At the same time, she wished she could make him happy—oh, what a miserable dilemma it was! She recalled the look on his face when she had left him—why had she taken her anger at a situation of her own making out on him? So many people had been made unhappy owing to her misjudgements—Darcy himself, Mr. Covington, Mrs. Covington, and her own mother, not to mention her. She did not know how she was ever to forgive herself.
She glanced out the window, and her gaze was arrested by a familiar figure, seeming to be looking over the gardens. He was bare-headed and without his overcoat, but he did not seem to notice the chill. He was clearly unaware of her observation, and she took the rare pleasure of allowing herself to gaze her fill at him, feeling her affection and admiration for him wash through her. She imagined being held in his strong arms and laying her head upon his shoulder, and coloured as she remembered the shockingly pleasurable sensation of his kisses.
She could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was unhappy. Why would he not be? she thought sadly. She wanted nothing more that the chance to make him happy, to see the startling brilliance of his rare smiles. She wondered how he looked when he was truly content; she suspected she had never seen him in that state. If only she could offer that to him! But that would only be trading present joy for future unhappiness.
But was there any reason to deny herself his company and the unique sense of being fully alive she experienced in his presence? She rationalized that as long as she remained clear as to her position, it could do no harm.
***
Darcy had been staring at the gardens for some time, but if asked, would have been unable to name a single item he had noticed. He was wishing, not for the first time, that he could go back in time and behave differently. He had been so filled with happiness from Elizabeth’s admission of loving him that it barely occurred to him she might not be happy, though she could not have said any more directly that this event would be painful for her. He had been at least feeling solicitous of her welfare up to the moment when she had started speaking with Covington. A blind rush of jealousy had taken him then, and instead of feeling concern for her sensibilities, he had gone charging over to demand reassurance, of all things.
A rustling noise behind him alerted him he was no longer alone, and he attempted to school his features into a semblance of calm. He was surprised to discover it was Elizabeth coming towards him, carrying his greatcoat and hat.
She held the items out to him. “It is too cold to be outside unprotected,” she said, her musical voice quiet. “I would not have you take a chill, Mr. Darcy.”
“You are most kind.” He donned the proffered garments, thinking that he could quite easily accustom himself to the idea of Elizabeth being solicitous of him. “Thank you for coming down again, and thus giving me the opportunity to apologize for my insensitivity earlier.”
She looked up at him and shook her head slightly. “You did nothing, sir; I should not have taken my anger out on you.”
He had no desire to pursue the matter further, since if she had not been angry at him, it followed that it was talking to Covington which upset her. This was not an implication he wished to consider, yet for Elizabeth’s sake he was willing to do worse. He steeled himself, then said, “It must have been difficult for you to see Mr. Covington again.”
She sighed. “I know he is very disappointed, and that troubles me. I know it is my fault, and I would never have agreed to marry him in the first place were I not fond of him, so naturally I do not like to see him in pain.” It occurred to her this was a very odd conversation to be having with Darcy under the circumstances.
Darcy was in fact wrestling with himself. He did not want Elizabeth even to be fond of Covington. At least it is only fond! he thought. It was the look on her face which finally convinced him of what he needed to do; she was clearly distressed, and alleviating her distress had to come before his own selfish desire to hear nothing further of Covington.
Carefully he said, “I can see why that would be difficult.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “It was his mother who upset me more,” she confessed.
“Was she unkind?”
“Not at all; she told me how much she respected me for what I had done, and that she was sorry…” Elizabeth was horrified to hear her voice tremble. What was it about Darcy that could so undercut all her defenses?
“You are fond of her as well?” he ventured.
She nodded. “I have a great deal of respect for her. She is not in good health, and has not long to live. I had assumed I would be the one caring for her through her last illness, and as it is… I shall most likely never see her again.”
The tears she had fended off before would not be denied any longer. She turned her face away as she began to cry in earnest.
Darcy, acutely aware that they could be seen from the house, could do no more than give her his handkerchief and observe her in compassionate silence. He wished he had some comfort to offer her, but he knew there was none. He hated the helplessness of watching her pain, but could not deny a certain relief in discovering Mrs. Covington’s importance to Elizabeth. What had she given earlier as her reason for wanting to marry Covington—to please my family and his? Yes, he could see how it would hurt her, and he could muster more sympathy for this grief than for any pain she felt over losing Covington.
Gradually Elizabeth regained her composure. Dabbing at her eyes, she exclaimed with guilt, “I am truly sorry, Mr. Darcy. You are the last person I should be troubling with these matters.”
He looked at her intently. “Do not apologize—I want to be the one you turn to with your troubles, no matter what causes them, and regardless of my like or dislike of the subject. As it happens, in this case I am… not uninvolved.”
The level of emotion in his voice moved her, and she raised her eyes to his. The intensity she found there shook her deeply, and she felt helpless as though before an onslaught. Unconsciously she bit her lip, trying to prevent tears from recurring.
He seemed to sense her discomfort. His voice was gentle as he said, “But you do not need me to add to your troubles today, Miss Bennet. Suffice to say I hope you will always feel able to confide in me.”
Dropping her eyes, she thanked him in a quiet voice. She suggested they return inside then, having made the discovery that his gentleness and sympathy were a far greater threat to her resolve than his jealousy and anger.
***
Darcy made his appearance at Longbourn the following morning just as Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary were preparing to leave for Meryton to visit Mrs. Phillips for the pleasure of dissecting each moment of Jane’s wedding. He was surprised by the alacrity with which Mrs. Bennet consigned him to Elizabeth’s care, leaving them unchaperoned.
Elizabeth herself did not appear to be in spirits, and he cautiously thanked her for staying at home to receive him.
“I had told you I would,” she replied, “but you give me credit where none is due. I was not invited to accompany my family to Meryton.” From her tone of voice, it was evident that her mother’s disapproval of her had not abated, nor had her distress in it.
“I am sorry for your sake,” he said gently, “although grateful for my own—it is an unexpected pleasure to be granted the privilege of being alone with you.”
“It is not so difficult to achieve. I am not thought to be worth the trouble of chaperoning any more since I have no reputation left to protect,” said Elizabeth with more than a little bitterness.
He could not bear seeing his vivacious Elizabeth reduced to this state. He caught her hands in his, waiting until she met his eyes directly. “You must stop this. Your mother’s is not the only opinion in the world. Your sister and Mr. Bingley do not agree, nor do I, and I would imagine your aunt and uncle did not treat you thus when you were in London,” he said forcefully. When she did not respond other than to drop her eyes, he added, “Did they?�
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“No, they were very kind,” she said quietly.
“Your father—I know he would not reject you,” he said insistently.
“No, he has not,” she said, a trace of a smile beginning to appear.
“I hope you do not consider your mother to be an expert on propriety,” he said, with such an obvious effort to hide his distaste with the very idea that she could not help but laugh.
“She is more angry with me than shocked by my behaviour,” she admitted. “It was a great disappointment to her that I did not marry Mr. Covington. And I know she was trying to do her best for me in her own way by pushing me into the marriage.”
“That,” he said rather savagely, “just proves her lack of judgement.”
“Well, I know you have a completely unprejudiced view of the matter,” said Elizabeth with the absolute solemnity which indicated she was teasing.
“Perhaps I am a bit biased,” he acknowledged. “Hopefully your mother will consider me an adequate substitute for Mr. Covington.”
The look of dismay on her face was not feigned. The idea of her mother realizing Darcy’s intentions towards her was not a happy one. “Mr. Darcy, I have not changed my mind,” she said quickly.
“I remain the eternal optimist,” he said softly.
She could not help but smile at how he used her own words against her. “I would not wish for you to be hurt in any way.”
“The only way you could hurt me would be by telling me you do not care, and I do not believe you could say that truthfully,” he said.
She looked away, embarrassed, not knowing what to say.
“Your honesty is one of the many things I love about you,” he continued softly. “Although you may in jest profess opinions not your own, I know that in matters of importance you would never deceive. I know very few women who would be so honest as to face the consequences of terminating an engagement rather than live a lie. Quite apart from my personal interest in the matter, it only makes me admire you more.”
Elizabeth’s eyes remained on the floor, her cheeks flushed. She could not think how to tell him it had not been a matter of virtue in her mind, but a matter of necessity, that her love for him would have haunted her every day and stood between her and her husband forever.
Darcy, seeing only that she was allowing him to speak his heart to her for the first time since he had taken her by surprise at Hunsford, continued. “Do you not know why I could not give you up, despite everything that stood between us? There is no other woman for me than you; no other with your bewitching combination of liveliness of mind, kindness of heart, honesty, and willingness to speak your mind. You captured my heart so long ago I can hardly remember what it was not to love you, and giving you up when I thought you loved Covington was the hardest and bitterest thing I have ever done. I would do more than that, though, if I believed it would make you truly happy, but you cannot ask me to give you up now that I finally know you care.”
She did not know how to maintain her distance in face of his tenderness. Numbly she said, “I cannot see my way clear to it, Mr. Darcy.”
He tipped her chin up with his finger until her eyes met his. She saw a gentleness there which went beyond her expectations. “Then take your time, my dearest; you have been through far too much difficulty of late. Is it too much to ask for you to think about it while I am away, remembering that I see no impediment?”
She shook her head wordlessly, mesmerized by the depths of his dark eyes. He was so close, her skin tingling where his thumb caressed the back of her hand. She recognized the look of desire on his face, and wondered absently if he could see it in her as well. The aching for him which had haunted her nights returned to her in force. I have let him kiss me twice; will a third time matter? she thought, her mind floating dizzily on a current of longing. Almost as an extension of her thought she tilted her face toward him slightly, and that was all the invitation he needed.
Their lips met with the tentativeness of those who know they are risking hard-won self-control. For Elizabeth, it was almost unbearably sweet, the sense of completion she felt when they joined so, and the pleasure it produced deep within her. How was she to refuse when her own body delighted so in his kisses? It seemed that in his touch he spoke so deeply to her that she had no choice but to be honest in return.
It required great strength of will for Darcy not to move beyond light kisses when her scent was washing over him and she was being so sweetly responsive. It did not help knowing that once he stopped taking his pleasure of her lips, she would return to refusing him—who could resist the temptation to take, and keep taking, the part of her which was giving him the answer he so much desired?
He moved his hands to touch her cheeks lightly as they continued to kiss, the silken softness of her skin tantalizing him with all it promised. Giving in to the temptation to caress the lines of her neck which he had so often admired from afar, he allowed his fingers to explore freely down to her shoulders. When her soft moan of pleasure against his lips tempted him to taste all the delights her mouth had to offer, he had to force himself to draw back.
Feeling somehow bereft without his touch, Elizabeth abruptly gained recognition of her unconscionable behaviour. What was he to think, when she refused his hand but permitted such liberties? She coloured and looked away.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “Do not regret it, my sweetest Elizabeth,” he said. “I have only two regrets—first, that I lacked sufficient self-control to continue, and then that I have not the right to do it in the first place. For my part, if you find my kisses persuasive, I have no complaint to make. I am not averse to employing such arguments.” He smiled at her, then brushed his lips lightly against her own once more.
You must stop this before it goes even further! she thought anxiously, worried by how easy it was to allow him touch her at will. Aloud she said, “Perhaps we might discuss something else, Mr. Darcy.”
“Why do I assume you are not referring to the question of whether you might call me by my name?” he teased.
She gave him a baleful glance. He added with a smile, “No, I did not think so.”
It was hard to remain vexed with him when he was being so charming. His behaviour was at least superficially correct for the remainder of his visit, though the warmth of his glances, had they spoken in words instead of looks, could not have been considered proper. Elizabeth found she could not keep her inner self from responding to these looks, nor from desiring more of them.
When he finally rose to leave, she found she was more disappointed than she had anticipated, but was determined to keep it hidden. “I hope your journey is an easy one,” she said lightly, then undermined her own position by looking up at him through her lashes. “Please do give my regards to the tigers. I hope they are in better spirits now.”
He gave her a look of amusement which spoke volumes. “The tigers are quite content now, I believe—apart from being very, very hungry,” he said meaningfully.
She could not stop herself from raising an eyebrow. “Why, then you should feed them better, sir,” she said impudently.
His eyes darkened. He pushed the sitting room door closed with his shoulder, and in the same move, put an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped, but made no struggle, and the manner in which she put her hands to his shoulders and held them there did not bespeak rejection. When he saw her fine eyes looking up at him questioningly, her body against his, he could no longer hold back; his mouth caught hers and took advantage of her surprise to deepen the kiss, expressing all the passionate need for her he had denied himself earlier.
As her shock at his action gave way to comprehension, the excitement he stirred in her grew until she met him halfway. How her arms had found their way around his neck, she could not have answered—she only knew that the feeling of his hard body pressed against her filled a void she had never known existed, even while it
created new and even deeper needs in her.
It ended as abruptly as it had begun, and they were both breathless when Darcy released her. He could not believe what he had done—how could he have lost control of himself in such a manner? What would she think of him? He had to remember that this was the real and innocent Elizabeth, not the seductress of his dreams, to whom he could do so many intensely pleasurable things. If she knew the kind of thoughts he had of her, she would no doubt never let him in the door of her house—but what a temptation she presented! In an attempt to keep his hands from returning to her lovely body, he raked one hand through his hair. Dismayed at his conduct, he quoted ruefully, “‘What the hand dare seize the fire?’”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Elizabeth, quite baffled.
“No, I should beg yours,” he said contritely. “I am not normally a barbarian.” His grimace demonstrated how chagrined he was by his own actions.
She discovered that his discomposure somehow made it easier for her to regain her own equanimity. Determined to make light of what had occurred, she cocked her head to one side and said judiciously, “No, for the most part, you are not. It is likely just the influence of the tigers.”
It took him a moment to realize she was teasing him; then he smiled slightly and shook his head. “Do not see me out, Miss Bennet—I do not want to get myself into further difficulties.” He reached out and traced her lips lightly with his fingers, wishing he dared propose to her again. Despite his intention, he leaned down to taste her lips gently once more. “We will continue this…” he said, pausing to kiss her lightly yet again, as if he could not deny himself. “We will continue this conversation when I return.” Finally he forced himself to step away from her.
Her mouth quirked with amusement. “Good day, then, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
He opened the door, then turned back for a moment just as he was departing. In a solemn voice, he said, “It is not always wise to feed tigers—sometimes it only makes them hungrier.”
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