The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  His mind returned to the vision he’d entertained only two nights before, of Abby 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 but a strand of lustrous pearls at her neck, her glorious dark hair spread around her and 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 Abby were alone in the carriage. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and rekindle the passion that had flared so sweetly between them before their disastrous trip to Wilhaven 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, 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 anyone in his care to live so meanly. “You will have funds to see you through, Abby. 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 callous disregard 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 Wilhaven. 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.”

  Abby 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 Abby. “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 capitulating 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, exposing 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 fell back as 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.

  Abby 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 Wilhaven had effectively halted that particular aspect of their relationship and it was still far from resolved, in spite of what Lady Westerbrook had said to her. Abby was still filled with doubts, but those doubts fled her mind, along with all 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. Eager for his touch and the pleasure it promised, she sighed with relief as he slid one hand between them and began to caress her damp flesh.

  Abby 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.

  Abby 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, deepe
ning the contact, and she countered by tightening around him, ratcheting up 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. “Abby,” 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.”

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

  When Abby 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, though 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. Abby 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. While Michael retreated to his study to handle that correspondence that had accumulated in his absence, she was ushered upstairs to her new chamber for a bath. She felt overwhelmed by it all and 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 Abby’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,” Abby 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 Abby’s groan of pleasure masked the sound of the door opening and closing.

  “I should probably cut it,” Abby 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.

  Abby 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.

  Abby 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 single 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.”

  Abby 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 and rifled 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.”

  Abby 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 st
ones. “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.

  Abby wore the same crimson dress that Michael had given her prior to their evening at Wilhaven. 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 but she was forced to wonder how much longer she could maintain control.

  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 and Duchess of 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 Abby 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 the highest echelons of society.

  “Michael!”

  Abby looked at up at the squealed greeting and saw the incredibly beautiful Duchess of Briarleigh racing towards them, Ii was no mean feat as she was heavily pregnant. 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.