by C. P. Odom
He had a glass of wine in his hand, and he held it up, asking silently whether she would like a glass.
“No, thank you, sir,” she said coldly. “I should like to get this over with as soon as may be.”
“Oh, you are angry!” Darcy smiled, and this time she could tell his smile was genuine. He was amused by her anger, which only infuriated her more.
“I am pleased you find amusement in this…this situation!”
“Oh, I would prefer it was different and you came eagerly to my bed, but considering all the nightmares I have had about you over the years, I shall take what I can get.”
“You have had nightmares about me?” she said with more astonishment than resentment in her tone.
“Perhaps you remember saying, ‘I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry,’” he said, quoting her words to him at Hunsford. “‘Your mode of declaration … spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ You will never know how many times I sat bolt upright in the middle of the night with those words ringing in my ears and your angry face before me.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes at this for she had forgotten the strength and ferocity of her anger on that occasion.
I never imagined my words could make such an impression on this arrogant man, she thought, her surprise mingled with a tinge of bitterness. And, if he is not deceiving me, my father was correct about his constancy. But does his suffering give him the right to coerce my poor father into agreeing to this marriage? No! It does not! I will not relent!
“I shall not try to convince you to put your anger aside,” he said softly. “But you did agree to marry me, and I know you are too honourable not to keep your word.”
With a twinkle in his eyes and the slightest of smiles on his mouth, Darcy paused and carefully looked her up and down. “Even if you come to me wearing what looks to be your least-enticing nightgown.”
Elizabeth flushed at the accuracy of his appraisal, and Darcy laughed lightly then turned and indicated a couch facing the window.
“If you will not have a glass of wine, then please come sit with me and watch the sunset while I finish mine.”
He sat down on one end of the couch, leaving the other end conspicuously empty. Elizabeth thought for a moment and then sighed in resignation. She feared her closest relations were right: as angry as she was at what Darcy had done and as much as she wished to honour her vow to keep her fury stoked to a searing heat, a voice whispered she could not maintain it indefinitely.
But that does not mean I will yield tonight. Someday, perhaps. But not tonight! she told herself as she accepted Darcy’s invitation and walked over to take a seat at the other end of the couch.
While Darcy finished his wine, she sat silently and watched the sunset, which was quite lovely. The room had darkened before he finally put his empty glass aside and stood up. Holding out his hand to her, he said, “I believe it is time to come to bed, Elizabeth.”
She ignored his hand as she stood up, but the world whirled around as Darcy swept her up in his arms. She glared at his face, only inches from hers, as he carried her over to his bed. He smiled down at her, gently laid her in the centre, and sat on the edge as he removed his slippers before he swung himself into bed beside her.
She looked at him unblinkingly as he lay on his side, his arm propped on his elbow, supporting his head so he could gaze down at her face.
“Well?” she said sharply. “What are you waiting for?”
“I really do love you, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “What does that have to do with anything? It is of no consequence.”
“It explains why I was willing to marry you in this way even though I could not believe you would agree when your uncle suggested it. But I was willing to do anything—anything at all to make you mine.”
Elizabeth wanted to make an impertinent rejoinder, but the thought vanished as Darcy’s hand came up and cupped her face, his fingers stroking along her cheek.
“Your skin is so soft, so smooth—exquisite. You are so unbelievably lovely, Elizabeth. How could I fail to love you?” His voice fell to a near whisper. “I cannot believe some other man did not pursue and win you before now. I have to believe it was because we were meant for each other.”
“There is the slight matter of my family’s ruined reputation,” she said, intending to mock him, but somehow she could only manage a whisper to match his.
“Nonsense,” he said, and his head came down so his lips brushed softly along her cheek.
Elizabeth wanted to turn her head away, but her eyes were captured by Darcy’s, and she remained still as his lips moved to kiss her other cheek.
“If I had thought I had any hope of success, I would have been on your doorstep years ago.”
Elizabeth held herself perfectly still, her fists clenched at her side as Darcy’s lips moved down to her neck, his touch featherlight as he moved down her throat. She was disconcerted that his kisses were so soft and gentle, much more so than she expected. The addition of his heartfelt endearments could not help but affect her cold resolution.
She thought she knew what to expect when Darcy took her to bed, anticipating he would be insistent and demanding, especially since he had to be as aware as she that he could take her in any way he pleased since they were now man and wife. She tried again to tell herself she need only lie quietly and allow him to have his way, after which he would leave her. But Darcy was not doing anything she had expected. His breath was warm on her ear, whispering words that made her shiver.
Her fingers gripped the sheets tightly while his lips continued to nuzzle at her ear. The fervency of his proclamations of love coupled with his tenderness was affecting her, no matter her anger or her wish that it be otherwise.
Elizabeth had to force her hands to remain at her side as his fingers explored every soft curve of her body, finding areas of exquisite sensitivity to entice before withdrawing, again and again. It was maddening…it was exhilarating…and Elizabeth wanted to reach out, to touch him, to draw his body close to hers.
But her anger had not completely left her though she could sense it wavering along with her resolve. She felt herself drawn to this arrogant, hateful man who was at the same time growing more and more desirable. Desperately, she whispered through gritted teeth, “Go ahead! You have made me your wife…now take me! Take me and end this…this…”
“Oh, I think not, my love,” he whispered. “We are man and wife, and my wife should enjoy it as much as I when we make love.” His hand cradled her head, lifting it so his lips could capture her mouth.
She did not return his kiss because she did not know how, but she could not stop her hand from moving to the back of his neck and pulling his head down.
Fabric slithered along her legs until she felt the touch of his fingers on her bare thigh. He had opened her dressing gown and pulled up her nightgown so his hand could move under it. Elizabeth had never imagined that the touch of a man’s hand on her skin would be as maddening—and as thrilling—as the other heretofore forbidden sensations of this evening.
What is happening to me? Am I a wanton? Why can I not control myself? I detest this man! I should be outraged that he is touching me, husband or no!
Her body stiffened as she felt him ease her dressing gown off her arms and her nightgown from her shoulders; then she forced herself to relax. Like it or not, Darcy was her husband, and it was senseless to continue to oppose the one person in the world entitled to touch her in this way.
Especially since she wanted him to continue.
Everything was happening too quickly! All her certainties about what would happen in the intimacy of the bedroom were being shattered. Never had she considered she migh
t derive pleasure from her husband, and it made what was happening almost inconceivable.
She did not resist when he pulled her nightgown down to her waist. Her breath caught in her throat as his mouth moved to her breast, and she had to bite her lip to choke back a moan of pleasure.
However unexpected, she could no longer resist Darcy. Her body had betrayed her, and she not only acquiesced as he cast her dressing gown aside and began to remove her nightgown completely, Elizabeth lifted her hips and legs so he could free her from the garment and reveal her bare body to him.
She felt the cool air move over her exposed skin but did not feel chilled as Darcy’s lips returned to her breasts, kissing and arousing the tips with his tongue while his hand continued to explore her body.
She gasped in pleasure as a mounting pressure began to build in her belly. The sensation was so new and unexpected that she was not aware she had curled her arms around Darcy’s head, thrusting her fingers into his dark hair as she pulled his head down more firmly against her breast while she, for the first time, began to whisper endearments back to him. Elizabeth moved against him, wanting and needing the intimacy of feeling her husband against her. Briefly, she wished he was as unclothed as she as the delightful pleasure building inside her reached a peak she had never known existed and overflowed. She was unable to help herself as she cried out her passion.
Chapter 14
Without passion, man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.
— Henri Frédéric Amiel (1821–1881), Swiss writer, moral philosopher, poet, and critic
Sunday, October 13, 1816
Darcy Town House, London
Elizabeth stirred dreamily as the dim light of morning filtered through the curtains of her room. The morning air was chill on her cheek, but it was so pleasantly warm under the covers that she debated whether to rise now in order to go rambling about the country or to settle back into her warm, comfortable bed.
This is not my bed!
She sat bolt upright, wide awake. Not only was this not her bedroom at Longbourn, but it was not Darcy’s chamber either. The last thing she remembered was Darcy’s arms around her after they had made love, holding her bare body against his while her head lay on his shoulder and her sweat-matted hair stuck to her scalp and neck.
She remembered his surprising gentleness, his tender kisses and the light touches on her bare skin that had gradually turned from being merely tolerable to deliciously enticing.
It had been a revelation that being loved by a man who loved her so deeply was far more difficult to resist than Elizabeth would have believed possible. And though it hurt a bit when he finally consummated their marriage, her body responded to her husband. She had only to feel the slight soreness between her legs to know she was no longer a virgin. She was now a woman, a married woman, the perplexed wife of this most perplexing man.
Somehow, Darcy had returned her to her own room, and her hands went to her chest, feeling the soft cloth of her nightgown.
How did he do that? I know I was not wearing anything when I fell asleep. How did he dress me and return me to my room without awakening me?
She remembered feeling delightfully limp and listless as she sank into the soft mattress of Darcy’s bed. Her cheeks grew warm at the memory of her determination to resist him melting away under the fervour of his kisses and his touch on her body. The sheer intimacy of being held in a firm embrace by a man as bereft of clothing as she was had been a sensation she never imagined, and she found it difficult to keep the flame of anger burning inside her.
But no matter how tender he had been in the night, in the bright light of day she remembered that he had ridden roughshod over her objections, forcing her poor, sick father to agree to this marriage for the sake of his family. And she remembered Jane, who had so bravely borne the loss of Bingley and his marriage to Darcy’s sister. Despite his money or his tenderness, nothing could rectify such a loss.
She heard a soft knock at the servant’s door in her dressing area, and Elizabeth realised it must have been an earlier knock that had awakened her.
“Enter,” she called, sitting up as Jennie came through the door. She carried a tray with a pitcher of water, a basin, and some clean cloths, which she put down in the dressing area.
“Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” Jennie said with a bright smile. “Mr. Darcy sends his regards and asks if you would join him for breakfast.”
Elizabeth looked down to hide her frown. She was hungry. She had always had an excellent appetite, but the previous day had been so tumultuous she had hardly eaten since breakfast. She had only picked at her food the previous evening, upset at the thought of what would happen when she and Darcy retired.
She did not want to see Darcy at the moment. She needed time to think, to consider what she should do, how she must act.
“I think,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I need a nice, long bath before I dress, and I do not want Mr. Darcy to wait. Pray ask him to have breakfast without me this morning and then ask the cook to send a tray while water is being heated.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jennie curtseyed and left.
Elizabeth settled back into the warm covers and soon fell asleep. She awoke with a start at another knock, and Jennie entered with a large tray, which she placed on a small table beside the bed. By the time Elizabeth sat up, Jennie was ready with a wooden table she placed across her lap.
Elizabeth removed the lids from the offerings—ham, bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits, butter, and jam. Her mouth watered at the delicious smells, and she had a sheepish look on her face as she looked at Jennie, who was pouring tea.
“I seem to have fallen back to sleep. I had not meant to, but…” Elizabeth shrugged, leaving the thought unspoken.
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy,” Jennie said, nodding. “You must have needed some extra rest.”
Elizabeth looked at the girl closely, wondering whether she was attempting to be humorous, then she saw perfect sincerity on the face of the simple girl.
“Oh, mistress,” Jennie said, a wide smile on her face and her eyes sparkling, “you should see the master. He is so happy and smiles all the time. Everyone is delighted because he has been so sad for so long. I cannot tell you how excited we are.”
Elizabeth smiled at the girl and turned to the breakfast before her. It smelled delicious, and she could wait no longer.
By the time she was finished, buckets of hot water had been dumped into the copper bath in her dressing room. When it was nearly full and Jennie had added shredded, scented soap and pinned up Elizabeth’s hair, she sank gratefully into the delightfully hot water. She let the warm bath pull the tension out of her while Jennie occasionally added more heated water to keep the temperature constant.
Having such a luxurious bath is almost enough to make marrying Mr. Darcy acceptable, Elizabeth thought drowsily. At least he can afford a large enough tub so my legs do not hang over the side!
***
By the time Elizabeth came downstairs, she felt remarkably cheerful, considering she was now in search of the man who had only yesterday forced her to marry him in such uncompromising haste.
She found Darcy in his study, sitting at his desk while he wrote a letter. He looked up and smiled, then motioned for her to enter.
“A moment while I finish this, my dear,” he said as she seated herself in a chair across the desk from him. He returned to his writing, and her spirits rose to playfulness.
“I suppose, if I were so inclined, I might admire how fast and how evenly you write as another young lady once did.”
Darcy glanced up briefly to see her smile, then returned to his letter as he said, “Ah yes. Miss Bingley. She did try so desperately hard.”
“So you knew what she was doing?”
“Of course,
but Bingley is my friend, so it was not difficult to suffer her attentions. He often apologised for her behaviour in private, but he could not control her. I cannot understand why she pursued me so assiduously since it definitely was not for money. She has a substantial fortune of her own from her father.”
He finished his letter, sanded it to dry the ink, addressed it, and sealed it with wax. He pulled a cord behind his chair, and the butler came to the door immediately.
“Have this delivered to Dr. Douglas. Have the messenger enquire whether there will be a quick reply, but do not intrude. The doctor may be too busy to read it now.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. Good morning, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Good morning to you, Roberts,” Elizabeth said, inclining her head to the white-haired butler.
When he was gone, Darcy leaned forward and looked at Elizabeth intently. It almost made her squirm to be inspected so closely.
“It appears that being newly scrubbed with the sun on your face makes you even more beautiful, Elizabeth. I believe I shall ask your aunt’s artist to paint your portrait. I thought his work at their home was skilfully done, and I should like one for here and at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth felt uncomfortable at such open and heartfelt compliments from this man, even after the previous evening and his endearments. Then, desperate to change the subject, she asked, “Why do you write to your physician? Surely, you are not ill?”
“No, I am not. I wrote to see whether he might travel to Longbourn to examine your father. I did not like the way he looked at all. It was worse than your uncle’s description, and I was not prepared to see him so unwell. I do not know whether Dr. Douglas can restore your father to good health, but if any man in England can make a difference, he is that man.”
Elizabeth was stunned at this, and it took her several seconds to mumble, “Thank you, sir. That is most considerate.”