Seducing the Regency Dom
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Raven McAllan
ISBN: 978-1-77130-743-7
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: JC Chute
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Jane whose brilliant edits and suggestions were just what this story needed. Thank you
SEDUCING THE REGENCY DOM
Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
London, England 1818
"'Tis all well and good for you, Stephen." Anthony Provost, The Earl of Sentern grumbled to his longtime friend and confidant, as they sat side-by-side in Whites. "You have a wife who adores you."
Stephen Brasher nodded. "And I adore Jane," Stephen said. His eyes took on a glazed look. Tony sighed.
The only other occupant of the room apart from them—an elderly baron—snoozed under a copy of The Times, and his snores ruffled the sheets. Tony raised one eyebrow and grimaced. He could see himself ending up like Stallinborough if he didn't get his life sorted out.
"Stop interrupting," Tony said in a mock severe tone to Stephen. "And take the sappy look from your face. It's a disgrace. You two lovebirds are an anomaly. Now, to continue: You have your wife, your heir and your spare. What do I have? Nothing, except a need to wed and do whatever necessary to keep Sentern Court out of the hands of my ignoramus of a cousin. Mama is parading a series of insipid so-called beauties in front of me at every opportunity. Lord, Steve, if they saw a man without his waistcoat, they'd run and hide. A cock? Doesn't bear thinking about. My playroom? Well." He shrugged. "Not a cat in Hell’s chance, I'd say. Or a deb in chains."
Stephen patted him on the shoulder and stood up. "Sadly, I think I must agree. Jane and I grew up together, and explored what we like together. It's not something you can bring up in polite conversation easily, is it? ‘By the way, my dear, I have a penchant for bondage and wax play. Don't worry––I use Spermaceti oil candles, which don't burn you as easily. Oh, and do you know just how creative I can be with a flogger?’"
That was the problem, Tony thought glumly, as Stephen departed to return to his wife and left Tony to listen to the snores and snorts of Stallinborough by himself. If—when—he married, he wanted to be faithful. It didn't matter that a mistress was de rigeuer and expected of men of the Ton. He intended to be like Stephen and buck the trend. Even if, God forbid, he had to temper his dominant tendencies…provided he could.
With a sigh loud enough to wake the devil—but apparently not Stallinborough, who slumbered on—Tony left the club and walked briskly along Piccadilly. His mind was busy, as he thought of the numerous young ladies his Mama had found necessary to introduce him to over the past few weeks. It seemed she thought that at three and thirty years of age he needed to curb his excesses and settle down. Even though she had delicately mentioned that she understood the needs of gentlemen lay outside of the marital bed, and any good wife would understand the same.
I don't want a good wife, or a compliant one. I want a bad wife, and a submissive one. The thought made him grin. Not a likely scenario. Ever since he returned from his travels to the newly opened Far East—where he discovered, what up until then had been missing from his life—Tony had existed on a scratch-when-needed diet. A few demi monde would be prepared to submit for a hefty fee and a promise he left no marks. But it wasn't enough. Mai Li, his mistress for several years, had embraced all he did with sensuous enjoyment, and it had spoiled him for anyone else.
He'd been called home on his father's death to take up the reins of the Earldom. Much to his Mama's alleged annoyance, but he suspected, private delight, he chose not to move into the Earl’s town house. He left her and his younger sisters in residence, set up a bachelor establishment in town, and purchased a secluded manor within a few hours’ ride.
Why he furnished a room in each as a playroom, complete with the toys he'd brought back from the Far East, he had no idea. A whim, certainly, as his chances of using them were slim to nonexistent. But it gave him hope that his jades and candles might one day be used, as he desired. He smiled as he thought of his candles. Even though it was illegal to make your own, and indeed one of his peers had recently been prosecuted, Tony had no such qualms. If ever he had the chance to decorate a willing partner again, the candles would be made and tested by him, no one else. He had no intention of submitting the tender skin of a sub to something he couldn't say, with all honesty, was safe and any marks would be short lived. It was one thing to mark the skin in a sensual way, another to scar for life.
He took the steps to his town house two at a time, and grinned as the door opened before he reached it. Ashton, his doorman had that knack.
"My Lord, there is a young lady waiting to see you. She declined to give her name. She isn't a," he coughed, "a ladybird, or someone inferior, my lord. Definitely a lady of quality. However, she is unaccompanied. I've left her in the blue salon. With a dish of tea." Ashton's nose wrinkled. Whether because of unaccompanied young ladies or the tea, Tony wasn't sure.
"Then bring me some ale, please, and I'll see who it is." He removed his cloak and hat and checked his cravat and ruffles were as they should be. Satisfied, he turned toward the door of the blue salon. He searched his mind as to who could possibly be so prepared for a scandal as to visit him alone in his home. Unless it was a ruse, to put him in a compromising position…? Tony was under no illusions about how good a catch he was. The months since he’d returned to England had shown him that.
"Ashton?"
The doorman stopped walking and looked at Tony enquiringly. “Sir?”
"Do not let anyone in. In case." He waved toward the room he was about to enter.
"Ah." Ashton nodded. "I have taken the liberty of securing all doors and putting the potboy into the garden with order to shout if anyone approaches. You won't be coerced into the parson's mousetrap whilst we're around."
"Good. Did you recognize the lady?"
Ashton shook his head. "She has a loo mask on. And her hood tight around her face."
That figures. Now I'm intrigued. Perhaps that is my Mystery Lady's intention? Tony put his hand on the door handle and paused.
"But I’d bet my last groat she is a redhead. Has the skin," Ashton said before he disappeared along the corridor toward the butler's pantry and the ale.
Tony listened intently. He couldn't hear any noise from inside the blue salon. Slowly, he pushed the door open and walked inside the room.
The lady sitting on the edge of the velvet chaise looked up and swallowed. Behind the mask, green eyes glittered, before she dropped her eyelids and folded her hands in her lap. Between it and her hood, tendrils of deep red hair showed.
Submissive or embarrassed?
As much as I would hope for the former, no doubt 'tis the latter.
"My lady?" Tony bowed and she did a shuffle-bob without getting up. It amused him. Did she think he would discover her identity through a curtsey? "I fear you have the advantage. You know me, and why you are here. I neither know you nor the purpose of your visit. Perhaps you could change that?"
"Yes, if you promise not to divulge to anyone of my visit." The voice was melodic but too low for Tony to place it. The accent was definit
ely of a lady of quality, and what little inflection he heard showed it was a youngish girl speaking. Definitely not a dowager. She shifted on the seat, and he glimpsed a well-turned ankle as her gown flowed around her. No, definitely no dowager. Tony was a connoisseur of well-turned ankles. Preferably shackled.
"As long as it's legal, I see no reason why our business is anyone else's," Tony said, and waited as she wriggled around again. This time it annoyed him.
"Sit still." He snapped the words out. "Look at me. And take that damned mask off. The only mask I'll allow is one where you see nothing and I see it all." He could have hit himself. Annoyed or not, it was a stupid thing to say. Guaranteed to make his guest run off screaming pervert and debauchery. "And lower your hood. I can see your hair, be it natural or not. Do you have a temper to match?"
With a loud gasp, his guest ceased all movement and put her hands to her mask. "The hood stays, the temper is renowned. You give me your word for our continued privacy?"
Tony wasn't used to being questioned thus, especially by a female. However if he wanted to find out what was going on, and be ready to act as host at his Mama's ball, he'd better get things moving.
"My word as a Sentern, or a gentleman or whatever you choose. This encounter stays between us." There was a knock on the door. What little of her face he could see paled and she gasped once more. What is it with young women and gasps? Stupid noise. "And Ashton, my doorman. Who let you in, and who is now waiting to bring me a jug of ale."
“Ah.” His Lady of Mystery bit her lip. "Then that is fine."
Thank the lord, or I might die of thirst before she tells me her errand.
Tony waited until Ashton had left the room.
"So, my lady. Mask off, cards on the table. Unless you wish me to do it for you? But be assured I won't stop at the mask." Why was he goading her like that? It was unfair, as well he knew. Anything he did or said, she could do nothing about, as it would mean admitting she'd behaved in such a scandalous manner.
“Really?” She sounded interested, not apprehensive. "What else?"
He raised one eyebrow, in a manner designed to intimidate. "Do you really want to find out?"
"Hmm…" She put one finger to her lips, and nibbled the nail.
At the sight of such an unconsciously erotic gesture, Tony's skin tightened, and his heart sped up.
"Is it worth it, I wonder?"
It seemed the intimidation didn't work.
Chapter Two
Susanna Campion hid a grin. Little did Anthony know that she was under no illusion: if he, Lord Sentern, knew the full reason for her visit she'd not be able to sit comfortably for a week. Sadly not for the reasons she'd read about, either.
"I wonder? Perhaps not now," she said in a dulcet tone. She decided to go one step further than she'd told him. With one hand—still steady, she was pleased to note—she slid her hood back to spread over her shoulders, and pushed an errant red curl from her forehead. Then she undid the ties of the loo mask to let it dangle from one finger, before allowing it to drop to the floor. Really, playing a simpering miss was exhausting. "Lady Susanna Campion, my lord." She stood up, walked toward him, and looked him in the eyes. Why had no one ever mentioned how his dark grey irises were shot with silver streaks? They glittered in the pale spring sunshine filtering though the windows, and she shivered under his intense gaze. "I have come to ask you a favor." Susanna, eyes downcast, clasped her hands behind her back. Why did she feel the urge to kneel? Probably because Jane had told her it was the way to greet your Master. Tony might not be he, but he had such an air about him, Susanna needed to force herself to stay as she was. So much depended on this interview.
In such close proximity to him, she could smell his citrus cologne and a hint of tobacco mixed with what she privately called ‘the essence of all-man’… earthy, musky and powerful. How many women would admit to being aroused by a sense of power in a man? It made her skin tingle and her pulse race in readiness for whatever should happen. So few men seemed to possess it to the degree she scented on Tony, which was a shame for womankind. The wonderment of what it might intimate was the perfect aphrodisiac. But then, how many women admitted their sexuality? Not enough, if one listened to the gossip at soirees.
Her stomach muscles clenched as she waited for his answer. Behind her the tick of the long case clock sounded over-loud, and the hiss of a coal as it slipped in the grate set her nerves one notch higher. Susanna dug her fingernails into her palms. The pain served to remind her why she was there. Eventually, just as she thought she'd give in and blurt her request out, he lifted her chin. The skin on his finger pads was roughened, she noted. No lazy lord, then? It gave her heart.
"Subservient?" The grip tightened slightly, so she had no option but to look at him.
Susanna chose to misunderstand him. "My lord, I'm no servant." The amused look on his face gave her no idea if he believed she understood him or not. "But I have a service to beg of you."
"Oh I like begging," he said, and Susanna bit her lip to stop the laugh that wanted to escape.
So she had heard. It had been one of the images that helped her through many a self-given orgasm.
"When someone else does it to me, of course," Tony continued. "Therefore, beg away."
Whilst she knew there was nothing for it but to speak to him before they met formally, Susanna had no idea it could be so much fun. Was this what they called verbal sparring? If so, she was engaged with an expert. "Then I beg of you, my lord. This evening, don’t be coerced into dancing with me. And on no account, at any time, offer for me."
The look of incredulity on his face was enough to make her giggle. The way his fingers tightened on her chin was not.
"My lord, bruises," she managed to say. To speak clearly with one's chin held so, was not easy. "That hurts."
Tony blanched, and removed his hand. "My apologies, my lady. It wasn't my intention to mark you, or cause you pain."
Did she really hear him speak? She was certain she had.
"Not yet, like this." His voice was low but…No, surely not. She must be hearing things. Marking in such a manner wasn't something she'd heard associated with him. Marking in a sensual, erotic way was a different matter. However, to admit to it? It seemed the stories were true. Would she ever experience such delights with him? Susanna could only hope and dream that one day she might.
He studied her chin intently, and ran his finger over the spot he'd held. "No marks, though you were right to reprimand me. Your skin will color easily, I think?" Susanna surmised his statement was intended to soothe. It did the opposite, and made Susanna hard-pressed not to lean into him and demand he show her how. One day.
"Somewhat, my lord. It is the curse of a redhead. Fiery temper and easily bruised. And a stubborn streak. One that begs you to heed me."
"What makes you think I'm going to offer for you?" Tony sounded genuinely interested. "I am my own man. I can't be coerced or forced into something I do not desire."
"Your mama, my mama, your need for a wife, my need to be one—or so I'm told. I'm three and twenty, and about to be so far back on the shelf, I'll be missed when they dust. I don't wish to marry, but do they understand? Of course not…they only see me as slipping into the lonely life of an old maid."
"Do you see it differently?"
"Oh yes. Give me one good reason why I should wed someone who neither cares for me out of the ordinary, nor wants me as anything other than a brood mare?"
He tilted her head up to face him once more. This time his touch was gentle, and his fingers stroked her skin. The caress set her nerve ends tingling.
Stupid girl. That is no more than he would give to a sister.
"You think I’d be like that?" Tony ran his finger from her throat to her mouth and circled her pursed lips, as if beckoning her to nip. Book reading was all well and good, but she wanted to know what would really happen if she did. Reading or hearing about sex secondhand wasn't enough. Not yet, though. Not if her plan worked.
"And you're not?"
"No. If that is what's in store as a wife, then I wish to remain single, remove to the country and, and have cats."
Tony burst out laughing, and his finger slid between her lips. It was no good. She gave into temptation and sucked the end.
"I think you are altogether too much a woman for that fate. Unless you are a follower of Sappho?" He caressed the back of her neck with his other hand. "Then you may find the only way to achieve your idyll is to do as you say."
Susanna shook her head, which under the circumstances was no mean feat. His touch gave her all sorts of shivers and her skin prickled with something indefinable.
"Are you? I need you to vocalize, Susanna." Her name sounded romantic, erotic and all things she shouldn't know about. Her channel, that place she discovered along with the little nub above it—her clitoris, Jane told her—which loved to be touched, spasmed and a gush of liquid began to gather. This was the first time anything other than her own hand had brought about that reaction. Susanna tightened her muscles to stop the quiver increasing.
"No…no. Not Sappho. Just not interested." She crossed her fingers behind her back. It was, according to her cousin and best friend Jane, a way of telling an untruth and not really intending to abide by it.
"A pity. I'm sure I could make you interested."
So was she. "Is that a promise or a threat, my lord?"
He shook his head. "Neither. It's a statement of fact. If I had the opportunity and your agreement." He waited for a moment, presumably to see if Susanna answered. She couldn't think of a word to say.
"Ah, well." He smiled. "Then I promise not to offer for you. Will that do?"