A Will of Iron

by Beutler Linda

  As he stood watching from just inside the doorway, Elizabeth turned but did not seem inclined to meet his gaze. Her countenance was solemn. She drew in a deep breath and stated in a flat voice, “I am ready for you, husband.” She pushed away the counterpane and pulled her hem to her waist, revealing shapely white legs joined at a lush mound of dark, short curls.

  At first, Darcy was stunned to see, so suddenly and artlessly displayed, the shiny triangle of hair and curve of alabaster thighs, but this was not as he had dreamt. Her legs were stiff and the hands holding her nightgown showed fisted knuckles.

  Darcy studied Elizabeth’s face. Her eyes were closed, her expression an indication that she expected something unpleasant to be visited upon her.

  What in heaven’s name has she been told? Did she not read Anne’s journal? His staring wonder turned to amusement, and against his better judgment, a chuckle escaped him.

  At the sound of his rumbling chortle, one of Elizabeth’s eyes opened suspiciously then closed again as he approached.

  “Elizabeth,” Darcy said with mirthful exasperation, “this will not do.” He took the nightgown from her hands and smoothed the coarse fabric down below her knees. “Indeed, madam…I can only wonder what you have been led to expect.”

  As he covered her, Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. She was confused. “I was told to welcome you.”

  Darcy snorted once more into a chuckle. “Were you? And this is your manner of welcome? Your beautiful face looking as if you expect a brutish husband?”

  She blinked as he sat at the opposite end of the bed, leaning against the curtained post and stretching his long legs next to her, his bare feet reaching her hip. He was a study in nonchalance. He took care to keep his robe closed, but she could see he must be naked under it, for his calves were as bare as his feet, and the deep collar displayed his neck and a glimpse of skin at his chest.

  “I…” she stammered, “…I was not welcoming?”

  Darcy was still smiling with his hands folded to hide his lap. His manly organ was not as daunted by her countenance as were his thoughts. “No, wife, I am afraid you have fallen shy of the mark. A grimace of distaste is not welcoming. Neither are thighs clamped tight. No, I am sorry to say it, but a chastity belt could not have served you better.”

  Elizabeth looked chagrined and began to blush. He is not Wickham, nor am I Anne. This is another matter entirely. Blasted Mama, and foolish, foolish Lizzy. She sighed. I do not know what I am about. Had she been standing, she would have stomped her foot at her stupidity.

  Darcy’s quiet voice interrupted her fretfulness. “May I ask, my love, how you came to choose such a modest nightgown? This is not what I would have expected from the woman who told me not to stop two days ago.”

  “Oh! A gentleman would not remind a lady of her misbehaviour!” Her eyes were wide with alarm.

  “You were not misbehaving then, and there is nothing you can do to misbehave now. In our bedchamber as husband and wife, notions of proper behaviour are likely to get…confused if not dispensed with entirely. Or so I had hoped.”

  Elizabeth took a thorough reading of Darcy’s countenance. His face was kind—he was not angry—but there was an expression of disappointment (the cast of his eyes, the droop of his shoulders), and it gave her heart a painful tug. “Oh dear, I…oh. I have already failed you.” She drew in a ragged breath. “My mother said a wife should welcome her husband, but she ought not feel pleasure. Kindness is to be hoped for but not expected.”

  “And was that the sum total of her advice?” He was incredulous.

  “That was the upshot, yes.” Elizabeth nodded in affirmation. Impulsively she drew herself forward and knelt by his knees. “And your cousin’s journal was not encouraging.” When Darcy frowned, she blundered on, “I felt pleasure when we were alone. I wanted…” Words failed her.

  “What did you want?” Darcy matched her seriousness.

  “…I wanted what I have since been told I ought not to want.” Her eyes searched his, willing him to explain the sensations and emotions her mother had only acknowledged as inappropriate for a lady. But how would he know? He is but a man.

  “When did your mother speak to you?”

  “That evening. Monday. With Aunt Gardiner. When we returned…they saw my agitation.”

  “Your Aunt Gardiner took part in your instruction?” Darcy was all astonishment. Mrs. Gardiner had seemed sensible and happily married.

  “Well, she was there, and she wanted to speak but Mama hushed her—repeatedly. Aunt Gardiner became annoyed and quit the room, saying she was not needed.”

  Darcy chuckled again, imagining the scene. It seems this will be a slow endeavour, but not, perhaps, impossible. I am not Wickham and she is not Anne, and she most assuredly did not read Anne’s last assignations. How can I raise her confidence in this? He sighed. “Elizabeth…is it logical that I would treat you with tenderness and passion on Therfield Heath, only to become a savage beast when we are in our marriage bed for the first time?

  “Your mother is not here. She will never know you have met my advances with equal ardour. Have I ever made a secret of my desire for you? On Therfield Heath, I believe you desired me. That is what you felt, and I was captivated. We were betrothed, and we expressed our affection. There has been no chance to tell you that, had the thunder not startled the horse, I would not have tried your virtue nor found you wanting for surprising me with your forwardness. My feelings were quite the contrary.”

  “You did not disapprove? You seemed displeased.”

  “I was! With Bingley’s stable master! That man cannot train a horse to ignore the weather? I cursed him and all his relations.”

  “But the horse came back directly!”

  “Whereas you did not.”

  “I was searching for the horse!”

  “Yes, I mean, it gave you time to fret and assume my disapprobation. You chastised yourself for your actions and told yourself I know not what about how you thought my feelings must be. When you returned, you were changed.”

  “But I had…I-I put your hand on my…” She could not say it.

  “On your breast. Yes. It was not the sort of thing I am likely to forget, I promise you. You must understand…it made me happy that you did so. Very happy.”

  Blushing, Elizabeth looked down at her hands. She was absently twisting her betrothal ring. “What a fool I am,” she murmured.

  Darcy reached to still her hands then pulled one to his chest as he sat forward. “You are only misinformed. Let me teach you.” He placed her hand on his bare skin. “Can you feel my heart?” He softly repeated her question from their morning on the heath.

  Elizabeth looked into his eyes. He saw some sparkle ignite in her gaze.

  “Mr. Darcy, I humbly request your leave to begin this night anew. If you would be so kind as to excuse me, I shall search my dressing room for a more suitable nightgown.” She pulled her tingling hand away.

  Relinquishing her nearness seemed counter to furthering their progress. Darcy leaned to kiss her nose. “You make an excellent suggestion, Elizabeth, but it is not necessary. We can make do.”

  Elizabeth laughed, which brought Darcy much relief, and he laughed too.

  “I am glad to know you are willing to cope with a difficult garment, sir.”

  “Always.”

  “But allow me this.”

  As Darcy watched, Elizabeth untied the narrow ribbon at the end of her plait and unbound her hair. She shook her head.

  “Let me,” Darcy murmured. Almost timidly, he stroked her tresses smooth over her shoulders.

  “An improvement?” One impertinent eyebrow lifted, challenging him.

  He was too enchanted to speak.

  “Not improved?” She smiled.

  “M-much better,” he stuttered. He cap
tured her hand and kissed her palm. “But you are anxious?”

  “Uncertain, yes. Other than to sit here and attempt to summon a more sincere come hither expression, I know not what to do.”

  “But you have been told what will happen, you have read of it…what we will do?”

  She met his eyes earnestly. “Like all male creatures, you have a…a part. And…and…I, I have a place. Your part must join with my place. My…?”

  Darcy pursed his lips. He tried biting the insides of his cheeks, but his mouth uncontrollably widened to a broad smile. “Yes. Precisely. My part in your place—if only ’twere so simply done, the first time.”

  Elizabeth smiled crookedly, displaying her trepidation while watching him fight his laughter. “At the very least, you cannot doubt your bride’s innocence.”

  He pulled her into an embrace that warmed her from scalp to toenail. She savoured being in his arms and feeling the reverberation of lying against him as he laughed, even if she was certain he was entertained at her expense. She began to laugh at herself. “Such a fool, your wife.”

  Her giggling incited him. Pressing her more firmly breast to chest, he drew in his breath, mastering his laughter and giving way to passion. He gazed into her eyes and was vastly relieved to see, in the candle glow and firelight, some return of the intoxicating countenance he had witnessed two days before.

  Elizabeth was astonished at the heat of him. What need have we for a fire once we are abed? She shook her head vaguely as he looked into her eyes as if to pull forth her soul. Her thoughts surprised her. “Oh!”

  Darcy kissed her with everything he had. The only way he knew to calm her was to show her that she would be protected and cherished. He must leave her in no suspense. He was cross with himself for allowing her, even fleetingly, to suspect his disappointment. When she made a slight moan as his tongue passed her lips, followed by a shiver that spoke nothing of chill, Darcy lifted a hand to carefully cup her breast through the nightgown. “Mmm…Lizzy.”

  “Ah!”

  He pulled away only far enough to read her eyes. “Are we as we were on Therfield Heath?”

  Elizabeth’s heart raced as it had that day. She knew he would sense her palpitations and whispered, “I would not have granted you much more than this.”

  “Nor would I have tried you further.”

  Her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

  His dimples betrayed his thoughts. “Well, not much further. But I would have certainly tried this.”

  He kissed her again as his hands worked the little buttons that began at the neck of her gown. His lips moved to her jaw, her throat, and, once it was exposed, to the tiny mole at her collarbone. He opened the placket further, his lips following his hands as they pushed her garment aside, lighting a trail of fire ending at the nipple of the breast under which her heart fluttered. He kissed it reverently before drawing her into his mouth with a groan.

  The sensations he unleashed, first of anticipation followed by dizzying desire, caused Elizabeth to push against him, cradling his head to her bosom. “You would have done this on our walk?” Speaking was nearly beyond her.

  “Yes,” he replied against her seductive skin. “You said not to stop. Do you approve?”

  She hesitated. Approve seemed a weak word. Torment for more was warring with appreciation for his current ministrations. Wholly the opposite of what she had expected, she now wanted nothing more than to lift her gown again and let him touch or kiss any part of her, if it felt as wonderful as this. He was a gentle gentleman, and she ought not to have doubted him. Unsure, she fell back onto her habit of teasing. “You would not have found it so easy then, although I often do not wear a corset when I walk out early.”

  He straightened. “Why was I not told of this?” His eyes were alight with a mischievous glint.

  “It is hardly proper information for a maiden to reveal!”

  With a growl, he lifted her hair over one shoulder to bite her playfully, and she gave a little shriek of laughter. He rolled her away and spooned behind her, cupping both breasts—one freed from her nightgown—moving his lips over her exposed nape. “My Lizzy wanders the countryside half dressed?” He continued tasting her shoulders. He reached under her bosom, pushing away the fabric to take his purchase of both bared breasts. “Yet she greets me on her wedding night like a vestal virgin.”

  “We have established I am foolish; you need not belabour the point. Now I have a question for you of great importance. Mr. Darcy? Or Fitzwilliam? What would you…have me…call you?” She made little gasps as she spoke, responding to his touch.

  Her sighs were setting him aflame. “Have you… Yes, call me whatever you like, only give me leave to have you,” he whispered against her neck.

  Unable to speak further, she pressed his hands over her bosom, encouraging him. She moaned, “My love…yes.” She turned enough to lean her head against his chest.

  Wishing for further progress, Darcy opened his robe. His hands returned gently to her breasts, pulling her against his nakedness. He shook his head to settle his wits. He was not successful.

  “Is that…?” Elizabeth whispered when he rubbed against her rear end.

  “Yes.” He huffed an amused breath. “My part.”

  She studied the sensation of his potency’s touch. His every motion and whisper let her know she was irresistible. Her confidence blossomed. “Do you desire me, my love?”

  “More than anything.”

  Elizabeth turned in his arms, and she was enthralled by his bare chest with its scattering of dark hair. She brushed her lips against him, stealing tastes over the muscled, warm skin. Pushing his robe down his arms, she leaned into him, still marvelling at his heat.

  Darcy began inching the rough muslin up her legs. Elizabeth smiled against his skin, thinking of her silly and altogether blunt exposure of herself when he first entered the room. Yes, he wants to find his own way. It is part of the allure. I should have known him better.

  When he grasped half of her derriere in one hand, Elizabeth’s throat released several low notes and she instinctively parted her legs.

  Darcy’s cheek leaned on the top of her head. He smiled dreamily when he felt her legs acquiesce. Smooth and lush as her backside felt, she was offering her body, her essence. She would join with him, and they would both be more together than each had ever been alone. His fingers crept between her soft thighs. He gently touched where he might unlock her passion. Her breath was rapid. He could feel it as she pushed against him, as if she would enter him by adhering her skin tight to his.

  Elizabeth was amazed at what his hand was provoking in that place and wanted more of it. The bestirred feelings could not be contained. She cried out, “Ah! Mr. Darcy!”

  His other hand stroked her shoulder then took a firm grip of her waist. “Shh… Lizzy, I shall cease if you would prefer it,” he assured her.

  He was mistaken.

  “I most certainly do not prefer it.”

  Uncertain, he stopped the motions of his hand.

  “You will continue,” she whispered more insistently and then realised her incivility. “Please.” She smiled when he laughed in her arms.

  “You are still too ladylike, my love.”

  His fingers continued tracing circles between her thighs. Her instinct was to close her legs, to trap his hand and keep it forever there. She was alarmed upon hearing herself emit a guttural sound. Unconsciously her hips began to sway, adding to the sensation.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and rolled her forehead against his chest. Darcy’s instrument was pressed between them. It made her light-headed, and she unthinkingly bit at the flat nipple nearest her mouth. He was salty, and the nub of his flesh firmed between her teeth. Like hers, Darcy’s breathing was rapid.

  His hands withdrew and forced the nightgown off her arms. He beg
an kissing her fragrant skin inside her elbows, breastbone, and soft belly, deliciously lingering at her navel.

  Her hands were in his hair, encouraging him with nonsense. She was dazed as she cried, “Darcy! Mr. Darcy! You should not. Oh! My love! Oh…please. Touch me.”

  Darcy rose to his knees abruptly and turned away. “Enough of virtue.”

  Her eyes tried to focus. She looked down his back as he pushed his robe away. She was charmed by the whiteness of his backside.

  “I do not mean to be so loud,” she whispered. “What will everyone think?”

  Darcy smiled and with tender care lay next to her, supported by his elbows. “They know it is our wedding night.”

  He looked down at his bride. Her nightgown was bunched over that which she had exposed to him earlier. Now it was the only part of her covered. Elizabeth was beautiful beyond his imagining, and she was to be his.

  Her gaze was confused and adoring. “Is this more welcoming?” With the hand wearing the betrothal ring, she stroked his face and stretched her other limbs like a cat. She then spread her legs and rubbed them against his.

  “Infinitely.” He slid against her, instantly setting his fingers to work, plying her. “Lizzy, oh, my Lizzy. Let me…”

  She was in turmoil and had no words. Her hand reached down to touch his, urging him. She wriggled and gasped, sensible only of his fingers inside her. There was a whispered acknowledgement that he was not hurting her. He was being exceedingly slow and solicitous. Perhaps she might prefer it all happen a bit more swiftly.

  He arose to resettle his knees between her legs, never withdrawing his hand. Arched over her, his mouth explored her bosom.

  “Your hair…on my skin. I…want this…you…husband,” she murmured.

  His gaze met hers and he saw her come undone. Elizabeth’s eyes faltered as if drugged. Her mouth opened, and he felt a moan begin in the middle of her body, rising through her throat. As her hands gripped his hair, her hips rolled sharply. Pushed by her surprisingly strong hands, his face was brought back against her chest, and after several moments, her inarticulate sounds and sighs lessened their feverish frequency.