The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “That is a bold assessment, Lady Westerbrook.”

  The other woman moved nearer, and there was a sadness in her gaze, as she said, “It’s in his eyes. He looks at you in a way that he never looked at me, and in a way that he has never looked at another woman in all the years that I have known him…He is a good and honorable man, and I think he has a great deal of pain inside him. If he feels for you what I believe he does, you could heal him.”

  “You have known him for a very long time, I take it.” Abbi didn’t want to ask; she didn’t mean to be sucked into gossiping about her own husband with his former mistress.

  “Yes. He was a friend of my husband for many years. We were never lovers then. While Michael certainly dallied with married women, they have never been the wives of his friends. After my dear Charles had passed, Michael was a great comfort to me, but only as a friend. It was last year that we became lovers, and only because I asked it of him. I had been alone for a very long time, you see. Charles had been so sick, that we hadn’t –well, the physical side of our relationship suffered tremendously.”

  “You really needn’t tell me all this.”

  Caroline took Abbi’s hand imploringly. “On the contrary, I must. Michael never actually desired me. We were friends, and I am a woman who is quite aware of her looks. Our relationship was one of convenience, not passion. There is passion between the two of you, and if you will allow it, that passion can blossom into something wonderful.”

  “You take a great deal upon yourself when you advise the wife of your former lover on how to be happy in her marriage, Lady Westerbrook,” Abbi said. The words were not heated, but a reflection of her confusion and Caroline interpreted it as such.

  “Not so much really. I love Michael, though I have never been in love with him. I did have designs on him though. It isn’t that I wanted to marry him so much as that I wanted to be married again. I enjoyed being a wife, Lady Ellersleigh, of having a man to love and tend to,” she paused and drew a deep breath. “Loving Michael as I do, it is only natural that I would want him to be happy, Lady Ellersleigh. I believe that you could make him very happy.”

  Abbi hadn't expected that the woman she'd prepared herself to despise would be warm and giving, even helpful. “I will take it under advisement.”

  “I sense that you have suffered enough pain and disappointment in your own short life that you deserve a bit of happiness for yourself, my lady. God speed on what will surely be a journey for the ages,” Lady Westerbrook said with a soft laugh.”

  It was too much. Abbi had her fill of the conversation and the rush of emotion that accompanied it. Hope was not something she often let herself experience. It was too fragile and far too easily dashed. To have it spring from such an unlikely source only made it more suspect. “Thank you for your kind words and your goodwill.” Abbi quickly exited the morning room.

  Michael was waiting for her in the foyer; their bags already loaded into the waiting carriage. Noting the odd expression on her face, Michael asked, “Are you alright?”

  Abbi didn’t really know how to answer him. She felt unsettled. She was far more frightened of what Lady Westerbrook had said than anything else that occurred. “I’m fine, just eager to be home and away from all this.”

  “As am I,” he said.

  During the short ride back to Blagdon Hall, Michael wondered at her strangely quiet mood but didn’t question it. Though she seemed subdued, the tension and anger between them seemed to have abated, and he had no wish to resurrect it.

  ~*~*~

  The next morning, they left for London. Sarah accompanied them, as Michael intended to use the trip to not only research what sort of artifact it was that Lavinia and Rupert were after, but also to supplement Abbi’s wardrobe. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that plying her with gifts would completely eradicate the tension between them. But he could only hope that it would be well received as the peace offering it was intended to be. If the clothes didn’t work, then perhaps the jewelry would.

  His mind returned to the vision he’d entertained only two nights before, of Abbi wearing nothing but a suite of sapphires and diamonds. He could easily imagine her wearing pearls, as well. He wanted to see her lying back on the scarlet silk that graced the bed at his townhouse. In his fantasy, she wore nothing, her glorious dark hair spread around her, a strand of lustrous pearls at her neck with a soft smile curving her lips.

  Michael shifted on the seat of the carriage, the nature of his thoughts adding to the general discomfort and misery of travel. Sarah was riding in the second coach with the luggage, and he and Abbi were alone in the carriage. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to rekindle the passion that had flared so sweetly between them before their disastrous trip to Whitby Hall and all that had transpired.

  Her mood had been strangely introspective since their departure the previous morning. He could only assume that it had something to do with her conversation with Caroline. Given the circumstances, he decided it would be for the best to live with his curiosity.

  “We should arrive in London sometime tomorrow afternoon,” he said companionably.

  “I’ve never been. When it was time for my come out, Lavinia’s mother became ill and then shortly after that, my father. They both passed away within the year, and the following year, when it would have been appropriate to go, Lord Allerton said there was no money for such frivolities. All the while he was gaming and—well, doing what so many gentlemen about town do. It appeared there was a great deal of money for frivolity for him. Meanwhile, I had to sell off the tapestries and rugs just to keep us all fed.”

  It made him angry. He knew that he had never been a paragon of virtue, but he could not imagine that he would ever have allowed a woman in his care to live so meanly. “You will have funds to see you through, Abbi. I intend while we are in town, to have an account set up for you to ensure that you will never have to be at anyone’s mercy again.”

  “That is hardly necessary, my lord. You needn't make such an effort on my part.”

  “I do need to, actually. I want you to feel secure, to have faith in the fact that you will never again be dependent on anyone else for the simple comforts of life.”

  She didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He continued to confuse her, with his callousness of her feelings on the one hand and his incredible generosity and tenderness on the other. “Thank you, Michael.”

  It was the first time she had called him something other than 'my lord' since they had left Whitby Hall. He didn’t imagine that it was related to the money, but he was grateful that he had managed to do something right, even if he wasn’t sure precisely what it was. “We’ll also be staying in London long enough to give you an opportunity to expand your wardrobe. I want to see you in something that doesn’t look like it was made for you at the age of eighteen.”

  Abbi laughed, “Interestingly enough, most of the gowns I currently have were created for me at the age of eighteen.”

  “Since you’ve never been to London before, perhaps we can find time for some of the entertainments it has to offer. Is there anything in particular that you would like to see?”

  She blushed a bit, then said with complete honesty, “I want to see the Elgin Marbles. I know they are considered to be somewhat inappropriate for ladies, but I have always wanted to see them.”

  He smiled, thinking that the Elgin Marbles, with their sensual draping and the elegantly carved figures, would work into his plans very well. While not overtly carnal, the sensuality of them would not be lost on Abbi. “I think that could probably be arranged… Perhaps a private showing after the museum closes?”

  “You can do that?”

  “Most definitely,” he said. “In the meantime, it is a very long and tedious trip to London.”

  The tone of his voice was a clear indication of what part of his anatomy was presently in charge of his thinking. In spite of her confusion, she was not immune. But not wanting to give the appearance of capitula
ting too easily, she said, “Perhaps you should have a rest then, a nice long nap to pass the time?”

  Michael laughed, and even as he chuckled, he reached for her hand and pulled her across the span of the seats to sprawl across his lap. Her breasts were crushed intimately against his chest, and where his thigh had slipped between hers, her gown had bunched around her knees, freeing her stocking clad calves to his roaming fingers.

  He kissed her, his lips playing hers in a sensual, rhythmic dance that left them both breathless and panting. Through the fabric of her traveling gown, he cupped the lush globes of her breasts, relishing the weight of that tender flesh against his palms. His lips blazed a path over her neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat, making her shiver. Her neck arched, her head falling back and his teeth scraped gently over the delicate column of her throat. A gasp turned into a soft moan, and he took her mouth again, greedy for the taste of her sweet lips and the slide of her tongue against his own.

  Within minutes, he had the bodice of her dress tugged down, revealing the rosy peaks of her breasts to him. Her gown had been pushed up to her waist, and the lush bottom that had so tantalized him was clasped firmly in his hands. He was hard and aching, wanting desperately to be inside her. As she moaned against his mouth, he knew that she felt the same. He repositioned her, so that she straddled him, her thighs cradling his rigid erection.

  Abbi gasped at the intimacy of the new position. His hands and mouth had driven her into a frenzy. They hadn’t made love since their return from Lavinia’s ambush. Everything that had happened at Whitby Hall had effectively halted that particular aspect of their relationship. Though it was still far from resolved, in spite of what Lady Westerbrook had said to her, Abbi was still filled with doubts. Those doubts fled her mind, along with all over rational thought, when he flexed against her, pressing the hard ridge of his sex against her opening. His breeches could not conceal the hardness and heat of him. Even at that thought, he slid one hand between them and began to caress her damp flesh.

  Abbi grasped his shoulders, needing something solid to cling to as the storm built inside her. Every stroke of his masterful fingers had her gasping and crying out, pressing more firmly against him, her hips moving rhythmically with the pace he had set. The pleasure deepened as did the desire for more, until she ached with it, needing more. She wanted to feel him inside her.

  Reaching down with fingers that trembled, she freed the buttons of his breeches until he sprang forth, hot and hard. She had never touched him there, and now, as her hands moved over him, she marveled at the silken feel of him. She couldn’t stop the smile that escaped her at his guttural groan.

  Seeing that siren’s smile on her face was almost as torturous as the feel of her soft hands stroking his hardened sex. “Minx,” he said. He gripped her bottom, lifting her higher until he was poised at her entrance. Some part of him realized that taking his wife, who was newly initiated into such physical intimacies, in a moving carriage was wrong on numerous levels, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “Take me inside you,” he said.

  “How?” she asked, the eagerness in her voice was not lost on him.

  “Use your hand, guide me into you,” he instructed and bit back a groan as she did just that. With the head of his cock between the slick folds, he lowered her slowly, gently, spearing deeply inside her. The heat, the tight clench of her around him, was a pleasure unlike anything he could ever recall. A curse hissed from between his lips and his clenched teeth.

  Abbi gasped at the feel of him so deeply inside her. Her bottom rested on his thighs, and every rock and lurch of the carriage created a wealth of sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. When he moved, flexing his hips, angling her so that he pressed against that sensitive bud that sent her spiraling toward the precipice, she cried out his name. Experimentally, she tightened, flexing her own hips and his fingers on her hips tightened, gripping almost painfully. He began a rhythm, flexing into her, deepening the contact, and she countered by tightening around him, ratcheting the pleasure for both of them.

  It did not take long. In only a few strokes, he felt her belly quivering and the tell-tale tremble of her thighs. He closed his mouth over hers, swallowing the keening cry as her release took her. He flexed again, feeling her inner muscles rippling around him, and his release followed. He groaned as he pumped inside her, spilling himself into her welcoming heat.

  Minutes later, she was still sprawled across his lap, their clothing askew and their breathing still ragged. “Abbi,” he said, her name a breathless whisper, “You are going to be the death of me.”

  “It’s only fair,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “For you’ve left me worthless as the dead. I can’t move.”

  That was perfectly fine with him. He enjoyed the feel of her against him, and though he had gone lax inside her, if she stayed where she was, it wouldn’t be long until the feel of her would rouse him again. “Then by all means, remain where you are.”

  ~*~*~

  The following afternoon, after a night at a less than hospitable inn, they arrived in London. The trip had served to ease the tension between them. On the surface at least, both Abbi and Michael had returned to providing the appearance of newly wedded bliss.

  When Abbi saw their London home, it was all she could not to gape like the country lass she was. She did refrain but only because she felt that it would be bad form as the new viscountess to be seen looking like such a simpleton. Still, the marble floors, intricate gilded moldings, priceless art and antiques all left her feeling very much out of her element. The servants were too numerous for her to recall even, but she did try. If there was any consolation, it was the fact that poor Sarah was immediately welcomed into the fold and coddled by the other servants. Abbi knew that there was undoubtedly a story there, but she didn’t know what it was.

  Michael informed her that they would be dining with his friends that evening, a fact that left her feeling as unsettled as the grandeur of the house did. She felt, overwhelmed by it all. As she was ushered upstairs to her new chamber for a bath, while Michael retreated to his study to handle the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. Abbi wondered if she would ever truly be able to grasp the running of so grand a house.

  Her new chambers were no less opulent than the rest of the house. The rosewood furnishings were lovely and feminine, but not overly delicate. The bed was hung with rich silk in peacock shades, with matching drapes at the windows. The walls were papered in gold brocade, and an Aubusson rug covered the majority of the parquet floor which had been polished until it shone. Sarah was present, placing Abbi’s meager clothing into a large armoire which had likely never held such pitiful contents.

  “Forgive me for saying, my lady, but I feel like a fish out of water,” Sarah said. “Everyone has been quite helpful, but I never dreamed of working in such a fine household. I ought to write my father and see if I can’t come home.”

  “Sarah, if you wish to go home, we will certainly help you… But I feel like a fish out of water myself. I knew that my husband was quite wealthy, but I had not anticipated this. I can’t quite fathom living with this sort of luxury,” Abbi replied honestly.

  “In that case, I’ll stay…Perhaps it will help to know there is someone else in the house just as lost as you are,” Sarah said with a smile. Her face had begun to heal a bit more. Many of the bruises were fading from the vivid black and blue to more putrid shades of yellow and green. With the swelling gone and the haunted expression beginning to recede from her eyes, it was easy to see that Sarah was a pretty girl.

  “I would like that very much.”

  The conversation halted as footmen came in bearing buckets of steaming water, which were added to the marble tub in the corner. A permanent fixture of the room, it was hidden behind a gilded screen. While water did have to be carried in, the tub had a drain that allowed the dirty water to run out into the city’s sewers. Sarah added sweet smelling oil to the bath. The h
ot water was simply bliss, and Abbi’s groan of pleasure masked the sound of the door opening and closing.

  “I should probably cut it,” Abbi mused as Sarah began the arduous task of washing her hair. “Having such long hair is unfashionable, and there is so very much of it, that it is nearly impossible to style fashionably.”

  “If you even think it, I will turn you over my knee,” Michael said from beyond the screen.

  Abbi ducked deeper into the water, not trusting him to stay on the other side of the screen. Logically, she knew that he had seen and touched every part of her, but years of modesty were a hard thing to overcome. “What are you doing in here?”

  He moved into her line of sight then, just as Sarah finished rinsing the last of the soap from the ends of her hair. “Apparently I am averting disaster. You will not cut your hair.”

  “It was simply a thought,” she said. “Now, that we’ve established I am not going to cut my hair, you can leave again.”

  Michael noted the blush that stained her cheeks and the fact that the upper swells of her breasts were visible above the water. “Sarah, you may be excused.”

  The young maid didn’t hesitate to follow his command, and quickly left the room without a backward glance. The door hadn’t even closed behind her before he was stripping off his clothes.

  Abbi leaned back in the tub and surveyed him. She might have been embarrassed, but the hot look in his eyes, and the pleasure it promised superseded any maidenly protests she might have made. The afternoon light filtered through the windows, highlighting his bronzed skin. His muscles flexed and bunched with every movement, and by the time he had removed his breeches, she was wet and aching. He had aroused her without so much as a touch.

  She didn’t bat an eye when he stepped into the tub, just drew her knees up to make room for him. When he pulled her into his arms, she went eagerly, and kissed him with all the heated desire that had built inside her.

  They made love slowly, the warm water of the bath lapping around them until it became chilled. When the water had cooled, he lifted her from the tub and carried her to the bed, where he continued to worship her body. After, they lay together in a tangle of limbs, the damp ropes of her hair curling about them. Michael retrieved the comb from the dressing table and began to gently work out the snarls that his hands had created.