Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (6 page)

She glanced quickly at Miles, apology in her deep brown eyes. “I-I—”

She looked remarkably like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter’s gun as she struggled for an explanation for the unexplainable.
 

“What the hell can you say?” Cosslow snapped and moved on her. He reached for her, but Miles caught his arm before he could touch her.

He rose to his feet and pushed Cosslow away. “Put your hand down, sir,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet as the two men faced off.
 

Cosslow’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Weatherfield, I will handle my sister as I choose.”

He was all but shouting, and his voice carried into the main ballroom. Worse, thanks to Cosslow’s loud interruption, a small crowd was beginning to gather behind him, peeking in to see the source of the commotion. Some in that crowd were from a far different class than they and could cause no damage to Portia.

But many were lords of houses who would talk. Who would tell. Who would take such pleasure in destroying Portia’s reputation.

“Mind your tone,” Miles growled, motioning to the crowd.

Cosslow tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You two did this, not I. If you suffer, that is what you deserve. And you are lucky I do not raise my hand to
you
, Weatherfield.”

Miles moved toward him. He was taller than Cosslow by more than five inches, and he towered over him. “Do you wish to challenge me? With fists or pistols?”

Cosslow, who had always been a cowardly bastard, hesitated, just as Miles knew he would.
 

“N-now see here,” he stammered. “I have a right to be angry about my sister. I have a right to take her with me and punish her as I see fit.”

“Like bloody hell,” Miles snapped, ready to duel right there if it came to it.

There was a gentle touch on his arm, and Miles looked down to see Portia, her face streaked with humiliated tears, staring up at him.

“Miles, please. Please. I’ll go with him. Don’t make any more trouble for yourself, not over me,” she whispered. With a start, she pulled her hand back when she realized it still rested on his forearm.

“Unlike the trouble you’ve created for
yourself
?” her brother snapped, an ugly laugh bubbling from his lips. “You stupid, stupid bitch, there is
nothing
you can do to fix this.”

Miles stared at him for a moment, then let his gaze drift to her. He had always been a man of passions. Honor was secondary to him. But he was raised a gentleman. He certainly didn’t want to turn into his father and become less than that.

And a gentleman only had one way out of this situation.

“The obvious solution to this problem is marriage,” he said, the words echoing hollow in the now-silent room around them.
 

Silent until the crowd gasped.

“Marriage?” Portia repeated, the blood draining from her face. “Who would marry?”

“You,” her brother barked. His tone was still cruel, but Miles saw the light of pleasure in his eyes at the suggestion.

“Who would I marry?” Portia said after a hesitation that seemed to stretch out forever.

Miles stared at her. She had come here to find a man, but it hadn’t been him. She had said she was looking for the Earl of Windbury. Liam. His reaction to that was not one he wished to consider overly long, because it was entirely unpleasant.
 

“To me,” he responded. “You will marry me.”

Portia flinched as the carriage rumbled over a rut in the road and forced her to bump against her brother. He recoiled as if touching her would pass some horrible disease to him. Her heart ached at how low his regard for her had sunk.

But even more, she wondered about the regard the other man in the carriage had for her. She looked across at Miles. It was
his
carriage. A very fine carriage, much finer than hers or her brother’s.
 

“This wasn’t necessary,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying, even in the silence.

“I would not send you alone with him in his current state,” Miles said, just as quietly.
 

He did not look at her. He did not look at Hammond. His expression was utterly unreadable.

Hammond shook his head, lips pursed with disgust, but very intelligently said nothing. Portia was too humiliated to speak further, and the rest of the trip back to her small home was uncomfortably silent.

As the carriage stopped, Miles stepped from the vehicle before his driver could come to help them. To her surprise, he turned and held out a hand to her.

She bit her lip before she took his offering. Even through two pairs of gloves, she felt how warm he was. The warmth was comforting, despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them to this moment.

After she was safely on the ground, Miles released her and turned toward her home. She tensed. He was coming in? Her brother stepped down behind her and followed them to the door. Apparently,
everyone
was coming in. How she hoped Potts still had a fire going in the parlor or else it was going to be a very cold conversation, indeed.

Potts opened the door and her eyes went wide when she saw it was a party to greet her.

“Good evening, Lady Portia, gentlemen,” she said, looking toward Portia with questions crinkling her eyes.
 

“Potts, I hope you can tell me there’s a fire,” Portia whispered, motioning her head toward the parlor.

Potts shook her head slightly, and Portia blushed. They didn’t light fires in rooms they weren’t using in order to save funds in whatever way they could.

She turned toward the men, determined not to show how bothersome this fact was. “We could light a fire or—”

Miles moved toward the room. “I only require a lamp, Portia. We won’t be here long,” he said over his shoulder as he entered her parlor without asking for additional leave.

She left her brother’s side and followed Miles, watching from the doorway as he lit the lamp himself. He stepped back and looked around. What he saw could not be denied. Her parlor was a pathetic sight, with its worn carpet, lack of decoration and austere furnishings. He sent a brief glance her way, but it was unreadable. Still, her cheeks burned. There was a reason she kept no company.

“When will you marry?” Hammond asked from the doorway, without even closing the door. Anyone could hear this humiliation. His tone was almost bored with all this.
 

Portia shot him a look, but he didn’t acknowledge it or her. He was…smiling.

Miles folded his arms. “Soon. There were too many people there from our sphere tonight. Normally they keep quiet about these things, but this is too good a piece of gossip and I’m sure the news has already begun to spread like wildfire. They will talk tomorrow. Tonight. Forever.”

Portia sucked in a breath. She had expected a great many things from her life. First she had foolishly hoped for love, but when it became clear that was not going to happen, she had wished for a staid marriage and family. Eventually she had resigned herself to spinsterhood.

But never had she thought she would be the topic of utter and complete ruination. Or become half of a marriage forced upon a man she had once thought of as a friend.

She looked at him, willing him to look back. Willing him to smile. Willing him to forgive her for her part in this.
 

“Please,” she whispered.

Miles’ shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look at her.
 

“Shut up,” Hammond growled. “Your choices are over now.”

Portia squeezed her eyes shut. As if she had ever had any choices.

Miles jerked his face toward Hammond and in the dim lamplight she saw a dangerous expression on his face. Hammond was too stupid to notice it, but her brother was treading on very thin ice. She feared what would happen if it broke.
 

“We will discuss all of this further tomorrow,” Miles growled. “I will come here at two o’clock to finalize the terms.”

Hammond nodded. “I will be here.”

Miles stepped toward him. “You will leave now, Cosslow. You will not come back tonight. Do you understand?”

Portia stared at him. Miles was defending her. Still. Even though she had caused his life to implode around him.
 

Hammond’s jaw set, but he nodded once. “Fine. I have nothing to say to
her
at present anyway.”

Her brother spun on his heel and moved toward the front door, where Potts still stood, gape-mouthed, since with the door open she had obviously heard everything.

Miles finally let his gaze settle on Portia. He held it for a long moment, long enough that she shifted beneath the focused attention he gave her.

“I will be back to speak to you, Portia,” Miles said softly.
 

She met his gaze. She owed him that audience, that opportunity to have his say, but she feared it. His eyes were unfathomably dark and filled with depths of emotion she couldn’t fully understand.

“I know,” she finally whispered. “Miles?”

He stiffened and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He did not acknowledge the statement, but moved into the foyer and followed her brother out the door where they parted ways at their carriages. She moved to stand beside Potts and watched as the vehicles pulled away. It was only when they were gone that she turned to face her servant.

“Married?” Potts asked, her face pale.

Portia rubbed a hand over her face, wishing she could will away the pounding throb of a headache that had begun to overwhelm her. But perhaps she deserved such pain after what she done…caused tonight.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Apparently I am to marry Lord Miles Weatherfield.”

Once the words had been said out loud, her knees went weak and she gripped the doorjamb to remain upright.
 

This was real. It was not a dream. Her entire life had just changed with one foolish decision.

The note said she was expected at her brother’s home before nine in the morning, so there she stood, in his parlor at eight forty-five, still exhausted from her late night and uncertain how to tell her mother that she was, apparently, getting married.

The door opened and she rose, but it wasn’t Hammond who came in but his wife, Iris. They had wed two years before in a ceremony their mother had not been invited to attend. Since then, Iris had made no attempt to create a relationship with her husband’s family beyond when they were forced to include Portia and her mother in events like Christmas this year.

Iris was not Portia’s favorite person.

She pressed her lips together and forced civility. “Good morning.”

Iris sniffed. “Yes, hello, Portia. Hammond will be down in a moment.” Her sister-in-law folded her arms. “I hear you are
finally
to wed.”

Portia swallowed hard. It was one thing to try to come to some kind of internal acceptance of that fact. Another to have her sister-in-law rubbing it in her face with a little smirk that said “the only way you can have a man is to force him”.
 

“The details are not yet set,” Portia said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
 

“Hammond tells me it is the Marquis Weatherfield who you’ve snared,” Iris pressed. When Portia remained silent, she shrugged. “Well, he has a great deal of money, so that will help us all. And you two will owe us after this scandal.”

“Iris.”
 

Both women turned toward the parlor door. Hammond stood there, eyes narrowed at Portia.
 

His wife stood and gave Portia a little sneer. “Good day.”

Portia nodded her head as Iris left the room, but her heart sank when Hammond shut the door behind her. She got to her feet and took a long step away from him. He watched her do so with a frown.

“I’m sorry I struck you, Portia,” he said softly. “It was wrong of me.”

She drew back in surprise. Hammond apologizing? That hadn’t happened in years. Though he had never raised a hand to her in all that time either, so she supposed that could be the reason. She would prefer that option to the other, which was that he only took a kindly tone with her because of Iris’s implication that she now could control the money her soon-to-be husband possessed.

“And now you will marry,” he said, again with that false smile and those bright eyes.

She frowned. “You act as though I was courted. I do not think this outcome is a positive thing, Hammond.”

He glared at her, as if pointing out the circumstances was uncouth. “Your methods certainly were not. That you would go
there
—”

“You were there,” she said softly.

He shot her a look. “Only to find you.”

She tilted her head. “So it is the first time you were an attendee of the Donville Masquerade?”

The way he jolted ever so slightly told her the answer.
 

“We are not discussing my vices, we are talking about your failures. And actually, I wish to talk about something else entirely.”