Longbourn to London (43 page)

“You have made the arrangements admirably, Fitzwilliam. I am in every way pleased. Now I know, in addition to your many other talents, that you possess the ability to execute a delightful gathering, including all our dearest friends, and keep it an absolute secret. You are a marvel. Six months ago, I would not have believed it.” She embraced his arm, her bosom clasped to him as if they were walking to Oakham Mount, their fingers entwined.

“Shall we waltz all night then, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth decided many things in an instant. “One way or another, yes we shall.”

Darcy breathed in her scent. “My Lizzy…”

***

At last, the Darcys and the Bingleys were alone in the ballroom. Darcy asked Elizabeth whether he should order another bottle of champagne opened as they continued to waltz. “Not if more will make you sleepy, sir. We already know its effect on me is something opposite to the effect on you, but I feel certain I shall not need its enhancing properties tonight.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Elizabeth replied with a curt nod, looking self-satisfied. Then she smiled at him.

Darcy embraced Elizabeth as if Jane and Charles were miles away. He kissed her deeply. She returned his passion unreservedly, moaning as one of his hands slid down her back, the other pressing the three ringlets hanging from her head into the soft nape of her neck.

When they parted breathlessly, Elizabeth whispered, “Fitzwilliam, it is nearly twelve hours since you have comforted me. We have not been apart that way for this long the entire week. I have an empty sensation that renders me distracted. I can think of nothing else.”

“Lizzy…” Darcy’s lips and throat were suddenly dry.

“Make my excuses. I must find Sarah. Come to me in half an hour?”

“But I would undress you.”

“Indulge me, husband. I promise not to take my hair down, if that will console you. And I suppose I must confess another transgression. I have hired Sarah as my lady’s maid, and she will travel with us to Pemberley. She is no longer employed by you and will be paid from my funds.” She skipped from the room without a backward glance at the Bingleys or Darcy.

Oh, she is proud of herself.
He laughed quietly.

Darcy turned to his guests, who were waltzing intimately, and moving rather suggestively. “We must allow the musicians to leave, Bingley.”

“Let them leave, Darcy. We do not need them, do we, Jane?”

Jane’s only response was a throaty giggle into the curve of her husband’s neck, a sound that Darcy had not imagined her capable of producing. With a nod to the concertmaster, Darcy signalled the end of the evening and took out his pocket watch—two thirty in the morning. Elizabeth was correct. They had not shared their favours for over half a day.

***

He bounded up the grand staircase to his dressing room. Murray stirred from the straight chair by the fire and assisted Darcy in disrobing. They agreed a shave was needed.

Elizabeth had long since reached her room. Sarah began to unbutton the ball gown, standing behind her mistress as Elizabeth surveyed her selection of nightclothes. Elizabeth chose a white shift of the thinnest silk with a deep V neckline. Undergarments were removed with all possible speed, and Sarah laced up the back of the nightdress so the fabric hugged Elizabeth’s bosom and trim torso.

“Shall I remove your pearls, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth sat at the dressing table. “Yes Sarah, but leave my hair, please.”

Elizabeth removed her stockings. “I think that will be all, Sarah. Mr. Darcy and I shall join our guests for breakfast, so I shall need a morning dress…for once.” Elizabeth caught her maid’s eye in the glass. “Until morning, then, Sarah. Late morning…”

Sarah curtsied and left the room.

Elizabeth viewed herself in the full-length mirror.
You can do this, Lizzy. You can stop being a little fool. To imagine you thought yourself adventuresome.

She took up a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. Sitting at the dressing table, she poured lavender water onto fine cloth. She heard the telltale floorboard creak; it was a sound that made her heart race. In the mirror she met her husband’s ardent gaze. Darcy was wearing a robe, and she could see he had been shaved.
Blessings on Murray!
She smiled.

Darcy saw the barely perceptible shake of her head as their reflected eyes met. She mouthed the word, “stay.”
She wants me to watch her. How delightful. That I shall remove a nightgown instead of a ball gown is of little matter. My beautiful wife…

Elizabeth swivelled on the padded bench to face him, the moist hanky in her hand. Her eyes did not leave his face. She extended her legs, pulling her gown to the top of her thighs. Darcy’s eyes flickered to the movement of the gown, inching up her elegant legs. He could not look away and believed she did not want him to.

Elizabeth began pressing the handkerchief against the creamy skin of her thighs. Darcy appeared spellbound. Elizabeth was pleased. Her eyes never left Darcy’s face; his eyes never left the motion of her hand.

She is touching herself for the thrill of me watching. What has possessed her? It is as if she is preparing herself. Will she let me taste her? Is this her sign of permission?

She dropped the hanky. “Mr. Darcy…” His eyes returned to hers, two sets of brown eyes alight with passion. “Mr. Darcy, will you not come to me?”

Darcy began to breathe again, and in an instant, he was kneeling before her parted legs. “Miss Bennet! You are full of surprises!”

“Kiss me!”

He embraced her as she sat. Their kiss ended in his sucking her plump, bruised lower lip. His breath was ragged. One of her legs was around his waist, under his robe.

When he pulled back, she was half smiling. “My mouth was not where I meant you to kiss me. You misunderstand me, Mr. Darcy.” She pushed his robe off his shoulders.

He picked up her hanky, inhaling. Her fingers tousled his curls, then slowly pushed his head down until he resisted. She opened her eyes. He was looking up at her, trying to comprehend her wishes.

“You will not?” she asked.

“You truly wish me to?”

“My only explanation”—she toyed with his ears—“is that I have been foolish. I have been senselessly missish. Make of it what you will. How was I to know there are so many ways to express love? Do you require a candle, sir?”

Darcy smiled and shook his head, saying nothing.
No madam; you will see for yourself that I know my way around quite well. At this, you will find me a true proficient.

Elizabeth watched his actions as he kissed her belly, stopping just at the top of the triangle of dark hair where her legs joined.

“Are you certain?” Given how reluctant she had been, he could scarcely believe she was willingly allowing him this last intimacy.

Her breathing came in gasps. She trembled as her body released the liquid heat announcing her readiness. “I am. I am sure of you.”

Darcy allowed himself a smile. He saw his lovely Elizabeth become his wanton Lizzy. He kissed her thighs, moaning at their softness.

Elizabeth’s hands were still in his hair. “Fitzwilliam, why have I been so foolish?”

“This is yet another dream come to life, but yours this time. It scared you. I have no wish to do so.”

“Please? I am not afraid of
you
.”

Darcy lowered his head, placing his face at the heart of her desires. Using fingers and mouth, he applied himself where her sensations would be strongest. He kissed these other lips and folds reverently as his tongue entered her.

The result was a shattering explosion of bliss. When she could reason clearly, the dream was forgotten, and she wondered why she had denied herself such pleasure.

Darcy wiped his face on her breast. The fabric over it absorbed the moisture and adhered to her skin. The tossing of her head at the moment of deepest provocation had scattered her pearl hairpins to the dressing table and floor, and one was captured in the sweat on her chest. With his mouth, he plucked it from her and spat it on the floor, laughing.

“I love a very silly man,” she murmured. “I cannot pretend otherwise.”

Darcy fingered the edge of the nightgown. “How do we get you out of this?”

“It laces at the back.”

“I do not have time for such finery,” he growled, and with both hands at the deep neckline, he slowly ripped the fragile silk, exposing her breasts, capturing one of her tight points in his mouth.

“Poor nightgown,” Elizabeth sighed. “I shall not bother again.”

Darcy lifted his head, “No. Buy another. Buy a dozen just like this one—as a gift to me. I like it.”

“Barbarian…” she scolded. “No wonder they do not let you into polite society.” With a deft motion, Elizabeth wriggled completely off the bench, impaling herself upon his proud flesh with a throaty moan of completion.

Her precipitous action sat Darcy abruptly back onto his heels. “You, madam, are
not
polite society.”

Elizabeth chuckled and bit his sweaty neck. She did not let go.

Darcy whispered, “I am going to attempt a rather delicate manoeuvre, Lizzy…hold on, while I try to stand and remain joined with you. I want to get to our bed.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was her eloquent reply.

Darcy lifted them carefully, steadying their rise with one hand braced on the padded bench. When he was standing, Elizabeth released his neck, admiring the love bruise she had raised. “It would appear sir, that we think each other quite delectable.” She kissed the bruise then kissed his mouth as he began a slow progress through the mistress’s bedchamber.

It was not his intention to stop there since they both preferred his room, but Darcy had not reckoned with the torn remains of her nightgown. It was bunched around her waist and draping hither and yon. He trod on it, changing their direction in a precipitous manner. Feeling a fall imminent, Darcy careened to the bed. They landed, unjoined, in a heap, laughing.

Darcy stood and pulled the nightgown down Elizabeth’s legs while she mocked him. “It has had its revenge upon you, sir.”

“Ha! Do I want a wife who sides with her clothing against her husband?” He tossed the garment back to her.

Elizabeth looked at him admiringly. He loomed over her: tall, lean-muscled, admirably well hung, and ready. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Will it help my case if I tell you that I find your naked form beautiful, and the sight of you fills me with desire?” She rolled over and knelt on her haunches.

“You might have to remind me of it several times before I forgive you.” He moved closer and her hands pressed his potency against her belly.

“How shall I know when you have forgiven me, and that I may stop saying it?”

“When I do this…” Darcy pushed Elizabeth back down on the bed, and carefully arranged her hair on the pillows and draped the nightgown as if posing her for a painting. He took an unused pillow and lifted her hips, sliding it into place. As she watched, he settled between her legs with renewed kisses between her thighs. Elizabeth groaned and parted her legs further. He nuzzled the source of her sensations.

Her hands sought his hair. “Fitzwilliam!”

He rose up and met her gaze with a look of such love and adoration that she gasped, nearly giddy.

“What do you think, Elizabeth? Should I continue?”

She returned his smile, sighing. “I pray you, sir, never stop. If I am dreaming, never let me wake.”

Epilogue

1813

“Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, and, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.”
William Shakespeare
The Taming of the Shrew

After spending their first winter together at Pemberley, Elizabeth and Darcy travelled to London in March and stayed six weeks. Darcy’s uncle and aunt, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, held a ball in Elizabeth’s honour, at which Elizabeth comported herself most impressively.

That is, until her admiring husband—driven to distraction by the tantalising neckline exposing much of her bosom, as was then the fashion, and by the continued irksome spectacle of his wife dancing with other men, including an all-but-drooling Colonel Fitzwilliam—convinced her to step into a sitting room in Matlock House away from the crowded ballroom, to speak urgently about a most pressing matter, which she, in turn, found to be a deeply penetrating topic. They were then discovered partly undressed and in a position vaguely reminiscent of one of the illustrations in her father’s exotic “art” book.

They were found out, in fact, by Caroline Bingley, who made an assignation to be in that very room with the third son of a duke, whom she was hoping to ensnare into matrimony. Old habits do indeed die hard, and Caroline’s reputation as a mercenary flirt was becoming legendary.

Elizabeth and Darcy emerged from the room a full ten minutes later, dishevelled, mirthful, sated, and unrepentant, each teasing the other for not locking the door. The responses of the guests were varied—most somewhat envious one way or another—but only Miss Bingley was truly scandalised, in her heart now relieved to not have married a man who would demand such performances from a wife. Indeed, she said so, and thus proved herself the butt of amusement for everyone else. Darcy insisted that all Elizabeth’s remaining unspoken-for dances be his. If any man were to have so intimate a view of his wife’s beautiful bosom, it would be him.