Darcy fell onto the settee before the unlit fireplace in his and Elizabeth’s bedchamber with a loud sigh. He was waiting, rather impatiently, for his wife to emerge from her dressing room. The vague references to freshening up and getting comfortable, whispered in a sultry drawl, did not induce relaxation, but instead instigated certain bodily reactions of a heightening nature.
Elizabeth dearly enjoyed surprising her husband. Of course explicit visual or tactile inducements were unnecessary, but he knew she would not see it that way. Therefore, his mind was pleasantly wandering. Would she wear the over-sized shirt of his that still drove him insane? Would she appear deliciously naked? Perhaps wearing one of the devilish costumes that her modiste designed? Would her hair be yet pinned up so he could thrill in releasing each lustrous tress? Or down in a cloud of fluid waves shrouding her elfin face and delicate shoulders? Would she splash her alabaster skin with her signature essence of lavender or the special musky jasmine that she wore as a treat just for him?
The musings meandered as he removed his shoes and jacket. Again, it truly did not matter; anything she chose was guaranteed to provoke him into a raging inferno of wanton desire. Merely the thought of her was affecting him and his next sigh was more of a moan as blood rushed in a hot surge through his vessels.
He reached a hand to loosen the suddenly constricting cravat just as the door opened. His breathing hitched and hand halted halfway toward his throat, the brief paralysis broken with a cleansing release of air as his eyes swept over the woman who utterly owned his soul. A brilliant smile illuminated his face as he drank in the vision of Lizzy gliding across the short distance.
Her hair was down, tumbling chocolate curls framing her cheeks and falling to her waist in a lush veil. She had chosen to remain in the creamy tan gown with copper trim that she had worn that day, only without any undergarments thus allowing the sheer muslin to cling to her flesh and offer tantalizing hints of the perfection underneath. The fact that a portion of his brain had been disrobing her from this particular dress all day made her choice to keep it on all the more stimulating.
He extended one arm, palm upward, murmuring gutturally, “Ah, Lizzy. What are you trying to do to me?”
She smiled in return, taking the offered hand and lacing her fingers between his, but moved around the narrow settee until behind him. She leaned down, kissing each fingertip ensnared amid her fingers, only then answering his question with a hot whisper against his right ear. “I think you know precisely what I am trying to do. And that I am succeeding admirably.”
He moaned, dropping his head onto the back of the sofa and gazing into her eyes. “You were succeeding before you entered the room, my lover. Now you are killing me!”
“You can handle the stress, my virile husband.” She moved her hands to his shoulders, kneading through the fabric of his waistcoat.
“That does feel wonderful, but I have to say that my shoulders are not the prime area of my body screaming for your touch.”
Smiling as she lowered her mouth to his, her kiss was every bit as penetrating upside down as it was straight on. Darcy cupped her face in his large, warm palms, preventing her straying away from his lips. Nimbly she unbuttoned the waistcoat and top part of his shirt, fingertips grazing over the hairs and skin revealed in the gap before attending to the knots of his neckcloth.
Lizzy had no proof, and could certainly never ask, but she had come to believe that Darcy’s valet drew some sort of mischievous enjoyment in fabricating new, intricate knots for his master’s cravat. Samuel was just as stoic and professional as on the day Lizzy met him as a new bride, marriage to Marguerite not visibly loosening the strict propriety that encased him, but upon occasion she had seen an odd gleam in his eye when Darcy exited his dressing room. He knew that Lizzy was as apt to undress her husband as he was. Darcy, of course, despite his adherence to proper fashion, was not a dandy and therefore paid scant attention to how his neckcloth was tied. But Lizzy saw the humor in it, delighting in the challenge and added thrill as she deciphered the puzzle, unveiling her spouse’s manly neck to her seeking caress.
Today she only loosened the wrapped silk, leaving the looped fabric around his neck and pulling the shirt collar free. Only then, after sliding her palms down his chest to the edge of his breeches waistband and stroking back up to his flexing shoulders, did she withdraw from the delights of his mouth to pepper soft kisses over his face. Straightening, she looked into his half-lidded eyes and clasped the hands that cradled her face. She kissed each palm before releasing them and moving to stand in front of him at his bent knees. There she paused to run her gaze over every masculine inch of his figure, noting the indications of his fervid desire with rising zeal.
Darcy was breathing heavily, lips plump and ruddy from the pressure of her mouth. His skin was alive and tingling from her caress, his heart harshly pounding and arousal aching. He groaned, shifting restlessly on the couch and pressing anxious palm into his thighs as the need to touch her overwhelmed. His frayed restraint faltered dangerously when she unclasped the two buttons between her breasts and proceeded to inch the gown’s sleeves off her shoulders until the décolletage slipped lower. When she then delivered her special seductive smile and bent nearer, offering an abundant display of her bosom in the process, he knew his control was a breath away from being lost. Fortunately, she grasped the dangling strands of his cravat and tugged upward before he literally took matters into his own hands!
Requiring no further inducement he leapt to his feet, broad hands instantly spanning her slim waist and drawing her tight against his body. “Elizabeth,” he moaned, lips traveling hungrily over her neck. “You do delight in tormenting me.”
A rapid undressing commenced while edging toward the bed. Darcy murmured endearments and erotic phrases as typical while grazing over her bared skin. Lizzy silently absorbed the spiraling sensations, allowing her hands and mouth to express her desire. Until, that is, Darcy reached to unwind the cravat from around his neck.
“No,” she gasped, staying his hand. “Leave it on. I find it alluring.”
He laughed softly. “As you wish, my love. Let me take you to our bed.”
They stretched onto the down coverlet, bodies sinking into the fluffed surface as they eagerly reached for each other. Instantly their limbs entwined, hands stroking and fondling, and kisses vehement. Lizzy twisted one long end of the hanging neckcloth around her forearm, grasped the ruffled knots still intact at his throat, and pulled his body onto hers, welcoming his weight with a satisfied sigh as the established rhythm of loving was initiated.
She kept one hand entwined with the white silk, kissing and licking the exposed skin of his neck as they swayed together. Darcy growled, voice rough against her ear, “Is the effect of my cravat as you anticipated, love?”
“You tell me.”
“Indeed I would answer affirmative. And here I thought it was the removal of my neckcloth that aroused you. How inventive of you to leave it on.”
“I would never wish to be boring.”
“That is absolutely impossible.” He shifted to bestow a scorching kiss, accelerating the undulating pace. “Making love with you shall never be boring. That I can promise.”
“No, I do not believe it shall,” she agreed with a promising lilt and lifted brow. Then without any warning she forcefully pushed against his body, Darcy understanding the purpose and rolling smoothly onto his back with his lover in tow and crushed against his torso. Their steady rhythm recommenced after a brief hiccup, and Lizzy resumed her oral play at his neck.
Darcy closed his eyes and arched his neck, a sonant hum expressing his satisfaction at her antics. He caressed lazily over her silky skin, happy to relax and drift with the pleasurable sensations as she unhurriedly trailed kisses and unraveled the complex ties.
Finally she released the last binding and lifted onto her elbows to begin slowly unwinding the damp material from around his neck. Darcy watched her with interest, noting the arch expression in h
er feverish eyes that meant she had something else planned.
Exchanging a lusty grin with her more-than-willing spouse, Lizzy sat up astride his hips, palms smoothing the trailing silk over his chest all the way to where their bodies joined. Then she lifted the strips of cloth and tickled over the hard ridges of muscle and taut nipples as he writhed underneath her. The ends of her long hair brushed his skin, one leg slithered supplely over his with tiny toes tantalizing. Her whole body energized his sensitive nerves until he was both dazed from the intensity while also alert in anticipation for more.
With a leisurely motion she pulled the silk from his neck and held it to her nose, inhaling deeply. “It smells of you,” she whispered. “Of your cologne and natural scent. The process of unraveling the ties as I draw closer to that hidden part of you that is only for me to touch is vivifying.”
“Elizabeth,” he growled with need, thrusting upward hard and deep. The previous cat-like purrs of contentment had turned to breathy moans and the gentle caresses to demanding strokes. He suddenly yearned to kiss her amazing lips—still wearing that teasing, sensuous smile that drove him crazy—and encircling her wrists with hot hands he tugged.
Instead of complying Lizzy chuckled and evaded his grasp. “Patience, love,” she admonished, waving her finger and fluttering the cloth over his face. Then she tossed her hair, arching her back and exposing her long neck to twine the white silk around, pulling the fabric slowly through her fingers and down between her breasts.
“How do I look?” she asked huskily.
“Far better than I ever have while wearing it, I assure you,” was his guttural response.
She smoothed the tails lying in the valley of her chest and over her belly, all the while watching the open-mouthed mesmerizing intensity of his stare. When she reached the dangling tips at her naval she bent slightly, feathering the edges along his abdomen and groin. The response was fierce, his body shuddering and muscles clenching as an animal growl burst from his throat.
“Inventive enough?”
But the words barely escaped her lips before he sat up, large hands encircling her waist with urgent purpose. Simultaneously his mouth clamped onto hers, the kiss as demanding as the savage pace he set. Meeting his every stroke, Lizzy wound the silk over his shoulders and tied a loose knot at the nape of his neck. The ends she clinched amid her fingers, holding fast while embedding into his thick hair.
Long minutes later he lessened the furious movements, withdrawing from her lips and resting his forehead upon hers. Voice a hoarse rumble, he said, “Your inventiveness drives me mad, Elizabeth. My desire for you is uncontrollable, especially when you toy with me. God, how I love and adore you!”
“I love you as deeply, Fitzwilliam, especially the uncontrollable you.” She smiled into his glazed blue eyes, resuming the wild pace previously set. “I enjoy driving you mad… as you do me. No… need… to… stop…” the latter whispered breathlessly into his ear, punctuated by licks and suckling kisses.
Darcy swallowed and moaned, skimming his hands upward to cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples. “Yes! Oh, yes, my Lizzy!”
Later, quite a while later, Darcy pulled his wife’s body tight against his shivering side. With a contented sigh Lizzy nestled comfortably, head lying on the firm pillow of his upper left chest and hand stroking over the drenched hairs covering his muscular torso. She burrowed closer, squeezed his waist, and planted a kiss on his breast. “I love you.”
“I love you, Elizabeth. So very much.”
Silence fell. They listened and absorbed the natural noises of breathing, strong hearts beating, and stroking fingertips. They were wrapped in a warm cocoon of peace and words were not necessary to convey the depth of feeling.
“If you are not already with child,” Darcy’s subdued rumble broke the calm, “perhaps we conceived this afternoon. It was remarkable,” he finished with understatement.
There was humor in his tone but also a hint of hopefulness. She squeezed his waist once again before recommencing a tactile investigation of his figure.
“You no longer have any fears at the possibility? No lingering dismay for the ill timing?”
“I never felt dismay at the idea of another baby, my heart. My fears were only for your health and for our relationship.” He paused, voice dropping into a husky timbre. “Those fears were ludicrous. I should have trusted in what we have learned and in what we have built together. God in His mercy has given us many blessings and He will care for us.”
She lifted onto her elbows, lying half over his body, and looked into his eyes. “I have a strong suspicion that this afternoon’s assignation shall have no bearing on a conception that has already occurred, but it is nice to hear your positive thoughts on the subject. After all, there are dozens of rooms vacant at Pemberley to fill.”
“A dozen may be difficult to accomplish”—he laughed—“even for us! I am content to fill a portion of the bedchambers and leave the remainder to be occupied by visiting children. Pemberley has her limits and with the rapid procreation happening around us, I daresay there may come a day when we reach maximum capacity!”
EPILOGUE
Life Is an Adventure
Departures were becoming an ordeal these days. Two small children required an astounding amount of luggage and space, not to mention the addition of two servants and their bags into a second carriage. At least George had never hired a valet, his decades of traveling fast and light fostering self-sufficiency. Georgiana was to stay behind with her companion, Mrs. Annesley, in the care of Richard and Simone, so Samuel, Marguerite, Mrs. Hanford, and Miss Lisa were comfortably situated together without a third carriage necessary.
Adding to the sheer volume of persons and baggage to safely stow aboard with footmen working overtime, saying good-bye was now a grand spectacle. Alexander associated leaving his Aunt Giana behind to the long separation while she toured the Continent and no amount of explanation placated. Thus the tears and dramatics were on a massive scale, Darcy finally forced to pry the sobbing toddler out of his aunt’s arms and plop him onto the seat next to George, all of them attempting to ignore the tears and downcast expression that was as humorous as it was piteous. Not wanting to augment the perceived tragedy of the parting, everyone else jumped into the vehicle, Darcy knocking on the roof as the signal to move the second the door closed, and barely said farewell to the waving Georgiana and Mr. Butler.
Thankfully, Michael slept through the leave-taking foolishness—his temper tantrum not to start until the stop at Swanley—and Alexander regained his cheeriness when unfamiliar terrain was seen. “Where are we now, Papa?”
“We are in Eltham, Son. London is officially behind us and we are on the edges of Kent.”
“Be there soon?”
“Not as yet. Cousin Anne and Lady Catherine live far south and Kent is large.” He smiled and ruffled Alexander’s curls, the boy wearing a slightly confused expression.
“Do you remember your cousins Anne and Raul?”
Alexander’s frown deepened at his father’s question, his young mind trying in vain to place faces to the names that were vaguely familiar.
“It has been over eight months,” Lizzy noted. “Do not worry on it, love. You will remember once we arrive, especially when you lay eyes on scary Lady Catherine.”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy chided, without extreme emphasis, returning his attention to Alexander and ignoring Lizzy’s smirk. “Your Aunt Catherine,” he stressed, “will be thrilled to see you.” Lizzy snorted. “But I suspect you will have the greatest fun playing with the Collins twins. Do you remember Miss Rachel and Miss Leah?”
Alexander thought on it for a few moments, and then brightened. “We played with furry little dogs on lawn, yes, Papa?”
“Indeed you did, although I might suggest refraining from mentioning that fact to your Aunt Catherine. She prefers to think of her corgis as special dogs who do not play with children.” He paused, Alexander’s confused face at such a bizarre con
cept initiating a lengthy dialogue on show quality dogs versus dogs that protect and are to be played with. Clearly Alexander thought that was the strangest idea imaginable, a notion Darcy could not argue with.
Nevertheless, between reminders of the various Rosings and Hunsford inhabitants, canine discussion, and observations of the passing scenery, time passed swiftly. After a brief halt to rest the horses and quiet Michael, he definitely not adjusting to carriage travel despite the recent journeys, they resumed their course. Alexander hopped between his father and Uncle Goj, depending on which window offered the most exciting view.
It was as they passed the iron gates marking the northern boundaries of Rosings Park, the Gothic spires of the mansion visible in the distance beyond the trees, that Alexander’s hazy memories from his visit here the prior year began to reemerge.
“That the dark house, yes, Papa?”
Lizzy laughed. “Yes, it is quite dark, especially compared to Pemberley. Narrow, twisted hallways with few lights and gloomy tapestries combine for an interesting dwelling place. Not sure about you, but I am always relieved to walk out the door into the sun.”
“I wonder if Anne secretly looks toward the day when she is in control and can rip those horrid wall coverings down,” George muttered, eyeing the approaching house with a sour cast. “I pray she discards the dreary carpets and more than half the furnishings. Only then will the place be moderately hospitable.”
“Have no fear, Son. It really is not that bad,” Darcy addressed to Alexander with a stern warning to his uncle. “You will not be alone and I insist on lamps in our quarters.”
But Alexander appeared the opposite of fearful. Rather he was grinning and bouncing on the seat. “Big house with real armor knights! And swords and shields and, and, pemmants, and canon, and…”
The adults burst into laughter, Darcy squeezing the exuberant child tight. “You would remember the armory! Perfect place for a boy to play, although it is best we do it quietly when your Aunt Catherine is away, agreed?”
The Trouble with Mr. Darcy Page 41