Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (2 page)

His sister pursed her lips, but her eyes were filled with light and a touch of laughter. “Oh yes, brother, for that would be unheard of in our circles. A man marrying a woman so much his junior. The horror.”
 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her tone. “Yes, yes, of course it is common. But I could not picture myself marrying someone so young. What would we discuss?”

Tennille sighed and looked down in her lap briefly. “Then what about the widow of Lord Oakdoon?”

“She has four children.” He moved closer. “Are you reading from a
list
?”

His sister flushed and pushed her hands beneath the table. Miles jumped to his feet and darted his hand beneath to snatch a paper from her fingers.

“You
are
reading from a list!” he said with a laughing shake of his head as he unfolded it. “You made a list of women I could marry?”

“I make lists of everything!” she said, trying in vain to snatch the letter as he lifted it over his head and read it.

“Great God, Tennille,” he said, staring at her as he lowered the paper. “You have Lady Hippleton on here. Her husband died a week ago.”

Tennille shrugged. “I need to keep it updated. You couldn’t approach her with an intention for months, of course, but in time—”

He handed the paper back. “I’m not approaching anyone with ‘an intention’.”

Tennille pushed it away and sighed. “Miles, you are over thirty. You have been Marquis for fourteen years. I understand due to our…
past
…you wished to be free. But when will it be time to settle down?”

Miles’ smile fell slowly. He and Tennille rarely spoke of the past. It was a dark place they had both departed years ago. He didn’t wish to revisit it; he had always assumed she felt the same way. Now he saw brief pain flickering in her eyes and he hated seeing it. He hated the power the past, their father, still held over her.

“My dearest sister,” he said slowly, picking every word and emotion carefully. “I appreciate your love and care more than you shall ever know. But I will choose a wife in my own time and way.”

“Will you?” Tennille whispered.

He flinched at the concern on her face. “Yes. I assure you, I will. Someday.”

“Someday.” She smiled sadly. “Very well. I will leave you be, for now, because I see you wish to run screaming from my parlor.”

“Not at all.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “But I do have to depart. I have another appointment.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. Will we speak again soon?”

“I will be back here tomorrow for Lydia’s birthday party.”

His sister’s face lit up at the mention of her young daughter. “Good. She will be very pleased to see you. You are her current favorite.”

That made any hardness or sadness in Miles’ heart fade. “I feel the same way about her. I will see you tomorrow.”

He squeezed her hand and then left the parlor. His horse was brought around in moments and he swung into his saddle. Of course he had been lying to Tennille. He had no appointment, he only wanted to escape her questions, her lists, her reminders of things he would rather forget.

He rode from the drive and turned onto the street. Turned toward the hells. The Donville Masquerade was being held tonight. It was a predictable gathering, but when predictability included wild sex and unfettered sin, that was perfectly acceptable to him.

Chapter Two

Miles adjusted his plain black mask and looked about the big, open room. Around him was a seething den of sin and excess.

Since its opening a decade ago, the hall had always been an infamous haven for gambling. There were tables spread all over the room, able to hold up to ten men at a time for various card and dice games. But unlike some of the more casual, friendly halls in the better parts of London, this place was filled with tension. Men who hadn’t slept or shaved for days were scattered all around. One man sobbed at a table not ten feet from Miles, probably over the loss of what seemed to be a considerable fortune.

It was not an uncommon sight in this place. Miles had even heard rumors of underhanded bets over the virtue of daughters and the trading of wives. And if there was any hall to make such dangerous bargains, this was it. Sometime in the past few years, the proprietor of this den of depravity, a mysterious man named Marcus Rivers, had opened up his establishment to
other
activities.

Women had been allowed in. Mistresses, whores, even the occasional highbred and bored lady who hid behind a mask and offered herself for pleasure to the gamblers.

Some were discreet in their couplings, taking advantage of screened areas, private rooms and balconies. Others didn’t seem to care where they fucked. Miles watched as a couple staggered drunkenly against the far wall, kissing with reckless abandon. The woman’s moan echoed even in the din of the room as the man hiked up her skirt. She was bare beneath except for red stockings with a lacy garter.
 

She spread her legs, opening her body. Something her companion took advantage of immediately. He began to finger her slit as he continued kissing her with sloppy passion that had no concern about who saw them in the act. After a moment, he positioned himself between her legs and thrust, rocking himself inside her waiting pussy. He had a fast, driving pace, and his partner arched and mewled loudly as he rutted with her.
 

A few of the men at a table nearby watched with interest and the whores made their way over, hoping to take advantage of any arousal the scene might create.

Miles’ loins stirred with desire, but it was faint. Strange. He had always been a man of powerful passions, deep and abiding desires. But in the past few years, his need had shifted. He still enjoyed the company of women, but there was something…
empty
about his conquests now, both in his own reactions and in the way he viewed those around him.
 

He shook his head at his thoughts. Perhaps it was the conversation he’d had with Tennille that put him in this strange mood.
 

He moved farther into the room. He had come here intent on gambling, but he wasn’t opposed to brief pleasure if a woman caught his eye.

He scanned the room for potential subjects, but again was simply bored with his choices. Women in plunging necklines, their breasts almost bare, panting over any man who gave them a side-glance. They were all so bored and jaded…a bit like he was. There was no one to—

He cut the thought off as the crowd across the room parted and revealed a woman standing along the wall by herself. She had pale blond hair done up in a simple chignon at the base of her long, creamy neck.
 

Her mask covered half her face, but it was not of the ornate variety that the others wore as calling cards. It was blue and very plain, possibly handcrafted out of leftover silk from a gown. It didn’t match her dress, which was a deep green and cut in a modest style that had little frills. Still, the fabric was high quality. He was left confused.

Was this a highbred lady or a lower-class one?
 

He moved closer, inexplicably drawn to her. She hugged the wall with her body, exactly like a wallflower at a ball at Almack’s would do. She stared out at the room, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked and blinked…almost in innocence, shock.

But was that real or affected? There were plenty of women who came here and pretended to be virtuous in order to play into the fantasies of certain men.

He had never been one of those, and yet he continued to move toward her. As he reached her, he realized she had dark brown eyes and they were dilated with high emotions that did not seem artificial.

“Hello,” he said softly.

She jerked with surprise, for her attention had been so focused on the activity around them that she had not even seen him advance on her. She looked at him, cheeks flushed and those brown eyes widened with surprise and, he thought, recognition.

“I—hello,” she whispered, her voice husky.

He smiled, sly. “You seem surprised to see me approach you. Do we know each other, my lady?”

She swallowed and then shook her head. When she didn’t say anything else, Miles moved a little closer.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

She shook her head again, her eyes focused intently on his face.
 

He smiled at her refusal to speak. If this was a game to obtain his interest, it was well-played. Her silence gave her an air of mystery that he found fascinating, indeed.

“You said hello, so I know you are
capable
of speech,” he said with a chuckle.

She shivered, almost as if the sound of his laughter had touched her in an unexpected way. She hesitated a moment, then she said in another low whisper, “I am, my lord.”

He arched a brow. Did she assume he was titled or
know
? He still couldn’t tell.
 

“I’m sorry if you find me reluctant to speak,” she continued. “I-I really don’t know what to say to you.”

He stared at her. “Your honesty is refreshing in this situation. I am a gentleman, so I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Would you prefer it if I choose the topic of our discourse? You may nod or shake your head in answer to me if that is more amenable to you.”

She pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth and his gut clenched with a sudden desire. Her lips were full and he longed to feel them pressed to his flesh. Anywhere. Everywhere.

“Well?” he asked, trying to keep his raging desire from being too obvious. Desperation was never an attractive trait.

She nodded, a bit slowly.

“Good. I would like to know more about you—”

Before he could ask more, she shook her head hard, her eyes going wide and wild. He frowned.

“Nothing to identify you,” he reassured her. “You say I have not seen you here before—have you
been
here before?”

She seemed to consider the answer. To consider running away, but then she slowly shook her head in the negative.
 

“I see.” He looked her up and down. “Is there a reason you came here?”

She dropped her chin, breaking their gaze and leaving him feeling strangely…lost. She nodded.

“Hmm, that is very interesting,” he said, stroking his chin. He thought of all the possibilities of why a woman…perhaps a lady…would come to this desperate and debauched place.

“Did you come to gamble?”

She immediately shook her head.

“Not to gamble. Then that must mean you came for the…
other
diversions this place offers.” He couldn’t help but grin, for that had been his hope with every step toward her.

But to his surprise, she took a side-glance at some of the couples engaging in public sensuality. There were moans in the air, flashes of flesh. Her breath caught and she blushed, but he sensed her deep arousal beneath her shock. So she liked to watch…well, so did he.
 

She shook her head, though it was much slower and less certain than the other times she had indicated the negative.

“Then did you come looking for someone?”

She nodded, lifting her face back toward his, her desire faded in an instant.
 

“Your father?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Your brother?” Another hesitation and the negative, indicated by the shake of her head. He took a deep breath. “Your husband?”

Her cheeks filled with heated color as she shook her head.

“Ah, I see. Someone you care for, though.” He tilted his head to watch her more carefully. This answer meant something to him, though he had no idea why.

Her response was slow, but she nodded once. He scowled despite himself. So the woman had a lover…or a love she was seeking. It could not possibly matter to him. He had no ties to her.

And yet he felt irritated. Frustrated. As if something had been stolen from him.

“Do I know him?” he asked.

She nodded swiftly and his body clenched. “I thought you said you did not know me. How would you know I was acquainted with the gentleman you seek?”

Her lips parted and she took a step away. “I—” she gasped, then lifted her hand to cover her mouth.
 

“Who are you?” he asked, covering the distance she had placed between them and then a little more, so that he crowded her closer to the wall behind her.
 

“Please,” she whispered, and he narrowed his eyes.
 

Her voice—though she masked it by making her tone lower, huskier—bordered on the familiar, but he couldn’t place her no matter how hard he tried.
 

“Who are you?” he repeated.

She moved, but he caught her elbow and drew her closer. She staggered against him, and the length of her body molded to his. He stared down into dark brown eyes, wide with fear, lips parted in surprise. She was warm in his arms and her shallow breath echoed in his ears and blocked out anything else in the busy room.

He should have asked her again who she was. Or slid a finger beneath her cheap mask and pulled it away from her face to reveal her identity then and there. He did neither. Instead, he lowered his face, covered her mouth with his and kissed her.