The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) by Chasity Bowlin Page A

question as succinctly as possible, he said, “I became interested in medicine because someone dear to me died, and I could do nothing to help them. I remained interested in medicine because my father despised it and felt that what I was doing was little better than going into trade.”
    “And when you joined the army, was that also to irritate your father?”
    She was worse than the bloody professors at Cambridge. Why, when, where, who—it was endless! “No. That was because I couldn’t allow my best friends to run off to war without me. We managed though just barely, to keep one another alive and reasonably in one piece. Can we not talk about my past anymore?”
    “What should we talk about then?” Abbi asked though she was fairly certain she knew what his answer would be. The lazy strokes of his hands, soothing at first, had taken on a very different tone. They had become more insistent, more deliberately arousing. Even as the thought entered her mind, his hands were sliding over her ribs and up to her breasts.
    “I don’t think we should talk at all,” he said. “I want to make love to you, and regardless of any nervousness you may feel, I believe you want that too.”
    There was no denying it. He was right. She had wanted him the night before, when the Gray Lady had warned them, before they had rescued Sarah. After watching the way he had cared for Sarah—his gentleness with her, his fierce anger at what had happened to her—Abbi only wanted him more.
    With a boldness that surprised them both, she turned in his arms, coming to face him, and pressed her lips against his. It was the first time she had ever initiated a kiss between them, and while her efforts were slightly clumsy, they were also greatly appreciated.
    Michael’s response was immediate. He claimed her mouth hungrily in return; tasting and teasing her until they were both breathless. His clever hands were at her breasts, delving beneath the thin fabric of the simple shirt she wore.
    The sensation of his fingertips moving so skillfully over her tender flesh, cupping and shaping the softness of her breasts while artfully teasing the furled peaks, had her straining toward him. She cried out softly, the sound lost in a kiss.
    When he pulled his mouth from hers, and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over her neck and down to her breasts, she moaned. Her hands threaded into the silken hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to her. The intensity of her desire for him, the rapid ascent of passion should have frightened her. It would have frightened her had she not been robbed entirely of the ability to think. She could do nothing but feel and revel in the sensual onslaught.
    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