The Dom Who Said Please

by Raven McAllan

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2019 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-975-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  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.

  THE DOM WHO SAID PLEASE

  Those Regency Doms, 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2019

  Chapter One

  Why do we put ourselves through such torture? For what? A chance to eye those debutants who want to trap one into marriage, or those who glare, glower, and shy away from you as if you have a terrible disease? Both scenarios are as bad as each other. Neither appeal.

  I need to be myself again. Even better, be it with the one person I desire above everything else. Time to put my mind to that scenario, and find her.

  Theodore Moncur, Earl of Glensmoor, decided if he couldn’t achieve his ambition, he had no idea what he would do. Not now since he was back in England with all the responsibilities that went with his return.

  “A bit of a squeeze for a musical evening, isn’t it?” The effete young man with a cravat so high he couldn’t turn his head mopped his brow as he spoke to Theo.

  Theo glanced at him. “Just a tad.” Dressed as ever in understated elegance, Theo winced at the other man’s yellow polka-dot waistcoat. Why on earth did Sir Archibald Driscoll think that acceptable for a ball? It might just be acceptable at a mill. As long as most of the attendees were Cits or barrow boys. Not here where the cream of the ton were gathered. There were some entertainments one could not refuse without causing offense. That instance was one of them.

  “Excuse me.” The lackluster tones of one Lady Eleanor Charters assailed Theo’s ears. Elegant, in a sparkling sea-blue gown cut modestly across her breasts, with sapphires at her ears and throat, she was the epitome of how a young lady should appear. If one didn’t notice the stubborn tilt of her chin and the look of determination it seemed she found hard to mask. As she touched his arm to enable a clear passage past him, Theo moved slightly. Enough for her to squeeze between him and the wall, but not enough that she could pass without brushing past him. As her breasts met his chest, he grinned. She scowled and he swore she muttered something highly uncomplimentary along the lines of “boor,” “idiot,” and “sure of himself.”

  If only he was the latter, they would be out of there, by themselves, and she would be on her knees and submitting to his every desire.

  And pigs might fly.

  “I beg your pardon?” he drawled every inch the aristocrat. With most ladies, that would elicit at least a blush, if not several stammering apologies. Not so in this case.

  Lady Eleanor dipped her head and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Pardon granted.” She moved into a gap that had appeared before Theo had a chance to reply. He bit back a snort of laughter. As he thought, the lady definitely deserved a closer acquaintance with. Everything about her called to his inner self. She might not realize it, but to him, reading her unconscious signals, she knew and was interested. Whether she would be when he explained who and what he was would be another thing entirely.

  “Dashed hot as well.”

  Theo had forgotten Driscoll, who luckily seemed not have heard the exchange. He didn’t think Driscoll meant Eleanor.

  “Always is when Madame hosts anything.” Theo gave half of his mind to the conversation whilst he contemplated the lady who now stood deep in reflection on the far side of the music room. It couldn’t be for the music because that was abysmal. Unless, of course, she was tone deaf. Three unknown cellists, two of whom had no idea how to tune their instruments, and a pianist who noticed because she winced at regular intervals. Together, they scraped out something that Theo supposed could loosely be called a tune. What, he couldn’t decipher. Why it couldn’t just have been the one accomplished cellist and the pianist, he had no idea. But there again, would that have made the evening any more palatable? Probably not. If he hadn’t promised himself—and his beloved godmama—that for one month he would appear to do everything he should to become an upright citizen, and actually act as if his station in life was important, he’d be playing cards at Whites. Or indeed anywhere but there.

  The fact Lady Mason had added appear wasn’t lost on Theo.

  Once a rake always a rake. Or so he considered. The idea of never indulging in certain things he felt necessary to his wellbeing and happiness—things he was fairly sure most women wouldn’t accept—was not to be thought of. How could he give up the joys of dominance? Or playing with the perfect submissive, scribing, spanking, and creating erotic patterns on soft, milk-white skin with wax?

  It was a part of him as his hair, his teeth, and his cock.

  “Not to her usual high standards, what? You any idea why?” Driscoll asked slyly. “Been too busy elsewhere maybe?”

  Theo gave him a glance that made the man visibly blanch. “I imagine you know as much as I or anyone else.”

  In fact, the lady whose musicale it was had confided in him, as they lay sated in her bed—she bound and blindfold—he idly scribing circles on each breast with a knife, that the quartet was highly recommended, highly costly, and came from a renown orchestra. That information worried him. She’d been robbed. However, Genevieve De Tournay would neither worry nor care. It was the cachet of having obtained them to play, not the quality of the playing.

  Theo bowed as the lady in question swanned up to him and went to take his arm. He frowned and she dropped her hand as if burned. He knew it was a mistake to attend after he’d given Genevieve her conge a week before. It seemed she’d taken his presence as a hint all was not lost.

  Theo knew otherwise.

  That bloody promise. In truth, he hadn’t considered that situations such as the one he found himself in might occur. After careful consideration, and a hint from his godmama it would be a good thing to attend the event, he’d turned up. The fact his presence might allay suspicions about them had also occurred to him. According to a good friend, questions had been asked by the dowagers, one of them his mother, who intended to see him wed and his reputation unsullied. Any immoral liaison was not to be countenanced.

  Theo had reasoned that if Genevieve behaved as if they had merely enjoyed the usual flirtations between a married woman and a rake, no one would suspect that now-rued afternoon whilst her husband also dallied—in his case, at a house party—had happened. Unfortunately, it appeared that however good Genevieve might be at following orders in bed, it seemed not so much elsewhere.

  As he scanned her appearance—a dress nigh on transparent and cut so low over her ample, milk-white breasts he thought if she took a deep breath she’d pop out if it, and too much jewelry—an image of Eleanor Charters as she looked earlier filled his mind. Much more enticing to wonder what her gown hid rather than what it did not. The anticipation of uncovering each delectable curve inch by inch was so much more arousing than seeing it on display for all and sundry to ogle.

  Theo accepted he was both spoiled and jaded. What good was a dalliance if it held no spice of the chase, the thrill of the conquest, and the satisfaction of the sated?

  Of course, it would need to be with a lady who knew the score and accepted it. Not someone like Genevieve whom it appeared chose to attempt to alter it.
<
br />   A pity that bored wives could not only be good playmates but also a dangerous nuisance. How would he react if—when—inevitably, the time came for him to wed, and his wife thought he would be amenable for her to, as many bored spouses did, play with whomever she chose?

  Over my dead body—and probably hers. At the very least, this mythical wife wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a fortnight, and not in a climax-inducing way either. Double standards no doubt, but it was how it would be. The fact she might object to him sharing his body with others sat uneasy on him. It was all immaterial. He was not wed and had no intention of being so. He returned to the present situation with a malicious grin.

  “There, Driscoll, here’s Madame now,” Theo said with a hint of revenge for Driscoll’s earlier, sly snipe at him. “Why not ask her?”

  Driscoll gave him the sort of glance that in a lesser man would send shivers down his spine. Not in a good way either. Theo winked. He could give as good as he got, if not better.

  “Ask me what?” Genevieve’s gazed focused on first one then the other like an inquisitive jackdaw. “Intrigue?”

  Driscoll reddened and essayed a bow. “Not at all, Madame. I, er, merely wanted to ask if you are holding a ball later in the season? Always such an occasion, one to which every member of the ton would be flattered to be invited.”

  Theo bit back a grin. Swift thinking on Driscoll’s part, and he was darned sure, an out and out lie.

  Madame simpered. “I hope so. You will have to wait and see. Of course, if I do, you will be on the list. Both of you.”

  Theo made a mental note to be unavailable.

  Impatience coursed through him as he waited for Driscoll to take his leave. Genevieve needed to be made certain she understood what had happened was a swift, allegedly pleasant, and not-to-be-repeated interlude. Lucky for his temper, and Driscoll’s ears, the man spotted a lady whom he had confided to Theo earlier he wanted to pursue and therefore made his bow.

  Genevieve smiled in a sultry manner. “Now it is just the two of us.”

  “And several dozen members of the ton, all who are avidly watching to see if the latest on-dits are true or not. The ones I hear are circulating and best be scotched as soon as possible.” He had no need to add or else—that went without saying. “I warn you, my dear, I will be no one’s pigeon for the plucking.”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Genevieve said, not very convincingly. “I have heard nothing.”

  “Really?” Theo made sure his skepticism showed. “Then you better make sure that if you do, you act unknowingly. Do I make myself clear? If my name is attached to any scandal whatsoever, I will not be the person sacrificed. I trust you understand?”

  Genevieve paled and nodded. Theo was as certain as he could be that she not only knew about them, but had decided they added to her standing. As her husband had a well-known, fiery French temperament, Theo wondered if she was crazy. However, he had made his point. He gestured in the direction of the stage.

  “Not one of your better choices, Madame.” He indicated where the so-called musicians were thankfully packing away their instruments. “What happened?”

  Genevieve scowled. “Two were taken ill and substitutes sent. I won’t pay, of course.”

  “No?” Theo raised one eyebrow. “You’ll never get anyone else to play for you if you don’t.” However. He bowed his head slightly in a parody of agreement. “That is your choice. Not one I subscribe to.”

  She shrugged and the neck of her gown slipped ever nearer her nipples. She glanced slyly at Theo, as if, he presumed, to see if he noticed. He gave no indication that he had. She was too obvious, and his itch in that direction had been well and truly scratched.

  “We leave for France next weekend, so it is immaterial.”

  Theo narrowed his eyes. He abhorred her attitude. Good or bad, the musicians had turned up and deserved payment. “I suggest, Madame, you reconsider or…” He didn’t say or what but the words seemed to strike home. She reddened.

  “Very well, though I do not agree.”

  Theo shrugged. “No one asked you to. Just to be honorable and pay your debts. You owe that much to your husband and his position, if nothing else.” He bowed. “Now if you will excuse me, I best circulate.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But I thought…”

  He raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry. Waited to the count of five, then spoke. “You thought?”

  “Wrongly, it seems,” she said with a snap.

  “I imagine so.”

  “Then my apologies for taking up so much of your oh, so valuable time, my lord.”

  Her sarcasm washed over him. Theo nodded. “It will serve you to remember not to take things for granted. Now if you will excuse me.” He smiled and made his bow. There was no need to set the tabbies’ tongues wagging over why The Earl of Glensmoor did not acknowledge his hostess in the proper manner. “Your servant.”

  Did he really hear her say something very unflattering in French? He smiled to himself. The epithets were more than not well-deserved.

  Theo made his way to one side of the room and leaned on a pillar from where he could survey the occupants with ease. He reviewed the last few moments and consigned them to the need-not-to-think-about-it-anymore part of his mind. He had bigger fish to fry than Genevieve De Tournay. On the other side of the room, he noticed Lady Eleanor Charters wince as one young deb’s voice rose in a noise akin to a strangled cat. As her usual facial expression in such company was mainly one of vacuous indifference, that display of emotion intrigued him as much as the lady herself.

  She was said to be placid, unthreatening, and a wealthy, noted beauty. Somewhat of an enigma and allegedly not interested in marriage again. Her late husband, an unheeding daredevil of the first order, had killed himself three years earlier, a bare four months into their marriage when he went climbing in Scotland. His frozen body was discovered a month later.

  It was said Lady Eleanor was desolate. After all, the tabbies gossiped to each other, she wore black for a full six months before going into half mourning for a further six. Only recently had she begun to appear at balls and even now rarely danced. She had to be inconsolable.

  Knowing the type of person Bertram Charters had been, Theo had other suspicions. His lordship was an idiot who had thought only of himself. It was well known his one redeeming feature was his wealth, and that Eleanor’s family had been in dire straits.

  Poor girl. She, it seemed, had been the one sacrificed to keep her father in hunters and mistresses and her mother and siblings in clothes and a roof over their heads. Her own wants and needs seemed to have been ignored, for Theo could not believe she had any positive feelings for the man. She must have more common sense than fall for his alleged charms.

  If she had been against the decision that they should marry, no one ever knew, though Theo had reservations. In the days when she was betrothed, and a newlywed, he had on occasion surprised a desolate expression on her face before she once more composed her features into blind acceptance and supposed ignorance of what those around were saying about her life.

  Now, widowed and wealthy in her own right, it was whispered she refused to help her family any more and they had to tighten their belts.

  If she was all that everyone insisted she was, then Lady Eleanor was probably the last person he should contemplate making his mistress and his submissive. However, she called to him in a visceral, primeval manner. Not something he often felt. In fact, Theo mused as he contemplated her, if ever before.

  His body and mind ignored that.

  Interesting.

  He wanted her. Beneath him, obeying him, submitting to his every need. He thought she would not be disinterested.

  A ridiculous desire, perhaps. And perhaps not.

  Everyone said she was feisty, had to be in charge, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Something about her demeanor made Theo think differently. She might need to be in charge in certain areas of her life, but not, he thought, in oth
ers. Now all he had to do was to persuade her of that fact.

  With care and purpose, he began to make his way around the room to her side.

  “I say, Theo, will you give your opinion on Bailey’s chestnuts?” One of his cronies appealed to him with an exaggerated wave of his hand. Theo ducked to miss the flailing fingers.

  “Why?”

  “He reckons they are a match for Belhaven’s greys. I say not. What say you? Should I wager?”

  Theo sighed and gave his attention to George Nixon, a fellow member of Whites who he liked. “Save your money,” he advised. “Those greys are nigh on unbeatable.” He grinned. “Except by mine and I have no intention of showing you or anyone else just how. I value my cattle.”

  The exchange of sallies and reposts between several of his cronies over horses, fools, and wagers meant it was several minutes before he was able to make his farewells and continue his perambulations around the room.

  He glanced across to where he had last seen his quarry.

  She wasn’t there.

  Theo scanned the room.

  Nowhere to be seen.

  He swore and headed for the card room.

  Chapter Two

  Three nights later, Lady Eleanor Charters schooled her face into an expression of polite interest for goodness knows how many times with regards to the conversation that went on around her, and bit back a yawn. Dare she risk a swift peek at the clock?

  Perhaps not. Someone would be sure to notice and remark on it. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself.

  How soon before I can make my apologies and depart this damned ball? I am so bloody sick of these so-called entertainments. They do not entertain me. I have had enough of the lies, the inanities, and the company.

  Night after night, she forced herself to attend some form of engagement or another and counted the day until she could legitimately plead it was time to retire to her country home and be rid of all the sycophants. Those who allegedly aspired to her hand and those who just thought of her as a widow who they decided should be ready, even grateful, to share her body.