The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) (9 page)

He was determined. An army of ghosts could march through the room, and he wouldn’t care. He was no longer capable of stopping. He had never desired a woman the way he desired Abigail, and the interrupted lovemaking from the night before had left him on the edge of madness.

With lips, teeth, and tongue he teased her breasts to aching attention.  He flicked his tongue over the sensitive peaks, first one then the other, before suckling them in turn. It only stoked the fire that raged in her. Every touch inflamed her until she was arching up to meet him, desperate to be even closer to him.

The shirt she’d worn was pushed down her shoulders, over her arms until it bunched at her waist. He tugged it down, over her hips, then off of her entirely. When he tossed it aside, she was left completely naked. Everywhere he touched; she blazed. His body was hot and hard, the muscles bunching beneath her hands as they roamed over his back, his sides.

When her hands stroked his chest, tangling in the springy hair, he groaned. Recognizing it as a sound of pleasure, she continued her exploration. Her fingers grazed the flat, coppery discs of his nipples, and he hissed her name between clenched teeth before claiming her mouth again. She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her thighs. It excited her as much as it frightened her

She felt his hands on the inside of her thighs, and she opened for him immediately. His hand moved over the mound of her sex, possessively. But his touch was gentle when he parted the slick folds and began to touch her intimately. His fingers danced over her with skill, leaving her breathless and gasping. When he pressed deeper, his fingers sliding into her tight sheath, she uttered his name on a breathless sigh.

Michael was near the breaking point. His control had never been so tested. His erection had progressed to the point of pain, and all he wanted was to sink into the silken, heat of her body and ease himself. In spite of her passionate response, and the glorious wetness that had greeted his questing fingers, he knew that she wasn’t truly ready.

With that in mind, he moved a second finger inside her. She moaned at the increased pressure. The sound dragged at his nerves, spiking his desire even further. With his fingers pressing deeply inside her, readying her, he moved so that his thumb pressed against the small, hardened bud that was the center of her pleasure. He circled it slowly, then began to stroke it slowly. Every sigh, every breathless moan that escaped her softly parted, kiss-swollen lips ratcheted his own desire to even higher levels.

When she moved her hips against him, countering the rhythm of his hand, he simply could not wait any longer. He parted her knees, sliding his body between the sweet haven of her thighs. She tensed beneath him, but offered no protests. Michael kissed her neck, tugged at the lobe of her ear with his teeth, before uttering a whispered command, “Open for me, sweet.”

She shifted slightly, her knees parting further as she opened to him, welcomed him. He teased her again, parting the soft folds, and then he guided himself into her, parting her damp flesh. She had tensed against him though, clearly not quite ready for the next step..

Her slightly widened eyes were her only indication of alarm. She didn’t make a sound but bit her lip. He knew she was in pain, that he was hurting her, but he also knew that there was no other option, or at least not an option he could accept. “How familiar are you with what’s supposed to happen?”

Abbi shivered, “I know enough…It’s just that you are larger than I expected.”

Michael felt his pulse leap in response, felt his member harden further. “That can actually be a benefit,” he said.

She raised her eyebrow, “I wouldn’t know.”

He smiled back at her. “You will.”

He inserted his hand between them, touching her where they were joined. Each stroke of his skilled fingers over the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her cleft eased his passage. The liquid heat that answered his touch resulted in her body softening, easing to allow him to sink deeper inside her.

With a fervent prayer of thanks that she had relented, he surged forward. When he encountered the small barrier of her hymen, he breached it quickly. He had always thought delaying the process could only make it more painful. Her startled cry and the tension that gripped her told him that he had hurt her. He forced himself to still, to allow her time to acclimate to the intimacy of their joined bodies. She moved beneath him, and he clenched his teeth. “Please, for the love of God, be still… just for a moment, be still.”

Abbi hadn’t anticipated that it would hurt quite so much. She’d been told that it would be painful the first time, had heard as much from Lavinia, but then Lavinia lied about so many things. Apparently in that one instance, she had been uncharacteristically truthful. She did try to remain still, but the sensations were so foreign. Gradually, the discomfort began to fade, leaving in its wake the sensation of fullness, of feeling her body stretched to accommodate him, filled with the part of him that was such a mystery to her.

Michael felt her relax beneath him, the tension fading from her body. He uttered a silent prayer of thanks, as his control had stretched to beyond the breaking point. He kissed her then, touching his lips to hers with a gentleness that belied the raging desire he felt. He stroked his lips over hers, coaxing.

He flexed his hips, moving within her as gently as he could, though the effort cost him dearly. He wanted nothing more than to sink fully into her heat, to lose himself in the softness of her. The soft sigh that escaped her was the sweetest of rewards for his restraint. She brought her knees up, cradling him in the haven of her thighs. He gloried in her response--the soft flush of her skin, her lips parted on a low moan. He trailed his lips along her neck, over the swell of her breast, before closing his lips over the furled peak.

Every stroke of his tongue over her flesh, every pull of his mouth, elicited some response from her. Soft sighs. Hoarse cries. The arching of her back or the thrust of her hips. He cataloged every response, committing to memory everything that incited her passion.

Michael reveled in her powerful response, in every tremble and breathless cry. Instinctively, she had locked her legs around his hips. Her hands curved over his shoulders, and when her nails dug into his skin, he felt triumphant. He wanted to see her pleasure, to see her face as she cried out with her release. He moved his hips, driving into her more forcefully, going deeper into the welcoming heat of her body. She was like liquid fire around him, hot and tight, engulfing him.

With his hand still between them, he moved his fingers quickly, driving her to the edge until she was gasping and shivering beneath him. Her heels pressed into his back as she raised her hips, taking him even deeper. An oath escaped him, as sweat beaded on his skin. His own release threatened. He simply couldn’t wait. The familiar ache settled in, the heat and tension finally bursting through him, as he poured himself into her.

Abbi felt the heat, the rush of his seed inside her. He thrust a few more before he stilled, and she felt a vague sense of disappointment. That elusive something remained just out of reach, unknown to her. It wasn’t entirely disappointing. For the most part, it had felt incredible. There had been a few brief moment of discomfort, but it had paled in comparison to everything else. Still, she felt there was more.

Michael withdrew from her; his body spent and lax. He had never left a partner unsatisfied, that the one woman whom he had not brought to shattering release was his own wife was not a fact to be borne. On legs that shook, he rose from the bed, withdrawing from the blissful warmth of her body and moved to the washbasin. He returned with a damp cloth and gently began to clean the blood from her thighs. There wasn’t much, for which he was thankful.

“You needn’t—It’s embarrassing,” she protested, placing a stilling hand on his wrist.

He kissed her, “We are far from finished, my sweet. Let me take care of you.”

Distracting her with kisses, he moved the cloth between her legs, parting the slick folds that bore the evidence of their mutual desire. With a remarkably gentle touch, he washed away what remained of her virgin’s blood. The cool, damp cloth eased the tenderness from their first joining.

Discarding the cloth, Michael returned to her and took her in his arms. He kissed her gently, stroked her breasts with a slow, easy motion that once again had heat pooling in her belly. When his hand slid between her thighs, she parted them eagerly, welcoming his touch. But as his mouth slid from hers, to brandish a trail of heat from her neck to her breasts, then over her ribs, she began to panic. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, knowing that the words would shock her and effectively end their sensual exploration. “What I should have done first, had I not been in such a hurry,” he said simply, providing an answer that was not an answer at all. He dipped his head, brushing kisses over the thatch of dark curls. She attempted to clamp her thighs together, but he had positioned himself firmly between them, preventing her from closing herself to him. He moved lower, nuzzling the cleft of her sex, the warmth of his breath stirring the embers of her earlier desire.

Gently, Michael parted the slick, swollen folds of her sex. She was utterly perfect. Her pink flesh glistened with desire, and every contour beckoned to him. He kissed her, pressing his lips against her, tracing an erotic pattern over her damp sex. The salty-sweet taste of her was like ambrosia as he mapped every curve. Greedy for her, he teased the hardened bud with his tongue, flicking gently, then with greater pressure and speed.

He had stolen her breath, and Abbi lay back on the bed, gasping under the ministry of his skilled mouth. She was climbing again, the pleasure tugging her higher and higher. When she felt his hot mouth close over the most sensitive part of her, pulling gently, suckling her, she screamed. Her body seemed to simply shatter as the tension that had built inside her exploded into exquisite pleasure. It washed through her body, flooding her senses. Her body pulsed and clenched, her thighs trembling beneath his hands, her breasts heaving as she fought to regain her breath.

He pressed kisses against the velvety soft skin of her inner thighs, and then her belly, as he moved back up. He kissed her, and she eagerly accepted him.

Against all probability, his body had hardened again while he’d brought her to shuddering release. It was the most natural thing in the world to fit himself between her thighs, and to slide deeply into her again. She was wet and hot, her body still pulsing with the aftershocks of her first orgasm. With slow, gentle thrusts, he brought her to her second.

Chapter Nine

The night of the house party had arrived, and with it, a surprise. Michael had instructed the dressmaker in the village to send something for Abbi, and when the dress had arrived, she had taken it upstairs to put it on, after only a token protest. From the cut of her gowns and the pale colors, he knew it had been some time since she’d had a new gown.

The gift had been somewhat selfish. He wanted to see her in something other than pale, worn gowns suited to a much younger woman and one of much lower station. He also wanted to see her beaming with confidence when she faced Lavinia on more equal footing.

When she came downstairs, after what seemed an eternity. She wore a  deep, crimson velvet, and her dark hair had been pinned back in a loose chignon.  Several tendrils curled over her shoulder, drawing attention to the lush bounty of her cleavage. Lavinia was the more classic beauty, but Abigail was the more arresting of the two.

In seeing her outfitted so beautifully, her lush figure displayed to perfection, he wanted to show her off. On the other hand, he did not want to take her back into the den of iniquity that was Whitby Hall. It was necessary, though, and he knew it. They needed answers that could only be found there, and she was safer with him than alone knew at Blagdon Hall. He didn’t trust Lavinia’s purpose in inviting them, and he didn’t trust Rupert at all.

“You look beautiful,” he said. It wasn’t the sort of flowery prose he would have used in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of London. Of course, Abigail was the type to appreciate a more direct approach. If there was one thing he had learned about her, it was that she tended to speak plainly.

“Sarah did my hair…I told her that she should rest, but she insisted that she needed to begin earning her keep,” Abbi said, a blush stealing over her cheeks. “Stop looking at me that way.”

“What way?” he asked.

“As if I’m not wearing this dress at all!”

He smiled, unable to feel any remorse at that. Abigail in her naked glory was a sight that he would always treasure and revisit in his mind, and the flesh, as frequently as possible. But taking pity on her, he changed the subject. “Feeling useful will be good for Sarah, I think. Having too much time to think can sometimes make things more difficult.”

Clearly relieved at the change of subject, she smiled as she approached him. “Let us go and see what we can discover. I have no wish to remain long under Lavinia’s roof.”

Michael seconded that thoroughly as they alighted into the carriage and headed towards Whitby Hall. Their bags had been taken over earlier in the day. They were only staying for one night, possibly two. Michael only needed to be there long enough to search the house under cover of darkness. “Be very careful tonight. Stay with a large group of guests. Neither Rupert nor Lavinia can be given an opportunity to get you alone.”

Abbi shuddered in distaste. “The same can be said for you… Lavinia will not forgive your rejection of her easily, and if they are responsible for what happened to Sarah, then they have much more to lose than previously thought.”

“I can handle them. I only have a few questions I need answered. I should be able to gather the information I need while everyone else is abed.”

“Be careful, please. There are so many things happening right now that I've never experienced here. The attack on Sarah, the secret gatherings in the woods. The Gray Lady has never been so active, to my knowledge, and she only appears at all in times of extreme danger,” Abbi said.

The ghost had been making almost nightly appearances. She’d been seen pacing the breadth of the hallway, staring through the window to the woods beyond. When Sarah had heard people speaking of the ghost, she'd been near frightened to death. Abbi had explained to the girl that the spirit was a benevolent one and was largely responsible for her having been rescued at all.

She hated to think of what would have become of the girl had they not discovered her so quickly after her ordeal. While her injuries had not been horribly severe, a night in the cold damp grass would likely have caused a lung ailment that would have taken her life. Never mind the shock of what she had been through.

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Michael said, wisely. “There are any number of people in the area who could be responsible. I can’t fathom that Lavinia would be overly burdened by the need to hide anything.”

“You’re right of course. She was always shockingly brazen about her proclivities. She’s grown more so since her marriage to Rupert. In one respect, they seem to be perfect for one another, on the other hand, they seem to also bring out the very worst in one another.”

Michael kissed her, “I fear we will have the opposite problem. You will not accept anything but the best of me, and I imagine that you will be quite adamant in getting it.”

She laughed, “Why do I have the feeling we are talking about very different things?”

His answering grin was wicked. He trailed his hands over the column of her throat, his thumbs grazing over a pulse that skittered slightly. The expanse of bare skin beckoned to him, and it would be a shame, he thought, to cover it. But she should have jewelry. Her new gown called for it, and her new station demanded it.

“Perhaps we should go to London…We need to get you a more suitable wardrobe and open the family coffers. There is a diamond and sapphire set that would look stunning with this gown. They would look even more stunning when I’ve stripped everything from you but the jewels.”

“Shameless.”

“Unrepentantly so,” he agreed, dipping his head to press a soft kiss into the valley of her breasts. The slight rasp of his whiskers, coupled with the heat of his skin, had her shivering.

All too soon, they had arrived at Whitby Hall. Arriving in the ancient gig, Michael tossed the reins to a waiting stable lad and hopped down, assisting Abbi afterward. There was no line of carriages as most of the guests were there for a week or longer, and had arrived earlier. They were the only guests that were arriving for the evening alone. After they had been admitted by the butler, and announced, they moved into the large drawing room where the guests had gathered before dinner.

Upon entering, Michael immediately knew that he had made a grave mistake in underestimating the true deviousness of Lavinia. Most of the guests were female. He imagined their various spouses had either been left at home or were congregated together somewhere, plotting his demise. Every woman in the room had been his lover at one point or other. Lady Caroline Westerbrook, his most recent paramour and the one whom he had left London to escape, was strolling toward him, arm in arm with Lavinia.

Beside him, he felt Abigail stiffen. It wasn’t the presence of the women, so much as it was the collectively smug gaze that was being directed at her. She turned to Michael, “What is happening here?”

Any hint of prevarication on his part would only make matters worse. “Lavinia has decided to divide and conquer… And by divide, I mean us. These women are my former lovers.”

Abbi had suspected as much as soon as she walked into the gathering. It wasn’t like Lavinia to intentionally surround herself with women whose beauty could compete with her own. A sick feeling settled in her stomach as she took in every last knowing look.

Other emotions were taking root, as well. Inside her a maelstrom of humiliation, doubt and jealousy boiled. They were all beautiful; all accomplished in some way, experienced and sophisticated, and they had all known her husband—biblically. She could sense the cattiness in their gazes. She had thought the gown Michael provided for her the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned. That was still true, but it lacked the sophistication and town bronze that the other ladies wore so well and with such apparent ease.

“I think we should go. We should just turn and leave.”

Michael took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it fervently, in full view of everyone. His response was whispered. “We cannot. If we walk out, she will know that this is our weakness.”

“All of these women, Michael? Really? Every last one of them?”

He could apologize, but it felt wrong to him to do so. He was who he was, and the women in the room represented his past. But Lavinia was approaching, and they needed to present a unified front. “We will discuss this all that you want to later, but for now, let’s just get through this night to the best of our ability.”

She knew that he was right. “We will talk about it,” she said, and behind her bright smile, her teeth were clenched.

“Abigail, darling… And my new brother in law, Lord Ellersleigh,” Lavinia called, her voice echoing with false warmth. “I thought it might be nice for Abbi to meet her new peers prior to going to London. I’m sure you will all have so much in common.”

“Lavinia, you are as thoughtful as you have ever been,” Abbi said. On the surface, the comment was complimentary, but the conversation was occurring in layers.

“Lady Whitby, Lady Westerbrook,” Michael said. His greeting was cordial and accompanied by a slightly formal bow. It was also completely lacking in warmth.

“Surely you can spare a warmer greeting than that, Michael,” Lavinia said, making free with the familiar use of his name. “I had thought the two of you were well acquainted with one another.”

Abbi felt ill. Her humiliation could not have been more complete. “Lavinia—“

“Abbi, come with me darling, and I will introduce you to everyone while Michael and Lady Westerbrook catch-up with one another.”

Michael had no choice but to relinquish Abbi’s hand as Lavinia all but tugged her from his grasp. He wasn’t proud of his past. Many of his former lovers were not what could be considered nice women. They were vicious and cold-blooded. He had bedded them because they were available, and because, he admitted to himself, there was no chance of his heart ever becoming entangled with such a creature. Now, Abbi would be at their mercy. He turned to Lady Westerbrook, but she spoke before he had a chance.

“I didn’t know, Michael. I’m so very sorry.”

He met her gaze. She was a far different creature from the others present. He truly liked Caroline, and she was a remarkably beautiful woman. But she didn’t stir him the way Abbi did. “Why are you here, Caroline? I can’t believe that news of my marriage escaped your notice. You have a network of spies that are the envy Whitehall.”

She smiled, “No… I knew that you had married. According to the letter from Lady Whitby, which did not include the pertinent fact that your new bride was her stepsister, you had been trapped and were quite miserable with a frigid, social climber.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” he said, furious at Lavinia’s meddling and lies.

Caroline placed her hand on his arm, and he began to walk with her around the perimeter of the room. “I can see that. She’s very lovely… and of all the women in this room who will cause her the most unease, it shall be me because I was the last.”

“There is more at stake here, Caroline. Lavinia is up to something, and this, all of this, is intended to be nothing more than a distraction.”

Caroline looked up at him, her regret written clearly on her face. She’d had many hopes for their relationship, but she was honest enough with herself to recognize that those hopes had come from her own desires, and not from anything he had said or done. She had been an affair for Michael, and he had never done anything to indicate otherwise. “Just tell me what I can do to help you, and I will.”

“It will be difficult for Abbi, but I need to search the house. If we disappear together, it will be far less suspicious,” Michael explained.

Caroline nodded, “I will retire to my room for half an hour, and that should give you the time you need.”

Michael looked across the room at Abbi. Though she was deep in conversation with other ladies, her eyes followed Caroline as she exited the room. Five minutes later, when he was slipping from the drawing room, he felt her eyes on him, as well. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, she refused to meet his gaze

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, Michael was in the dressing room just off the master suite. Rupert’s study had been occupied, so he would search it during the night. In their private chambers, he had discovered a variety of erotic reading material, from the refined to the profane. He had also discovered a wealth of sex toys and implements that he, in his vast experience, had no knowledge of. There were also numerous vials and bottles of herbal remedies and medications. As a physician, he'd encountered some of them in the past. Others were wholly unknown to him, but it made clear one fact. Either Lavinia or Rupert were ill and possibly gravely so. Nothing made men and women more fearsome than impending death.

He had not found the green velvet robes or the golden masks that Sarah had described to him. He made his way back to the hallway, and at the sound of approaching voices, ducked into a darkened alcove.

Lavinia and Squire Blevins were groping one another in the hallway. The Squire lifted her skirts, shoved her roughly against the wall and without any preamble, entered her. Michael looked away, but there was no escaping the guttural grunting or the sounds of the coarse coupling.

He wasn’t a prude, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’d born witness to such an act, that the parties involved were people he despised was more the issue. Thankfully, it was short lived, and when the squire had ceased his panting, he lowered Lavinia’s feet to the floor, smoothed her dress and left. Lavinia was close on his heels, returning to see to her guests.