The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “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 g
o 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.

  He waited, but his caution created a greater complication. He would be late returning to the drawing-room, and would have no chance to speak with Abbi prior to dinner, no opportunity to explain that appearances had been necessarily deceiving. When he entered the drawing room, the guests were migrating into the dining room. He ignored Lavinia’s snide smile as he found Abbi and took her arm to lead her in. He also ignored the frigid glare that Abbi leveled at him.

  Michael was only too well aware of how things looked. The smug glances of the other women present, Lavinia’s less than thinly veiled slurs, Rupert’s lascivious stares directed at Abbi, all combined to make the evening a misery for them both. It had been an utter waste of his time, except for the all too vivid images of Lavinia and Squire Blevins in the hot clutches of lust. Those were images he would just as soon forget. It was not the outcome he'd hoped for.

  As the dinner progressed, it only became worse. The tension between Abbi and himself was palpable. In one respect, it was the perfect response. It lent credence in the minds of everyone else present this his reason for disappearing from the party was that he and Lady Caroline Westerbrook had slipped away for a liaison. The unfortunate element of the situation was that, having no time to explain the situation, Abbi now believed it as well. It did not bode well for the remainder of his evening.

  As the dinner was cleared away, the guests began to segregate. The men retreated to the billiard-room and the women headed back to the drawing-room. Michael managed to steer Abbi into a quiet alcove.

  He uttered the first words that came to mind. “It is not what you think.” Even to his own ears, it sounded weak and hollow, even if it was the truth. How many men and women had uttered those words to cover up their infidelities?