If possible, he ached for her even more than he had before. He had held her in his arms and knew how perfectly they fit together. He knew the softness of her skin and remembered the silkiness of her hair. His fingers, lips, every part of his body, wanted to touch her again.
Darcy rubbed his chin with his hand. After they had left Wickham in the company of the magistrate and under the care of a doctor, he had convinced Elizabeth to spend the night at Pemberley. Then he recognized the need for a proper chaperone, so he had dispatched Elizabeth’s footman to the home of Mrs. Devries, an elderly neighbor who always enjoyed his hospitality.
Once they arrived at Pemberley, it would be more difficult to hold a frank dialogue, so he knew they must clear up any misunderstandings now. However, a moving carriage was hardly the location he would have selected for a conversation of some delicacy.
And it was a damnably awkward conversation to initiate. How was one to begin? Perhaps, um, if you recall our kiss earlier …? Miss Bennet… you may have noticed I kissed you …. Elizabeth, do you remember that marriage proposal you earlier found so disgusting …?
Perhaps not.
How could this this be so difficult? He had kissed the woman, and she had not pushed him away—or used her pistol on him. Yet somehow, he remained completely in the dark about her feelings.
Elizabeth shifted her head slightly and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue; he barely suppressed a groan, recalling the taste of those lips. Her smallest gesture was mesmerizing to him. His mind was immediately preoccupied by thoughts of how and when he could touch her again.
How had Richard even managed to hold an intelligent conversation with the woman—all the while knowing she would let him kiss her if he wanted?
Richard. Darcy closed his eyes, silently chastising himself.
In all the excitement, Darcy had overlooked the fact that Elizabeth had indeed visited Richard’s grave. Did that mean she missed her betrothed and believed no one could replace him? Yet she had kissed him back …
He glanced over at her still downcast eyes. Did she regret the kisses? Or feel guilt? Was that why she would not meet his gaze?
She must have grown aware of his gaze on her; as he watched, her blue eyes rose to meet his. His heart thumped nervously in his chest, knowing that his fate would be decided in the next few minutes.
“I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Darcy, but how did you happen upon me?” She asked.
Darcy swallowed. “Bannon, that is, the groom who was working at your townhouse, told me you had gone and that a boy in your kitchen had reported your departure to Wickham.”
“He did?” Elizabeth asked faintly, looking a bit sick.
“I am afraid so. I left London immediately.” He grimaced. “I hoped to overtake you on the road. You spent the night at a coaching inn?” Elizabeth nodded. “My second horse went lame and I had to walk it to the nearest town. Otherwise I would have arrived far earlier and prevented the unpleasantness with Wickham. I cannot express how sorry I am.”
Elizabeth gave him one of the arch smiles he loved so dearly. “And if it rains tomorrow, will you also apologize for that?”
How does she manage to provoke me to laughter even now? Darcy abruptly sobered as he contemplated what could have happened if he had been delayed even further. “I was so fearful that—Well, I am grateful you are unharmed. You were correct in asserting that you could defend yourself.” He gave her a small smile.
She appeared discomfited by the praise. “I would have been in dire straits indeed without your assistance—and Richard’s pistol.”
Darcy was grateful for the pistol, but the sound of his cousin’s name made him flinch nonetheless. “I fear Wickham’s unwanted arrival prevented you from finding the peace you sought at Richard’s grave.” His eyes searched her face for some indication of her feelings.
She turned her head to watch the scenery passing by the window. “I had concluded
my—” She paused and swallowed. “I found the answers I sought.”
Darcy desperately wanted to know which questions she had asked but instead cast about for an appropriate response that could not be construed as presumptuous. “Good,” he said finally.
Elizabeth’s hands fidgeted in her lap, but she seemed to have no intention to say anything further.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology.” She turned her attention back to him, her eyes wide. “I took terrible advantage of you in the churchyard. You would have been within your rights to slap me or retreat to the chapel for protection.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I must admit, sir, such thoughts did not occur to me.”
Darcy felt himself relax slightly. “No?”
“No, indeed.” Her expression was more playful now. “Your kisses are quite persuasive.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What did they persuade you to want?” Oh, good heavens, am I flirting with her now?
She gazed coyly up at him through her lashes. “More kisses.” Her glance had a profound and immediate effect on Darcy; he now found himself growing uncomfortable for a completely different reason. He ached to touch her, run his hands through her hair, feel her curves, crush her against his body …
“That could be arranged,” he said hoarsely.
She appeared slightly alarmed by the intensity of his response.
Darcy swallowed, hoping his voice would not shake. “Elizabeth, I hope you recognize by now that when I offered my hand, I did so not for the sake of protecting you—not solely for the sake of protecting you—but because I am violently in love with you.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. “Y-you are?”
Darcy kept his gaze fixed on hers. “And I would be very honored if you would accept my hand in marriage.”
The shine in her eyes and the flush of her skin suggested she was not unaffected by his words, but she looked down at her hands, obviously troubled. “Mr. Darcy, I must ask you—” Darcy hated the sound of his formal name on her tongue. How could he persuade her to address him by his Christian name? “Do you offer marriage out of some feeling of obligation?”
Darcy looked at her sharply. What could she possibly mean?
Her hands were twisting a ribbon from her dress into torturous shapes. “Many perceive that Richard’s death left me in a precarious position—not quite a wife, but almost a widow, practically a ruined woman.” She held up a hand to still his protest, raising her eyes to his. “Do you make an offer now to help alleviate the awkwardness of my position?”
Darcy wanted to reach out and hold her, caress her—anything to remove the pain from her eyes. He knew she would hate to wed anyone under those circumstances.
“No!” He said firmly.
She smiled wistfully. “I wish to believe you, but I admit I sometimes find your sudden interest difficult to credit.”
He could not prevent the harsh laugh that escaped. Sudden!
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth seemed alarmed at his reaction.
He experienced an epiphany at that moment. If they were to move forward as husband and wife, he must reveal everything—even the details he found painful or humiliating. Very well.
He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, spanning the gap between them by engulfing her hands in his. “There is nothing ‘sudden’ about my interest in you. I—” He swallowed hard and started again. “Do you remember the night that Richard proposed to you? When I arrived at Hunsford Parsonage?”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes fixed on his face. “To inquire about my health, yes.”
“No, I had not visited to inquire about your health.” Elizabeth’s brow knitted in confusion. “I went with the intention of asking you to marry me.”
One hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock. Darcy fought an impulse to laugh at her horrified expression. “Oh! I am so sorry! I had no intention of causing you pain. I had no idea!”
“Of course not,” Darcy reassured her. “Even Richard did not recognize my
feelings, and he knew me far better than you. I believed I had made my feelings clear to you, but in hindsight, I realized I did not.”
“But—” Elizabeth looked mortified.
“Please, rest easy, my love. It is for the best. If I had offered my hand that day, how would you have responded?”
A blush stained her cheeks as she glanced away uneasily.
“I know you did not hold a high opinion of me at that time, and I have endeavored to improve your opinion since then. Perhaps it was for the best that I did not have an opportunity to voice my sentiments that day.” He smiled gently.
Elizabeth regarded him with wonder in her eyes. “I had no thought of … all this time you …” She shook her head, bewildered.
“I have loved you for years,” he told her simply.
“I have been so blind!” She cried.
Darcy clasped her hands more tightly. “Shh, love, do not say so. I did not wish you to know. You were my cousin’s betrothed. I concealed my feelings from everyone, even Georgiana.” Darcy took a deep breath. He had decided to reveal all, but he was taking a great risk. “However, Richard guessed.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “He did?”
“I did not discover this until recently, when the letter he had written on his deathbed finally arrived at Pemberley.” He pulled the letter from his coat pocket. “I would like you to read it.”
The letter was well-worn and creased from having been reread multiple times during the past weeks. He laid it gently on Elizabeth’s palm, noting a slight tremor in her hand. She unfolded it so slowly he thought she might decide to forego reading it altogether, but finally, she bent her head to the task.
Elizabeth scrutinized the letter, while Darcy scrutinized her expression, noting every slight widening of her eye or movement of her lips as she read. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes, but she did not weep. Was that a good sign? He could barely breathe, awaiting her reaction. By giving the letter to Elizabeth, he was taking the chance Richard might come between them once more. Richard might have wanted Darcy to care for Elizabeth, but she might have different ideas. She might even resent the thought that she needed care.
Darcy resolutely shifted his gaze to the scene outside the window, reminding himself that all of these worries mattered little in the end. The only question of import was if Elizabeth loved him. If she did not, Darcy’s feelings and Richard’s opinions mattered not at all.
He returned his gaze to Elizabeth when she sighed softly and set the letter down in her lap. She bit her lip, looking down at the letter, and wiped away tears with her fingers. Giving her the letter was the right thing to do, but he regretted causing her even a moment’s uneasiness.
Darcy leaned toward her again. “No matter what our future holds, Richard is in your heart and in mine. He has helped to bring us together—in a way that might not have happened without him. I believe we should cherish that as a gift.”
Elizabeth stared soberly at the letter, absorbing his words. “Richard understood your feelings so much better than I did. I was so blind, so certain I understood you—and I was so wrong!”
“Richard had known me since childhood,” Darcy reminded her gently.
Her face was in shadow, making it impossible to read her mood. He was in agony, needing to know how she felt about the letter—and him.
“I want your hand and your heart, but only if they are freely given,” he said. “Richard knew nothing of your feelings for me and if you could ever love me. And I find I hardly know any better. But if you choose me, it should be for your own sake, not out of some sense of obligation to me or to Richard.” He wished to reach out to take her hand again but feared his touch would be unwelcome.
Her lips parted, but she did not speak for a moment. Finally, she met his eyes. “It occurred to me that my reaction to you and to Richard has ever been quite different. Perhaps that is why I have been so slow to recognize …”
Her voice trailed off, and she turned her gaze to the window. “My relationship with Richard was like an outing on a placid lake, smooth, entertaining, and untroubled. However, everything about my friendship with you has been a storm tossed on turbulent seas—thrilling and a little wild. Our reactions to each other have always been … extreme.” Darcy’s heart clenched painfully. This did not sound like the speech of a woman accepting a suitor.
“When I misunderstood your character, I disliked you, and I was angry with you, and now I …” Elizabeth’s eyes turned on him, large and serious. “I believe that is why I did not recognize the true nature of my feelings for so long. I expected if I loved again, it would feel as it had before—it would resemble the feelings I had for Richard, but it does not.” She swallowed and managed a small smile. “However, that does not mean the feelings are weaker because of it. Simply different.”
Hope had started to sprout in Darcy’s breast. “Are you saying you do feel—?”
Elizabeth gave him a blinding smile. “I am saying, yes, Mr. Darcy, I love you. Yes, I will marry you. Yes.”
Darcy experienced such a flood of intermixed emotions —relief, joy, overwhelming love, even the impulse to laugh—that he hardly knew what to do or say. Competing impulses warred within him until he could no longer withstand the building emotions. Propriety be damned! He surged across the short space between their seats.
Elizabeth startled at his unexpected action, but her body melted into him as he settled next to her and took her in his arms. “You have made me a very happy man today,” he murmured as he gently untied her bonnet ribbons and removed the offending garment, gaining access to her hair.
Darcy paused for a moment, watching her reaction. However, she did not seem at all alarmed by this egregious breach of propriety but gave him an arch look that further emboldened him. He quickly located the hair pins that kept her complicated coiffeur in place and removed a few in strategic places. The remaining pins rained down on the floor as her dark tresses tumbled down over her shoulders.
Darcy exhaled, soaking in the sight. He had never before seen her with her hair down, and it was a magnificent view. Dark curls framed her face, falling midway down her back. This forbidden sight accelerated his breathing and caused his heart to pound out a more rapid rhythm. Despite the chill in the carriage, sweat dampened his cravat. With one arm, he tucked her closer to his body, but it was not enough. It could never be close enough. Although if he could rid them of these offending layers of clothing …
No, Darcy cut off that line of thought. Envisioning the two of them naked, even in a jostling carriage, simply made him too uncomfortable.
It must wait for the wedding night.
Darcy focused on admiring how the weak afternoon sun reflected in her hair, creating light and dark highlights. Very deliberately, Darcy peeled off his gloves and plunged his hands into the silken mass of hair, provoking a gasp from Elizabeth. Her slightly parted lips were too great a temptation. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers.
It was not a polite kiss, but a demanding one. It demanded she respond to his passion—and revel in the sensations when she did. As they kissed, his hand skimmed down her body to her lower back, pressing her into him. The other hand held the back of her head. Elizabeth moaned against him, stoking his desire.
Fearing that Elizabeth was made uncomfortable by the awkward position of her body, Darcy started to pull away, but then Elizabeth shifted. Without breaking contact with his lips, she repositioned her body so she was now seated in his lap.
Oh, Good Lord! Darcy could hardly believe her boldness or his good fortune. His hands freely explored more of Elizabeth’s body, stroking the curves of her back and the sides of her waist. How he wished he could feel her soft skin instead of clothing!
It was ecstasy, but it also strained his control. He wanted so much more from her than was wise before their wedding.
Given the heat of his blood, the chaperone might need to station herself at the entrance to Elizabeth’s door that night. It would be difficult
to restrain himself, knowing Elizabeth was only a few doors away and that she indeed desired him …
Reluctantly, Darcy pulled back away from the ecstasy of Elizabeth’s mouth, although he could not bring himself to remove his hands from her waist. Elizabeth’s lips were red and swollen, her face flushed with desire, and her hair tousled. The wantonness in her look almost made him groan.
Fortunately, she did not seem at all angry over the liberties he had taken; in fact, she seemed rather bemused that he had stopped. “Mr. Darcy, I—”
“Elizabeth,” he interrupted. “You are sitting on my lap. I believe you may call me William.”
A delicate blush spread over her features. “Of course.” She made a move to slide off his lap, but Darcy’s hands held her in place. “I apologize. I did not mean to behave in such a wanton manner,” she said. “I do not know what came over me.”
Darcy put a finger to her lips. “Never apologize for your passion with me. It is one of the things I love about you and hope you will never change.”
She raised her eyebrows playfully, and one side of her mouth curved up in a wicked smile. “Very well, sir, if you wish me to be wanton, I will make the effort.”
Desire surged through Darcy’s blood as he imagined the possibilities. “Miss Bennet,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “I think it would be best if we had a very short betrothal.”
Epilogue
“A toast to the new couple!” Elizabeth’s Uncle Gardiner had a voice that boomed even above the hubbub of the celebrants around the breakfast table. Everyone fell silent as he spoke about how worthy a husband William would be for his niece. Elizabeth knew some of his words were intended to reassure her father, who had initially resisted the idea of such a “difficult, unpleasant man” marrying his daughter, but a hearty endorsement from her uncle had allayed most of his fears.
She smiled when her father glanced her way, letting him see the joy shining in her face. Indeed, the day was all the more joyous because he had been well enough to make the journey to Pemberley for the wedding in the small Darcy family chapel. Her wedding day would not have been complete without his presence.
Pride and Proposals Page 22