Elizabeth noting the troubled look upon his countenance, wished to return the conversation to a more congenial subject. “Might I ask a small favour of you, sir?” Elizabeth asked as they continued their walk.
“If it is within my power, I shall try to accommodate you, Madam.”
“I know we are not to know each other’s identity, and I am of the same opinion, but to keep calling you ‘sir’ seems a little absurd. Do you not agree? Is there not some name I might call you?”
Darcy thought for a moment. He had always been Fitzwilliam or Darcy to everyone he knew, his mother the only exception. She had sensed that he was less than happy that he had been saddled with such a name as “Fitzwilliam,” and when they were alone together, she would call him “William.” No one had called him that since his mother’s death.
“Yes, I believe I can accommodate you, Madam,” said Darcy. “William. You may call me William.”
As he said the name, he displayed a smile that made Elizabeth catch her breath. It produced the most irresistible dimples she had ever seen. She had already judged him quite handsome without ever observing a smile upon his countenance. With that added enhancement, he was devastatingly so.
“And may I call you something other than ‘Madam’?”
Elizabeth thought of the names her friends and family called her. There was, of course, Elizabeth, and then there was Lizzy, and some acquaintances were known to call her Eliza, which she did not favour. How about Liz? she thought. It sounded very sophisticated. But no, she didn’t want him to call her that. She wanted to hear him call her Lizzy. Surely that would not compromise her identity.
“Yes, you may call me Lizzy.”
He studied her face, watching her lips as they turned up to form a bewitching smile. For a brief moment he again wondered what it would feel like to kiss those lips. He quickly chastised himself for such a foolish notion.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lizzy,” said Darcy as he bowed before her.
“Thank you, William,” Elizabeth responded with a curtsey.
They continued their walk for some time, discussing composers they preferred, books they had read and debating the merits of certain poets. When Elizabeth expressed her partiality to Byron, Darcy raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. “Is there any young woman in all of England who does not favour Lord Byron?” he asked in amusement.
As their conversation continued, they unconsciously stopped walking. He looked deep into her eyes. They were dark and hypnotic, revealing the intelligence and warmth of the woman who possessed them. He reached out and touched her hair, brushing a wayward curl away from her face.
As a group of people approached, he immediately withdrew his hand. Elizabeth followed the direction of his stare and knew he must depart. He bowed slightly as he left her company. As he walked away, he could not help but smile at the irony of the book she carried. It was one of his favourites also . . . Milton’s Paradise Lost.
CHAPTER NINE
The weather turned out to be so beautiful that Elizabeth decided to spend the entire day exploring St. Andrews. She discovered many enchanting gardens, castles, and cathedrals and visited several shops.
She made several purchases as she passed through the main street of the small town. In one particular shop, she selected three new ribbons and a lovely tortoise shell comb for her hair. In another, she purchased the palest pink silk dressing gown—one of extraordinarily fine quality and of the sheerest fabric. And finally, as she was making her way back to the Inn, she spotted a painting for sale in the window of a small art gallery, depicting the boardwalk and beach she had just walked upon that morning. There was even a little plaque in the middle of the lower frame identifying the beach and name of the town. It captured the entire scene so perfectly; she knew she had to buy it. She had no idea why was she was feeling so frivolous.
It was almost six o’clock by the time Elizabeth finally made her way back to the Inn. She decided to take a long leisurely bath and to have a light dinner served in her room. She did not feel like going through the motions again in the dining room.
With her toilette completed, she looked at her purchases. She eyed the tortoise shell comb and ran her fingers over the smooth surface. Yes, she would wear it in her hair tonight.
Moments later, Elizabeth was seated before the pier glass, draped in the beautiful pink dressing gown she had just purchased. As she adjusted the comb in her hair, she suddenly stopped as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection.
“What are you doing, Lizzy?” she asked aloud to her mirror image. “What are you doing?”
She slowly stood. As she studied the length of her reflection, she imagined she looked as a bride might on her wedding night.
She was far from a bride. How foolish she must look, dressed this way as if waiting for her husband to come to her.
She rushed to the dressing chamber and flung off the lovely silk gown, her frenzied motions contradictory to the gown’s gentle fluttering to the floor. She quickly put on her chemise and, wiping the tears from her cheeks, returned to sit before the pier glass.
What is wrong with me? she thought. I must pull myself together.
Elizabeth did not want to examine her feelings. But she had to face the fact that she was feeling something. She knew if she could just get through this final evening without betraying herself, she would be all right.
Starting with their early morning walk, her day had been almost perfect. She truly had enjoyed being in his company. She thought she would have felt embarrassed, considering their previous nights’ endeavours, but she did not. It seemed the most natural thing in the world as they walked together and engaged in pleasant conversation.
That feeling of wellbeing had followed her the entire day, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in such a very long time, since before her father’s death. She did not want to give up that feeling. Not yet. She had one more evening before she must return to her staid existence as a lady’s companion. She and the gentleman would go their separate ways come the morning.
~*~
Darcy was taking an unusually long time to dress this evening. He was constantly distracted by the thought of her. Their unexpected encounter that morning was being replayed over again in his mind. He had never met anyone who had completely captured his imagination as she had. Despite his social awkwardness, they had very naturally slipped into easy conversation. He felt a closeness to her that he could not explain.
He presumed his fascination with her was based upon their carnal experience of the past two evenings and would fade along with his ardour once he returned to Pemberley and his well-planned life. After all, it was not as if he had never known the pleasures of intimacy with a woman before. Indeed, he had certainly had previous encounters with women whose experience in the art would make them far more superior partners.
This would be their final evening together. His anticipation was accompanied by a certain amount of apprehension. He should not be this eager to see her again. He would force himself to remember the reason why they were both there. Again he repeated to himself his list of mental notes: he would remain as detached as possible; he would not engage his emotions; he would conduct himself in a business-like manner; he would walk away unaffected by anything that had occurred. He inspected his reflection in the pier glass and headed down towards the dining room.
As he entered, he tried to casually look about the room. Not seeing her, he assumed she would be down shortly. He ordered his dinner and waited. By the time he had finished, she still had not appeared. Where was she? He was becoming impatient.
He rose from his table and headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he stood before her door, he did not use his key but pounded his fist upon it. She responded immediately and, saying nothing, backed away, allowing him entrance. As he silently entered the room, she arched an eyebrow.
He noticed her hair was fixed differently, arranged in an upsweep, held by a single tortoise shell comb. Her
eyes were dark and penetrating as they stared deeply into his. The scent of lavender was fragrant upon her smooth skin.
She was beautiful.
He studied her face, trying to read her thoughts. His eyes settled on her lips and, again, he was struck with the urge to kiss them. If I kissed her, would she resist? He could not help but wonder why this act upon her person had become so paramount. After all, they had been far more intimate than a kiss. And yet . . .
As if against his will, he stepped closer to her and moved his arm around her waist. She lifted her head and met his stare; that stare that made her heart beat faster. He gently kissed her brow, holding her tightly to his chest. He then moved his lips lower, brushing them against her cheek. He could feel her tremble in his embrace, or was it he who trembled?
As he kissed the hollow of her neck, she let out a soft moan. He pulled back to again look into her eyes. Slowly he lowered his head and placed his lips upon hers.
Her lack of experience at this endeavour did not go unnoticed. From her response, he could discern it was most likely the first kiss in which she had ever engaged. As he placed his mouth over hers, he realized she had lost her virtue before she had ever been properly kissed, and that knowledge made him want to hold her dearer.
He moved his mouth, opening it slightly over hers, his tongue lightly beckoning her to allow him entrance. Her lips were warm and inviting as Darcy guided her, teaching her, until at last they kissed a kiss of lovers.
Elizabeth was bewildered at how easily she had allowed him to enfold her. How eager her lips were to meet his. She had imagined his kiss, how it would make her feel. Her imagination paled to the reality of what she was now feeling. A sweet sensation flowed throughout her body. Her hands unconsciously reached up and caressed his shoulders as she returned his kiss with a desperation she could not explain.
As their tongues comingled, a moan of pleasure escaped Darcy’s lips as he continued to devour her mouth, each kiss leading to another. And then another. He had never suspected that mere kisses could bring him to such a state of arousal.
Darcy’s arms were now the only form of support for Elizabeth’s limp body. Her legs had given out kisses ago. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, his lips still upon hers.
He withdrew from their kiss and gently placed her on her feet. Elizabeth had to grasp the bedpost to keep steady. He then reached up and touched the tortoise shell comb that held her hair. In one sweep of his hand, the comb was removed, and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.
They still had not exchanged a single word; there seemed no need. As much as she wanted to hear the deep resonance of his voice, Elizabeth did not want to disturb the silent pact that now existed between them, allowing this divergence from their agreement.
She moved closer to him again, her hands upon his cravat. It was astonishing how easily it came undone, once she knew how. She began unbuttoning his shirt. As she did, he ran his fingers through her chestnut curls. But his lips were soon again upon hers. He just could not resist kissing her.
As his lips sought hers at every measure, he moved his hands down her body, his arms encircling her as he stroked the small of her back. He lowered his hands still further and embraced the curve of her hips and cupped her lower posterior as he pressed her to his arousal. His hands then moved up along her sides and touched her breasts through her gown. She let out a low moan as he traced over her nipples.
Darcy tried to slow their pace; he wanted this to go on forever. He tried to appear calm, despite his laboured breathing, as he stepped back and wrenched his tailcoat and vest from his body. His shirt came next as he lifted it over his head.
He looked into her eyes before he reached for the buttons of his breeches. Their eyes held for a brief moment, and he then returned his attentions to his task. Elizabeth did not turn away to look at the fire. She watched him as if in a dream, unable to move, as he removed the last of his clothing. The sight of a naked male body was completely foreign to her, yet she instinctively knew that his body was perfection. She could think of no other word to describe him than beautiful. He was trim, yet muscular; masculine, and yet graceful in his movements.
Now standing naked before her, Darcy reached for the hem of her chemise with both hands. As he slowly brought it upwards, their eyes never disengaged. When the garment was at her waist, she raised her arms, allowing him its removal.
He lifted her and placed her on the pillows of the bed. He began kissing her again as his hands slowly explored her body. He was now a man on a mission.
He wanted desperately to erase their two previous encounters from her memory. He needed to show her that this was how it was supposed to be; this is what occurred between a man and a woman when they made love.
He cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over their tips; the coolness of her skin a direct contrast to the heat of his hands. His mouth followed the path of his hands as he traced over every curve of her body. Elizabeth felt as if she were drowning. She had never known such pleasure existed.
Even in his wildest fantasies of her, Darcy had not imagined such passion; his own as much a surprise as hers. He had never reacted so strongly to any other woman’s touch. He wanted to give her as much pleasure as she was giving him.
His hands travelled down to her stomach, his light touches causing her to shiver. He was now stroking her thighs, tempting them to surrender their sentry. He moved over her and slipped his fingers into her, finding her most sensitive spot. She gasped as the sensations he caused overtook her entire body.
He knelt between her thighs and pulled her hips toward him guiding himself slowly into her, silently praying he would not lose control too soon. As he began a rocking motion, she lifted her hips to meet him, each crescendo of their perfectly timed rhythm bringing them closer to their ultimate goal.
She once again felt the arousal of his touch, causing her body to tighten around him. As this sensation of pleasure spread through her, Elizabeth allowed herself to give in to its exquisiteness, her body surrendering to the climax of their passion.
“Oh god, Lizzy,” he cried as his release followed hers with his final thrust.
After several moments their sated bodies calmed and stilled except for the steady rhythm of their breathing. Darcy allowed himself one final kiss from her sweet lips.
~*~
Darcy moved over to the side of the bed and rested his head on the pillow next to hers. He pulled the bed clothes up to cover them. He stayed like that for some time, trying to decide what he should do. Should he leave as he had the two previous nights? They only had a few hours left before they would be parted forever.
Maybe she would want him to go. Thinking her asleep, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned his head to look back at her and could just make out her silhouette in the shadows of the dying fire.
He let out a breath as he stood. When Elizabeth felt his weight lift from the mattress, she turned to look at him.
Their eyes found each other in the barely discernible light of the remaining embers.
“I should go,” he said.
She looked away.
He did not want to leave her like this. How could he leave her after what they had just shared? He could not deny he wanted to stay, his list of mental notes now completely abandoned.
He hesitated. For a full minute he stood there, guilt and longing fighting a battle within him.
Elizabeth then felt his weight once again upon the mattress. He slipped in behind her, drawing her back to his chest in one sweeping movement of his arm.
“If it is all right, I will stay with you a while longer, Lizzy.”
Her only response was to snuggle closer to his warmth.
Elizabeth drifted off to sleep with the sound of his deep voice calling her Lizzy still resonating in her ear.
A few hours later, the sunlight filtered through the curtains of Elizabeth’s room. She looked over at the empty pillow beside her, and a dull ache filled her hear
t. He had departed before the light. She would never see him again.
CHAPTER TEN
Caroline Bingley was quite pleased with herself. She had managed to persuade her brother to abandon Netherfield, at least long enough for her to enjoy part of the Season in London. She had most definitely had enough of the country to last a lifetime.
“Charles, you know you prefer London to the country. Why don’t you just admit it?” she asked as she sat at the breakfast table of their townhouse.
“That’s not entirely true, Caroline,” he said. “I admit I have missed some of the social activity of London, but I was also enjoying being master of an estate. I agreed to stay in London until Michaelmas, and now it is almost November. I think I have been quite tolerant of your transparent ploys to keep me here, but now I must insist that we return to Netherfield.”
“Really, Charles, I just don’t understand how you can enjoy being around such primitive people. Why, in the last two months, we have been in the company of a countess and two dukes! How can you compare that with the likes of Hertfordshire society?”
“I hardly consider attending the same play as the Countess Isabella as being in her company,” said Bingley. “And the two dukes,” he continued, “rode by us in their equipage and nearly ran us over!”
Ignoring her brother’s last comments, Caroline continued, “I think we should have a dinner party before you exile us back to Hertfordshire. Maybe we could invite Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. I’m sure they would attend if you invited them, Charles.”
“I would like to see Darcy again,” admitted Bingley. “It has been more than six months since I last saw him at his wedding. We could invite Georgiana also and maybe Colonel Fitzwilliam too.” Bingley was beginning to brighten at the prospect of seeing his good friends once again.
Caroline was also anxious to see Mr. Darcy again. She could not believe he had married that plain and sickly girl. Certainly it was a marriage of convenience. Perhaps he needed to be reminded what it was like to be in the company of an elegant lady of society, such as herself.
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