen years. Since we were ten.”

Miles considered that fact a moment and found a twinge of jealousy settled in his chest. Although he had known Portia longer, he had never cultivated a relationship like Ava’s. Lady Rothcastle had seen Portia at her best and worst. She was allowed into his wife’s heart in a way he had not yet found and perhaps never would, given the circumstances of their union.

“Can you explain to me why she has so little faith in herself, in others?” he asked.

Ava arched a brow. “You are asking me to break confidences, you know.”

He pursed his lips. “I understand that. But I am her husband. I see her in pain and I want to ease that. I think, after every cruel way she has been treated, that she deserves it.”

Her eyes narrowed at that explanation. “What you just said is the answer to your question, you know. Portia flinches away from others, from any faith in herself exactly
because
of the cruelty you describe. She has spent her life being punished for the acts and problems of those in her family.”

He nodded. “You mean her mother, I suppose.”

“Yes, that is the obvious connection, but her father’s scandalous losses in the hells and her brother’s equally dangerous drive to gamble instead of earn have not helped her. Nor has his dismissive treatment of her over the years.” Ava’s gaze grew distant. “In the beginning, when she first came out, people were especially cruel.”

Miles tried to recall the year Portia had come out in Society, but found he could not. He remembered seeing her at balls and parties over the years, of course, of dancing with her when he felt the need to help…but he couldn’t recall the pomp of her first Season, when girls were often celebrated.

He couldn’t recall it because she hadn’t been the least bit important to him.
 

Ava sighed. “Eventually the talk died down a little. She became just another hopeless spinster along the wall.”

He flinched at the coldness of that reality. Worse, that he had been a part of it, looking at her, but never seeing the truth of her sensuality, her unusual beauty, her strength of mind and character.

“But now, because of the circumstances of your union, the world whispers about her once more,” Ava finished, shaking her head.

“It reminds her of the past,” he whispered.

She nodded. “I see it on her face, in her eyes, and it breaks my heart.”

Miles rubbed a hand over his face. “Then how do I stop it? How do I help her?”

Ava drew back in what seemed like surprise. “Do you want to?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course I do!”

A hint of a smile fluttered over Ava’s lips, though he couldn’t read whatever her thoughts were.
 

“I don’t know how you could change their whispers. You two made quite a shocking splash and that will be talked about for a good long time to come. But you could change
what
they whisper about.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Right now people are talking about entrapment and unwanted brides,” Ava said with a shake of her head. “They are pitying you and despising her for ruining your life and their chances at becoming your popular marchioness. Change that.”

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.