Read Online The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) by Chasity Bowlin - Free Book Online
Authors: Chasity Bowlin
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denying his masculine beauty. With his chiseled features and perfectly sculpted form, he reminded her of the statues she’d seen in the books she wasn’t supposed to look at.
Of course, he was physically without flaw, she thought somewhat bitterly. What had she expected? That he would suddenly develop a hunchback that would render him undesirable? Stifling an irritated sigh, she moved forward into the room. It was time to meet her fate.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening, wife,” he replied. His tone was low and intimate, his deep voice rumbling in the silence of the room. Each word was like a caress, and his knowing glance was a weight on her.
She stepped deeper into the room, her hands shaking as she closed the door behind her. She could only hope that he wouldn’t notice. As it was, she could feel his gaze traveling over her, no doubt taking note of the fact that she was still fully clothed.
“Won't you join me?” The question was asked innocently enough, or as innocently as a man like her husband could manage.
Turning back toward the bed on a deep breath, she was once again taken aback by his naked torso. A thought crept into her mind, a very disturbing one. “What are you wearing?”
“Nothing… If you prefer, I can come to you,” he said and began lifting the covers.
“No!” she said hastily and moved toward the bed. “But do not think for one minute that I will be climbing beneath the bedclothes with you.”
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “I’ll just have to do my very best to sway you.”
Uncertain of how to proceed and feeling incredibly awkward about the entire ordeal, Abbi sat down on the bed, and then reclined against the pillows. She kept her hands folded neatly overly her ribs so that not even her elbow touched him. Her lips were pinched into a thin, grim line, and her jaw was set with stubborn determination.
Michael turned onto his side, the bedclothes dipping dangerously low over his lean hips. He trailed the tips of his fingers over the backs of her clenched hands and her forearms. “I’ve married an angry corpse,” he said
She turned her head, glancing at the clock, and then back at him. Her lips were compressed into a thin line as she said grimly, “You have eight minutes, my lord.”
Michael chuckled. She looked as if she was going to the gallows. He was still smiling when he kissed the stubborn curve her jaw and when he dipped his head to lick the delicate shell of her ear. By the time he closed his teeth gently on her earlobe, the smile had faded and was replaced with determination.
He wasn’t so arrogant that he didn’t acknowledge the very real chance he might not succeed in seducing his new bride. Never had he encountered a woman with such remarkable pride and fortitude. For that matter, he'd never met a woman so resistant to the idea of being seduced by him. It dawned on Michael that he was perhaps a bit spoiled to the fairer sex succumbing easily to his charms. Could he actually seduce a woman who wasn't already eager for seduction? It was a lowering thought.
It wasn't all pride and reluctance; he rationalized. Fear was certainly playing a part in her resistance. No fear was greater than the fear of the unknown. Knowledge of the intimacies of married life were notoriously shielded from young women, sometimes much to their detriment. Coupled with the fact that the men in her life had, to date, been grossly irresponsible or lecherous oafs, she had little enough reason to trust his intentions. With those doubts plaguing him, taunting him with the knowledge that he might not succeed, he set himself to the task of introducing her to desire.
He made a careful study of her, noting the pinkness of her cheeks, the slight hitching of her breath. Yes, she was reluctant, but she was far from unaffected. With determination, Michael employed all of his considerable skill in the task of seducing his wife.
Each touch, each caress was intended to awaken
Of course, he was physically without flaw, she thought somewhat bitterly. What had she expected? That he would suddenly develop a hunchback that would render him undesirable? Stifling an irritated sigh, she moved forward into the room. It was time to meet her fate.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening, wife,” he replied. His tone was low and intimate, his deep voice rumbling in the silence of the room. Each word was like a caress, and his knowing glance was a weight on her.
She stepped deeper into the room, her hands shaking as she closed the door behind her. She could only hope that he wouldn’t notice. As it was, she could feel his gaze traveling over her, no doubt taking note of the fact that she was still fully clothed.
“Won't you join me?” The question was asked innocently enough, or as innocently as a man like her husband could manage.
Turning back toward the bed on a deep breath, she was once again taken aback by his naked torso. A thought crept into her mind, a very disturbing one. “What are you wearing?”
“Nothing… If you prefer, I can come to you,” he said and began lifting the covers.
“No!” she said hastily and moved toward the bed. “But do not think for one minute that I will be climbing beneath the bedclothes with you.”
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “I’ll just have to do my very best to sway you.”
Uncertain of how to proceed and feeling incredibly awkward about the entire ordeal, Abbi sat down on the bed, and then reclined against the pillows. She kept her hands folded neatly overly her ribs so that not even her elbow touched him. Her lips were pinched into a thin, grim line, and her jaw was set with stubborn determination.
Michael turned onto his side, the bedclothes dipping dangerously low over his lean hips. He trailed the tips of his fingers over the backs of her clenched hands and her forearms. “I’ve married an angry corpse,” he said
She turned her head, glancing at the clock, and then back at him. Her lips were compressed into a thin line as she said grimly, “You have eight minutes, my lord.”
Michael chuckled. She looked as if she was going to the gallows. He was still smiling when he kissed the stubborn curve her jaw and when he dipped his head to lick the delicate shell of her ear. By the time he closed his teeth gently on her earlobe, the smile had faded and was replaced with determination.
He wasn’t so arrogant that he didn’t acknowledge the very real chance he might not succeed in seducing his new bride. Never had he encountered a woman with such remarkable pride and fortitude. For that matter, he'd never met a woman so resistant to the idea of being seduced by him. It dawned on Michael that he was perhaps a bit spoiled to the fairer sex succumbing easily to his charms. Could he actually seduce a woman who wasn't already eager for seduction? It was a lowering thought.
It wasn't all pride and reluctance; he rationalized. Fear was certainly playing a part in her resistance. No fear was greater than the fear of the unknown. Knowledge of the intimacies of married life were notoriously shielded from young women, sometimes much to their detriment. Coupled with the fact that the men in her life had, to date, been grossly irresponsible or lecherous oafs, she had little enough reason to trust his intentions. With those doubts plaguing him, taunting him with the knowledge that he might not succeed, he set himself to the task of introducing her to desire.
He made a careful study of her, noting the pinkness of her cheeks, the slight hitching of her breath. Yes, she was reluctant, but she was far from unaffected. With determination, Michael employed all of his considerable skill in the task of seducing his wife.
Each touch, each caress was intended to awaken
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