The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) (12 page)

“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 hot 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.

“Your hair is too beautiful to cut… It gives you the look of some mystical creature, luring men to the depths, a siren or mermaid, perhaps.”

Abbi smiled, blushing at the praise. “You are quite fanciful, my lord.” The formal address was uttered in a teasing tone, and his answering smile told her that he took it as such.

“I have a vivid imagination,” he agreed, “And of late, you have been featured in most of my fantasies. They are not lyrical though, or allegorical. They are wholly carnal and infinitely pleasurable… Perhaps tonight, when we return home, I will share one or two with you.”

The statement accompanied by a kiss on her bare shoulder that had her shivering. “I would like that very much.”

Reluctantly, Michael rose from the bed. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t…and I promised Rhys and Emme that we would join them for dinner tonight.” He retrieved his discarded clothing, which had become damp and wrinkled. He donned only his breeches. He carried the clothing over to the bed, rifling through the pockets of his horribly abused jacket, before producing a slim box. “Most of the family jewels are stored in a vault at the solicitor’s office. I will retrieve them for you later, but this... I had this tucked away here for sentimental reasons. This necklace was favored by my mother. I would like for you to wear it tonight.”

Abbi opened the box. It was a delicate piece, an airy confection of diamonds and pearls festooned with tear drop shaped rubies. It was one of the loveliest pieces of jewelry she had ever seen, and he presented it as if he feared she would snub it. Lifting the necklace from the box, she traced her fingers reverently over the delicate setting and the precious stones. “It’s beautiful… I’ve never seen anything more lovely.”

“Yes,” he agreed, but he was looking at her and not at the necklace. The moment stretched between them until at last he turned and left the room.

~*~*~

Abbi wore the same crimson dress that Michael had given her prior to their evening at Whitby Hall. Sarah had twisted her hair back into the Grecian style and then left several loose strands to cascade over her shoulder in loose curls.

Her mother’s pearls had been woven into her hair and pinned in place. She wore the necklace Michael had presented to her earlier. The weight of it was unfamiliar on her neck, and it reminded her of him and the pregnant moment that had passed between them earlier in the day. When she thought of it, her mind would invariably turn to the musings of Lady Westerbrook. The tiny sliver of hope that conversation had sparked was quickly building to a storm inside her. She had never been one to give her emotions free rein.

The drive to Upper Brook Street was a short one, as their home was only a few blocks away. The town home of the Duke of Duchess and Briarleigh was grand even beyond the home of her husband. It dominated the street and the butler who admitted them was so painfully proper that Abbi felt immediately out of place. Even in her dress, which she knew was flattering, and with the confidence afforded her by the jewels that winked at her neck, she was not prepared to face down the highest echelons of society.

“Michael!”

Abbi looked at up at the squealed greeting and saw the incredibly beautiful Duchess of Briarleigh racing towards them. It was no mean feat as she appeared to be heavily pregnant, as well. Her rounded belly did not detract from her appearance at all. Her skin glowed with health and vitality. Her dark hair was dressed in loose curls, and her pale gray eyes gave her an ethereal quality.

Michael laughed in response and hugged her when she reached him. As she watched, he placed a hand on the swell of the other woman’s belly. Jealousy reared its ugly head again.

“Emme, I swear that you have swallowed a pony!”

She smacked at his hand, “You are as insufferable, as ever…Now, introduce me to your wife so I may warn her about all your bad habits.”

He grimaced, “Please do not. I fear she’s heard quite enough already.”

“Michael, my threat to shoot you for putting your hands on my wife still stands,” Lord Rhys Brammel, Duke of Briarleigh, said as he entered the room. In spite of the rancorous nature of the words, they were said with a smile and lacked any real heat.

Emme stepped forward to greet Abigail and said, “Ignore their banter. While it sounds ferocious, it is quite harmless. I’m Emme, and it is truly a pleasure to meet you.”

In spite of her earlier, irrational jealousy, Abbi liked her immediately. “Thank you, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

Another woman appeared on the stairs then. She was younger but so beautiful that Abbi found it hard to look away from her. With Titian hair and wide blue eyes, there was a slight similarity in bone structure to the duchess. Any similarity ended there, however. Whereas the Duchess had been exuberant and obviously happy, there was a sadness clinging to the younger woman, a wariness in her. Abigail knew she'd endured something horrific.

“My sister, Miss Larissa Walters,” the Duchess of Briarleigh said. As the younger woman reached the bottom of the stairs, her sister put her arm about her somewhat protectively. Her smile faded just a bit and a worry crept into her gaze. “Though I must insist that you call me Emme and her Larissa. We do not stand on formality here.”

Abbi held her hand out to the young woman, “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The girl looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and then took her hand. As they shook hands, a smile began to spread over the young woman's face.

“Oh, I like that you've given him such difficulties. He needs it,” Larissa said with a slight laugh. With that odd statement and another warm smile, she moved away to greet Michael and her brother in law.

Puzzled by her, Abbi couldn't stop the frown that furrowed her brows. Sensing her distress, the Duchess spoke.

“Larissa and I come from a very unusual family... Please don't think her too odd. And if you are giving Michael a hard go of it, then cheers, for he could certainly benefit from it!”

As the party moved into the drawing room, the Duke addressed them together, “Spencer—forgive me, Lord Wolverston, will be arriving shortly.”