Restraint

Restraint

Everly Ryan

Once renowned for training frigid wives and shy mistresses in the art of lovemaking, Thomas Collins has been approached by the Duke of Wallingford to train his fiancée. The Duke has but one request—Thomas is to save the maidenhead for him.

Much to an unwitting Catherine’s surprise, she finds herself blindfolded and bound to a bed, bound by a stranger she knows only by touch…

But when Thomas sets out to train Catherine to respond to anything and everything the sadistic Duke might have in store for her, he discovers he must employ every ounce of restraint he possesses to keep from bedding the lovely captive who has stolen his heart.

Restraint

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Her Master’s Desire Copyright © 2017 Everly Ryan

Edited by Kelli Collins

Cover art by Debra Glass

Electronic book publication March 2017

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Everly Ryan.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

RESTRAINT

Everly Ryan

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