Page 11 of Falling For The Dowager

She couldn’t have been as quiet as she hoped, for Callum was sitting up in the armchair, a slow bewitchingly easy smile formed already.

“I am no longer dreaming since I am now awake. I am sorry if I woke you.” There were other things she should probably apologise for, but now that seemed important when she was looking at him. So instead, she just grinned back, unable to stop herself.

“You are thoughtful,” he insisted. “You get this far away look in your eyes on occasion. You have it now. It makes me wonder what you’re thinking about.”

How Helena wished she had the confidence to say or suggest she was dreaming about bedding him. It would not be a lie since she often liked to imagine how it might be. Especially with him watching her with such warm intensity. Instead, she waved her hands aimlessly at the window. “It might be dawn. At least, I think it is. The sky is pinkening anyway. I don’t think I have ever been awake at this time.”

This might be a slight lie because now and then society soirees would end at silly times of the morning, but no one amongst the ton would deem it suitable to be going outside. No, they would be curled up and going to bed for several more hours. Her husband had hated mornings, and Helena would frequently avoid his chambers until at least two o’clock in the afternoon… She sucked in a breath, realising she was reminiscing on the past when the bright, exciting future was before her.

Hastily she said, “At least not to go outside. I don’t think I have ever welcomed dawn amongst the trees.”

Callum walked over to her until he stood next to her. He looked down into the parkland, within inches of her but without touching her. The very air seemed to be alight with their tension, with their craving, and with all the words they hadn’t said.

“You want to see my world?” he gestured towards the forests, the Scottish bur of his accent peeking through now that he was so close. Despite all her lessons, her title, and lineage, nothing sounded more appealing, and she nodded emphatically.

The woodland was alive, the high-reaching trees dense with thick green leaves that crisscrossed over each other, the echoing noises of birds and small creatures, the milky yellow light filtered over their heads as they walked. Dickon took her hand and interlinked their fingers.

This gesture should have added to Helena’s nerves, but Callum made no mention of their clasped fingers, merely helping her over the stretching roots or ditches that might catch at her long skirts.

They walked deeper and deeper, and every step carried Helena farther and farther from what might be claimed to be civilisation. But the nature of the forest appeared to be seeping into her very skin and soul. It seemed the island, or perhaps the forest itself, was helping Helena cast off the woman she used to be—the one who cowered and cried over her husband and her years of infertility. Now with her free hand, she reached out and stroked the passing sections of the rough bark and the blooming late summer flowers. The scent and the sensation were heavenly, Helena thought. In fact, if an Angel had descended, she would hardly have been surprised.

“I like it,” Callum said. He had been describing the various plants, passing trees and flowers, and she had been curiously listening and learning. “The deeper I get, the more I think I will lose the rest of the world, and it will just be me. And you, too, of course.”

He paused and dropped her hand, pointing to the spot he had led her to, a beautiful free flowing waterfall. It wasn’t vast or as impressive as some dotted throughout the world that Helena had read about or seen drawings of. But it was here, the sound of the natural wonder, loud, resounding, and impressive. The water splashed down into a deep pool, with a narrow stream, a little blue-ribbon winding away through the vegetation. The scene was as bright and as bustling as any scene Helena had witnessed in London. To her eyes, it was far more magnificent.

“Single file,” Callum said, gesturing for her to follow the route down to the lower level, where nature had cut into the wet stones a pathway, which the two of them walked down until they were looking up at the crashing, apparently solid wave of water.

“Thank you,” Helena said, her eyes moist. She turned to look at Callum, and he was watching her with such sweet solicitation; she knew she was lost. Her hands came up on either side of his face, touching the rough brown stubble of his dear face. Known and desired, but it was also completely novel. Her mouth sought out his, keen for the reassurance of his lips. The touch, featherlike, as she gave him time to pull back, but her heart sang when one of his hands sank into her chignon, and the other pressed against her waist. She wanted the leashed tenderness of his that hinted at a fierce masculinity, that would always be tempered to accommodate her. Unlike the men of the ton, Callum had no need to prove himself to anyone. He was too secure in himself. And his kiss was deliciously intense, the pressure warm and exciting. It started as a light touch, coaxing at first, before deepening as their tongues tangled.

Their hands dropped away as they scrambled against the confines of their clothes. Callum’s coat dropped to the ground, and he shrugged himself out of his shirt as they kissed, and Helena snatched glances at his emerging beauty. There was no better world for the solid shape of his chest, the rippled muscles that spoke of the hours he spent working outside. Nor the dark hair that patterned his abdomen. He lifted his eyes and watched her, as he dropped the remaining items of his clothes, until he stood bare before her. She blushed, seeing how inflamed he already was, but he seemed unperturbed by being naked. Dickon could have modelled for a Greek or Roman statue, but Helena was relieved the pleasure of watching him disrobe was for her eyes only.

“My lady?” He was pausing, querying whether she wished to continue, and the care and the question made her nod and pull her eyes away from the enthralling spectacle of his body. She was conscious of her own desire, a sweating of her skin, a dampness between her legs, and a shortening of her breath. He would be studying her body in return all too soon, exploring her with more than just his eyes in mere moments, and she had to suppress her own excitement at the idea.

“Yes, yes.” She scrambled with far less elegance than he had managed to achieve. “Yes, I want to. Call me Helena. Please.”

She managed to drop the dull dress to the ground, shedding that particular shield. It was an unusual sensation. She had expected to feel the embarrassment, the catch in her throat to be so exposed before a man as she had with Benedict. But instead, she saw the gleam of appreciation in his eyes as he gazed at her body, heard the rush of water and the sounds of the gleaming forest, and instead felt at peace.

Her chemise was sheer in the early morning light, and she hurried closer to him. “I am cold,” she said, looking up into his face. It was not the lyrical or seductive line she might have wished to utter, but it made Callum smile as he laid her down on a collection of their clothes, atop a mossy bank.

“I believe it will be my duty to warm you up, my lady.” He paused and then added, “Helena.” And it sounded musical and light, like homage or a blessing.

Their words were so silly, so deliberately melodramatic, that as Callum helped her.

untie her stays, loosening them and casting them away to join the other discarded items of clothing, Helena giggled as if she were half her age, pressing distracting kisses up onto Callum’s face as he looked down at her. This was the warm, pressing weight of his tall muscular body that she imagined and played out in her mind countless times, but it surpassed the fantasies as the hair on his legs brushed against her shins and sent shivers through her. The masculine fragrance of his body was all-encompassing—salt and sweat and woodsmoke blurred through her mind, each richer and denser than she ever expected. Callum kept peppering the most soul-wrenching kisses across her face, neck, and then down to the tips of her breasts, driving her wild. Then when his hands dipped lower, he lifted her chemise until the curls of her sex were revealed and let out a masculine sigh, which touched her soul. With a most gentle and curious fingertip, Callum parted the folds of her sex, his touch both encouraging and exploratory as he found with his stroke which movement or sensation made her moan.

Every negative comment from Benedict or memory of them faded as Callum explored her with the tender wonder of discovery. She leant back amongst the riotous explosion of wildlife that surrounded her, overwhelmed by the pinpricks of pleasures which alighted on her vulnerable flesh. When Callum put his mouth to her curls, she screamed, the sound wretched from her throat. He kissed her with a desire that made colours burst brightly behind her eyes, and tears leaked down her face as her release swept through her, its honeyed glow radiating out of her and illuminating everything she had missed for years. She clung to the dark curls on his head as the sensation claimed her completely.

“Shh.” He moved up her body as she continued to shudder underneath him. Here was the welcome weight she had craved constantly, pressing her down and into the material of his jacket. Even the ground below did not bother her. Callum cupped her face as he watched her, his thumb pad stroking away the tears. “Is everything alright, my lady?”

“It is better than that.” She kissed him now he was nearer, tasting her own desire on his tongue, and the knowledge of that making her groan greedily. How she wanted him. Everything about this man was better—what a weak word for the wonder of him—was heaven sent.

“I want more.” She kissed him again, their tongues touching and wet against one another's. The feeling more divine than she might have hoped for. With a bold curiosity she had never dared in her marriage, her hands stole down his back, exploring the shape of Callum’s body, the ridges of his shoulders and sides, the strength of his legs, and the delightful roundness of his rump.

As her hand tightened on his rear, he groaned into her ear. “Please, Helena.”

She nodded against him, their needs aligned here. Gratefully, she felt his magnificent length press against her wet entrance, the temptation an insistent presence as his manhood eased itself inside her fully. Driving to the hilt until she gasped into his hair.

Callum stilled and let her adjust to the pressure and awareness that claimed her body. Their eyes met and held. As he smiled, he started to move, his grin telling her that the best was yet to come.