Restraint

Chapter One

Claymore Estate, Essex England, 1848

“I’m not in the business of seducing women anymore,” Thomas Collins, the Earl of Claymore, said before casually taking a sip of his brandy.

He tasted the residual liquor on his lips as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. His attitude of indifference, however, was a ruse. He was intrigued. Intensely intrigued.

Shifting in his caramel leather chair, he lifted his gaze to the man who sat across from him—the man who wanted him to seduce his fiancée.

Thomas had never liked the Duke of Wallingford. In fact, he despised him, but he was hardly surprised Wallingford would ask such a favor of him.

Years ago—
has it been twenty already
?
—Thomas had possessed a reputation for tutoring frigid wives and shy mistresses in the art of sex. He’d been sought out by the most elite members of the
ton
.

However, he’d never seduced virgins.

And all that had been before Estelle.

He took a gulp of the brandy this time, oblivious to the scorching trail it left down his throat. The pang of remembering Estelle was much worse. Memories of her bright smile and her flowing strawberry blonde hair rose in him and settled uncomfortably in his heart. He tamped down the emotions. He would not dwell on her death. Not now. The pain was still as raw as it had been three years ago when he’d interred her in the Claymore mausoleum.

“I don’t trust anyone else to do it, old man.” The duke’s thin lips twisted into a leering grin.

Thomas pinned him with a stare. “I do not, nor have I ever,
tutored
virgins. And I am not about to start.”

“I’m only asking you to teach her. In fact, I don’t even want you to fuck her. I want to save that little morsel for myself.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m too old for it. And far too out of practice.” He had never thought he would say those words. Not when Estelle was alive, anyway. But at forty-eight, he figured he’d lost the powers of seduction for which he had been so famous at twenty-eight.

“Catherine won’t know the difference. Come on, Collins, I can’t even get her to kiss me.”

Thomas blew out a sigh. “What did you have in mind?”

He wanted to kick himself. Hard. He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But hell, he hadn’t had a woman in three years and the duke didn’t want him to actually fuck her…

It wouldn’t be as if he were betraying Estelle’s memory—not if he didn’t fuck her.

“I just want her to learn to respond. To learn how to please me without question.”

Thomas arched an eyebrow. “Then take a mistress.”

The duke laughed. “You apparently have not seen my Catherine.”

Visions of a lovely young woman naked and willing in his bed danced through his head. His cock stirred in his breeches. It had been a long time.

“Suppose I can’t
not
fuck her?”

The duke laughed. “Bugger her in the
arse
if you want. All I ask is that you leave the maidenhead for me.”

Thomas rankled, somehow disliking the duke more than he already did. The idea that a man would give his fiancée up to another man—to give him license to bugger her in the
arse
—was appalling. He would never have asked anyone to do that to Estelle.

He hadn’t needed to.

Still, there was a part of him that wanted to relive those days when he was known as a lady’s man, a rakehell, a master of seduction. Part of him wondered if he still had it in him. Another part of him needed to get past the emotions that still roiled within him when he thought of Estelle.

He stared at the residue of amber liquid in his glass. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

* * * * *

Lady Catherine Spencer writhed helplessly against the silken ties that bound her wrists. Her heart raced. Where was she? All she knew was that she was blindfolded and
naked
, spread-eagle, her wrists and ankles tied presumably to the posts of the bed she lay upon.

A chill swept over her bare flesh. She shuddered.

Her memory was a blur and she fought to remember where she had been last. She vaguely recalled drinking something her fiancé has prepared for her. Had she been drugged? And how long had she been here, tied like this? Her head swam.

She suddenly heard a creaking sound and twisted her head toward the noise.

Footsteps sounded, padding softly across a carpeted floor. Her heart thundered. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want of me?” Her voice sounded hysterical—and rightfully so.

Horrible images of rape and murder reared in her thoughts.

Her breathing quickened. Her pulse rioted.

“Do not be afraid, Lady Catherine. You will not be harmed.”

The reassuring, resonant voice did little to alleviate her fears. She swallowed. Her mind raced with possibilities, all of which were bad. She was naked. Totally naked. And totally at the mercy of this stranger. And all too aware that whoever he was, he could see everything.
Everything.

Despite her state of undress, she refused to show her fear. She would not. She would bargain with her captor and secure her release when he discovered her lofty connections. She jerked her chin toward the voice. “My fiancé is the Duke of Wallingford. I’m certain he will pay an exorbitant amount for my release.”

“Your fiancé is the one who sent you to me.” The voice was low and velvety.

Catherine froze. Chills swept down her body. “I don’t believe you.”

But even as she uttered the words, she thought back over what had happened—the odd gleam in Robert’s eyes, the encouragement to finish her drink. It all made perfect, horrific sense.

The bed sank and she felt a hard thigh encased in rough linen press against hers. Panic surged. Her captor’s heat radiated through his clothing, making her all too conscious of how vulnerable she was.

The idea that this man—this stranger—was looking upon her filled her with emotions she did not comprehend. Fear, alarm and, strangely,
excitement
thrummed through her naked body.

“Robert tells me you are unresponsive to his romantic overtures. He wants me to teach you.”

Catherine gasped. A hot blush of shame rushed to her cheeks followed quickly by a burst of anger. She tensed against the bonds. “Sir, I am first and foremost a
lady
. I will not submit to such a dreadful thing!”

“Very well. I will not do anything you do not want me to do.”

She relaxed but only a little. She was still unclothed and tied and veritably at this man’s mercy. The idea of it was nearly overwhelming. It was intolerable.

“Untie me. Give me my clothes,” she said, jerking her chin at her unseen captor.

“No.”

“But—”

“I said I would not do anything you didn’t want me to do. But I will not untie you. Your fiancé has retained me to teach you for two weeks.”

“You cannot leave me here for two weeks!” The panic that filled her voice surprised her. How dare Robert do this to her! How dare he!

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall. She hated him. More than ever, she hated him.

Her parents had arranged her marriage to him and she had reluctantly consented after discovering that her father was practically destitute and on the verge of losing everything. It was her duty to marry him. Still, she had never dreamed Robert would stoop to such depths.

He had always been impatient and eager when they were alone together. And thus far, she had thwarted his attempts to kiss and fondle her.

Sex was something shameful. Something she did not want to think about. And dear Lord, she had never been unclothed this long in her life. In this condition, she could not bear for this strange man to be in the same room with her any longer.

She tried to swallow against the lump in her throat. “Please don’t do this. Please release me.”

“I will,” he said and her heart leapt. Only to come crashing back down when he uttered, “In two weeks, Catherine.”

Thomas felt a pang of guilt. She was frightened. And he knew she felt as if she had been betrayed by a man she was supposed to be able to trust.
Damn Wallingford
, he thought.

He knew he should untie her. Cover her. Send her on her way. But hell, he couldn’t. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her rise underneath him when he kissed her mouth, to feel her twist and undulate while he explored the recesses of her hidden treasures.

She was beautiful. And even though she was as innocent as the day she was born, she exuded sexuality.

He wanted to remove the blindfold. He wanted to see her eyes. Long, long black hair stretched wildly across the white pillowslip. Her lips were the color of rubies, stained from the drugged wine Wallingford had given her.

Thomas took a deep breath as his gaze moved lower. Her breasts swelled with her shallow, quick breaths. Dark brown velvety nipples protruded, hardened, begging him to suckle them. He wet his lips and let his gaze move farther down to the nest of black curls that hid her sex. Even with her legs spread wide he could not see the folds, the aperture.

Wallingford had been right. No man needed a mistress with a woman as lovely and alluring as Catherine.

His cock stirred and he involuntarily tightened the muscles in his thighs. It had been a long damned time since he’d been inside a woman.

But he would not be inside this one.

Not in that way, anyway.

Still, she needed time. And time was what she was going to get.

* * * * *

Catherine had no idea how long she had lain here. An hour? A day? Time seemed to stand still. She shifted against the bonds which held her wrists and ankles, appalled that in the deepest recesses of her being, she wished the stranger would return.

Just as she thought she would scream from the frustration of her intolerable situation, the door opened.

“Did you sleep well?”

It was the stranger’s voice.

“No.”

Again, he sat on the bed beside her and she caught the aroma of something sweet. Something she wanted.

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” she said, although she was starving.

“Catherine,” he scolded. “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not hungry.”

And then she felt something brush her bottom lip—and she tasted the most exquisite thing she had ever had in her mouth. Chocolate. Just a taste. He was teasing her. Tempting her.

A little moan of protest escaped her throat. She could never willingly submit to this. Never. She had always been constant and self-assured. She was the one who knelt in church and fervently said her prayers. Her whole life had been arranged for her and she was the one who’d prepared herself to uphold her duty. Everything had always been well ordered for her—until now.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked again. His voice was low. Seductive.

His finger grazed her bottom lip and this time she opened her mouth tentatively, touching it with her tongue.

“Tell me what you want, Catherine.”

This was unbearable. “Just a taste. Please.” She gave in, wondering in the back of her mind if she would give in to other requests. Her mind raced with possibilities, the likes of which she had only read in her maid’s taboo novels.

The stranger complied and placed a piece of the exquisite chocolate between her lips. It was wonderful! She wanted more.

But then his finger was once more tracing her lips, this time laced with wine.

Catherine’s heart went wild.

She had never known such sensations. She had never known anything could taste so—
much
.

The flavors mingled and filled her, making her forget she was bound and naked with her wrists and ankles stretched wide apart to reveal her most intimate and private parts.

“Tell me you want more,” the stranger said.

She trembled. “I want more.”

Thomas wanted more.

God help him, he wanted more.

He watched as Catherine parted her lips, waiting, wanting and begging for another taste of the exemplary imported chocolate. No woman had ever resisted it.

And he knew it would be a struggle to resist burying himself, losing himself, in all the sweetness Catherine had to offer.

His gaze swept her luscious body. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breaths. The muscles in her thighs tensed and released.

And there—high up on the inside of her thigh, he noticed the tiniest drop of her succulent cream.

Silently, he asked Estelle’s forgiveness. He had never, not once, even so much as thought about another woman when he had been married to her. And in the three years following her death, he had not entertained the idea of being with another woman. He had only masturbated out of primitive need but even that seemed somehow a desecration of Estelle’s memory.

Yet, here he was with this beautiful, enticing creature tied to his bed, open and ready—and all he could think about was stripping off his clothes and fucking her.

His arousal surged against his dove-gray trousers.

He placed another piece of chocolate in her mouth.

Teaching her to respond was going to be easier than he had first thought—and also far more pleasurable than he had first thought as well.

But there was so much more.

Wallingford wanted her to learn to do anything without question. Thomas knew well that a woman would lie down and spread her legs for her husband, no questions asked in most cases, but to do
anything
, to willingly submit and take pleasure in it was altogether different. He seriously doubted Catherine would ever take pleasure in Robert Wallingford.

Wallingford had a cruel reputation and a name for rather eccentric tastes when it came to boudoir games. Thomas hated to think of this innocent young girl submitting to Wallingford’s perverted aberrations.

He reached under her neck and threaded his fingers through the silken black strands as he lifted her head and held a glass of wine to her lips. As she drank, a crimson rivulet spilled down her ivory chin.

She was driving him mad. He had thought he could do this without getting involved, without wanting her, but he knew it was impossible. Her guileless pleas, her parted red lips, her striking innocence…all of it affected him in a way he had never imagined. He needed it. He needed to be part of it.