appeared to imagine himself.
The chamber door opened, and the subject of her musings entered. He wore only breeches and a shirt identical to the one that covered her. Even as he crossed the room, he was stripping it from his magnificent body. His boots and breeches followed. She closed her eyes and tried not to shriek in embarrassment when he doffed his small-clothes.
He truly had no modesty, but as she peeked at him beneath her lashes, she knew that he had no reason to be modest. His body was perfect. Broad shoulders tapered to a well-defined chest and taut stomach. As he moved, she could see the rippling of the ridged muscles of his abdomen. She had no idea what the muscle was called, but there was a perfect line at the top of each hip, demarcating his upper body from his lower body. His lower body proved to be even more distracting.
The dark hair that curled on his chest tapered to a thin line that bisected his ridged stomach, and arrowed down to the juncture of his thighs. The hair grew thicker there, surrounding his sex, which under her shuttered gaze, seemed to thicken and grow longer.
“If your eyes were truly closed, you’d have no reason to blush,” he said. Even as the flippant words escaped his lips, he was climbing back into the bed, heedless of his nudity.
It was a far different experience to in bed with him, knowing he was naked and now appreciating exactly what that looked like. “You are incorrigible.”
He smiled against her ear, kissed it, and in a whisper laced with humor, said, “I’m not a peeping tom. That would be you, dear wife.”
Wife. The word hung in the air. She wasn’t a wife yet, not truly. Desperate to think of anything else, she asked, “How is Sarah this morning?”
He sighed. “She’s still frightened, though less so in the bright light of day, but about the same as last night— bruised, battered and has seen the worst of mankind. Also, she's no wish to return to her family. She said that her father would never permit her back in his home, given that she has been ruined.”
It could have been her; Abbi thought. How many times had she fended off Rupert's clumsy advances? How many times had she hidden from him when he was not so drunk that his advances were tempered by his inebriated state? She shuddered softly, her empathy for Sarah growing exponentially. “What will happen to her?”
He sighed wearily. “As of this morning, she’s taken the position of lady's maid to you.”
Of course, she thought. She was quickly beginning to realize her husband had a very soft heart. “Thank you… for helping her, and for helping me. You seem to rescue people quite frequently.”
Michael felt the burden of her praise. It was heavy on him, so he shrugged it off quickly, “Need I remind you that you are the one who rescued me? Were it not for your willingness to corroborate my alibi at the cost of your own reputation, I would more than likely be swinging at Tyburn Hill now.”
“Don’t joke about that. It’s horrible.”
“Then let’s talk about something else,” he suggested as he stroked her back, his hands moving in deceptively lazy circles. With each pass, his touch grew bolder, more insistent, and more far reaching. At last, his hands were coasting over her shoulders and arms, over the swell of her hips and down her thighs.
Abbi continued her questions, though her voice quavered tellingly. “How is it the son and heir of a viscount is trained as a physician?”
Michael had no wish to delve into his past, not even for her. But putting her off would only encourage distance between them, and distance was the last thing he wanted at that moment. It was time to consummate their union, to claim her as his wife. He didn't acknowledge that there was an element of fear to his intense desire. The thought of going back into the vipers den of Rupert and Lavinia's home with their relationship not fully bound in the eyes of the law was too dangerous, by far.
Answering her
The chamber door opened, and the subject of her musings entered. He wore only breeches and a shirt identical to the one that covered her. Even as he crossed the room, he was stripping it from his magnificent body. His boots and breeches followed. She closed her eyes and tried not to shriek in embarrassment when he doffed his small-clothes.
He truly had no modesty, but as she peeked at him beneath her lashes, she knew that he had no reason to be modest. His body was perfect. Broad shoulders tapered to a well-defined chest and taut stomach. As he moved, she could see the rippling of the ridged muscles of his abdomen. She had no idea what the muscle was called, but there was a perfect line at the top of each hip, demarcating his upper body from his lower body. His lower body proved to be even more distracting.
The dark hair that curled on his chest tapered to a thin line that bisected his ridged stomach, and arrowed down to the juncture of his thighs. The hair grew thicker there, surrounding his sex, which under her shuttered gaze, seemed to thicken and grow longer.
“If your eyes were truly closed, you’d have no reason to blush,” he said. Even as the flippant words escaped his lips, he was climbing back into the bed, heedless of his nudity.
It was a far different experience to in bed with him, knowing he was naked and now appreciating exactly what that looked like. “You are incorrigible.”
He smiled against her ear, kissed it, and in a whisper laced with humor, said, “I’m not a peeping tom. That would be you, dear wife.”
Wife. The word hung in the air. She wasn’t a wife yet, not truly. Desperate to think of anything else, she asked, “How is Sarah this morning?”
He sighed. “She’s still frightened, though less so in the bright light of day, but about the same as last night— bruised, battered and has seen the worst of mankind. Also, she's no wish to return to her family. She said that her father would never permit her back in his home, given that she has been ruined.”
It could have been her; Abbi thought. How many times had she fended off Rupert's clumsy advances? How many times had she hidden from him when he was not so drunk that his advances were tempered by his inebriated state? She shuddered softly, her empathy for Sarah growing exponentially. “What will happen to her?”
He sighed wearily. “As of this morning, she’s taken the position of lady's maid to you.”
Of course, she thought. She was quickly beginning to realize her husband had a very soft heart. “Thank you… for helping her, and for helping me. You seem to rescue people quite frequently.”
Michael felt the burden of her praise. It was heavy on him, so he shrugged it off quickly, “Need I remind you that you are the one who rescued me? Were it not for your willingness to corroborate my alibi at the cost of your own reputation, I would more than likely be swinging at Tyburn Hill now.”
“Don’t joke about that. It’s horrible.”
“Then let’s talk about something else,” he suggested as he stroked her back, his hands moving in deceptively lazy circles. With each pass, his touch grew bolder, more insistent, and more far reaching. At last, his hands were coasting over her shoulders and arms, over the swell of her hips and down her thighs.
Abbi continued her questions, though her voice quavered tellingly. “How is it the son and heir of a viscount is trained as a physician?”
Michael had no wish to delve into his past, not even for her. But putting her off would only encourage distance between them, and distance was the last thing he wanted at that moment. It was time to consummate their union, to claim her as his wife. He didn't acknowledge that there was an element of fear to his intense desire. The thought of going back into the vipers den of Rupert and Lavinia's home with their relationship not fully bound in the eyes of the law was too dangerous, by far.
Answering her
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