Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

by Karen Wasylowski

  “Richard! Are you all right?” She tried to run her fingers through her hair to help dry it but quickly abandoned the attempt because of the snarls. She then pushed it from her face to lean her elbows atop her knees. She demurely placed one row of toes over her others to keep them warm.

  “Hmm?” His eyebrows rose with his response, his mind a hopeless mush of confusion.

  “You were saying something important, were you not?”

  “I was?”

  “I’m almost certain you were.” She gave him a guilty smile and stood. “Oh, dear, I am not being very attentive again, am I?” Padding over to him, she rested her hands high up on his shoulders. “I am very sorry. Please forgive me for being so rude. Good heavens, barefoot like this, I feel small standing next to you.” Smiling contentedly she ran her hands across his shoulders, and then gently stroked down the front of his chest. “It’s like I am standing in a hole or something.” Her eyes drifted, just for a moment, to his mouth.

  Fitzwilliam scowled. “Amanda, go and stand over there, please.” He sounded very annoyed.

  “Why? What have I done?”

  “Just do it, goddamn it.”

  “If you insist, Colonel.” She pursed her lips and walked back to where she had been sitting near the fire. “Fine, shoot.”

  “I beg your pardon?!”

  “Sorry, that was an American phrase. Please proceed with what you wanted to say to me.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then began again, after further clearing his throat and downing his fourth or fifth glass of claret. He had lost count.

  “Amanda.”

  “Yes, Richard. I have not left. I am listening.”

  “Right. Yes… where was I?” He began to massage his temple. “Ah… It is evident that we have… strong attraction for each other… damn it to hell, what was I saying? Your fussings, all this to do, have gotten me completely off topic! Oh, yes, I remember—Amanda, I am of an age where I find I desire something more substantial in my life than a meaningless coupling with someone. Forgive my blunt speech, but I do want us to be open with each other.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he strolled to the window, a headache threatening, then rubbed at his chest, feeling as if a ravenous wolf was within clawing to be released. It had been those little pink toes, and he knew it. For no apparent reason, those stupid pink toes had captured his imagination and were now driving him wild.

  “Ahem. Ahem.” He hesitated for a moment to stare outside. “After years of professing the complete opposite, I find that, since meeting you, I truly do desire a home life and a family. I want to share my thoughts with someone, share my dreams and love and future with one person, and we seem to rub along well together, don’t we? Can you understand what I am saying?” He turned to look at her. “As I was saying, I have arranged for something to which I pray you are amenable…” He suddenly exploded. “Bloody hell! Now what are you doing?!”

  She froze midway in her process of unbuttoning her bodice, a guilty blush sweeping over her face.

  “Now are you going to tell me that your breasts are cold and wet and you need to relieve them of your top?” His voice sounded angrier than he had meant it to be, while his walls of protection continued crashing down around him. The wolf was breaking free.

  Brown eyes looked down in shame, and tears began to well. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Please do not yell at me, Richard. I cannot help it if my dress is wet, and I’m cold.”

  “I don’t mean to yell. It’s just that I am trying to bare my soul to you here, and you cannot seem to retain possession of your clothes. Now please get yourself dressed again. We are not staying. If you would only let me explain to you my overall strategy…”

  He watched in horror as her face crumpled into a blubbery mass of tears. “I am angering you, and you are sending me away.” She stomped her bare foot in self-disgust. Throwing back her head, she began to wail and sob with her frustration and anger and disappointment. “Oh, I am such a fool! I wanted to look beautiful! Instead, I look like a sodden pile of rags. But please, Richard, don’t force me to leave here. Don’t give up on us.”

  Fitzwilliam reached her in two steps, pulling her roughly into his arms. “Stop it, Amanda. I’m the fool, not you.” Immediately their mouths found each other, and they kissed with hunger, licking and biting and ravenous. “Forgive me,” he mumbled over and over while her hands grabbed into his hair, pulling him closer. He crushed her to him and lifted her from the floor, those offending pink toes dangling in midair.

  “I love you, Richard. You don’t know how I dream about you and pretend I talk to you when you’re not with me. I love you so much I kiss my pillow each night, and hug it, and wish it was you there with me.”

  “I am the worst of brutes, bellowing at the only person who matters.” He kissed her eyes and nose and feasted kisses on her neck. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. I love you so much. This was entirely my fault. It was a stupid idea to meet here. But you see, I have made some plans. I wanted to explain to you…”

  She sniffled and nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Holding his face in her hands, she stared lovingly into his eyes. “Yes, it is your fault, isn’t it?”

  He smiled over her head as he set her down on her feet again and reached into his pocket, sacrificing yet another handkerchief to the Penrod family. “Blow,” he instructed, and she trumpeted into the cloth. “Well done. Are you finished?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good. Come with me.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to an overstuffed chair, where they settled down, her legs tucked neatly across his lap. She sniffled and snuggled as he nudged her head under his chin, stroking her cheek and hair to soothe her. They sat in easy silence until her sniffles stopped and she finally sighed.

  “Are you warmer now?” he asked quietly, and she smiled.

  “What is wrong with me, Richard?” she asked after a moment.

  “Wrong with you? Now why would you say something silly like that?” He kissed her forehead, gently pressing her head onto his shoulder. “You are perfection.”

  That was nice, she thought. Nestled in his arms like a child, she began to play with his cravat. “I worried and worried myself sick about today, I swear it. I must have awoken at four in the morning to get dressed and fretted about whether to wear the horrid lavender dress or the dreaded grey dress.” She wriggled closer to him, her voice becoming even softer. “Tell me again how I am perfection.”

  His answer was another deep and thorough kiss. “You are beyond perfection.”

  “You are just being kind. You are very kind, you know, and brave and decent and honorable. No, I have bungled this whole thing. I’m such an idiot.” She sighed once and then once again. “I look pitiful. My nose is running, my hair is drenched, my hands are coarse… feel free to disagree with me at any time,” she muttered into his neck.

  Fitzwilliam’s senses were lost somewhere in her hair, in the fragrance of flowers and soap. He was very glad to hear her humor emerge again. He glided kisses across the top of her head.

  “You have brought others here, have you not? What is wrong with me that you don’t want me in that way, Richard? Why am I so undesirable to you? I thought I was being alluring by loosening my top a little, but you looked horrified.” She hiccoughed then apologized when her head hit his chin.

  “We seem to be working at cross-purposes, my love. This has nothing to do with not wanting you. I want you desperately. I hoped you knew that by now.” He kissed her waiting lips. “I love you passionately.” She wriggled joyfully in his lap and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Merciful heavens,” he moaned with his rampant arousal. “Good God, what in the world was I saying? I can’t remember anything at the moment with you bouncing about.” He hugged her tightly to him and tried to catch his breath. “Ah, yes. The problem, as I see it, is…” he started quietly, “what I was trying to explain to you is that we could meet here, if you truly desire, and begin a relationship with each oth
er, but I know in my heart that you would not be happy, and then neither could I. You would feel used, and worst of all, you would grow ashamed of us, come to blame me and eventually hate me. It is true I’ve been here with mistresses or one-time lovers, but that is all I wanted from them and all they wanted from me.” He kissed her temples and the tip of her nose. “This is very different, though. Don’t you sense that we have a greater future than that? I have known that since the very first moment I saw you.”

  She was very still, her head resting on his shoulder. “I, too, felt from the beginning that we were meant to be together, forever.”

  He smiled then kissed her mouth softly. “Excellent. I will speak with your mother-in-law tonight, and…” His voice trailed off as she struggled to break free from his arms so that she could look into his face.

  “You cannot do that! No! Oh, Richard, you would make my situation so much worse. She will throw me from the house. I will lose any contact with my son. She is only waiting for me to misstep. Please promise that you won’t seek her out or speak to her or tell anyone about us.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “So what do we do? Do you want us to part ways over this? Does it truly mean nothing to you? You know, Amanda, the culture in this country is quite different from yours. The most sophisticated, wealthy, and titled marriages are oftentimes no more than mergers. After an heir is presented, many of these couples go their own way, and no one thinks ill of them as long as they behave discreetly. An affair with you would not harm me in the least, but for you, Amanda, well I have serious doubts. I truly fear that emotionally it will cause you much distress.”

  She reflected on what he said. “Though I confess I am very naïve about the mechanics of this, I am also selfish.” His eyes and his lips were so close. “I want you, and I want my boy, both. I see no other way for us, no other immediate answer, and I am agreeable if you are. Besides, how could it be a sin to be loved by you? I want to be loved by you. I need to be loved by you.”

  He saw the truth in her eyes, was moved by the trust he saw there. He was also completely aware that he had lost the fight. His fingers began to stroke her hair. “You are so beautiful to me, and you don’t even realize how much. Maybe that’s a good thing, because I am at your mercy as it is.”

  She turned her face to kiss the palm of his hand. “Don’t deny us being together, please.” Desperate to possess him, she reached her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

  And that was it, a final attachment to functional thought snapping, the last pitiful reserve breached. His entire world was there before him, lying in his arms. If he were to die tomorrow, he would consider his life as being fulfilled having just known for a moment the love and trust of this one woman.

  The hand that had rested so innocently on her hip came to life and began an intimate gentle journey, firmly pulling her closer. Fitzwilliam’s speeches and plans, all rational thought, vanished beneath the soft, warm, yielding flesh of a woman, his woman, and the desire in her eyes. He angled his mouth onto hers and crushed her to him, kissing her deeply and passionately—once, twice, and again and again.

  When they finally separated, he rested his forehead on hers. The room was about to burst into flames, and he knew it. He made one more attempt at logic. “Amanda, I am rapidly losing control.”

  She grunted impatiently, pulling his head down again, pushing his mouth onto hers; his hand came to rest between her silky legs.

  “Richard,” she said, her voice breathless, “it has been a long time, since before my son was born. Please don’t be too disappointed with me.”

  No longer coherent, he eased her dress down, her breasts bared to his touch.

  “I love you,” she whispered in awe, her hands touched his hair, his cheek, his mouth. There was no sound in the room other than their breathing.

  “I love you,” he said simultaneously, a growl beginning deep in his throat as his mouth went down to cover hers. He stood then, with her in his arms, to carry her to bed where, undressing each other wildly, they both went mad.

  Fitzwilliam was in the grip of an overpowering insanity, much greater than he had ever known before. On fire, he now possessed no ability for coherent thought. He saw only red from inside his closed eyes and forgot time and place.

  It was over much too quickly, the explosive release for both triggered nearly immediately by the anticipation of the deed. He was still inside her as he held her fast and rolled onto his side. Neither one was able to calm their breathing anytime soon.

  They lay holding each other for a brief time, and then the madness overcame them again, staying with them much longer and growing even more intense than before.

  Chapter 16

  A disheveled Amanda dragged the heavy chair before the hearth and then took up the poker, shoving it repeatedly into an already roaring fire, while the rain and sleet continued to batter the windows. Even though she had noiselessly slipped into her dress, the back of which remained open with its millions of unreachable tiny buttons, the din from her slamming and thumping and grumbling could have raised the dead.

  She found she was still in a wicked temper upon the discovery that her shoes remained obstinately damp. Well, heavens, that was apparently a deliberate insult, so she threw them across the room. Beginning to wheeze with her exertions, she now yanked a throw from another chair and tucked it around her lap for extra warmth. It was no use. Nothing seemed capable of warming her this morning.

  She snatched a quick glance at the creature she had so recently left reclining upon the bed—the fiend, the sexual deviant. Before her eyes rested a repulsive debaucher—a seasoned rake upon his cot of crime, a seducer of innocents, sated and smug. She colored deeply at the vile sight and cursed herself for being even more drawn to him now that the deed was done, and done so soundly. Her angry stare dragged across his fuzzy barrel chest and his muscular tree-trunk arms and long powerful legs. She trembled with the remembrance of his overblown male…ego. Crazy, mud blond hair was both falling forward onto his forehead and wildly standing straight up around his head at awkward angles. He smiled sweetly at her.

  She sighed. He was beautiful.

  ***

  Fitzwilliam had no idea what to do next, a first for a worldly soldier having just bedded a beautiful woman. Ordinarily, he would kiss her cheek, leave his card, and be off, usually neither requiring nor desiring a second acquaintance. Au contraire, to his dismay now he felt possessive and jealous and disgustingly vulnerable. He was the first to admit he was captured, sunk, defeated. Merde.

  He would make her see reason, his reason naturally, because for certain, he would never let her go now, so utterly female as she was—soft and warm. Lord, he remembered the heat of her kisses—kisses on his neck, on his chest and stomach. He remembered the shyness, the tender wondering way she had touched him, stroked him. How she had quivered and moaned with each of his strokes, then her little gasp each time he entered her. He remembered the feel of her silky, warm thigh against his cheek, her trembles when he kneaded and nipped her fanny, her panting when his mouth suckled her breast. Their hands and tongues had branded each other everywhere, their kisses more passionate than any others in his prior and most extensive experience. He abhorred the notion that she could regret any moment of it, any of the magic that they had experienced together.

  He cleared his throat loudly. “So tell me, Amanda, what would you be doing right this moment if you were at the hospital?”

  At first taken aback, Amanda thought for a moment and then put her head down. “Oh, I suppose I would be with the babies right now.” Her head bowed down, she smiled briefly—very briefly. “I spend as much of the mornings as I can with the newborns and young children, holding them and such. I love the babies. The afternoons are generally with the mothers, teaching them how important love and nurturing is to their child. Anthony believes most of these poor women have lived without decent families and cannot understand how to properly care for children, what they should feed them, h
ow important tenderness is, so he has me speak with each mother before she leaves.”

  The mantel clock ticked loudly. Fitzwilliam was drowning with his memories of loving her and caressing her body. They had fit together perfectly, were custom-made for each other. His hands still were warm from touching her. “You should have more babies of your own.” His voice sounded rough with emotion. “You are a good mother, Amanda, an excellent mother. Your son is quite wonderful.”

  Her eyes began to water, and she turned her face away. “I prefer to not discuss this,” she whispered.

  It was becoming harder and harder not to dash over and shake her, drag her back into his bed to hold her and comfort her several more times, to love her and worship her. This was not the most advantageous time however.

  ***

  They had made love twice. Twice, and in broad daylight. That must be the very definition of a woman of easy virtue. What must Richard think of me? She groaned softly and shook her head. Well, goodness. She tried to persuade herself that her behavior in their first coupling was forgivable, since she had been, she now realized, almost as ignorant about passion as the most sheltered innocent. Why, she had no defenses against an experienced man of the world, and not for the first time, she wondered about her marriage.

  For one thing, she had never seen a naked man before today, before Fitzwilliam. Her husband, Augustus, never had a naked moment in his life of which she was aware. Why, he never even slept with her. Occasionally he would appear suddenly by her bedside, all quaking and nervous in the darkness, quickly “do the deed,” as he called it, and then leave as soon as possible.

  No, definitely their first coupling today had been a complete revelation. Her immoral conduct was not her responsibility in any way, was only the consequence of his wicked expertise. He was cunning. He was a devil. He was a man.

  ***

  All that remained then was the annoying problem of their second coupling, only twenty minutes after the first. Oh dear God. She blushed crimson with the memory. Who could have believed such depraved behavior from her? She had succumbed to madness twice within one hour. A second coupling within one hour was just flagrant wickedness, wasn’t it? And, frankly, wasn’t “it” much slower the second time, more inventive, more intimate, and much more thorough? She shook her head and groaned, her lips moving with her thoughts. I am vile and sinful and decadent and…loud, and she blushed even deeper with the memory of just how loud. Oh, but heaven forgive me, I would run to him again right now, this very second, if he asked. She opened her clenched eyes and caught sight of the ripped chemise dangling from a curtain rod above the bed, where Fitzwilliam had hastily tossed it.