Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (5 page)

Portia smiled as she left the room, but she had no intention of sleeping. Not for a very long while, at least.

She rang the bell for Potts and pulled a dress from her closet. When the housekeeper came to the door, she smiled.
 

“Potts, tell Copper to ready the carriage. I’m going out.”

Potts gave her a strange look, but then nodded and slipped from the room, leaving Portia to prepare herself while she tried not to ponder the folly of her life and her choices.

As she swept into the Donville Masquerade an hour later, Portia felt the heat of the room sink into her skin, beneath her gown and into the very pit of her stomach. At least the images around her were not as shocking this time since she was more prepared for them. She took them all in as she stared around her.

A woman was laying on one of the tables to her left, her dress hiked up around her stomach, her legs splayed to reveal her most private areas, and a man was fingering her slit as she stared up into his face.
 

Against a wall, two women kissed passionately while a few men watched them. To her surprise, the men had released their naked members and were stroking them, something she had never seen or even imagined before. So that was what a man looked like naked. It was rather terrifying and titillating all at once to see that great thing hard and ready for rutting.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered, turning toward the door. She was about to leave when out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of someone she knew.

“Liam,” she breathed, facing the direction she thought she saw him go. But he was gone, vanished into the crowd.

She bolted toward the direction she thought she saw him go in, rising to her tiptoes as she scanned the crowd for a man with a scarred face and injured arm. But it was to no avail. If he had been there at all, he had vanished like smoke on the wind.

She pursed her lips. Would she give up so easily?

Turning, she moved to one of the tables closest to her. Six men played cards there, their faces filled with angry concentration. None of them were wearing masks and she didn’t recognize them, but she still disguised her voice with a husky tone as she said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but I’m looking for someone.”

One of the men threw down his cards in disgust before he looked up at her. “Wot?” he asked in a heavy accent.

“I-I’m looking for someone,” she repeated, now uncertain in the face of this man’s unexpected anger.

He looked her up and down, then shot his tablemates a brief, toothless grin.
 

“Are ya now, missy?” he asked as he pushed to his feet. He was so very tall and he smelled of cheap whisky and tobacco.

“Yes,” she managed to squeak out. “A man na—”

“If yer lookin’ for a man, I’m that,” he snarled as he grabbed her arm in an iron fist and pulled her closer. “You may be the prettiest little lightskirt I’ve ever seen.”

Portia’s eyes went wide as she tugged against his grip to no avail. “I—no, sir, you misunderstand, I’m not a lightskirt. I truly am here simply looking for someone.”

“Well, you found me,” he grunted as he pulled her across the room toward what appeared to be a line of alcoves hidden by screens. Already Portia could hear grunts and cries from behind them that were similar to those of the patrons who took their pleasure out in the open.

“No,” she cried, tugging in earnest now, but her captor only laughed and squeezed her arm until it burned in pain.

“Stop!” she cried out, looking around for salvation, but in the midst of sin and seduction and ruination, no one seemed to be in any hurry to render aid. In fact, the few people who bothered to look up from their tables or lovers had a flash of interest in their eyes.

She was going to be accosted. Raped. In the backroom of a place where she did not belong. As the reality of that set in, Portia felt a scream bubbling up in her throat. But before she could express it, the man who was holding her was suddenly torn away from her with enough violence that she staggered as he released her.

She spun around to see what had freed her from his hands and was shocked to find Miles standing over the man, his breath heavy and his eyes flashing with anger.

“I believe the lady said no,” he growled.

Portia expected the other man to jump to his feet and challenge Miles, but he only cowered there.
 

“She’s a whore, Weatherfield. ‘No’ is a game,” her captor whined.

Miles spun on her. “Was it a game?” he asked, anger in his tone that she wasn’t certain was directed at her or the other man or both.

She shook her head. “N-no. It was no game.”

Miles offered a hand to help her attacker up to his feet. As the man brushed himself off, Miles snarled. “Apologize.”

He glared at her, but he muttered, “Sorry, miss.”

Miles shook his head and shoved a bit of blunt into her attacker’s hand. “Now go back to your
game
.”

The other man stared at the money and then eagerly returned to his table without a second glance for Portia or Miles. She stared at him, eyes wide, then turned her attention to Miles. He was glaring at her.

“You, come with me,” he snapped, grabbing her arm much as the other man had done and taking her to the alcoves. He peeked behind a few screens before he managed to find one that wasn’t occupied by moaning visitors.
 

Once they had some small privacy, he folded his arms and looked at her. “I don’t know what your story is, miss,” he began. “But it is evident you are far out of your element in this place. So why are you here?”

Portia swallowed hard. She couldn’t say why, but she was reluctant to tell the truth to Miles, even though she knew he might be able to help her.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” he pressed.
 

She masked her voice and whispered, “I was looking for the Earl of Windbury.”

Miles’ eyes went wide for a moment, not that she could blame him for the shock he expressed. After all, Liam had been in hiding for months. She doubted many people looked for him.

“I see,” he said after a moment. His shock seemed to have been replaced by irritation. “I had heard, but—”

He shook his head and left the sentence hanging. Portia stepped closer. “What have you heard of him?”

He stared at her, his gaze burning hers. “He never keeps a mistress, you know,” he said. “The best you will get is a few nights in his bed. If you are looking for a more permanent arrangement, I would be a far better choice.”

Portia’s lips parted. Was he offering to make her his
mistress
? This man who could have, and probably had had, any woman he wished? This man who had, at least in his mind, only seen her twice at a masquerade?

She shook her head. “I assure you, my lord, you don’t want me.”

Now it was his turn to move on her. The alcove was small and there was no place to hide as he slipped an arm around her back, gathering her closer, until her body molded to his. He was hard as steel against her softness and smelled of pine and mint and masculinity she couldn’t define but made her shiver.
 

“You think I don’t want you?” he whispered and his fresh breath stirred her cheek as he lowered his mouth to hers.

She lifted to meet him and realized she had been craving this kiss since the last time they were in this position. She had dreamed of it, dreamed of him. And even in the midst of all the upset currently in her life, Miles’ touch was the one beacon of something
good
.

Even though she knew full well it could not last, that she could likely never visit this place again or see him unless it was someplace proper where he wouldn’t recognize or desire her anymore. She knew all that and she didn’t care. She wanted this stolen moment and she would do anything it took to have it last as long as possible.

If Miles sensed her desperation, that didn’t seem to deter him. He delved his tongue deeply between her lips, dragging her closer until there was nothing between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her tongue explore as she had been too nervous to do the last time he kissed her. She tasted him, uncertain of how to proceed, but enjoying how her body reacted as the heat between them rose.

He maneuvered her back as they continued to kiss, and suddenly she was being lowered on a narrow velvet seat in the corner of the tiny space. He knelt on the floor in front of her and continued to kiss her. His fingers slid along her cheek and stilled at the edge of her mask.

He slid one finger beneath the silk. She gasped and pulled away.

“No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

She shook her head. “Just let it be, Miles.”

He hesitated, and then he returned his mouth to hers without touching her mask another time. She felt a flutter of something akin to disappointment, but shoved it away. If he knew who she was, it would only ruin everything. She instead focused on his touch and how her body reacted.

She…tingled. That was the best way to describe this unexpected feeling. It was as if every nerve in her body had come alive at once, making her skin sensitive to every touch and her stomach flutter like mad as he moved his mouth from her lips and down to her neck.

She shuddered as pleasure swept through her in a wave. He smiled against her skin and began to unbutton the back of her gown.

She tensed as his fingers moved adeptly. He was about to take her clothes off and then…well, then she wasn’t entirely certain beyond what she’d seen here and through sketches, but suddenly she very badly wanted to know what he would do. And it wasn’t as if seeing her naked would reveal who she was. He’d never know and whatever happened here would be a secret only she would keep.

Her dress drooped in the front and he met her gaze as he slowly lowered the cheap silk from her shoulders. Her chemise beneath had no frills or pretty embellishments, but it was almost sheer after multiple wearings.

She fought the urge to cover herself, only keeping her hands at her sides out of pure willpower. No man had ever seen her so exposed, and she could scarcely think out of embarrassment and confusion about her feelings.

Then he caught his breath and smiled, and all her thoughts cleared her fevered mind. If no man had ever seen her so revealed, certainly no man had ever looked at her like Miles looked at her now. As if she was…beautiful. Special. Desirable.

She wanted more of that feeling.

He leaned closer and she readied herself for another passionate kiss, but instead he pressed his lips to her collarbone. Then his mouth glided lower, lower until his mouth closed around her barely covered nipple.

She arched with a cry that she hadn’t meant to voice but couldn’t help. Not when electric, focused, concentrated heat was flowing from the place where he suckled and settling between her legs. An unexpected throbbing had begun that was quite like what she felt when she touched herself, only this was a more intense and powerful reaction.

He swirled his tongue around and around the peak, but despite the thin scrap of silk between them, she felt every touch with exquisite clarity.

“God,” she whispered, driving her hands into his hair as she lifted her body to meet his mouth. She wanted more. She wanted to make sure this never ended. She wanted…

“Portia!”

Her eyes flew open, and she was met with bright light from the ballroom. A figure stood in the light, one who had pushed the barrier aside and intruded upon this private moment.

Her vision adjusted and she gasped as she lifted her hands to cover herself.

The intruder who had kept her from more pleasure, more passion, more utterly wicked exploits, was her brother.

Chapter Four

Miles recoiled as the Marquis Cosslow opened his mouth and one word came out, seeming to echo around them.
 

“Portia!”

He stared at the man, then slowly turned his attention to the lady in his arms. She was fighting to lift her dress, her cheeks hot red and her eyes sparkling with tears.
 

She did not deny the charge.

He slipped a finger beneath her cheap mask and pushed it aside before she could stop him a second time. His heart all but stopped at what he saw there.
 

It was all true. The woman he had been intent on seducing, the one he wanted in his bed so much that he could scarce think of anything else, the one he had offered to become protector of…was Portia. Portia, the spinster sister of a former friend.
 

Portia.

“Hammond,” she said, pushing Miles away as she pulled the dress over herself and staggered to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

Cosslow glared at her with a coldness Miles never could have mustered for his own sister, no matter what she had done. He flinched at it.
 

“Your driver was kind enough to report to me about your whereabouts. I thought the man was drunk, and yet here you are splayed out like a whore.” She dipped her head in shame, shame that Miles hated more than anything. But her mournful expression didn’t put a stop to Cosslow’s verbal attack. “The greater question would be why are
you
here?”