His Uncle's Favorite

by Lilian, Lory

  “Oh God, please,” he begged her, and she was not certain what she should do next. Her fingers moved slowly along his hardness; with complete shock, she explored every inch of it, amazed at its size, strength, and softness. His deepest moan was the sign she needed to increase her caresses and her other hand moved to the same spot, searching with curiosity; then her fingers entwined and closed around it.

  “Please, my love,” he begged again, and his hips shuddered and arched towards her hands; her fingers resumed their movement along the hard softness, daringly, strongly, then, without much consideration, her lips pressed upon it. Then, slowly, her lips joined her fingers in caressing him and her tongue curiously tasted him. The sensation, so new, so strange, so unexpected, disconcerted her for a moment, and she wondered whether she should continue. But his hoarse voice, his pleading, his hips moving to the rhythm of her fingers, reminded her of the torturous, exquisite pleasure he had given her so many times—and she thought of nothing but to offer him what he desired. Her fingers and lips together resumed their caresses, and each of her kisses, each of her touches elicited deeper moans from him. She could feel his hardness pulsing in her hand as if it was alive, growing even harder when her lips touched and tasted it, and a strange sensation built and burned inside her as his pleasure became hers.

  “Elizabeth, wait… I want to touch you, too,” he said but she could not understand his meaning. A moment later, however, she felt his strong hands moving her body, and with the deepest shock, she felt his hands and his mouth caressing her legs, then tantalising her inner thighs and gliding between them. She needed only an instant to understand that he wished for them both to share the same sensation, to bear the same torturous feelings. She resumed her caress, whilst her own body craved and was gratified with his passionate touches, each of them more preoccupied with the other’s pleasure, trying to offer more than they received, until everything collapsed around them.

  As quick as a heartbeat, she found herself turned again, and his weight crushed her as he entered deeper, stronger, and faster than ever before. She cried but not from pain—as her mind anticipated with some worry—but of unexpected pleasure and of the fulfilled desire of feeling him inside her. She clasped her legs around his waist, and he tried to catch his breath while he conquered her with long, slow, deep thrusts. She bit his shoulder while the rhythm of his hips increased and his passion invaded her stronger and stronger, deeper and deeper until pleasure shattered her violently while his body convulsed upon hers, bursting inside her.

  For a long time, neither of them had the strength or the will to move. He only freed her from his weight as she needed to regain her breathing, but their lower bodies remained joined. She could still feel him inside her, not as large or as strong as before but pulsing lively. Their hands continued to caress each other tenderly as they struggled to recover from the storm of sensation that left them completely spent, exhausted in mind and body.

  “You are so wonderful, and I love you so much,” he whispered while he kissed her forehead. “That was… The pleasure you gave me was the most exquisite sensation I have ever experienced… If I ever dreamt that you would someday touch me in such a way, my dream was a pale shadow of the reality.”

  She looked at him with a slight uneasiness he did not miss. “I cannot believe what we just did… It was so unexpected, so hard to imagine… Yet, it feels so natural when we are together. I love you so deeply and completely,” she replied, caressing his face.

  It was almost midnight when they finally fell asleep, tightly embraced in the large bed of the master of Pemberley, ending their day as passionately as it began.

  Chapter 24

  During their first week of marriage, the master and mistress rarely left the house, partly because of rain during the first days but also because Mrs. Darcy needed time to visit Pemberley’s rooms—all of them, one by one, in the company of the master, who had postponed all his other business. A great amount of time was spent in the library, for which Mrs. Darcy seemed to have the same passion and fondness as the master; also, a fact that raised some rumours downstairs, Mrs. Darcy showed an unexpected interest in the billiard room, which was uncommon for a lady. After much speculation, whispered carefully in order not to be heard by the severe Mrs. Reynolds, it was decided among the staff that surely Mrs. Darcy learned to play billiards in order to keep her husband company—yet another proof of her worthiness.

  By the second week, however, the newly wedded couple spent a few hours outdoors every day—taking long strolls around the gardens, visiting Lambton or one of the tenant families, and conducting Mrs. Darcy’s riding’s lessons. The information that the new Mrs. Darcy did not excel in riding was somehow disconcerting to the Pemberley staff, as everyone had been certain that Mr. Darcy’s wife should be the most accomplished lady in every respect. However, Mr. Colton reported that Mrs. Darcy’s improvement in riding was the fastest and most impressive he had seen in years, which, he admitted, was to Mr. Darcy’s merit entirely as the master did not allow anyone but himself to tutor Mrs. Darcy. One aspect puzzled Mr. Colton, though, and he did not dare discuss it with anyone else: From the first days of their arrival, Mr. Darcy and his wife rode together on Thunder, which was only natural since she could not mount her own horse. But why they would continue that habit even after Mrs. Darcy became proficient at riding by herself, Mr. Colton could not understand.

  A month after Mr. Darcy wedded Miss Elizabeth Bennet, everybody who saw them together could testify that he could not possibly have made a better choice. The new Mrs. Darcy brought the only things the master of Pemberley lacked: liveliness, joy, and laughter to warm Pemberley. The master himself was seen smiling more than he had in years, and to everyone’s shock, he even danced several times at the small party he held for his tenants. Even more, the way Mr. and Mrs. Darcy gazed at each other all the time left no room for doubt regarding the feelings they shared.

  A new, shiny day dawned beautifully at Pemberley, and the entire household was in an agitated state. In two days’ time, a large party of houseguests was expected, and everything must be more than perfect as Mrs. Reynolds repeated countless times. In truth, Mrs. Reynolds seemed to be the one most concerned about the event—unlike Mrs. Darcy, who assured the staff that she trusted their efficiency implicitly and there was no need for them to do anything different from what they usually did. No matter how much she came to appreciate her new mistress, Mrs. Reynolds could not possibly approve such a leisurely approach; surely, everybody must and would do much more than usual as it was the first large party hosted by her master since he married!

  Elizabeth knocked at the study door, and her husband invited her in, a well-known, tender smile on his face. They had spent the morning riding, and afterward, while she went to change her gown, he had an appointment with his steward, which had just ended.

  Since they married, they were separated only when he had some fixed appointments, and she usually employed that time discussing with Mrs. Reynolds matters related to the household. The rest of the time, even if he had to take care of business or study a report, she took a chair close to him, reading in silence. He gladly remembered his promise from the first day and did not hesitate to inform her about the most important aspects of his business. He was pleased and eager to answer any of her questions, and he always encouraged her to disagree and argue with him.

  He took her hand and closed then locked the door behind him. She smiled and blushed; he always locked the door when they were in a room, which proved a very wise gesture as, most of the time, what started as an innocent, enjoyable activity—reading, playing the piano, or playing billiards—quite often became an intimate interlude.

  “Was your meeting successful, I hope?” she inquired.

  “Yes, everything is settled. I hope nothing urgent will appear in the next days as I plan to focus my attention on our guests.”

  “I can hardly wait for their arrival; I have missed them all so dearly.”

  “Yes, I imagin
e it must have been difficult for you to have no other company than mine.”

  She raised her eyebrow in harsh reproach. “Such an unfair statement does not even deserve a reply. I believe you are only craving more compliments to flatter your pride. So fortunate that Miss Bingley will be here in no time,” she replied impertinently.

  He unceremoniously sat in his chair by the desk and pulled her onto his lap. “You are quite disrespectful, Mrs. Darcy,” he said as he claimed her lips. “I think I shall complain to my mother-in-law about your wild behaviour.”

  “Forgive me, sir, I was not aware that you were displeased with my behaviour. Had I known before, I surely would endeavour to make amends.”

  She laughed against his mouth, and he silenced her with another kiss, deeper and more demanding as she encircled her hands around his neck, her mouth as eager as his. He suddenly pulled up her dress and turned her to face him, astride on his lap. She was neither surprised nor reluctant; their kiss grew wilder as well as their caresses. He lowered the dress from her shoulders while she untied his cravat. She could feel his hands gliding between her thighs, and she laughed within the kiss at how expert he had became at removing their clothes in every possible situation. However, her laughter soon became moans of torturous pleasure when he entered her slowly, deep inside. He slowly put her back against the desk to expose her soft, heavy roundness to his hungry mouth, eager to enjoy her sweetness. Their rhythm increased, and they struggled to quiet their moans within the kiss, biting each other’s lips. When pleasure vanquished her strength and she could move no longer, he rose from the chair and laid her along the desk, her legs entwined on his back, and he continued to love her there on the wooden desk—where he had spent so many lonely hours—until she took her pleasure again and again. Only then did he allow his own body to feel its long-restrained relief.

  Their clothes in great disorder, they rested together on the sofa, breathing heavily. “It has been eight hours since we made love; it is no wonder I missed you so much…”

  She smiled at him, flustered. “I cannot believe how little shame we have…to make love on your desk; it is preposterous.”

  “No, it is not; this is passion, my love. However, I remember how reluctant and embarrassed you were when it happened the first time.” He laughed.

  “Oh, you should not laugh. I still remember that stormy night—with rain and thunder and lightning. I could not believe that you wished to do such a thing, and I only agreed because you caused me to lose my mind and my good sense. And I am still embarrassed…”

  “But you must admit that the embarrassment means little compared to the final reward,” he answered, a mischievous smile on his face. He then kissed her hand and her forehead. “My passion for you knows no restraint, and I know sometimes I embarrass you with my insistence, but I hope I never forced my will on you. I would never want you to do anything against your wishes.”

  “You know very well that I always welcome your attention and that my passion is no more restrained than yours. I love to feel your gazes, your touches, your caresses, your kisses; I love to know your passion overcomes your well-known self-restraint. But that does not eliminate the fact that sometimes I am embarrassed and uneasy with the things we do…and the places we do them. As it happened with the billiard room—you placed a settee there, and I am certain the entire staff guessed your reason for doing so.”

  He laughed and kissed her hair again. “Forgive me, my love. Should I ask for the settee to be removed? I can do so immediately.”

  She stared at him and hesitated briefly before replying with complete seriousness. “Well, the damage has already been done, so you might just as well leave it where it is.”

  “Yes, I thought the same.” He laughed, covering her face with small kisses. “Now, Mrs. Darcy, you should try to fix your clothes as I am tempted to embarrass you again.”

  A sudden, strong knock at the door interrupted their teasing conversation, but Darcy did not hurry to reply. She glanced at him inquiringly with amusement.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Miles’s voice startled Elizabeth, and she looked at Darcy with worry. Since they married, Miles had never knocked on a locked door, let alone called his master.

  “Go away, Miles.”

  “Mr. Darcy, please sir—you are wanted in the drawing room,” Miles repeated, and Darcy finally rose from Elizabeth’s side.

  “Someone had better have died, or else I will kill Miles,” he mumbled as he walked to the door, glancing at the mirror briefly to button his vest. He opened the door only enough to talk to Miles for a few moments then closed the door again and returned to Elizabeth, who was looking at him, half amused and half puzzled; he took her hands gently.

  “You should go and change, my love. Lord Matlock is here; he seems to have some urgent news for us.”

  ***

  A few minutes later, Elizabeth returned to the drawing room in a great hurry. She was pleased at the prospect of seeing the earl again, though she could not restrain her worry regarding the news he had so unexpectedly brought. She expected a happy, joyful reunion, and she stepped to the earl, her hands stretched to greet him.

  “Lord Matlock! I am so happy to see you again!”

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand politely. “You look more beautiful than ever.” His voice trembled slightly.

  Darcy put his hands on her shoulders. “Elizabeth, Uncle brings us sad news. Please sit down, my dear.” She looked from one to the other, her eyes darkened with distress.

  “George was murdered two nights ago. He was shot during a card game,” the earl said.

  Elizabeth forgot to breathe, her fingers tightly gripping her husband’s hands.

  “I am on my way to his regiment,” the earl continued. “I stopped briefly to inform you; I received news at Matlock Manor from his colonel early this morning and…I thought about sending news to Longbourn or to Mrs. Gardiner, but I know they are already on their way here. Robert and Thomas are in London, too. I must go now; it is late…”

  “I will come with you, Uncle,” Darcy said decidedly. He turned his eyes to Elizabeth and spoke gently. “My love, I must go. We will bring Wickham home to bury him at Pemberley near his parents. We cannot leave him there among strangers.”

  “Darcy, you cannot leave your wife alone; there is no need for you to come. I will take care of everything. I should not have sent him away alone; it is only my fault…”

  Elizabeth squeezed her husband’s hand. “Do you think I should go, too? For Lydia?”

  “By no means,” he said severely. “I cannot allow you to expose yourself to such a situation. We will take the best care of your sister, I promise. Besides, you must be here to receive our guest, we might not return in time for their arrival. Uncle, I will be ready in no time,” he said then hurried to prepare himself, leaving Elizabeth and the earl alone in the drawing room.

  “I am so sorry, sir,” she said gently. “I know you were very fond of Mr. Wickham, and I can imagine how you must suffer. But you cannot possibly believe it was your fault.”

  “Yes, I was very fond of him but it was for naught… He died alone in the street, I was told… Somebody shot him, alone in the dark…and it is my fault. Did Darcy not tell you?” At Elizabeth’s puzzled expression, he continued. “It seems he did not—I should have known that he would not betray a secret, not even to you. When he returns, please ask him… Tell him I said so… I am so tired, my dear, so very tired… “

  Elizabeth looked at the earl, disconcerted; he seemed lost and incoherent. She could not comprehend his words, nor could she miss his pale countenance.

  Darcy appeared with a small valise in his hand, his face dark and troubled. He embraced her tenderly, so tightly that she could barely breathe.

  “You do understand why I must go… I do not want to leave you alone, but…”

  “Of course, I understand. Please take care of Lydia…and his lordship; he is not well. Do not worry about me, my love. Pemberley is my home now; I
am not alone here.”

  “It is your home, indeed, beloved. I shall return in no time…”

  Alone in the impressive drawing room, Elizabeth watched her husband leave with Lord Matlock. She clasped her hands to stop their trembling then ran upstairs to the balcony, following them with her gaze until they disappeared behind the hills. Only then did she begin to cry.

  ***

  Darcy was gone for a full day, and Elizabeth had barely slept a few hours. She spent her time moving from one room to another, looking at the portraits in the gallery, trying to play the pianoforte for a few minutes, walking in the back garden among the spectacular rose bushes from which he brought her a fresh flower every day and visiting Spirit at the stables, but nothing could comfort her for his absence. Her happiness, so complete and perfect only a day before, was now crushed by the tragic death of George Wickham.

  Mrs. Reynolds offered her warm support and care with the delicacy and discretion of an elder and wise aunt while Molly seemed to suffer together with her mistress.

  Elizabeth, tired and confused, could not forget the earl’s words and troubled countenance, nor could she stop trying to guess the secret about the connection between the earl and his favourite. Her husband knew it but did not share it with her, which was easy to understand. He could not possibly betray his uncle’s trust—not even to her. Now he was allowed to tell her, but to what purpose? Mr. Wickham was gone forever, and nobody could help him. Did they make the wrong decision to purchase him a commission in Newcastle? Would things have been different if he had remained in Meryton?

  And what about Lydia, a girl of fifteen who had been through so much distress in such a short time? What tragedy she must have suffered to have her husband dead less than two months after their wedding. Perhaps she should have gone with them to help Lydia. It could not possibly be worse than staying home alone with an ocean of tears.