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 definitely 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."