Mr. Darcy's Letter

by Abigail Reynolds

  His body was already making its own assessments, and Darcy had reason to be grateful for the loose fit of his trousers as he stood and walked over to take her hands, careful to keep a safe distance between him and her tempting body. He gave her a gentle but lingering kiss – well, he had intended it to be gentle and lingering, at least, but as Elizabeth responded by moving closer to him and sliding her arms around his neck, it turned into something completely different. Without conscious decision, he found himself joining his mouth to hers with the greatest of abandon, asking for and receiving the reassurance he needed that she felt some degree of the same need that he did.

  As her soft form fitted itself so naturally to his body, his hands, seemingly of their own volition, slid downward to press her tightly against that insatiable part of him that wanted her most. By God, she was a fast learner! Just two days earlier, Elizabeth had stiffened in shock when he had done the very same thing, yet today she moved against him eagerly. If there was much more of this, his resolve not to push for more of her was going to be history. His baser instincts had already taken notice of the fainting couch in the corner of the dressing room that served as his study. Dressing room – he had best not think of dressing or undressing at the moment.

  He forced himself to loosen his grip on her and to turn his attention to dusting her face with light kisses.

  After a minute, he was able to release her entirely, though the look in her eyes, dark with desire, almost undermined his determination. “This is a delightful surprise,” he said, pleased that his voice was close to its normal evenness.

  To his satisfaction, she was still breathless as she said, “I need to discuss something important with you.”

  “Of course. What is the matter?”

  Instead of replying, she crossed to the sideboard, poured a glass of brandy from the decanter, and brought it to him.

  He took it from her with raised eyebrows. “Am I likely to need this?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  He took a sip of it, reluctant to have more. He needed all of his wits about him to maintain his resolve. “As long as you tell me you love me, nothing can be that bad.” He leaned back against the edge of the desk, creating a little more safe distance between them.

  “I do love you. Very much, in fact.” She took a deep breath. “George Wickham is in London.”

  He straightened abruptly. He had expected anything but this. “Damn him,” he said savagely. “I knew it was too good to be true. I do beg your pardon, Elizabeth.”

  “Unfortunately, that is not all of it. He spoke with Georgiana…”

  “He did what?” He slammed the brandy snifter down on the desk, heedless of the delicacy of the glass.

  “And she allowed it?”

  “I do not believe she had much choice. She was out with a friend - Annabelle, I believe was the name she mentioned - and her mother having ices at Gunter’s. Mr. Wickham approached them and asked Georgiana to introduce him to her friends. She was afraid of causing a scene, so she did as he asked. Annabelle’s mother asked him to join them.”

  “To join them? I had thought Mrs. Mason a sensible lady, but it seems my trust was misplaced.”

  Elizabeth tactfully decided not to challenge his assertion that the unknown Mrs. Mason should have rejected a presumably presentable acquaintance of Georgiana’s. “It seems he has discovered our engagement, and is hoping to find some benefit for himself in it. He told Georgiana that he was a favourite of mine and that I would persuade you to allow him to return to Pemberley. Is there no limit to his impudence? Do you suppose he thinks I will forgive him for what he did to Lydia?”

  His fury was such that he dared not respond for fear of what he might say. Instead, he strode to the window and stared out as if he might find answers there, his fists clenched at his sides.

  After a minute of silence, Elizabeth said in a small voice, “I hope you know that I want nothing to do with him.”

  Darcy released a harsh sigh, then turned to her. He could not allow his anger to affect Elizabeth. “Of course not, but I did not need this, not now.” He took her hands in his and kissed first one, then the other.

  Then he took her hand and drew her down onto his lap and into his arms. “This is what I need most.” He kissed her just below her ear, but did not attempt to capture her lips. To do so would be unwise, as he had chosen the only place he could sit and hold her the way he wished, which was the dangerous fainting couch.

  “I am happy to provide comfort, then.”

  He refused to think about what comfort she might provide. He had to concentrate on dealing with Wickham, not with his own physical desires. “Still, I must put an end to this. I had thought my dealings with him were done. I will have to return to London.”

  “So soon?” Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his arm.

  “Today. The longer he thinks he has escaped my notice, the harder it will be. Believe me, dearest Elizabeth, I would far rather remain here with you, but I cannot allow him to approach Georgiana without consequences, or he will be forever appearing in our lives.”

  “Of course. It is just that you have been here such a short time.” Despite her words, Elizabeth now seemed unperturbed by the prospect of the separation. “I must hope for a speedy resolution of this matter, then.”

  He traced her cheekbone with his finger, wondering what she was truly thinking. Was he being a fool to believe she cared for him as he did for her? “Tell me once again, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice rough, “Tell me that you will wait for me.”

  “How could I not? Even if I had such a strange wish, we are betrothed, and nothing can change that.”

  “Nothing but a parson’s words, and that day cannot come soon enough for me. I have lost you so often that I never cease to worry that something will come between us again. That is why I am impatient to have my ring on your finger.” He followed the words with action, his fingers encircling her finger like a living ring. “Till death us do part,” he murmured. “Tell me you wish for it, too.”

  Seeming caught in the intensity of his gaze, she whispered, “I want nothing more than to be your wife. I wish I were yours this very moment, and nothing would ever separate us again.” She tightened her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer to him, as if trying to make herself part of his very essence.

  If he could not in fact make her his, hearing that she wished for it was the next best thing. As she trembled slightly in his arms, his body ached for her, but he remained in control until the moment that her lips sought out his.

  Darcy made a strangled sound deep in his throat, trying to hold back and to keep the kiss gentle. But Elizabeth apparently felt no such restraint, or perhaps she merely had too much faith in his self-control, for she boldly slipped her tongue between his lips, emulating what he had done to her previously. It was more than a man could be expected to bear.

  Elizabeth was not thinking about self-control as he crushed her to him, exploring her mouth demandingly and with a thoroughness that left her both breathless and needing more. His hand rose to cup her breast, and she arched into it. Unexpectedly she felt his thumb caress her nipple, first gently, then rolling it between his fingers, sending acute stabs of desire deep within her. As she moaned her pleasure and he once again claimed her mouth, Elizabeth stopped thinking at all. There was nothing but her body and his, the pleasure and the longing that consumed her.

  His hand abandoned her breast, leaving her bereft. How could he stop, when he had just awakened these amazing sensations in her? Then she felt a new intimacy and warmth as his fingers crept under the neckline of her dress, the roughness of his skin starting fires on her tender flesh as his fingers began to play with her peak.

  It was pleasure; it was torture; and she needed more. Much more. Involuntarily she moved against him, the heat of her secret places rubbing fiercely against his hardness, and she felt a returning pressure that excited her in ways she did not understand. Engulfed by the fierce pleasure he was giving her, she was ba
rely aware of her sleeves sliding down her arms until she felt the cool air on her tender breasts.

  Darcy’s breath caught, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see his gaze fixed on her newly exposed flesh.

  He dipped his head, kissing her neck, her collarbone, and further down. “Elizabeth,” he whispered reverently, then he tasted the tip of her breast and drew it into his mouth.

  She gasped as ever more intense pleasure lanced through her, stabbing straight to her womb. The sensation became even stronger as pressure grew against her thighs. It was his hand, she realized dimly, and she writhed against it, seeking more and more stimulation, her entire body consumed by need for him. Then the pressure changed, and she felt the heat of his hand directly over the juncture between her legs. It did not even occur to her to protest; her only fear was that he might cease, leaving her adrift in a sea of desire.

  From his first sight of Elizabeth’s ivory breasts, Darcy had given up any effort at resistance. If Elizabeth had shown even the slightest sign of discomfort or concern, he could have rallied himself, but even he could not make a case for stopping when her fingers were woven through his hair to keep his mouth at her breast and her hips undulated against his hand as if seeking more. She even gave a whimper of distress and tightened her hands on his head when he withdrew his hand, and seemed unsatisfied until that hand began exploring its way beneath her skirt. No, he could not resist any longer. What little sanity remaining to him was reserved for making certain that Elizabeth was hurt no more than physically necessary in the process of satisfying both of them.

  The skin of her thighs was astonishingly silky. He noted absently that he wanted to kiss every inch of them someday, but his goal lay higher yet. And she seemed just as eager, her cry of pleasure as his fingertips began roam her wetness turning into a gasp as he discovered her nub.

  Elizabeth succumbed to sheer sensation as he touched her. His mouth still tugged at her breast, and she moaned her pleasure. Time seemed suspended within the rhythm he established, sucking and stroking in cadence, sending rushes of exquisite pleasure through her body. Then, just as she thought she might die of pleasure and need, his finger stilled and he lifted his head. “Dearest God, Elizabeth, I love you,” he whispered.

  His eyes were almost black, and she found herself falling into them. How could anything that felt so right be wrong? This was how it should be, how it needed to be. His finger still in intimate connection with her, she pressed her lips against his passionately, using the motion of her hips to urge him on. When he still seemed to hesitate, leaving her in an agony of need, she whispered, “Please, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Elizabeth,” he breathed, and then his finger started to move again, circling faster as he suffused her with sensation until she could not remember anything else. Then a fountain of pleasure erupted from the spot he touched her, sending ecstasy through every part of her, wave after wave of it, cresting in a shimmering burst of bliss that took over her very soul and rendered her half-mindless.

  His arms tightened around her, and somehow she was lying back on the fainting couch, her body still throbbing in the last spasms of satisfaction. Her skirts were up around her hips, and she did not care. She did not care about anything but him.

  Darcy’s voice was rough as he spoke in her ear. “Elizabeth, my own sweet temptress, I will stop now if you wish it, but I cannot hold back much longer.”

  Elizabeth wanted nothing more that to remain in intimacy with him, to forget that he had to leave her once again and that any impediment existed. Sometime in the last few minutes, she had left behind the last fragments of her reserve, and nothing mattered anymore but that she was a woman in love. She kissed him fiercely and said, “Don’t stop.”

  Darcy no longer doubted his actions. Nothing could possibly feel more right. They were engaged to be married, Elizabeth wanted it, and he desired her with an unimaginable urgency. He drew away only long enough to deal with the waistband of his trousers, then returned to her arms and the exhilarating sensation of his need pressing against her most sensitive flesh. He rocked against her, making her twist against him with pleasure and glorying in his ability to do so, but even that was not enough. He pressed against her opening, feeling the resistance as he began to move. Then, in a moment he would never forget, suddenly it was no more and he was deep inside her, possessing his Elizabeth at long last.

  At her fleeting cry of pain, he managed to still himself and to kiss her tenderly. He wanted her to remember their joining with the same happiness he would. “My Elizabeth,” he whispered. “My beloved. My very own.” Then she began to strain against him, seeking to pull him even further in. His last restraint disappeared with the delight of feeling her legs twining around his, urging him deeper, faster, harder with the passion he had always sensed within her. He lost himself in the rhythm of her, as pleasure and triumph ran riot in his body. Through it all he somehow sensed her tension rising until at last her body spasmed around him, sending him over the edge to the final moment when he spilled his seed within her. He collapsed against her, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

  As Elizabeth gradually came back to herself, she knew she ought to be shocked at what had so suddenly occurred, but instead she felt a rush of tenderness for him, holding him close and stroking his thick hair.

  Nothing could mar the sweetness of the moment.

  After a few minutes, Darcy raised his head, his face questioning. A lock of dark hair had fallen into his eyes, and Elizabeth gently moved it away. She sensed he was struggling for words, and she could see the beginnings of guilt in his expression. She touched his lips with her fingertip and said, “I have discovered something today. Your sister, exemplary as she is in so many ways, is not a good chaperone.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose not, though I am hardly in a position to complain.

  Still, I did not intend that to happen, Elizabeth. Please believe me.”

  “I know that. Neither of us intended it, but it was beautiful. I absolutely insist that you have no regrets.”

  He shook his head. “Any regrets I have are for your sake only. I would not have hurt you for anything, and I fear that I may have. But this — this is the assurance I need, although I could never have admitted it even to myself. Now I am yours and you are mine, and nothing can change that.”

  “Nothing can ever change that,” she agreed. She tightened her arms around him, wishing she never had to let him go.

  CHAPTER 20

  Mrs. Bennet did not take the news well that her future son-in-law had departed precipitously. “What did you say to him, Lizzy? I hope your impertinence has not driven him away. You are not married yet, after all. Oh, you have no pity on my poor nerves!”

  While Elizabeth was accustomed to the litany of her mother’s nervous complaints, her words about not being married yet made her cheeks hot. Even if the slight soreness between her legs did not remind her at every step of what had occurred at Netherfield, she had the odd sensation that the change must be apparent in her face and with every breath she took. There might be no external evidence, but still it seemed beyond belief that even Jane had not noticed any difference in her. An odd mixture of embarrassment, shame, and a sort of pride overflowed in her, but first and foremost, she felt that everything had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.

  Jane’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Lizzy, are you well?”

  “Quite well,” she said automatically.

  Kitty snickered. “She is already pining for him, can’t you tell?”

  Elizabeth decided to ignore her, especially as there was a certain truth in her words. “I am perhaps a little fatigued, that is all.” Her lips quirked as she imagined what their response would be should she have told them the truth of why she was distracted.

  Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with her hand. “You must try to please him in all things, Lizzy! Just look at you. Your hair is mussed and your dress wrinkled. And you must wear your stays tighter and your neckline lower.
That is how to keep a gentleman interested and happy.”

  Elizabeth wondered half-hysterically what her mother would say if she told her that Darcy was responsible for her disarray and that he found her neckline quite tempting enough. Jane put a hand on her arm. “Mother, you are embarrassing her. Come, Lizzy, you must rest.”

  ***

  Elizabeth was relieved when Jane left her to return downstairs. She had asked Jane to loosen her stays, but had been reluctant to disrobe with her sister present. Now that she was alone, she stripped off her clothes. She hung her dress in the wardrobe until such a time as Hill could help her put it on again, and sat on the bed to examine the shift she had just removed. As she suspected, it carried damning evidence in the form of small bloodstains and a residue of sticky fluid. She held it in her hands for a minute, taking in the truth of what she had done with a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. An image flashed before her of Mr. Darcy as he must be at this moment, riding toward London, and she wondered what he must be thinking of her. He had not seemed distressed at her behaviour, but it was possible that might have changed on reflection.

  She would not think of that. Instead, she found a fresh shift to wear and took the incriminating one to her vanity. Fortunately, the ewer was full, and she poured half of its contents into the basin. The soiled section of her shift followed, and she began to dab at the stains, rubbing the cloth firmly against itself. She could not possibly send it to be laundered with such evidence on it . The laundry maids would recognize it for what it was, and discretion was too much to be expected from them. And while it might be common enough among the circles Mr. Darcy frequented in London for an engaged couple to anticipate their wedding vows, Meryton was a small town, and its inhabitants always in need of fresh gossip. She had no wish to be fodder for them.