He halted and muttered to himself, “What am I doing? Get to it, man!”
With a step forward, he knocked lightly, but his brow furrowed as he remained awaiting her call to enter. Surely, her sweet voice would have summoned him by now!
He turned the knob, pushed open the door, and peered around to ensure she was not still with her maid. Hattie was not present and his eye was drawn to the bed, where Elizabeth was curled on her side fast asleep, a book resting open on the bed beside her.
Sighing, he looked down to his tented nightshirt and dressing gown. “I suppose tonight is not the night.”
He carefully removed the book from under her hand and marked her place as he set it on the side table. The last of the candles were extinguished, and he crawled into bed where he curled up to her back and draped his arm over her waist.
Sleep did not come easily, but eventually, his eyes began to droop.
“I love you,” he whispered, as he slipped to sleep.
Chapter 13
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open as she awakened with a start. The house was quiet, and a gap in the draperies showed it was pitch black outside, which indicated it was still quite late. The comfort of being wrapped in her husband’s embrace was no surprise, since it had become their usual practice. But, what had caused her to awaken so abruptly?
Fitzwilliam moaned in her ear, and her eyes bulged as his hand at the junction of her thigh and rear, kneaded her buttock; his fingers curling into her flesh. He had awakened her!
Warmth radiated from him, permeating the bedclothes and heating her skin, and she yearned to remove the sheet and coverlet to cool; however, she would be exposed to him should he awaken. The problem was that his actions did not cease, but continued; his hand ran down the back of her thigh, then slid back up to squeeze her rear again.
She did not know what to do. If her husband continued on as he was she would never return to sleep!
The dream could not last until morning, could it?
She reached behind her to bring his arm back around her stomach, and he stopped for a few minutes—long enough for her to settle. His fingers then inched down under her shift, pressing her back to him. He groaned as he rolled his hips against her backside. The impression of his ardent touch and the warmth of his firm body along her back was causing a now familiar ache which was sure to prevent her from drifting back to sleep.
A serious dilemma was before her. If she roused him he would be embarrassed by his actions and she had no wish to cause him unease.
His hand began to search once more, rising up to cover her breast and squeeze. Her eyes closed as she gasped with a strangled vocalization, and his movement came to an abrupt halt. His fingers retreated from under her nightclothes before the bed shifted and her back cooled with the loss of him against her. He had rolled away.
She remained stunned where she was for a few minutes and then bit back a frustrated huff. Now, she was wide-awake, even though he had stopped! He could not stop! Not now! His caresses had her body demanding satisfaction, and despite her naivety on the subject, she would not be put off. She steeled her courage and rolled over to face her husband in the dim light of the fire.
He closed his eyes in mortification. “Forgive me…” he began in a whisper.
His apology was unnecessary; she reached out to grab his nightshirt near the collar, his words ceasing as she stopped them with her mouth.
Until now, she had used a little look to indicate her desire for a kiss, but after all of his touching and stroking, she was in no mood to wait for him—she had waited long enough! She even deepened their kiss before he did by grazing his tongue with hers. He groaned again and drew her closer as she ran her knee up his leg, wrapping her calf around his hips.
Fitzwilliam’s response was immediate and by no means dispassionate. His hand left a scalding trail of heat up her leg until he reached her waist and pulled her flush to his body. Nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of sensation he invoked when he drew her closer, but she clung to him, one hand bunching his nightshirt, the other on the side of his muscled stomach.
Taking her with him, he rolled on to his back and withdrew from their kiss; so they were a hairsbreadth apart. When she opened her eyes, he studied her as her legs slid down so she was astride him. The position was similar to when they were in the study, and the remembrance was enough to cause her heart to pound in breathless anticipation. Her husband’s eyes sought permission, so she ever so slightly dipped her head and closed her eyes.
Darcy had not the words to ensure she was aware of his intentions. Her face tilted forward and he brushed her lips with his. The kiss began gentle, but she escalated their embrace by grazing his tongue with hers. He moaned out loud as he reached up to grasp her by the hair. His desperation for her was beyond reason, and he poured every bit of his longing and love into his worship of not only her body but her.
He had been waiting for this—waiting for Elizabeth his entire life. No woman was more perfect, more alluring than his wife, and with very little effort on her part, he was undone. Tonight, she was proving she wanted him—she desired him. It was more than he could have ever dreamed; yet she was here before him, casting aside her inhibitions. He breathed deep and steady in a futile attempt to calm himself.
The temptation of Elizabeth above him was too great, and he moved his hands to her hips, holding her in place as he ground himself into her overwhelming heat. Despite his nightshirt between them, the sensation was indescribable, but not enough, so he urged her hips up in order to pull his garment from beneath her. Once it was removed, it was hastily flung to the floor and forgotten. In the hopes of gaining some semblance of control, he paused to admire her.
She was so beautiful. Her shift draped to expose a portion of her chest and cleavage, her hair was loosened from its braid, trailing over her shoulder, and her lips were moist and swollen. Her eyes held his, unabashed and full of passion, as she pressed herself to his chest and claimed his lips.
He enjoyed the pleasure of her kiss while he skimmed his fingertips down her shoulder, marvelling in how soft she was to the touch. When her mouth parted and her small gasps fanned across face, his lips, following no rhyme or reason, tasted wherever they touched. He sampled her neck, her collarbone, and her ear as her panting increased until she sounded out of breath.
When he drew back to gaze upon her once more, her eyes were dilated, her jaw was slack and her lips reddened and parted open. His hand grazed her breast and stomach to her leg where her shift had bunched up around her upper thighs. Reaching under her gown, he clenched the sides of her hips and moved the material aside so they were skin to skin and again ground up. Her eyes fluttered closed and the incoherent noise that escaped her lips was the most incredible sound he had ever heard uttered.
Her hips began to undulate against him, and it was necessary to find an occupation to help distract from the exquisite torture she inflicted. He gently drew her head back by her hair, so he could claim her lips while he untied the ribbons at the top of her shift, the diaphanous material sliding from her shoulders with little prompting.
He touched his forehead to hers and peered down to find two of the most flawless breasts he had ever seen. Before, he had only had a glimpse through the opening of her chemise, but now she was completely bared to him.
She ceased her movement and bit her bottom lip.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, “open your eyes.”
Wide, mahogany orbs met his and their gazes locked as he continued to stroke over her supple flesh. “Your beauty awakens my soul to act1.”
He lifted his head from the pillow to worship her breasts, and a garbled sound rose from her throat as she grasped his head to pull him closer. With her enfolded in his arms, he rolled her underneath him. She squirmed at the lump her shift had created under her back, and he helped her to remove it, casting it to the floor with his nightshirt.
He gazed at her unguardedly, taking in every detail of her body before lowering
himself on top of her. “Lift your knees.”
“Like this?”
His kiss was unreserved as he caressed her sides and hips to ensure she was at ease. His heart ached at the pain he was about to inflict, but it could not be helped. He balanced his reluctance and desire and pressed forward as her barrier provided just enough resistance that there was no mistaking when it gave way. As she gasped, he was engulfed in such heat that he grit his teeth as he hastened to maintain control.
“Oh, Lizabeth,” he gritted out. Though it was torturous, he remained still despite every fibre in his being screaming for him to bring them both to completion.
“Yes?”
“I need you.”
She cradled his face and gazed at him with tears in her eyes. “You have me. I am yours.”
He groaned in response and began carefully moving in and out. It was bliss! His forehead dropped onto her shoulder as he moved faster and faster, and she began meeting him stroke for stroke. Her legs gripped his hips as if she were trying to prevent him from bidding a hasty retreat, and her fingernails dug into the tender flesh of his sides.
Time was forgotten and everything around them blurred. It was impossible to focus on anything other than the exquisite sensation of making her his. The end barrelled upon him with force, and he clutched her to him as he made one last surge, a guttural cry escaping his throat.
His arms were like jelly and could not keep him aloft, so he collapsed on top of her. Pure joy overwhelmed him to an extent unknown before that moment. Being with Elizabeth was unlike anything he had ever known or expected—it was better.
His lips found the velvet soft skin of her neck, and he trailed along her flesh to her ear. Gentle kisses were then bestowed to her eyes, nose, and finally, her lips. He drew back and his eyes sought hers, searching for definitive proof that his experience and emotions were shared to the same intensity.
Her gaze was soft. She reached for his temple, brushed back a few damp curls, and skimmed her fingers down his neck to trace along the spattering of hair on his chest.
With great care, he rolled from her and pulled her to his side, sensitive to the possibility she might have some discomfort. She gave no indication she was even sore as she placed her head upon his shoulder while he wrapped his arm around her body. His free hand took hers from where it rested on his chest, and he caressed her palm.
After a few passes, she reversed their hands, taking his and rubbing a callous. “How did you get these?” Her voice was quiet.
“From working in the stables at Pemberley.”
She propped her chin on his chest and furrowed her brow. “Your father expected this of you?”
“No… and it is not one of my favourite memories.”
“Then I do not expect you to share it. I am sorry if I caused you pain by asking.” She wore a look of genuine concern as she returned her head to his shoulder.
Darcy reached up to brush his fingers through her curls. He should not have avoided the question. Since becoming his wife, she had asked him for so little. How could he deny her wish to know him better?
“When I was a boy, I often played with the son of my father’s steward, George Wickham. He was an only child and quite spoiled whilst his mother remained with him and his father; however, she deserted the family when he was five. No one knew to where she had disappeared.
“His father, with the help of a few of the tenants, managed as best he could. The absence of the mother appeared to correct much of the younger Wickham’s temper, but the elder Wickham died when his son was thirteen, and matters changed in a drastic fashion.
“My father, as the boy’s godfather, took pity on the young man. He gave him a room within Pemberley and promised to educate him as a gentleman.”
“That was very generous of him.”
Elizabeth once again watched him with her chin propped on the back of her hand. He had little pleasure in the current topic, but he could not deny the great pleasure he felt at such intimacy with his wife.
He again combed through her locks as he regained his place in the story. “It was quite kind, but I am afraid it altered Wickham.” She frowned, and he traced the little crease that formed between her brows.
“How so?”
“We were sent to Eton together.” As he recounted the tale, he continued to toy with her hair to ease the tension caused by speaking of Wickham.
“Wickham believed that as my father’s ward, he was as good as a son—but the other boys did not see it as such. He became angry that they accepted me whilst he found only a select group of boys who would befriend him.” He glanced back to her face. “Most of the boys who accepted me did so only because of who my father and grandfather are, not who I am inside. I was always polite, but I had few true friends, just as he did.”
“He could not be upset with you? It was hardly your fault.”
“But he believed it was, and when we returned to Pemberley during break, he ensured I was well aware of the fact that we were no longer friends, even at home.” She furrowed her brow, so he tried to smile, but it came out half-hearted.
“He began plotting schemes which often resulted in my receiving punishments from my father.”
“What sort of schemes?”
“Well, once he spilled ink on a book in the library. The rain that day prevented me from venturing outside, and the entire staff was aware I had passed the day within that room reading. When I returned to my chambers to refresh myself, he committed the offense and departed with haste. I was blamed.”
“I admit to not being familiar with Pemberley’s library, but could the book not be replaced?”
A heavy exhale left him as he gave her a sad smile. “Are you familiar with the Eliot Bible2?”
“My father once mentioned it to me. It was a version of the Bible translated into the Indian language in America, was it not?”
“Yes, it was, and my father received an edition of that book from the first printing in 1663, as a gift. He was furious when it was destroyed. There were other plots, but that was by far the worst.”
She pressed her lips to his chest, and then leaned forward to bestow a kiss to his lips. “What else did Wickham do?”
“He ambushed me as I ventured around the estate either to fish or to the stables to ride. The first few times, he caught me by surprise and managed to throw some rather hard blows to my chest and stomach before I could escape him.”
She lifted her head from where it rested; the horror she felt evident in her expression. “That is terrible! Did your father never discover Wickham’s abuse?”
“No, George ensured his punches were always to the body and never my face. My father also enjoyed Wickham’s company. I had no desire to disappoint him.”
“But he injured you! Your father’s first loyalty should have been to his son, not his ward!”
He shrugged. He had no desire to become angered about the past. Little could be gained by such resentment.
“The stable manager witnessed one of Wickham’s attacks. He pulled George off and told him to be on his way, threatening to tell my father. Mr. Johns then took me aside and asked questions about how long Wickham had been assaulting me.”
“Did he come to your defence?”
“After I confided in him, he suggested I spend time in the stables. He offered to teach me about horses, which appealed to me; I have always loved horses and riding. The occupation also kept me out of Wickham’s schemes. The next time he attempted to cause trouble, I had Mr. Johns to confirm I was nowhere near the west wing of the house where the incident had occurred.
As it turned out, my father was very pleased I had taken such an active interest in the horses, and asked me to ride the estate with him.”
“What became of Wickham?”
“Towards someone who is unaware of his true nature, he is very charming and manipulative, and he remains a favourite of my father’s. We attended Cambridge together, and I know my father intends for him to take orders when an opening be
comes available. I cannot think of anyone more poorly suited to become a clergyman.”
Elizabeth placed another soft kiss over his heart. “Thank you for telling me. I know it could not have been easy.”
He curled his hand around the back of her head and pulled her up to brush his lips across hers. He rolled them to their sides, keeping Elizabeth’s body flush with his own.
“Elizabeth?”
“Hmmm?” she asked while kissing his chin.
“Do you think we could… I mean… I understand if you are sore and wish to wait.”
She pressed her lips to his, and rolled to her back, pulling him along with her.
His body tensed in anticipation, but he paused and studied her eyes. Could she only trying to please him? “Are you certain?”
“Yes, I am,” she whispered.
The equipage hit a bump, and Elizabeth jolted awake. She had not slept in a carriage since the accident, but her exhaustion must have overridden her fear. She shifted and peered up to find her husband still sleeping peacefully, so she nestled back against his chest.
By their surroundings, they were not far from Sagemore, and she closed her eyes, content they would soon be home. She had been to their estate the one time before, when they broke their journey to Bath; it was a lovely spot. The placement of the house and park—on an island in the middle of the Thames with stone bridges for access to the farmland and local villages—was idyllic.
Her husband had explained it was nothing to Pemberley, but having never seen his ancestral estate, she could not compare the two. She found her new home enchanting.
Beside her, her husband continued to doze. Even as he slept, he was a handsome man with his chiselled features and curly dark locks, but when he opened his crystal blue eyes, she was lost. Elizabeth was most fortunate that Fitzwilliam was also as good as he was handsome. He had proven himself time and again to be a considerate husband; one who valued her opinion and desired her comfort.
Who would have dreamed she could be so happy with someone she was more or less forced to marry? She loved him with her whole heart—if only she could hear those precious words from him!
An Unwavering Trust Page 20