Then he wondered what action to take if he discovered without a doubt that she was seeking an affair. Did he want another casual interlude with no future? His body emphatically screamed yes, and loving her would be wonderful, he was certain of that much! Yet, would that be wise with a woman in his nephew’s employ? Somehow, he doubted Mrs. Annesley was the type of lady to engage in wanton sex. It was one of many stellar attributes he appreciated, that she was proper and decent. And even if she was desirous of a purely physical dalliance, he feared emotions may entangle, thus hurting her when they parted in Switzerland.
So was he willing to offer her more? Was he in love with her?
That question brought him up short. George hadn’t believed in instant love for decades. Attraction, yes. Lust, absolutely! Love as in the sort of love to propose marriage and plan a lifetime together? Honestly, no.
Aren’t you a bit too old to want a lengthy courtship?
Well, there was that! Fifty-two wasn’t that old. His health was superb and stamina as complete as when he was thirty. God knows his sexual appetite had not diminished! Nevertheless, after the years of joy with Jharna, George simply could not imagine binding himself to a woman for the rest of his life if she wasn’t equally spectacular. Perhaps Amanda Annesley was spectacular, but a month of fleeting exchanges while in romantic Paris and clouded with physical cravings was not the wisest time to render logical decisions.
The dilemmas made his head ache.
The night before they were to depart Paris for the journey across France into Switzerland and the summer estate where his sister Mary, the Baroness Oeggl, was waiting for them with her family, George’s circular musings and unresolved ardor drove him down to the kitchen for a midnight snack and cup of tea. Returning to his room with a slightly clearer head and satisfied stomach, George noted movement from the balcony at the end of the second level corridor. It only took him a minute to recognize the woman standing at the wall, gazing at the moonlit view of Paris, as Mrs. Annesley.
“Mind if I join you?” He spoke softly but she still jerked and whirled about. She was dressed in a nightgown and robe, the garments covering her more than her dresses did, yet she frantically drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders and self-consciously ran one hand over her loosely braided hair.
“The balcony is free for all, so of course you are welcome, Dr. Darcy.”
George strolled to the railing three feet to her right, his gaze purposefully not on her but focused on the skyline. In part, that was to ease her embarrassment but largely it was due to the effect she had upon him. The robe and shawl did indeed cover her flesh, but the outline of her unsupported breasts left little to the imagination. The thick plait of golden hair falling to her curved bottom begged to be undone with fingers running through each silky tress. He leaned his elbows onto the ledge and clasped his hands in the air, bent slightly so that his head was level with hers.
“Paris in the moonlight is a wondrous sight to behold and one I never tire of. This is a marvelous view.”
“That is why I came. The view from my room is over the garden, which is lovely, but I cannot see the skyline or the river. I waited until the house was asleep and did not expect to encounter anyone.”
He looked at her flushed face, swallowing the lump of desire before able to smile. “If I am disturbing your solitude, say the word. I did not mean to intrude.”
“No! That is… you are not intruding, Dr. Darcy. Not at all.”
Her blush deepened and she turned her head back toward the vista—not before sweeping her gaze rapidly over the backside of his body, George noted with a surge of satisfaction. He was barefoot and wearing his typical sleeping attire of drawstring paijamas and a thin kurta, the ensemble designed for comfort and not modesty.
“How often have you been to Paris, Doctor?”
“This is my first visit since I was a medical student. My family traveled here three times in my youth, short stays like this one, but I lived here for six months, studying at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. I lived on the premises in the resident’s barracks with nothing remotely nice as a view. I was in Paris, though, and did find some free time to explore the city. It has greatly changed in thirty years.”
“I imagine so. There are many places in the world I would love to see, but Paris has always been high on my list. We planned to travel here once but the war intervened.”
George admired her profile in the faint illumination. “Tragic, but at least you are here now. Who is the ‘we’ you were to travel with?”
“My husband. Not too long after our marriage, we began arrangements. Then Bonaparte rose up and war was declared. That ended those plans.” She shrugged.
George studied her for any signs of acute distress at the mention of her husband, but she was serene, the rosiness receding from her cheeks and her arms no longer crossed over her chest or clutching the shawl. The latter meant his view of her generous breasts was no longer obstructed, a fact he greatly appreciated. Best not think upon it, George! Dragging his gaze back to her face, he boldly pressed on.
“How long ago did your husband pass?”
“Over six years ago now,” she answered without hesitation.
“Do you still miss him?”
“I do, yes. He was a good man and we were happy together. It does grow easier over time, but I do not think the sadness ever erases completely.”
“Unless you were to love again.”
“Perhaps then, yes. If the man loved me in return, that is. I would never want an unequal relationship.”
“Nor should you settle for such. How long were you married?”
“Seven years. Not a great length, nor as long as we hoped of course, but they were wonderful years.”
“You must have been very young when you married.”
“Always the flatterer, Dr. Darcy.” She laughed softly but kept her eyes trained on the quiet streets and rooftops. “I was three and twenty when we married. Not so young that I was innocent of what it meant to love someone and commit for what was intended to be many more years.”
“I am sorry. I can imagine how painful and difficult it must be.”
“Can you?” She finally lifted her eyes to his, George realizing in that instant that he had unintentionally scooted closer—or maybe she had to him—and they were now less than two feet apart. Even in the dim light, he could see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes and the tiny freckles dusting her nose. She was mesmerizing yet not so much that he missed the question underneath the question. She was sharing a personal portion of her life with him, and it was the perfect opening to share of himself. Staring into her eyes, the confession was tickling the tip of his tongue.
Tell her of Jharna. Share your awareness of love and loss. Tell her of your feelings for her, even if you are unsure what they are.
Instead, he said, “When my brother’s wife died, Mr. Darcy’s mother, James was lost in his grief. It was frightening to witness. Losing a dearly loved one is horrible. I have seen such grief far too many times.”
“I am sure you have, Dr. Darcy.”
“May I ask a favor of you? You may have noticed that I am not a stickler for formality?” She smiled and nodded. “Only patients or work colleagues call me Dr. Darcy. Friends call me George, and I like to think we are becoming friends. I would love to hear you address me as George.”
She said nothing for minutes, all the while staring into his eyes as if trying to discern something he could not be sure of. It was extremely challenging to think clearly when she was so close that the perfumed warmth of her skin ignited his senses. His heart was pounding, anticipation for her response adding to the rush of emotions.
“When it is appropriate then yes, I will address you as George.”
George flashed his most brilliant smile, the reaction genuinely inspired at the sound of her voice saying his name. “Thank you… Amanda.
”
She released a breathy huff when he whispered her name, George realizing their faces were inches apart when her exhaled breath brushed across his cheeks. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, at least not consciously, yet there was no halting the urge. In the second before he met her lips, he knew she wanted the kiss as urgently.
“Amanda,” he whispered as her eyes slid shut and lips parted. Then he was pressing his mouth against hers, and moments later, his world exploded. If asked even earlier that day, George would have declared emphatically that cataclysmic repercussions from a simple kiss were unlikely in a man his age and with his experience. He would have been a dead wrong and lost any bet placed. Only much, much later would he try to remember if the first kiss with Jharna had been as earth-shattering as this one with Amanda. He never would decide, not that he tried too hard to compare. Judging degrees of what was, in both instances, a profound impact was pointless anyway. And certainly at this moment, none of those considerations were flying through his mind. All he knew was that kissing Amanda was electrifying and rapturous. He also knew a kiss alone would never suffice.
How he ended up leaning onto the stone wall with Amanda drawn firmly between his spread legs remained a mystery. She did not seem to mind one bit if the pressure of her pliant flesh against him was any indication. That and her hands twisted in his hair, her passionate responses to his kiss, and her low-pitched moans revealed all. When he left her mouth to rain moist kisses along the slope of her neck, she arched further into him and clutched tighter. Cupping her breasts and stroking over her rigid nipples made her shudder and gasp aloud.
“You have enchanted me, Amanda.” She shivered at each murmured word. “So alluring. Temptingly sweet. I desire you utterly and have for weeks.” Again at her lips, George teased with his tongue, sweeping corner to corner with the tip before surrounding with his mouth and pushing deeply inside, meeting her seeking tongue again and again and again. Pulling away with a sucking grasp on her lower lip, he said, “I want you, lovely Amanda. Say the word and I’ll take you to my room—”
“Uncle George! Are you in there? Wake up, please!”
The steady knocking and resonant timbre of Darcy from where he stood in the corridor in front of George’s bedchamber door jolted him and Amanda. She yelped and spun away, her shock so intense George instinctively reached a stabilizing hand to prevent her falling. He missed because she retreated into the shadows by the wall. The mixture of arousal and shame visible on her face pierced his heart. George felt no shame; his concern was only to spare her further embarrassment. Fortunately, he had always been able to recover swiftly. Mentally that is. There was no way his physical state was going to resolve quickly! Hopefully, whatever William wanted would prevent him from looking downward.
He stepped away from the balcony wall, smiled at Amanda to reassure, and had no choice but to walk past her into the house and leave her alone. “I am here, William. Enjoying some fresh air. What is it?”
“Uncle! Thank goodness! Alexander woke up and vomited. Mrs. Hanford says he feels feverish. Can you come see him?”
Duty called. George snapped into doctor mode and, after retrieving his medical case, followed Darcy to their suite of rooms. Alexander, as it turned out, had probably eaten something that disagreed with him. A tonic settled his stomach, and within a half hour, he was asleep. By the time George returned to his bedchamber, Amanda had long since left the balcony, and he was faced with a sleepless night fretting over her and fighting the lust that was now multiplied after their shared kiss.
The next day dawned with a flurry of activity as they prepared to depart. George only caught glimpses of her as they loaded up the carriages. Attempts to sidle close or talk to her proved fruitless, not helped by the fact that she was clearly avoiding him. Why that was he could not be sure. God knows it wasn’t easy for him to see her either. Not due to embarrassment but because even her presence in the same room heightened his senses and filled him with longing. It was a relief to enter the Matlocks’ carriage, Amanda three carriages away with the nanny, Mrs. Hanford, and Samuel and Marguerite Oliver, Darcy and Elizabeth’s personal servants. He could almost put her out of his mind as they bumped along the dirt road. Then at each stop to rest the horses and stretch, he only managed safe verbal exchanges. It didn’t require his diagnostic skills to deduce that she was uncomfortable when he came close. Precisely why disturbed him, but since there was no way to arrange a private discussion, he retreated, giving her the space she was silently requesting.
Three days into their journey toward Switzerland, he encountered her by accident on the stairs of the hôtel where they were staying for the night. Private it wasn’t but isolated enough for him to ask if she was well.
“I am fine, George. You have nothing to worry about.”
He wanted to sing when she spoke his Christian name and reached across the narrow gap to clasp her hand. “Look at me, Amanda, so I know for sure.” She did, a small nervous smile lighting her eyes. “Ah, better. I have been worried that you were angry or regretful, neither of which I would want you to be.”
“I am not angry or regretful. It… was wonderful.”
“Indeed, it was. I am relieved to hear you feel the same.”
“I do.” Her voice was barely audible and she had bowed her head.
“What is it that bothers you? Please, tell me honestly. I meant what I said before we were interrupted. I desire you, Amanda. Tremendously. But I have no wish to cause you pain so I will respect your decisions.”
“I know you are experienced enough to deduce that my… desires are identical to yours, George. However, under the circumstances I think it best—”
Whatever she planned to say was left unfinished when Georgiana and Elizabeth rounded the corner to mount the stairs. Perfunctory well wishes for a restful night were given and they separated yet again.
As the subsequent days unfolded, George analyzed the “circumstances” from every angle. It was easy to presume what she had been about to say. “Under the circumstances, I think it best to remain friends only.” As much as he wanted to argue, logically, he knew she was correct.
Unfortunately, their kiss ignited his fervor to possess her to a level that threatened to overcome his rational mind. Often, he felt downright disgusted with himself for letting libidinous urges rule him as if a weak adolescent. Then he would marvel at his fortune to experience powerful amorousness at fifty-two! Surely that was an indication of a strong connection between them. Or was he just so damned lonely and weary of missing what he and Jharna had shared that he was latching on to the first woman to interest and arouse him?
Buried far under the layers of emotion, he heard a faint Hindi female voice whispering, “You are afraid.” George refused to listen to that voice.
Far from reaching any kind of a decision, George had little choice but to relinquish the unproductive examination. Never one to be depressed for long, and with beautiful scenery passing by and the excitement to see his sister, his funk was overcome well before reaching Geneva where they tarried for two days in a grand hostelry. He and Amanda reverted back to their casual banter, playing cards and chess in the evenings and strolling along the lakeside trails with the others. Neither said a word about their shared kiss and neither sought the other for a private interlude.
Two weeks after leaving Paris, their caravan pulled into the drive before the sprawling three-story farmhouse belonging to his sister Mary and her husband, Baron Oeggl. The vast estate sat on the easternmost bank of Lake Genève near Villeneuve at the foot of the Alps. George’s last visit to see his sister was over thirty years ago after his time in Paris. Then the Darcy family’s sojourn had been at the Oeggls Austrian home north of Vienna. Switzerland was another new adventure for the world-traveling man, so naturally his enthusiasm was high despite the patches of snow and frigid air that penetrated straight through the thick coats he wore.
Yet all of it—s
now and icy cold, towering and breathtaking mountains, and even Amanda—were driven out of his mind the second he glanced at his older sister, Mary.
Baroness Oeggl was obviously unwell. She greeted them from her chair in the parlor, no one expecting her to rise from under the heaped blankets or move from the heat of the fire. George and Mary had never been close, even as youths. The eleven-year age gap as well as their differing personalities had prevented a deep love from forming. In the three-decade interval, George rarely thought of his sister and their sporadic letters were formal rather than intimate. Instantly, those facts disappeared and George’s priorities changed. Naturally, he examined her and applied his considerable talent to improving her health, but nothing permanent could be done. So instead, they lounged before the fire and talked of Pemberley, their childhood, his adventures, and her life in Austria for hours while the rest of the household played and explored. Since frolicking in the snow held little appeal, he was content to watch Alexander and the dozen Oeggl children—all of whom flocked to the flamboyant “Uncle Goj”—and remain inside.
George’s focus on his sister did not supplant his awareness of Amanda, however.
The farmhouse, as the Oeggls quaintly referred to the rustic mansion, was enormous, but with nearly the entire Oeggl clan summering along with the English company, every bedchamber was filled and finding a room empty was next to impossible. Amanda opted to accompany the women on their excursions each day, George usually not seeing her until the evenings, when the family dined as a group and then gathered in the lower-level salon or game room. If not playing billiards or darts or some other manly pastime with the gentlemen, George would join the ladies for cards or conversation. Humor was usually high, even with the frail baroness in the room, and once again George was forcibly struck by Amanda’s wit and intelligence, as well as the fiery attraction. George refused to provoke the situation, however, blatant seduction against a lady’s request not a tactic he had ever employed. He maintained a gentlemanly distance, sensing all the while that they were simply postponing the inevitable.
The Passions of Dr. Darcy Page 46