Darcy had balled his fists onto his hips and was glaring at her through dark eyes. Perhaps she should have spared his distress, but the idea of jealousy over Matty was so ludicrous that teasing him was irresistible!
“Matty, is it? Very interesting. Tell me, Miss Bennet, are there a profusion of gentlemen you refer to familiarly by their Christian name?”
Tapping her chin with one index finger, she gazed vacantly to the left. “Let me think for a moment. Hmmm….There are Abner and Percy”—two of her nephews, and not technically of adult age, but Mr. Darcy did not know that—“Gil and Keefe”—twin stableboys who, much like Matty, had grown up at Longbourn and had been playmates all through her childhood—“and, of course I cannot forget Stanz”—the elderly Russian newspaper seller whose surname was so difficult to pronounce that he had been Stanz since long before she was born—“and…No, I believe that is all. Why do you ask, Mr. Darcy?”
Lizzy arched her brows, relaxed her face into a guileless expression, and waited. His penetrating focus might have unnerved if not for the absurd circumstances. In fact, the longer he glared at her, the less she wanted to laugh.
“I distinctly sense you are mocking me, Miss Bennet, and do not appreciate flippancy after being subjected to witnessing my future wife cavorting with another man. A man you touched, and who touched you, several times, including, to my horror, on your leg!”
Now she was angry.
“As I see it, Mr. Darcy,” she emphasized, matching his stern expression, “you interpreted what you witnessed and drew conclusions as you chose to rather than with a trusting, unjaundiced heart. Therefore you deserve to be mocked. Or worse. Instead, I shall ease your distress, but not for your sake. Matty is too kindhearted to have anyone misjudging him. Matty,” she called, “come here please. I want to introduce you to Mr. Darcy.”
Dropping the rake as if on fire, Matty rushed over, his hands scrubbing through his unruly hair and patting over his clothing in a vain attempt to compose himself. “O’course, Missy Lizzy! Iffin’ you wish. Meetin’ Missy Lizzy’s gen’leman is special, yes, sir, it is!”
Lizzy clasped one fidgeting hand between both of hers, smiled at her childhood friend, and then pierced her fiancé with chilly eyes. “Mr. Darcy, allow me to introduce Mr. Matty Beller—”
Matty interrupted with a snorting laugh. “I not a mister, Missy Lizzy! Jus’ simple-headed Matty Beller. That’s me. Your fine gen’leman is a mister. Very special meetin’ simple me, I say!”
“No talk of being simple, Matty, remember? You fixed my shears, and how would I have finished the roses if not for your excellent assistance?” Matty blushed and stared at his toes. “In fact, Mr. Darcy was just commenting on how helpful you were to his future wife—entertaining me while we pruned the roses, steadying me so I would not unbalance on the ladder, and aiding my descent so I did not fall. Is that not so, Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes.” Darcy cleared his throat gruffly. “I…I was. Thank you, Mr. Beller. Miss Elizabeth’s wellbeing is important to me, and I am pleased to know her safety is assured when I am absent.”
“You like bunnies, mister?” Darcy blinked at the unrelated query, stammering a vague affirmative. “I gots pretty bunnies at home. Soft and fuzzy. You come by anytime, pick any bunny ya want, ’kay?”
“That is very kind of you, Matty. Now, can I impose upon you to return the tools to their proper place? I wish to speak with Mr. Darcy alone.”
Lizzy watched Matty stack the equipment into the wheelbarrow and ignored Mr. Darcy until the young man was gone. Then she broke the silence, speaking coolly while gazing toward the empty pathway under the arbor. “Later, if you wish, I can recount Matty’s story and why he is like a brother to us. I presume it is now apparent that Matty is harmless. That is why your comments amused me initially. No one has ever been jealous over me, so for a moment it was flattering—until you insulted me with your insinuations. Do you trust me so little, Mr. Darcy?”
She turned around as she asked the question, fully expecting to see embarrassment at the least, preferably deep remorse. To her surprise, Mr. Darcy’s expression was largely unchanged! His face was stony, with furrowed creases between his brows and eyes hard as agates.
“Trust must be earned, Miss Elizabeth. Until this, I had no reason to distrust you.”
He spoke bluntly, as if stating the obvious. Astonished, Lizzy asked, “And now?”
“Now I know my interpretation was erroneous.”
“Quite magnanimous of you, sir. Is that to be the extent of your admission of guilt?”
Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together and she saw his jaw muscle twitch. Again speaking in that maddeningly icy, clipped tone, he said, “It is a statement of fact, not an admission of guilt. The advantage of knowledge was not in my possession, thus I interpreted based on what I saw. Yet rather than enlightening me immediately as to my error and easing my heart, you responded with mockery.”
Ouch! That hit a nerve. Still irritated, Lizzy crossed her trembling arms over her chest, lifted her chin, and scowled. “Dealing with the ridiculous provokes me to mockery, Mr. Darcy. Be prepared for the consequences if irrational jealousy is to be your standard reaction.”
“Jealousy, by definition, is ofttimes irrational, no matter how strongly one attempts to maintain control and a clear vision.”
“Is this a warning, sir, to beware of smiling or talking to any other man?”
“If the talking and smiling includes that man touching you, then yes!”
With each sentence, their voices grew louder and their bodies stiffer. The space between them had narrowed to a mere foot. For several seconds the only sound was angry breathing. Then Darcy sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“Elizabeth, I cannot apologize for my jealousy because it is, and always will be, my natural response where you are concerned. Maybe a man who felt less for his betrothed would not experience possessiveness. I am not that man. The intensity of my love for you prohibits me from reacting complacently to what I saw today. Perhaps it is too soon to hope for, but I would like to imagine that if the situation were reversed, you might feel a glimmer of jealousy as well.”
Lizzy gasped as a weight abruptly slammed into her chest. Instantly she recalled the day in Meryton and the powerful sensations that had rendered her physically ill when she suspected Caroline Bingley’s advances toward Mr. Darcy. Since then Lizzy continually fought the urge to squeeze the jezebel’s scrawny neck. Worse yet, with honest reflection, traces of fretfulness persisted, the nearly inaudible voice citing Caroline’s finer attributes and accomplishments as a rational reason for Mr. Darcy to capitulate. What if a woman you did not know he disliked acted in such a manner?
Indeed, she understood Mr. Darcy’s jealousy and distrust far better than he suspected.
Before she formulated a reply, he tenderly grasped her hands and bent until level with her eyes. “My dear, while I cannot apologize for my jealousy, I can and do apologize for succumbing to it before seeking an explanation. That was wrong of me. I humbly beg your forgiveness, on behalf of Mr. Beller as well, for presuming precipitously and casting aspersions. Can you forgive me, Elizabeth?”
His gaze remained direct and his expression serious, but warmth softened the hard edges. The combination made her heart flutter.
Inhaling, she whispered, “I will forgive you, William, only if you forgive me first.”
“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. T
hen 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 t
he 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.
Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) Page 24