Chapter 3 #2
“Eleanor,” he said with more gentleness as he knelt in front of her.
She lifted her face to his and blinked. She was pale, and her eyes were unfocused. “Is that you, James? Am I dead? Am I in hell with you then?”
A frisson of shock went through him at her questions, but there was no time to delve further. He lifted her to her feet and could feel her trembles. “Not James and not dead. I doubt hell would be this cold.”
“Oh, Callum. You came.” The warmth from her simple statement hit him with the force of a punch from a prizefighter. Even more unbalancing was the brilliance of her smile and the way her gloved hand touched his cheek.
He had come for her. For the first time in a long time, he had pulled himself together and shown up for someone else. All his thoughts and worries had been focused on her instead of himself. It was like being jerked out of a dream. Or a spiraling nightmare.
“Let’s get inside and warm.” He carried her to his horse, mounted her in front of him, and wrapped his great cloak around them both.
Now he had a decision to make. Take her back to Fernlow or take her to his cabin.
His cabin was considerably closer, but they would also be alone.
People might talk. On the other hand, she was a widow, which meant she had more freedom.
And he had the feeling the scuttlebutt and scandal emerging from the spiked punch would overshadow the fallout from whatever choice he made.
His priority should be Eleanor’s safety and well-being, which meant getting her warmed up immediately. His cabin it was.
The snow continued to fall in torrents. Luckily, his horse had a good nose on her, and he had to do little but point her in the right direction. She took the lead, sniffing out her comfortable little barn with its copious hay and oats.
There was still a wisp of smoke emerging from the cabin’s chimney when they arrived. He dismounted with Eleanor in his arms and shouldered the door open. He paused for a moment inside. His options were slim. He could either lay her on the bed or place her in the armchair in front of the fire.
He chose the armchair and built up the fire until a merry blaze suffused the room with heat.
He removed her gloves and chafed her hands between his until they thawed and color bloomed in her face.
Next he unlaced her boots and rolled down her woolen stockings, doing his best, and failing, not to notice her comely, well-shaped limbs.
This was a mission of mercy, not a seduction.
At least not yet , a devilish voice whispered in his head.
She stretched languidly and slumped in the chair, her eyes half-lidded and her lips curving slightly. She pushed at his chest with one of her feet. “I’m quite recovered. Shouldn’t you see to your horse?”
“I should. Are you sure you’re warm enough?” He took her foot and rubbed his thumb along the delicate arch.
A sound came from her chest that vibrated the air between them. “More than warm enough, although…”
“What?”
“My dress is quite sodden.”
“I have little to offer, but here’s something clean and dry if you’d like to change while I tend to my horse.” He retrieved a shirt and a dressing gown and laid them over the lone chair at the kitchen table, then patted them.
“Thank you.” She rose and took up the shirt, lifting it to her nose for a deep breath. “Woodsy and fresh.”
She wasn’t acting as giddy and drunk as the ladies he’d seen at the festival. It was more that she was saying whatever popped into her head, which was unlike the woman he was coming to know. She was going to regret being so loose with her tongue, but he couldn’t resist.
“Do you like my scent?” he asked.
She rose on her toes, leaned in, and buried her face in his collar, her nose and lips brushing the bare skin of his neck. He was shocked immobile, and his shiver had nothing to do with the snowstorm that raged outside.
Was that the flick of her tongue he felt? He leaned his head to the side to encourage her explorations, but she rocked back, raising a languid, sensual gaze to his. “I like your scent very much. Do you like mine?”
Her fingers went to the clasps at the front of her dress and made quick work of the first half dozen to the middle of her bosom. She peeled the fabric apart until the white of her chemise over rounded breasts was visible.
He swallowed. He’d seen women display more of their decolletage in the ballrooms in Paris and London. Yet he was becoming undone with the sumptuousness in front of him. His knees trembled.
“Well?” She raised her brows.
“Well what?”
“To sample my scent, you must come closer.”
He bowed his head toward her and sniffed. “Very nice,” he said woodenly.
She tsked like he was being a recalcitrant child. With one hand still holding the front of her dress apart, she tugged on his nape with the other.
He tried to resist and managed to succeed for half a second. Then he allowed her to pull him into her body and buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. One deep shuddery breath followed another. Her scent was lightly floral and seductive.
“You smell of spring and warmth and new beginnings.” He surprised himself with his words. He’d never been one for flowery speeches.
Her hair was a shade lighter than her sister’s but just as curly and wild.
It had come loose and was half up and half down.
He plucked a few more pins out and let them drop to the floor.
Then he did something he had not been bold enough to do three years earlier.
He threaded his fingers through her silky locks, tendrils tickling the back of his hand. It was decadent and luxurious.
He slipped his other arm around her waist and brought her more fully into his body. Her back arched over his forearm, and her breasts were displayed tantalizingly close to his mouth. He let his lips coast along the edge of her chemise, over the curves of her breasts. Gooseflesh rose along the path.
Was she aroused? Most likely she was still chilled. He released her and stepped toward the door. “I need to see to my horse. Change into dry clothes and warm yourself by the fire,” he commanded gruffly.
Great gulps of cold air helped dampen his ardor but did not extinguish it. He looked out and could only see white. The snow was still accumulating at a pace that was worrisome. Not because he feared for their survival in such a storm. No, he had plenty of firewood and food.
It was worrisome because they would not be going anywhere tonight. He and Eleanor were stuck together in his hunting cabin. It wasn’t his life he was worried about. It was his heart.