Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (3 page)

For a moment, she was stiff and shocked in his embrace. But then her mouth softened and she relaxed against him, surrendering to what he was taking.
 

He parted his mouth over her, darting his tongue to trace the crease of her full lips. They parted on a surprise gasp and he delved inside, tasting mint, a hint of sherry, the beginnings of desire as their molded bodies tangled.

Then, just as suddenly as she had offered a sample of surrender, she pulled back. He was too surprised by the abruptness of her departure to grasp her arm, and she slipped from his embrace, turned on her heel and bolted from the room and out the door into the street.

He watched the hem of her dress disappear into the night and felt like time had slowed. There was a pit low in his belly, something he recognized all too well, though he hadn’t felt it for a long time.
 

He
wanted
this woman with a power that thrummed with his heartbeat and made his cock rock hard and achy. He would have her.
 

But first he had to find out who she was.

Portia could scarcely catch her breath as the carriage turned through the busy London streets toward her home.
 

“What was I thinking?” she moaned out loud, reliving every moment of the ill-advised trip to the Donville Masquerade with stunning clarity.

Why had she gone there?

To find Liam and help Ava was the answer she would have given if provoked beyond the place where she could deny the truth. And that
was
part of why she’d gone, of course. Ava was her best friend, Liam was…well, he was someone she had long cared about. If she could help them, she would do anything in the world to do it.

But there was more to her reasoning than that. Her conversation with Ava had stung her. Ava spoke of her having fun, being wicked, and Portia knew that wasn’t possible. And yet she had dressed, fashioned a sad little mask and found herself in her carriage riding to a part of London where she most decidedly did not belong.

What she had found there was even more than she had ever imagined. She had seen men and women groping each other, half-naked for the world to see. Passion and pleasure had been in every corner of the room, stealing the air, stealing her breath.
 

She had been told her entire life that such things were wrong, but
seeing
them…watching them as they made love so passionately and publicly…while their bodies merged with what was so obviously pleasure…well, she hadn’t felt wrong. She had felt…achy and strange and a lot of other things she didn’t completely understand even though they made her want to touch herself so desperately.

And then Miles had suddenly been there.

Miles, her brother’s friend…
former
friend. A man she had known since she was a girl, even before she met Ava. A man who still occasionally tossed her the crumbs of a dance with him at a ball. Out of pity, she was certain.

But tonight it hadn’t been pity in his eyes or his touch or his…his kiss when he was with her. God, he had kissed her in a most improper way.

She found her hands gliding down her dress and settling between her legs. She blushed, glancing out the uncovered carriage window. They were still a few minutes from her home, but could anyone see her? Perhaps, but it wasn’t very likely.

And the idea of it made her body twitch as she rubbed the spot between her legs that always felt so good. Her mind flooded with images from that night. People rutting on tables and Miles standing beside her. A woman spread out while two men licked her intimately, and Miles pressing her into the wall.
 

She rubbed harder, racing toward release as fast as she could. The images in her mind spurred her on and she arched her hips as her body began to tremble with pleasure. She gasped, her inner walls flexing with tiny explosions. Panting, she settled back on the carriage seat and waited until her heartbeat had returned to normal before she sat up straight.

She felt better after her wicked exploration, but not satisfied. She wanted…
more
, though she had no idea what that meant, really.

With a frown, she glanced out the carriage window a second time to see that they were just pulling up to the drive of the tiny house her brother let for her and her mother. But while the house should have been dark at this late hour, instead every light was on and there were two carriages already crowding the small drive.

“What on earth?” she whispered, reaching up to cover her face. To her horror, she felt the mask still on her skin, and she tore it off and shoved it in her reticule just as the carriage stopped.

Her driver helped her down with only a side-glance that told her he did not approve of her actions that night, but she hardly registered his expression. She was too busy staring at the seal on the carriage parked in front of hers.
 

Just as she feared in the pit of her stomach, it belonged to her brother.

“Hammond,” she whispered, rushing up the stairs and through the door into the house. As it slammed shut behind her, she heard loud voices echoing through the small house. Male voices that melded with the voice of their single house servant, Mrs. Potts, and with the wails of Portia’s mother.

Portia dropped her reticule and bolted up the stairs. Her mother’s bedroom door was open and the cacophony of sound was coming from there.
 

“Mama!” she cried as she skidded down the hallway. She came to a stop in the doorway to her mother’s chamber.

Her brother was there, as was Potts. Joining them was a man…a stranger, though that mattered little to her now. What did matter was that all three of them were holding her mother down on her small bed. Thomasina, Dowager Marchioness Cosslow, thrashed, screaming incoherently at all of them as she fought to get free of the imprisoning grasps of her captors.

“Stop!” Portia cried out as she jumped into the fray, grabbing the arm of the stranger without thinking and trying to tug him free. He glared at her over his shoulder but did not stop trying to control her mother.

Hammond helped him and, to Portia’s horror, the two men tied her mother’s wrists to the bedposts with thick coils of rough rope. Their mother continued to scream, though the sounds became less certain as she stared at each face around her. Portia saw the emptiness in her stare. The lack of recognition of any of them, of her surroundings, and her heart shattered with the pain of it.

When her mother was secure and could only tug at her binds weakly, Hammond straightened his jacket and spun on Portia.
 

He looked her up and down with an ugly sneer. “And just where have you been out so late?”

Portia caught her breath. She had never imagined her brother would be a visitor to her home when she slipped in during the night. But nonetheless she found a lie waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“I was invited to Ava and Christian’s,” she explained, knowing her friend would vouch for her no matter what, not that her brother would bother to ask. “I lost track of time. Why are
you
here, what is going on? Untie our mother at once!”

“I will do no such thing,” her brother snapped.

“Your mother got out again, my lady,” Potts said with a dark glare toward Hammond behind his back.
 

Portia’s knees wobbled slightly as she cast a glance at her mother. Her thin lips continued to tremble, but her eyes were drooping.

“Did you
drug
her?” she asked, shoving past her brother to sit on the edge of her mother’s bed. She stared into Thomasina’s face. It was dirty, as were her bare feet, proving Potts’s assertion that Portia’s mother had been out.

“What other choice did we have?” Hammond barked. “Now leave her be and come with me. Mrs. Potts and Raysome will do the rest.”

Portia glanced at the stranger again.
Raysome
, apparently. A big, burly man who was missing three teeth in the front. His skin was the color of oiled leather and his hands were huge. She shuddered.

“I won’t leave her with that…that ogre,” she whispered.

Raysome grinned like this was all amusing, but her brother didn’t ask her again. Hammond grabbed her elbow and physically dragged her from the room and down the stairs to the sad little parlor near the front door.
 

Portia struggled the whole way, shouting out orders to Potts as she did so, but Hammond did not relent or release her until he flung her into a chair in the parlor and slammed the door behind him.
 

“We need to talk about this situation, Portia,” her brother growled as he crossed to the sideboard and picked up a bottle that once would have contained whiskey. When he saw it was empty, he growled.

She shook her head at his glare. “What do you expect, Hammond? You do not give us enough funds to stock liquor in case you deign us worthy of a visit. Now what
situation
is it that we need to address in the middle of the night?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Potts already told you. Mother escaped tonight.”

Portia flinched. Yes, Potts had said that.
 

“Do not say escaped. It sounds as though we keep her prisoner here. We don’t, despite your tying her like an animal.”

“Perhaps she
should
be kept prisoner, either here or somewhere else,” her brother muttered.

Portia tensed. Her brother’s response to their mother’s…problems…had always been to want to lock her away. To forget about her as if she had never existed.
 

“It won’t happen again,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice calm. “I promise you.”

“You promise me the same thing every time she roams out into the street, raving and ranting and making a fool of me,” he snapped, taking a step toward her.
 

Tears welled in Portia’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “You have pushed us into this barely respectable neighborhood to hide us. I’m certain no one of any importance saw her.”

“Out in her night rail, screaming at the top of her lungs as she headed for the park where there was a gathering?” Hammond asked, eyebrow arching. “I assure you, Portia,
everyone
saw her. How do you think
I
knew about it?”

Portia got to her feet and put her hands on her hips as anger overcame her. “I can only imagine how you knew it, brother. Spies, perhaps, that you make sure are watching us, not to render aid but to give
you
reasons to come here and torture me and torment her?”

He swung his hand before Portia had time to react, and the back of it hit her, hard enough that she staggered away from him as pain blasted through her face. She covered her burning cheek and stared at him, his face blank but his eyes filled with anger and upset and even guilt.

“You have one charge in life,” he said, his soft tone belying the fact he had just struck her for the first time since they were children. “And
that
is to watch her. Your usefulness is limited beyond that since you are incapable of making a match that could financially assist this family. If you cannot take care of our mother, I will.”

Portia swallowed, thinking of the burly, coarse man who had held her mother down when she entered the room. If that was how Hammond intended to take care of things…

She gasped out a sound of pain.

Her brother smoothed his jacket. “Will you attend Lord and Lady Steedmond’s ball tomorrow night?”

Portia stared at him. “Are you in jest? After everything that has occurred tonight?”

Of course she meant more than this horrid encounter with her brother. She had been places, done things, her brother knew nothing about. She couldn’t picture going to a ball as if life was normal.

He glared at her. “If you do not make an appearance, people will talk even more about Mama than they already do. You
will
be there, sister. Is that clear?”

Portia’s mouth felt dry as a desert and she swallowed hard before she croaked out. “Perfectly clear, Hammond.”

“Then there is nothing else for us to discuss. Good night,” he said softly, turning on his heel and leaving her alone in the parlor.

She waited until she had heard the click of the front door and the rumbling of the two departing carriages pulling away before she exited the room. At the front door, she turned the lock. Not that it would keep her brother away. If he wanted to get in, to take her mother, he had a key and too many other means.
 

Up the stairs, she trudged, all warm and wondrous reminiscences from her night at the masquerade a distant and dull memory as she walked down the hall to her mother’s room. It felt like it took an age, but somehow she reached the chamber and stepped inside.

Her brother’s lackey, Raysome, was long gone, and Potts sat with her mother. The housekeeper had defiantly untied the ropes that had bound the dowager marchioness to her bed, and her mother was pliant as a lamb now that whatever drugs she had been given had fully entered her system.

“Did they hurt her?” Portia whispered as she took a perch on the edge of her mother’s bed.

Potts shook her head. “A little rope burn around her wrists, but nothing more than that. Fools.”

“She got out?”