Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (33 page)

“Pardon? Have I missed some—”

“You must forgive me for
envisioning wild acts of violence toward Miss Bingley every time she says your
name or smiles at you, or finds some excuse to touch you or…basically anytime
she is present.”

He stared silently, a smile
fighting to emerge, as his eyes reverted to their normal glittering blue and
rosiness bathed his cheeks. “If I refuse to forgive you, will you act upon your
inclination? A fracas between you and Caroline would be entertaining.”

“William!” she huffed through the
sudden attack of giggles. Then the sweet pressure of his lips covered her
mouth. Amusement, irritation, nervousness, apologies, visions of strangling
Caroline Bingley—it all vanished instantaneously.

It began as a delicate kiss,
lingering and controlled, then, a minuscule release, only to buss her upper lip
before a smooth slide to the left corner of her mouth. A nuzzling caress there was
followed by nibbling sucks along the lower lip while gently gliding to the
right corner. Leisurely he traveled, a sequence of exquisitely dainty kisses
mapping her lips as if a vast, unexplored territory. Judging by the fiery
tingles ignited with each touch, she dimly wondered if her lips
had
tripled in size. Never had she imagined that lips alone contained the power to
light an inferno within her entire body.

 Lost to delicious sensation,
she was unaware of him untying her bonnet ribbon until the hat slipped down her
back when he embedded both hands into the loosely pinned hair by her ears. On
and on the fragile, chaste kisses seared. Distinctly she heard herself whimper
when he left her lips, but the whimper turned into a moan when his tactile
survey extended to the innervated skin on her face—chin, cheeks, nose,
and all points in between were unhurriedly investigated by his insanely
arousing mouth. 

“I missed you, Elizabeth. Sorely.
Say you missed me as well.”

The words, huskily whispered amid
the intoxication of his warm lips lovingly showering her face, augmented her
dizziness. She was clutching tightly to his forearms to remain standing, and
the thought of inhaling so as to reply was almost more than she could manage!
Nodding an affirmative required conscious effort, diverting her attention from
the delirium his touch induced.

“Was that meant as a yes?” he
murmured into her ear. “That you missed me?”

She repeated the nod with a bit
more movement, a muffled yes passing her lips. An attempt to repeat the word
audibly was curtailed when he captured her mouth fully, this kiss firmer and
insistent. A glancing caress of his tongue along the furrow between her lips
was followed by a muted groan deep in his throat. Reflexively Lizzy parted her
lips, inviting him to accelerate the kiss as he had before in this very garden.
Instead, he abruptly broke away, and it was her turn to groan.

Crushing his mouth against her left
temple, she felt his fingers flex into her hair and scalp. Tension rolled off
his suddenly immobile body, the arm muscles underneath her hands rigid. Hot air
waved down her cheek with each of his grating exhales, and although the
thundering in her ears was most likely her pounding heartbeat, she suspected
his heart was in a similar state. 

As happened on the day of their
engagement, when kissed for the first time, Lizzy experienced a chaotic jumble
of sensations. All were blissful, begging for more to truly satisfy, while
also, somehow, mysteriously comprehending that, where William was concerned,
satisfaction would forever be a temporary achievement. The secrets of
lovemaking—as gleaned from books or overheard in conversations—were
vague, yet enough that Lizzy understood the pleasurable expression was not
intended to be a one-time or occasional event. Physical love was designed for
enjoyment with the partner of your heart for all the years granted together—and
in myriad ways. Precisely how many ways Lizzy could not fathom. All things
considered, kissing was obviously one of those ways! 

As overwhelming as the yearning to
learn a few more ways to express their love, the garden outside Longbourn in
broad daylight was not a wise location for a lesson in lovemaking.

“Tell me, Mr. Darcy, which did you
miss most, arguing with me or kissing me?”

The blurted question amazingly
defused the worst of the tension. Darcy chuckled, the sound hoarse, but
followed with a relaxation of the tight grasp on her head. Withdrawing, he met
her eyes and his smile was almost normal. “Of those two choices, Elizabeth, an
argument will never take precedence over kissing you.” Closing his eyes, he
inhaled a massive lungful of air and released it slowly. “That clarified, what
I missed most was hearing your voice, gazing into your beautiful face, and
simply being in your presence.”

Lizzy blushed and averted her gaze.
Shakily laughing, she stepped back and nervously brushed at the soil and rose
fragments clinging to her apron. “A lovely sentiment. Yet here I am with
perspiring skin, tattered garments, hair I fear is mangled, and, as Mama
warned, dirt under my fingernails. I am mortified! Under the circumstances, if
you rescind your last statement, I could not fault you.”

Darcy’s initial reply was to kiss
both her hands, then secure them around his arm. Walking toward an umbrella-protected
table, he said, “Later I will tell you of the time when I was eighteen and
became stranded in a rain storm. I was left to walk a fair distance back to
Pemberley, only to arrive mud splattered and soaked to the skin, entering the
foyer to head to my chambers precisely as my father was welcoming the guests I
had completely forgotten were joining us for dinner that evening, among which
were Lord and Lady Matlock, a duke who is a distant cousin, and an assortment
of other eminent personages.
That
was mortifying! To this day Lord
Seymour calls me
Squishy
due to the sound my soggy boots made on the
marble floor.”

“My word! Squishy, indeed! The
image in my mind is…” Laughing and shaking her head, Lizzy trailed off as they
sat across from each other at the table.

“Mortifying,” Darcy finished for
her.

“Was it? Hmmm…I sense that secretly
you were amused. These nibbles of your past, doled out sparingly, are
intriguing. Such an enigma you are, sir!”

“Am I? Fascinating observation,
Elizabeth. I doubt you would discover many people who agree with you. As you
once accused, I am a tough nut to crack due to my reticence, but fairly
transparent and uncomplicated underneath.”

“I beg to differ. Transparent you
are certainly not, William, nor are you uncomplicated. You present a cool,
unflappable demeanor”—she cocked her head and pursed her lips saucily—“urbane
and quite the perfectionist. Almost, dare I say, a dandy. Yet you hint of
climbing trees and other daring feats as a youth. I have seen how you
recklessly ride your horse, and you mentioned working in the stable yard and
training the horses at Pemberley. Now I hear of trudging through the rain and
mud, a very Lizzy Bennet sort of adventure! Who would have suspected it of Mr.
Darcy? Never fear, however, because I appreciate your complicated nature. It is
a challenge, you see, and I adore challenges.”

“Not sure if I live up to the label
of enigma. Nevertheless, if challenges are desired, then I—”

“Lizzy! Lizzy, where are you?” Mrs.
Bennet’s screech jolted both of them to their feet. Lizzy rushed to the corner,
turned, and stopped short at the sight of her mother charging toward her. “Lizzy!
Oh, there you are! My word, look at you! Kitty just informed me that Mr. Darcy
arrived a bit ago, wishing to visit with you, she said—why she did not
bother to tell me of this I cannot imagine—I was only in my bedchamber
and would have greeted him as is proper for the lady of the house to do—and
certainly would have diverted him away from seeing you like this. Heaven help
us! If he saw you, dirty and…and…so unladylike in appearance and action, I…well,
I dare not speak the possible outcome! Fortunate for us, unaware of your poor
choice for today, Kitty knew not where to direct Mr. Darcy—”

“Fortunately, Mr. Darcy decided to
search the garden before riding on to Netherfield.”

Mr. Darcy’s resonant voice stunned
Mrs. Bennet into gasping hiccups. Gaping from disheveled daughter to impeccable
gentleman, her jaw dropped and skin paled to ash. For a minute Lizzy feared she
actually might faint.

“Rest easy, Mrs. Bennet. Miss
Elizabeth’s hobby does not distress me in the least. I daresay her proclivity
for outdoor activities is a commonality. Gardening is not my forte, I confess,
being fonder of fishing, hunting, and riding, with the occasional vigorous
ramble through the wood for good measure. Pemberley boasts a variety of
choices, many of which I am confident Miss Elizabeth and I will enjoy together.”

How reassured Mrs. Bennet truly
felt was questionable. Lizzy strongly suspected her mother’s fretful warnings
of Mr. Darcy’s repudiation due to her wild behavior would persist until the
moment she walked down the church aisle. For the present, thank heavens, his
serene attitude mollified her—at least in part. Mrs. Bennet insisted
Lizzy scurry to her room to wash and dress properly, going so far as to grab
her arm and tug insistently.

Resisting her mother’s sudden,
surprising strength, Lizzy clutched one of Mr. Darcy’s hands. “You will stay,
yes?” Noting his glance toward Mrs. Bennet and reflexive wince, she added, “I
promise to be quick. Papa is in his study and will welcome your company.”

Relief flooded his face. “Of course
I will wait. After all, I have yet to hear what other adventures occupied your
days while I was away. How could I deny myself such excellent amusement?”

* *
*

Every
man has a set of specific activities, best suited for their unique personality,
to relieve tension, anger, or pent-up energy. Depending on the situation, the
choice may be a placid task that calms, such as reading, painting, or fishing,
or it may be physical in nature, the internal pressure needing a tangible,
forceful outlet. Shooting, fencing, chopping wood, and swimming—among
other manly occupations—are common selections. For Fitzwilliam Darcy,
racing his horse at breakneck speeds was by far the preferred method, followed
by billiards and fencing.

Charles
Bingley, although skilled at horseback riding and the prime outdoor sports
deemed essential for a gentleman to partake in, had been raised in London. As a
city dweller, his favored entertainments veered toward those readily available
indoors. While in boarding school, he discovered a proclivity, and talent, for pugilism.
As a rising sport amongst the social elite in England, boxing was viewed as an
excellent form of exercise. A purely masculine art form, being able to defend
oneself was another benefit of learning to box. Bingley trained and
participated in matches all through his educational years but was never one of
the champions in the field or interested in fighting as a professional
endeavor, so he willingly ended competing when he finished at Cambridge. What
remained was a passion for the sport as a spectator, an enjoyment in casual
sparring at the gymnasiums in Town, and the yearning to pummel a sand-filled
punching bag as a ventilator.

Shortly
after breakfast the third morning following Mr. Darcy’s return from London,
both gentlemen found themselves in dire need of anger relief to save harming a
specific person in the Netherfield household. Darcy made for the stables and
was likely already miles away. Bingley practically ran to the game room, where
his punching bag was hanging. A half hour of unrelenting clobbers onto the
beaten-smooth leather surface, with sweat soaking his shirt and dripping from
his brow, Bingley had just begun to feel the murderous urges slipping away when
the door opened.

“Caroline,”
he croaked, punctuating it with a resounding wallop that wildly spun the bag,
“I strongly suggest you turn right around and walk back through that door!”

“Nonsense,
Charles. As if your tantrum will be inflicted upon me.”

Should
I tell her how many times her face floated on the surface of the punching bag?

“Tantrum?”
he asked incredulously instead. “I am the one having a tantrum? That is rich,
Caroline. You have been in the throes of a tantrum since my engagement to Miss
Bennet!”

“I
cannot fathom what you mean.” She spoke airily but slid her eyes toward a random
corner of the room.

“Then
let me explain.” Bingley gave the bag a last punch and then stomped to the
billiard table. Caroline strolled casually around it as if nothing were amiss.
Bending slightly with hands gripping the table edge, he summarized, “Rather
than congratulate me, as a normal sister would, you snipe and whine and insult.
Incessantly. For weeks. Even when we are trying to have a pleasant breakfast,
you persist. Be thankful I have that bag to hit, or the alternative would be
strangling you!”

The
last he accented with a hard slap onto the felt surface of the table. For one
of the first times in active memory, his sister appeared genuinely taken aback
by his temper. There was even a faint hint of regret glimmering in her
eyes. 

“Is
it possible, Caroline, to at least
pretend
you care for me? Or has your
utter selfishness blinded you to how gloriously happy Jane makes me?”

“Brother—”

“I
have been patient, Caroline, because you are my sister. My desire is for
familial accord, as I presumed you desired too. Evidently I was mistaken. What
is most inconceivable is you not adoring Jane when everyone does!”

“I
do not dislike Jane Bennet, if you must know,” Caroline blurted and then bit
her lip, lowering her eyes.