S he wanted to be consumed by him.
It was a shocking thing to realize.
She’d never wanted anything like that before in her entire life. And she was almost loath to admit it. She was supposed to be an independent, strong woman, raised by independent, strong women, who were married to men who adored them.
She would also be independent and strong, but good heavens, Callum did something to her that was a mystery.
How she longed to yield entirely to him. As a matter of fact, this entire, frustrating experience of waiting to say yes felt almost foolish, like a ridiculous exercise that she was putting them through.
But she understood why she was doing it. It wasn’t just for herself. It was for her family, so that her family could see that when she picked the Duke of Baxter, it would be a good thing and not a whim.
But the truth was, dear God, she wanted him.
It blazed through her, the passion she felt for him.
It was an all-consuming force. She did not care about society, she did not care about rules, and she almost did not care what would be best for her.
It was if he was the very air she wished to breathe, and without him, she would not be able to take in a breath.
And that, well, that made her wish to throw herself into his life and his existence with no apologies, no thoughts, and no worries.
The ride home from the ballet the other night still coursed through her veins. Every night was like that with him now. There was no one in the world for either of them except each other. Of that she was sure.
Now, there was most definitely still his work.
And he did work hard. Very hard. And she admired him for it.
Yet, somehow, he found time to shower her with the attention that women only dreamed about.
She didn’t understand how he could have so much passion, how he could blaze so brightly.
And yet he did, and it made her wish to do the same in turn.
Oh, how he left her scorched with want, with longing, and it would never be enough. For the more she had of him, the more she needed.
Each night before the ballet, they went out somewhere different—to a card party or to the theater or to a dance, and each night he proved he was perfect for her.
And she rather thought that she proved that she was perfect for him.
And then every night, when they returned to their rooms, he would dutifully go back to his chamber, and she would dutifully go back to hers.
But now she did not wait, nor did he. Not after that night at the ballet. No, she would throw the door open between their chambers, and he would be waiting for her, just as he was this night.
But this night, there was a strange look upon his face as he sat before the fire.
She didn’t quite understand what it was. She’d never seen him look troubled.
“What is amiss?” she asked.
He turned towards her and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “There is nothing to be worried about.”
“You can tell me,” she insisted, crossing to him.
Again, he shook his head, crumpling a small note in his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You must tell me if we are to even contemplate being each other’s everything.”
“Each other’s everything?” he teased. “This is how I know you come from a family that loves theater.”
She tsked. “You must tell me.”
He frowned, tightening his fist about the note. “Well, my doctor wrote me to say that I should get some rest.”
“Then you must rest,” she said firmly, closing the gap between them and kneeling down beside his chair.
He waggled his brows playfully as if he refused to acknowledge the note further. “Will you help me to rest?”
“What we do is not rest,” she pointed out. “I keep you busy, even more than you would be without me.”
“No,” he cut in, tossing the note onto the fire, which he had lit despite the warmth of the summer night. “You give me happiness in a way that I did not even know existed before I met you.”
“That is a very beautiful thing to say,” she said.
“And now I know you love the theater too, even if not quite as much as I. But…Callum, you were working hard before, and now the pressure of courting me… Of trying to impress my family. Perhaps it is too much. I can see the amount you do. I would not add to your burden.”
“You could never add to my burden,” he growled, seizing her hands and pulling her onto his lap. “And I do not know what you mean that you can see my strain. My life is effortless, for I believe in everything I do so entirely. And being with you could never be an effort either.”
She didn’t believe that. She’d seen the way he sometimes hid his struggles to be surrounded by her family, no matter what he said.
“You do say the most impressive things,” she replied, realizing she was not going to convince him to acknowledge how his work truly affected him.
“Thank you. Now,” he began softly, stroking his hand along her back, “will you dance for me? You know how it makes me happy.”
She smiled and stroked her hand along his hard jaw, tilting his head oh so slightly so she could gaze deeply into his eyes. Slowly, she slid her hand into his thick hair, teasing her fingers at the nape of his neck.
How had she been so lucky as to find such a man? What would she ever do without him?
And in that moment, she knew she was never going to let him go, even if she might not say it to him yet.
Oh, how he made her feel!
As if he could sense it, he lowered his mouth to hers in a soft kiss.
The touch of his lips always stole her mind, her heart.
Somehow, he made her feel that she could be exactly herself, and she wanted him to feel that he could be that way with her too.
She knew that he was uncertain. She could feel it from the way he held back sometimes, just ever so slightly.
But she wanted to make him throw all of that aside.
She wanted him to give in to the passion they felt.
“Dance for me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want to see you lost in it, like you were at the theater.”
The way he looked at her sent a shiver of something powerful and terrifying through her. Their passion for each other, though not yet consummated, was so powerful. So intense. It made her wish to overlook all his faults.
Was that a good thing? She did not know, but it felt… It felt like she might be willing to throw everything away to be with him, even her good judgement.
Slowly, she slid off his lap and began to dance for him.
She took up her position, the one that her dancing master made her take every morning. But she did not go through her regular routine. No, she envisioned herself as one of the exotic creatures in the ballets that her aunt ensured were performed at the theater.
She moved with all of her passion for him, all of her love for him. Oh, dear God, it was true. She had thrown all caution away.
It was just a pretense, this silly trying out. She couldn’t give in. Not yet. Somehow, she knew that she needed to wait a little longer before surrendering her hand.
He had to understand she would not always do as he wanted, that he could not have whatever he wished just because he was a duke. That she would defy him.
But she laughed to herself. Because with every day, her desire to defy him disappeared, and she longed to be one with him.
In this room, here in the night, in the dark, she allowed herself to turn about, to let her fingers drift through the air, to move her limbs with grace and ease.
And with each movement, his eyes followed her.
His face relaxed. She could feel his breathing change.
And she knew deep in his heart, deep in his soul, that he needed her.
That, out of all the world and all the women in it, she was the one for him, and he would throw himself into her with everything he had, just as he threw himself into all his work.
She would have to tell him yes, wouldn’t she? Surely she would! But not yet. Not quite yet. It was so close.
But she feared…
No, she would not think of it. She would not think of how she could not change him, how she still feared that perhaps he was driving himself hard towards something she didn’t understand. He had said the doctor told him to rest, and yet he could not.
She slid towards him. “Let me help you rest.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I must have you.”
“Please,” she whispered, “listen to me.”
He took her hand, slowly turned it, and kissed her palm. “I will listen to you, but if you are going to insist I rest when I have so much to do, then perhaps…”
“What?” she asked softly, her voice hitching as a wave of trepidation traveled through her.
He shook his head.
“Say it,” she insisted.
“There’s nothing to say,” he replied, and instead of saying whatever doubts danced through his head, he pulled her into his arms.
Callum refused to think of the note his doctor had so presumptuously sent him. He refused to think of the bout of illness that had teased him a few weeks ago. It had been nothing, and he had no patience for hysterical physicians.
Not when he was courting the woman of his dreams. And Cymbeline was the stuff of dreams.
The way she moved, the way she slipped through the room and used her body as if it was music? It unraveled the hard parts of him and made him wish to forget everything for a few moments and just have her.
So, as he pulled her into his arms and down across his lap, he reminded himself that while he was a guest in the Duke of Westleigh’s house, and while he and Cymbeline were unmarried, he could not take this all the way.
No matter how much his cock demanded he do so.
No matter how much his inner voice demanded he make her his.
Instead, he wished to awaken her longing for him. And there was certainly no ignoring his need for her.
The taste of her lips was pure heaven. He had not known he had been denying himself so much bliss. He’d thought he’d been a happy man. But how could he be happy without her? Whatever it took, he’d win her.
Just as before, he began the slow, necessary seduction of her body. He took his time, coaxing her flame to burn brightly. Ever so slowly, he kissed her, trailed his fingertips over her clavicles, her breastbone, between her breasts, and then over her stomach through her night rail.
A low growl of need slipped past his lips, and she swallowed it, winding her hands into his hair.
She tugged ever so slightly as her hunger for him grew, and he smiled at her passion. Then he easily lifted her, stood, turned, and placed her down into the chair.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Sampling what will be mine.”
“You’re very confident.”
“Are dukes anything else?” he teased.
She gazed up at him with trust and wonder and his heart—his damned heart—slammed against his ribs.
She was so clever, so cheeky, yet here, in the quiet night, she was so vulnerable and beautiful, and he adored both sides of her.
Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees before her. Patiently, he worked her night rail up her legs, and then he tugged her to the edge of the seat.
As he gazed upon the apex of her thighs, a low moan of approval rumbled in his throat.
She studied him carefully before he lowered his mouth to her sex, tasting her sweet, wet folds.
She cried out with surprise. Her response was going to drive him half mad. She was so perfect, so delicious, so passionate.
Patiently, he circled his tongue over her, circling until she grabbed hold of his shoulders, and he felt her core ripple in climax.
Her entire body tensed for a moment and then she gasped for air.
“That’s it, my love,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
“And you?” she murmured. “What about—”
He shook his head, even as his sex begged for her attention. He stood slowly, his blood pumping, then swept her up in his arms and took her to his bed.
“When it is time,” he whispered as he laid beside her, stroking her back, “nothing will stop me from enjoying you, Cymbeline. But it isn’t time.”
And he waited until she drifted off to sleep, safe with him. Then he looked to the work awaiting him on the desk and stood, always ready to do what needed to be done.