His mouth straightened into a line, and he pulled on his gloves. “I must be on my way,” he said flatly, rising to his feet. “I hope you enjoy the day, Miss Bennet.”
She was taken aback by his tone, and all desire to laugh disappeared. What had happened to the approachable man who had sought out her company? Why had he turned into the proud stranger she had met at the Meryton Assembly? Then it came clear; he did not know her well enough to be accustomed to her moments of laughter. He had thought her refusal to share her thought was a rejection of him. Could she in truth injure him so easily, without any intention of it?
She did not want him to leave. She scrambled to her feet. “Sir, it was nothing. I did not want to embarrass us both by raising the past, but if you must know, I was thinking how odd it was that, after all we have shared, after all I have done and said, that we had reverted to asking about the health of acquaintances. You must admit it is an odd juxtaposition.”
His serious look slowly faded, replaced by a slight smile. “Ours has been an odd acquaintance. I had not anticipated how difficult conversation might be while we are pretending the past never occurred.”
She turned her head so she need not meet his eyes, and squinted in the sunlight.
“Miss Bennet?” He sounded uncharacteristically tentative. “I am sorry if my ill-thought words troubled you.”
“Not at all, sir, it is only the sun in my eyes. But there is a question I must ask you.”
“Yes?” His voice was guarded.
“You know all too well just what I am capable of, what I suggested to you. How can you possibly wish for an acquaintance with such a woman? How can you have any respect for me?” The words came out in a rush.
“I do not think less of you for any of that. I admired, and still admire, your courage and your loyalty to your family. I know you would never have found yourself in such a position but for sheer desperation, and even then, you did not look for assistance for yourself, but for your family. You were ready to sacrifice yourself for their sake. I felt many things that day, but it never occurred to me, then or now, to doubt your intentions. If anyone should feel ashamed of that day, it would be me, not you.”
“How can you possibly say that? You were a perfect gentleman, so much so that I thought you might have lost interest in me altogether.”
“Miss Bennet, please, let us sit.” He held out a hand to her.
She took it tentatively, feeling a shock at his touch, and allowed him to assist her to sit on the rock once again. She felt the heat of his fingers long after he released her hand.
He joined her, then picked up a round stone and began to toy with it. He said in a low voice, “I was tempted. Not to take advantage of you, as it is not in my character, but to use your situation to force you into marrying me. It came down to the same thing, as it was all about my desires and not about your distress. I wanted it badly. There, do you think me such a gentleman now?”
“Even more than I did before. Only a gentleman would master temptation.” She did not know what to say, and it seemed that neither did he, for the silence between them grew long. Finally she said archly, “I am glad, I suppose, to know that I was enough to tempt you.”
He half-turned toward her, leaning on one hand, his voice low. “You can have no idea how you tempt me. You tempt me every day with the thought of your laughter, and every night with the thought of touching you. You tempt me with your every smile, your glance, the way you bite your lip when you are concentrating, by the sparkle in your eye when someone challenges you, the way you tilt your head when you are about to tease, by your sweetness when you try to protect someone’s feelings. I remember watching you walk past me at Netherfield, and aching to take you into my arms. I remember listening to you play and sing, and thinking you the most fascinating creature I had ever met. I remember how you cared for your sister when she was ill, and how I wished you would care for me in the same way. I remember how your hair glinted in the candlelight at the Netherfield ball, and how I longed to touch it, to take the pins out and watch it tumble around your shoulders. I see the pulse in your neck, and I ache to press my lips to it. I dream of your eyes sparkling for me, your hands reaching for me, your lips against mine. Oh, yes, Elizabeth, you tempt me. Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, waking or sleeping, you tempt me almost beyond reason.” His eyes were dark, his voice almost a whisper by the time he finished, but she heard every word of it.
Elizabeth felt suddenly unable to breathe. A new heat flowed through her, and it was as if his lips had indeed branded her neck, his eyes had indeed claimed her for his. She felt aware of her body as she never had before, aching for him to come even closer, yet at the same time fearing it. She could feel the tension radiating from him, and his scent of leather and fresh soap made her dizzy. She was glad she was sitting; had they still been standing, she doubted her legs would have held her. As it was, she felt as if she might melt and run into the river. How could she possibly reply? She touched her tongue to her dry lips.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he breathed, his words a caress in themselves, his eyes dropping hungrily to her lips.
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he must hear it over the gentle murmur of the river. Her world had narrowed to the few inches between them. How could she feel so much heat and still be frozen in place? All her training told her to back away, but every instinct demanded to experience the next step. Admitting the truth to herself, she lifted her chin a fraction of an inch in as much of an invitation as she dared give.
But he did not, as she expected, kiss her. Instead his finger lightly stroked her cheek, then traced the outline of her lips. Somehow that slight touch engendered desires she had never known. Her lips parted on a sigh.
Darcy, sensitized to her every motion, closed his eyes in a half-ecstatic disbelief, focusing all his being on the sense of touch. He did not need to see to find her lips with his; he was drawn to them as if by a magnetic force. The moment seemed to last an eternity until he finally felt the heavenly soft warmth of her lips against his. His tongue traced her lips, and through even that slight touch he could feel her shiver, and his body responded urgently. He had to use his entire force of will to hold back from taking her in his arms, yes, from urging her back so that he could explore every inch of her body and make her his, so she would never leave him again. But if he frightened her off again, he would never forgive himself, and he was already taking a terrible risk of that. Did he imagine her lips moving under his, beginning a tentative response, or was it real? The warmth of her shot through him like lightning. If a mere innocent kiss from Elizabeth drove him to this state of desperation, what would happen when he made love to her? And at that moment, he knew it was within his power, that if he pressed his suit, she would be his. Just as it had been within his power the day she offered herself to him in London.
That memory was enough to jerk him out of the haze of desire that threatened him. He forced himself to pull back. Bereft of even that slight touch, he opened his eyes, only to see the rosiness of her lips and cheeks, her dilated pupils, her soft look that told him she was also in the grip of feelings beyond her control. How could he hold himself back from her implicit invitation?
Elizabeth murmured, “Such a fierce frown, Mr. Darcy. Is that what comes of giving in to temptation?”
Her gentle teasing gave him the distance he needed to regain himself. “No, this is what comes of resisting temptation. If I were any more tempted, I would have to jump into the river to regain my sanity.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your sanity is in the river?”
“I have no sanity where you are concerned.”
“I had begun to suspect as much!”
Then, to Darcy’s utter astonishment - and bedevilment - Elizabeth clasped her hands behind his neck and swayed toward him, her eyes drifting closed. For a moment he tried to tell himself she did not understand the risk she was taking, bu
t then the long months of agony of wanting her overwhelmed his hesitation. Clasping his arms around her, feeling the exquisite torture of her delicate form pressing against his chest, her scent of lavender and sweet womanhood intoxicating him, he drowned himself in her lips.
Could anything in his life ever be as sweet and dangerous as this moment? He had to taste her skin, of he would die for the need of it. He dusted kisses across her cheek, then nibbled her ear. Her moan in response drove all thought out of his mind. His hands, which he had kept so carefully on her back, began of their own volition an exploration of her curves, stroking down her spine, then, as she made no protest, he brought them nearer and nearer the temptation of her breasts. She apparently wanted the same, for she arched toward him, shattering what little restraint he had remaining. Her breasts fit perfectly into his hands, as if they had been made for this moment. He could not resist running his thumbs over her nipples, eliciting a gasp as he felt them harden beneath his touch.
Then he stopped thinking at all. He claimed her mouth again with a fierce passion, then his lips began a journey downward along the soft, tender skin of his neck, exploring every hollow and tracing his tongue along her collarbone, then down to the tempting flesh below. Her breasts smelled of honeysuckle, and he knew he had to taste them. His fingertip crept below the neckline of her muslin dress, and he was rewarded by another moan, the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Needing no further encouragement, his hand followed his fingertip until he could cup her softness. Ah, a man could die of such sweetness.
Or a man could lose any chance at the future he longed for. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth, stop me! Throw me in the river, anything,” he pleaded.
Elizabeth had no desire to do so. She had no wish but to have him continue the exquisitely pleasurable torture he was inflicting upon her body, to relieve the aching in her breasts and the tight heat between her legs. But the distress in his voice penetrated her last shred of reason and she pushed him away. For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes, each breathing as if they had just run a race, then Elizabeth reached down to adjust her dress. When it was back in place and covering all the revealing flesh, she looked up at Darcy through her lashes with an arch smile. “You overestimate my strength, sir. If you wish to swim, you must do it of your own volition, but I will warn you, the water is very cold indeed.”
He shifted away from her and leaned back against his hands, his face turned upward toward the darkening sky. Elizabeth, though embarrassed beyond measure and uncertain of his mood, could not resist admiring his distinctly carved profile.
She longed to touch his face, to explore it with her fingers and to kiss him once again. No, she longed for far more than that, if she was honest with herself, but this was hardly the time or place, so she carefully folded her hands in her lap and turned her gaze to the setting sun.
After several minutes, he said, “I would feel much better if you did throw me in, or at the very least, slapped my face.”
She tilted her head to look at him. “As much as I dislike disappointing you, sir, I fear it is rather too late to slap you. Not to mention that it would be rather hypocritical of me.”
He turned tortured eyes to her. “You deserve better than me.”
“Because you are tempted by me? It would be a sorry state indeed if you were not. In that case, I might in fact be tempted to slap your face.”
“Nonetheless, I apologize for my behaviour.”
Oddly, his formality made him seem more like a misbehaving schoolboy, and Elizabeth could not help laughing at the idea. “I hope you do not disapprove of the fact that I enjoyed your behaviour?”
He made a sound deep in his throat. “Miss Bennet, it is time for us to return to civilization. It is growing dark.”
“You need not worry. The moonlight will be bright enough to keep us from falling into the river.”
“Perhaps so, but I do not trust myself alone with you in the dark.” He swallowed hard.
Despite the great pleasure she was taking in teasing him, Elizabeth could tell that she had pushed him far enough. She rose to her feet. “Very well, then, I will take your advice.”
She followed Mr. Darcy down the path to the bridge, setting her feet carefully to avoid tripping. Concentrating on the path provided a distraction from the strange feelings that seemed to have taken over her body, that made her wish he would turn around and kiss her again. The shape of his shoulders in the twilight was enough to make her mouth dry.
Darcy scrambled up the bridge embankment, then reached down to offer her his hand. She felt a shock as she took it. How could a touch of his hand cause her lips to ache to be kissed? With Darcy’s assistance, she had little trouble keeping to her feet on the steep slope. At the top, however, she found herself standing bare inches from him, their hands still clasped. His face was in shadow, but she could feel the intensity of his attention.
When he spoke, his voice was half-strangled. “I will speak with your cousin in the morning.”
“No! Please do not. I am of age. I do not need his permission, and his loyalty to Lady Catherine is such that he might refuse it in any case.”
At least she had not refused his implicit proposal. “May I call on you, then?” It would seem like a lifetime till tomorrow morning, but there was nothing to be done for it.
“My mother is expecting callers in the morning, and you would not enjoy the experience. Perhaps we could meet here in the afternoon?”
“I will be here.” He was clearly still struggling with himself.
Then his control broke. She found his arms around her, her body pressed against the hardness and strength of his, her head tilted back to receive a kiss that was as different from his earlier ones as a tempest from a spring rain shower. His lips were pressed hard against hers, as if he were striving to make them one body. His tongue teased her lips apart, opening her to the astonishing intimacy as he explored her mouth possessively. She did not want him to ever stop.
But he did, pulling away and then running both hands through his hair. After a moment, he said, “May I walk with you back to Longbourn?”
She smiled at him, her heart still fluttering. “I would be very happy if you did.”
They did not speak much as they walked, Elizabeth allowing herself to be far closer to him that propriety would dictate, and his free hand covering hers tenderly where it lay on his arm. She had never realized how intimate the act of taking a gentleman’s arm could be. If she became any more attuned to his every breath and movement, she would go up in flames.
He bade her a very proper adieu when they reached the house. She watched as he walked away, then entered Longbourn. It felt like she was a different person than she had been when she had left it a few hours earlier. Something had been awakened in her, something that would never rest. She wished only to be alone to think back on what had happened. She spent but a few minutes with her family before retiring early. To her relief, Mr. Collins seemed unusually abstracted and did not hold forth at length as he had so often since taking possession of Longbourn.
Elizabeth was roused from a deep sleep by Hill shaking her shoulder and whispering, “Wake up, Miss Elizabeth. We must get you dressed and ready to go.”
“Go where?” Elizabeth asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Shh!” the housekeeper said, gesturing to Jane’s sleeping body. “Mr. Collins says your aunt Gardiner is terrible sick, like to die, and your uncle begs you to come to London immediately.”
“My aunt?” Pain struck in the pit of her stomach. It could not be. Mrs. Gardiner was rarely ill. “I must go. When is the first post?”
“Mr. Collins will take you himself. He says there is no time to waste. He is having the carriage drawn up now.”
Elizabeth struggled into her dress as Hill quickly packed a small bag for her. She was still blinking sleep out of her eyes as she went downstairs to find Mr. Collins waiting impatiently at the door.
“Come, Cousin Elizabeth. There is not a moment to lose.” He hur
ried her out the door.
The lanterns were lit on the carriage. Fortunately, the moon was bright enough that they should be able to make respectable time even at night. But that reminded her of Mr. Darcy and she stopped short. What would he think when she did not arrive at their assignation? Surely he would understand when he discovered the circumstances.
Mr. Collins handed her into the carriage, then took the seat opposite and rapped on the roof for the driver to start. Elizabeth did not want to talk to him, so she huddled under the carriage rug and closed her eyes. Despite her intense worry, the rocking of the carriage lulled her into a dozing state.
When she awoke, it was full light outside. They must be near London by now. She opened the window shade to check, and saw a rolling landscape with a line of hills just beyond. She blinked at it in confusion, but it remained the same. She turned to Mr. Collins in agitation. “Did we take the wrong fork? This is not the road to London!”
Mr. Collins smirked, seemingly untroubled by this intelligence. “No, my dear cousin, it is not.”
A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) Page 17