by Heather Moll
“I did as well. My partners were pleasant, but I prefer your company to all others.” He looked at her in some surprise as if realizing that she was at his side and on his arm, smiling at him and squeezing his hand in emphasis. “So you must stop frowning at those who ask me to dance.”
“You intend to dance every set?”
“You would curtail my enjoyment?”
“Instances have been known of young ladies passing months without being at any ball, and no material injury accrued either to body or mind.”
“I am fond of dancing, and since I know you are not, I shall not feel slighted that you do not ask me again. However, I shall not refuse to stand up with other gentlemen. They all have a long acquaintance with me, and I shall soon be happily gone away with you over one hundred forty miles from here.”
“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he said in earnest. “If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of dancing the last with me?”
“Yes, happily, my taciturn and unsocial dear.”
She had been teasing, but he looked more serious than her playful manner warranted as his gaze traveled over her. To think that I once thought there was no admiration in it. He opened his lips and looked as though he fervently wished to say more, but a gentleman approached to ask her to dance. Elizabeth tried to be engaging and attentive during the rest of her sets, but she was preoccupied in wondering what Fitzwilliam might have said. After far too long, Elizabeth was brought back to his side for the last dance.
“Do you wonder how our lives might have changed if your overhearings last autumn were more to my benefit?” he murmured after the dance began.
“How do you mean?”
“Had you not overheard me tell Bingley at the last assembly that it would be a punishment for me to stand up with anyone?”
“I think it would be preferable had you not said such an intolerable remark at all.”
“Once again, I concede to your better judgment. I wonder then how things might have passed had I not said anything cruel and, instead, you overheard me speaking to Miss Bingley at Lucas Lodge.”
“I recall you attending to my conversations and Sir William attempting to put me forward to you as a dance partner there.”
“When you heartlessly refused to dance with me?”
“Yes, I did not find you tolerably handsome enough to tempt me, but do not worry, for I certainly find you so now.”
“Had you remained near, you might have heard Miss Bingley attempting to guess the subject of my reverie. I told her I was agreeably engaged in considering the great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
She looked up at him lovingly but with no small amount of surprise. “I never thought I inspired affection so early in our acquaintance.”
“I could not live without you, Elizabeth,” he whispered into her ear when the dance brought them together, “and I know by what slim chance I was spared that unhappy lot.”
His eyes were dark brown but now appeared black as he fixed a look on her that expressed the intensity of his love. Elizabeth was conscious of nothing other than him. His presence filled the hot, crowded room until the walls seemed too close together. She was well aware that, as they paused during the dance, his eyes swept up and down her form. The room seemed oppressive under the weight of his gaze amidst all the other people, and Elizabeth was compelled to step away before the dance resumed.
She was overwhelmed, not by his clear desire for her, but by her own equal, thrilling response to him; it was too much for her modesty to bear. His ardor for me has been restrained all this time, but he is as much affected by me as I am by him. She said nothing to him as she abruptly left the dance, but she knew he followed her, first with his gaze and then with his feet. She was tired of being continually pressed against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed nothing to interest her.
The orchestra struck up a fresh dance as Elizabeth made her way out of the crowd and into the quiet tea room. As she charged into the room, she was surprised to find, as the evening was almost at an end, that this room was not merely less crowded but empty. Elizabeth stood still with her eyes closed and her back to the entrance and attempted to catch her breath.
“Elizabeth?”
She jumped at the sound of his soft voice and whirled around.
“Elizabeth, why did you run from me? Have I frightened you?”
She shook her head. I could never be afraid of him, but my own desires are overpowering me. He tugged loose the cord that let the curtain cover the entryway to give them more privacy.
“I did not know…” She trailed off. How could she find the words to explain such a thing to him?
“You did not know what?”
“How much you loved me. I had not known all that it meant until now.” Her cheeks felt hot. The impropriety of asking what she needed to know was not nearly enough for her to stop the transgression of speaking things to her intended that ought not to be spoken. “Tell me: When did you first think of me as more than a tolerably pretty neighbor with lively manners? When did you first desire me?”
“My candid response might paint me in an unfavorable light.”
“I swear that your answer will not diminish my regard for you.”
He sighed heavily and looked embarrassed. “At Netherfield.”
“At the ball? When you asked me to dance?”
He quickly shook his head. “No, that might be more acceptable an answer, but it was before then—when you came to tend to Jane.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “Were all of our debates the driving force in elevating me in your esteem?”
“Yes, in part, but I know that is not what you mean.” He now seemed to comprehend what she was trying to ask. “I admit at the time you attracted me more than I liked, and the strongest foundations of such an attraction were laid when you walked into the breakfast parlor and demanded to see your sister.”
She blushed as she remembered what she must have looked like after jumping over stiles and springing over puddles. “I was not fit to be seen! I thought you held me as much in contempt as did Mr. Bingley’s sisters.”
“I doubted the need for you to walk so far alone, but I was too busy admiring the brilliancy that the exercise gave to your complexion.” He spoke haltingly, but then something in her earnest look must have emboldened him. “I thought you looked beautiful! And alive. Your eyes were joyful, your cheeks were pink, and moisture clung to your forehead. Wild strands of curled hair had fallen from their pins, and my first coherent thought was something to the effect of wondering what your hair would look like spread out over my pillow. From there it was not a great leap to imagine you in my bed,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“I never realized…until now—I never fully understood how much I want”—she looked away, mortified, before continuing—“how much I want to be your wife or that you felt the same desire for me. You have appeared so calm and cool that I assumed I was alone in these feelings.”
“You still have not explained to me what drove you from the dance to find solitude.”
“Do you not see, Fitzwilliam? You love me—you have loved me—for so long, and you have had time to come to terms with your desire for me. I am not even supposed to think of such things, let alone say them to you, but I love you just as much as you love me. I desire you as much as you do me! That thought provoked such a flood of emotions that I wished for nothing than to be outside, alone, away from the heat and the press of others. But, now that I see you, I know that what I needed was not to be alone but to be alone with you.”
Only his shallow inhalations gave any indication that he was alive and not a statue. He neither moved nor spoke. What is wrong with me that I am the only one overwhelmed by this intense desire? He loved her just as much, but som
ehow her betrothed was always in perfect control, stopping every kiss before it became too wild and content with loving words rather than a passionate embrace. How could she tolerate it if he thought less of her now? She absolutely regretted voicing such intimate thoughts before they were married.
“This is not a time for you to be grave and silent, Fitzwilliam Darcy! I cannot bear your disapprobation!”
***
Elizabeth’s words and passionate gaze had broken his long-standing self-control. Although his experience with the fairer sex was limited, the idea of touching her was irresistible. He tried to regulate his breathing as he watched her chest rise and fall in the dim candlelight. Darcy wanted to feel this moment with her and allow himself a sense of what it might be like to be with her.
He covered the distance between them, caught her by the waist, and tilted his head down to look directly into her eyes.
“You think I disapprove of your feelings? Elizabeth, I have not spoken because I am afraid I shall awaken from this dream!”
Darcy had intended his kiss to be delicate, an endearing gesture in this impassioned moment. However, when his lips touched hers, he was exhilarated. He gathered her into his arms, and as he deepened the kiss, they merged as intimately as their clothing would allow. He repressed the small voice in his mind that suggested his heightened arousal might alarm her. Every part of his awareness cried out to caress her all over, but with great effort, he kept his shaking hands locked on her waist just below her ribs.
Elizabeth said breathlessly, “Please, I want you to touch me.”
Rational thought disappeared from his mind as he lowered his mouth to her neck. She gasped at the touch of his lips on her bare skin as he nibbled where he could feel her pulse pounding. Elizabeth moaned softly and clung to him while he tentatively slid his hand up to cup her breast. His imagination was a pale comparison to the reality of touching her. He felt her grip on his shoulders tighten as she thrust her hips against him. Elizabeth pressed her body closer as he gave in to his longing to allow his hands to roam over her every curve.
The realization of his Elizabeth taking such pleasure in his touch unleashed his own desire. Two quick steps had her against the wall while she clasped him tighter. His hand at her breast became more demanding, and their kisses lost their tender nature. Her moans of pleasure increased as he rocked against her, and soon the movement of her hips matched his own. His mouth consumed her lips as he stifled her soft cry. She shuddered down her entire body and gasped into his mouth while he continued to kiss her. His arousal grew with every tiny moan.
Two hands pressed against his chest, and Darcy immediately jumped back as Elizabeth threw herself into the nearest chair. He looked questioningly at her, acutely feeling her loss while their chests were still heaving from the need for air. Then he heard what had driven Elizabeth from his arms: muted sounds through the open window of groomsmen calling to one another as they readied the carriages. The musicians had ceased playing, and the party was breaking up for the evening. The reality of their precarious situation came crashing down on him. Engaged or not, both of their reputations might be damaged should they be discovered. Darcy paced in an attempt to calm his body as well as his mind.
“Please stop pacing.”
Elizabeth looked drawn and not a little bit anxious; she did not look at him. Whether or not she regretted what had happened, he could not tell. For his part, he regretted placing them in a situation where they might be discovered, but he could not regret knowing that Elizabeth desired him. The memory of her soft and yielding body against his was something he could never lament. Now he was faced with either apologizing to Elizabeth for what happened or telling her how happy it made him.
More importantly, how are we to return to the others without attracting attention?
She looked sad and lonely, seated at the empty table amid the discarded tea things with overturned cups and half-eaten cakes strewn around her. Darcy knelt at her feet and clutched her hands within his. At this moment, he wished nothing more than to gather her in his arms and take her home to Pemberley.
“Elizabeth, dearest, I—”
“Mr. Darcy, now is not the time.” Elizabeth pulled her hands away and unsteadily rose. Darcy resisted the urge to embrace her again. “What are we to do? The dancing has ceased, and my mother will be looking for me.”
“Do you think your mother’s carriage will be among the first called?”
Elizabeth gave a shaky laugh. “No, she is determined to give Mr. Bingley ample time with Jane, and our party will be the last to depart so long as he remains.”
“Bingley will remain until he knows I am ready to leave, if not to stay with Jane. I shall exit first and tell him that I wish to depart. If your mother is determined to keep them together, she will not be searching for you. You can return while she is focused on Bingley and Jane. There are people still about, and your absence might not be noticed yet.”
She nodded, and when Darcy bent to kiss her good-bye, she turned her head, and his lips landed on her cheek. He hated to leave things strained between them.
“Will you walk out tomorrow morning? Might I meet you on the walk towards Netherfield?”
Elizabeth gazed at the floor. “No, I think not, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley intended to call on Jane tomorrow afternoon. You may call on us at Longbourn with him.” She attempted to smile, but Darcy could see the tension in her eyes. Wounded at being summarily dismissed by a woman who had been so inviting not a moment ago, Darcy stiffly bowed and left the room.
Chapter 13
Elizabeth slept little that night and, in the morning, focused on the consequences of all that had passed with Fitzwilliam at the assembly. The knowledge of what she had done—and of what more she had wanted to do—plagued her. I committed a fault despite acting with modesty and virtue all my adult life. But I love him, and I do not know whether I can regret it.
What happened was wonderful; there was no other word to describe it. But my respectability is defined by my virtue, and Fitzwilliam must be calling it into question after both my shameful confession and my behavior. Yet, if she did not fear a total loss of his respect for her, she would do it again—and more—in a heartbeat. They would be married by the end of the summer, but had anyone at the assembly seen them locked in a heated embrace, he would be mortified, as would she. And I would be the one to bear the blame, not him.
For weeks, she had felt her loyalty shifting away from her parents and sisters towards Fitzwilliam. All she lacked was a ring on her finger, and in her own mind and heart, she felt more like Mrs. Darcy than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her confession last night had provoked him to admit that he desired her just as desperately and led him impulsively to indulge in an intimate moment that he must now regret. Fitzwilliam was nothing if not an arbiter of proper behavior. Polite society would call her indecent for even acknowledging such thoughts, let alone following them with actions.
But Fitzwilliam was also a reasonable man who could never truly despise her. Perhaps his reproof would not be a scathing reprimand, full of disappointment in her behavior, but rather a gentle admonishment. She could promise not to be passionate and bold until after they were married, and that could be the end of it. But what if Fitzwilliam asks for an apology? How could she apologize for actions that not only did not feel wrong, but she would happily repeat if only he were willing?
The only thing to be done is prohibit myself from any time alone with him until we are married. She doubted that she could restrain herself if tempted again. No unmarried woman was supposed to act the way she had, and it was humiliating to know she had destroyed that good man’s self-discipline.
Given their cool parting the night before, Elizabeth was surprised that Fitzwilliam, along with his friend, called at Longbourn as early as he did. She ventured one embarrassed glance at him and saw that he was watching her intently as he often did. The
last time he appeared so grave, and yet desperate to engage her in conversation, was in Charlotte’s drawing room the morning after his first proposal. What must he think of me after I tempted him so shamelessly last night?
“Ladies, shall we all walk out this fine day? Might we return to Oakham Mount?” Mr. Bingley asked with his usual good cheer.
Jane and Kitty agreed, and, predictably, Mary did not. Kitty wished to call on Maria Lucas and left with Jane to get their bonnets. Fitzwilliam rose and offered Elizabeth his hand. The memory of their embrace the last time they climbed the hill made her feel warm. A private moment would either be too enticing for her or allow him to express his disappointment in behavior he must now, in a calmer moment, find offensive in a woman who was not yet his wife.
“I prefer to remain indoors. I have letters to write.”
He looked astonished, but he recovered and offered to stay with her, saying he had letters to write as well. Elizabeth had never been so pleased to sit with Mary; she was not prepared to be left alone with him. She was not equal to apologizing for actions she could not fully regret, nor was she ready to hear his censure of that less-than-chaste behavior. She could avoid it all while Mary sat near them making extracts from Fordyce’s Sermons.
Fordyce would have comments for me about lawless desire in females and the need for chaste behavior in unmarried ladies. My forwardness last night, let alone any levity in my look or conversation, would lead astray a respectable young man like Fitzwilliam, as anyone who fully adheres to Fordyce’s moralistic conduct manuals would believe.
“Are you well, Elizabeth? You are not known to decline a walk.” His concern was evident.
“I regret that I am busy, but you need not stay, Mr. Darcy.”
“Elizabeth,” he murmured after seeing that Mary was preoccupied, “why do you avoid me?”
“I do not avoid you,” she whispered angrily. “How can you say so when I am seated near you?” She checked to be sure that Mary had not heard them.