Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  Seeming oblivious to the fact she was almost disrobed, attired only with a cotton nightshift, Mr Darcy signalled for her silence and closed the door behind him.

  "Please, Miss Bennet. I must have a word with you."

  She looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to think that he must be in liquor again; the strangeness of such a visit, and of his pursuit, seemed not otherwise intelligible, and with this impression, she immediately asked him to leave her room.

  "Mr Darcy! I advise you at present to return to your room. I am not at leisure to remain in your company any longer. Whatever your business may be with me, it will be better recollected and explained on the morrow."

  "I understand you," he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm, "Yet I must assure you I am not drunk. Indeed, I have not tasted a single drop of liquor since our last dance. And that was… umm about five hours ago."

  The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elizabeth, that whatever unpardonable folly might bring him to her bedchamber, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment's recollection:

  "Mr Darcy, you ought to feel, and I certainly do, that after what has transpired between us, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my bedchamber, requires a very particular excuse. What is it that you mean by it?"

  "Indeed, I mean," said he with serious energy, "if I can, to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for my past actions; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing you that though I have obviously behaved in the most ungentleman like manner, I am not a rascal; to obtain something like forgiveness from you."

  "Is this the real reason of your coming?"

  "Upon my soul it is," was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Mr Darcy of her remembrance, and in spite of herself her heart melted.

  "I cannot think of proper conversation to a gentleman while abed, sir."

  "I am sorry, I did not mean to see you thus. I was waiting for you to come to your bedchamber. I came as soon as I heard you come in. You certainly disrobed yourself quickly." Realising the impropriety of his words, Darcy tried to reword his statement, with the consequent embarrassment for both. "I mean, you certainly are good at… I mean… you… are already in bed."

  She blushed profoundly and lowered her gaze, while covering her body with the sheets. She afforded a magnificent vision, very much as he had imagined his wedding night to have been.

  "If that is all, you may be satisfied already, for I have long forgiven you."

  The sight of her, so demurely crimsoned abed, awoke drowsy emotions within his soul. He could not help lingering on.

  "Yet I need to know more. You see, Miss Bennet, I came to you in the night in the hope you might enlighten me on our… nocturnal encounter in the orangery. In the intelligence this is not the first time we had been in each other's company at improper hours and places, I dare say we can afford a few minutes for the sake of my peace of mind." That is it. You have said it.

  "Your peace of mind? What about mine, sir?"

  "Pray, Miss Bennet. You must apprise me of our behaviour that night."

  "For God's sake, Mr Darcy. How can you ask me that? Can you not imagine my embarrassment?"

  "I must know. I remember but the bliss of our meeting."

  "Sir, I cannot speak of that."

  "Did I… did I compromise you in any way?"

  She rolled her eyes and muttered her discomfort. "Oh my God!"

  "Did I?"

  She nodded.

  His eyes widened and an expression of horror was drawn upon his features.

  "Did I force you?"

  She shook her head. Needless to say, he looked relieved for awhile. Then, raising his head, he whispered some unconnected words. "This is unbelievable, it will not do." He raked his hair with his hand and began to pace the room visibly discomfited.

  " I… you… and you… I cannot believe this."

  "Oh Mr Darcy! What must you think of me!" Elizabeth's embarrassment was reaching a critical point. She would have buried her face in a pillow had the notion not seemed even more ridiculous than her present circumstances.

  "What else? What else did I do?" His voice did not sound rejecting now. On the contrary, it sounded curious. His memory had betrayed him. He would have killed to recollect such instances in the orangery.

  "Please, Mr Darcy, leave me."

  Unfortunately, a lady's voice must sound as convincing at such pleading as her words. Hers, now, seemed to be begging for exactly the opposite. Hence, his courage rose. Stepping decidedly forward he begged her,

  "Not until you have told me the truth. Pray, Miss Bennet. You must take pity on me. I cannot bear it. I must know."

  "You need not worry, sir. You only kissed me."

  I merely kissed her. And yet I have no recollection of it.

  Mr Darcy was not convinced. Something in the way she was looking at him, besides the recollection of the state of his neck the morning after Twelfth Night, her scent all over his clothes, all that told him they had shared a great deal of intimacy. If only he could remember! "Was it only that? I only kissed you?" his voice was calm. To his satisfaction he noticed Elizabeth's resistance was beginning to break down. He pushed further on.

  "For God's sake tell me, Miss Bennet. Did I merely kiss you? Tell me, honestly, do you think me a monster?"

  At last she lost composure and blurted out the truth between sobs. "No sir, you are nothing of the sort! And yet it was not merely a kiss."

  Darcy looked at her with greater astonishment than ever.

  She continued in an emotional wave of words. "We held each other and kissed passionately until we could breathe no more. You told me that you loved me. That you had meant to marry me but was prevented by my detached demeanour while we were at Longbourn. You also told me that you dreamt about me every night, much as I have dreamed about you since then, but you also assured me, that you would never, ever, ask me to become your mistress in virtue of the respect you felt for my person. Afterwards we reached to an agreement. Since our emotions are so easily miscarried, we decided to avoid each other as much as possible." Her face was red and her cheeks glistened with the moisture of the tears her eyes had shed.

  His befuddlement was compleat and for a good couple of minutes he remained silent and detached, nailed to the floor, unable to make sense of the present situation. Finally he risked a further question.

  "Did I… did we… reach closer intimacy?"

  "Aye, sir. We did," she informed him.

  "How close?"

  "Very much."

  "Did I…?" he could not find the words to ask this. Yet, Elizabeth comprehended his fear.

  "Nay, sir. You spared me the embarrassment, yet we were very close to it."

  "Did anyone see us?"

  She was vexed at such a question.

  "Mr Darcy, everyone saw us," she replied, her voice betraying exasperation. "But we were at a masquerade, remember? We wore masks that night. 'Twas Twelfth Night. Everyone had lost a little decorum. If I do not recall wrong, we were no exception."

  "Elizabeth!" He savoured her name on his lips for the first time, his chest wildly heaving in his passion. "How I wish I could recall you in my arms! Yet every memento was torn from me!"

  "Say no more, sir. That night follies were due not only to our improper infatuation, but also to our abuse of spirits. This is not the case now. And we should endeavour to remain civil and…"

  "I shall never taste brandy again," he blurted out as he took one step forward. Ever so slowly he walked in her direction and seconds later he was kneeling beside her. She looked down at his lovely face, enchanted by his dark eyes. Insensible to the cries of her conscience, she moved her head a little down almost imperceptibly, a mere inch, then another until just as imperceptibly her lips rested softly on his lips. There she dropped a smile and sighed, eyes closed.

  Darcy had closed his long be
fore her. The moment he had seen her beloved face slowly descending over his, he knew they would kiss, yet he was afraid to frighten her. So, he closed his eyes, so that she would feel bolder, as if by closing them, perchance she would believe he was not really there. When he felt the sweet taste of her mouth upon his, he smiled, his lips still prisoners of hers.

  "I love you." he breathed. "I love you."

  "May God forgive me, I love you, too," she confessed.

  He reached out and kissed her again.

  When he detached himself from her, she looked into his eyes and said in a whisper. "You are so handsome."

  Oh, my God, did I say that aloud?

  That confession was too much for him. His pulse was now galloping, and the temperature of his blood was rising.

  "Elizabeth!" Temptation pushed wildly in his loins, and at a moment's notice he was atop her on the bed. Their kissing became frenetic, desperate. He pulled down the covers and dove into the bed with her, caressing her body and breathing heavily, captivating every single moment. Her hair, her skin, her scent he endeavoured to store in his memory, knowing perfectly well that moments such as this would hardly ever be afforded again.

  He began to disrobe himself without a pause to his ministrations, and to his pleasure, Elizabeth herself helped him untangle his cravat (she soon became quite masterful at that). The smile on his face turned into a nervous laughter. She was soon laughing, too.

  Kissing her mouth was not enough. He roamed his lips across her neck, her cleavage, the exuberance of her décolletage, until the nightshift became an obstacle. With a groan he ripped it open to reveal the whiteness of her breasts, and the next moment he was indulging himself with the sweetness that her bosom afforded, in his unique rough manner.

  While doing this, her name came to his lips, over and over in divine worship. From Miss Bennet, to Elizabeth and in the ardour of their embrace a new name slipped his tongue. "Lizzy" he breathed into her ear, his voice coming extremely hoarse and harsh.

  "Lizzy" had forgotten herself in his ministrations. She rippled adoringly under him, savouring every minute of his lovemaking. She felt so much love for this man, so much passion that nothing could deprive her of the bliss of this joyful moment. Ever burgeoning, her arousal was about to burst in such a commotion, that her moaning threatened to be heard in the halls.

  Such was her concentration on her own pleasure, Elizabeth had barely noticed he had compleatly disrobed himself. When she did, eventually, notice his bulk pushing fervently against her nether regions, it was too late to feel any remorse. She had surrendered to the pleasures only his flesh could bestow upon her.

  In unintentional emulation of his cousin's misjudgement, Darcy had not counted on her ardent response (Elizabeth could not help being a good student with such eager teachers). When getting rid of his clothes, he had not even been thinking. On mounting her, however, he had made a mental vow to respect her maidenhood. Stupid thought, of course, and hardly attainable in such a situation. Naive as it might seem, he had thought Elizabeth would stop him long before he had discarded his trousers. After all, women were supposed to stop men from becoming too ardent. Yet, she had not. Quite the contrary, she soon turned eager for more. On perceiving the inviting position her legs had afforded him (she had opened them so that he could accommodate his manhood between her thighs). Darcy found it impossible to deny himself the inducement.

  Dizzy with the delightful exertion, he pushed harder, and harder against her, until he was enveloped by her wetness. One more push and he would go through her maidenhood and into her.

  Sensing what was to come, Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, her body tensed. Just when he was about to accomplish the deed, an unexpected gasp from her made him pause and look into her eyes.

  What he saw made him hesitate. Goodness, she is in pain! What am I doing? She looks frightened.

  He stopped.

  Elizabeth's heart sank.

  "I cannot do this," he whispered and closed his eyes.

  They were both breathing heavily, panting for air.

  "I cannot do this to you. I love you."

  He took a long look at her breasts and in a tender gesture he rested his cheek on her chest, gently caressing the soft orbs with his hands.

  "But, I…" she said out of sorts, still very much at the border of her pleasure. "I… I need you." And she curved her back pushing against his groin to encourage him to go on. They were both naked, and the warmth of his flesh upon hers was intoxicating. "Darcy, I love you. I can no longer live like this. Pray, make me yours. Do you not wish to make me yours?"

  Did he not wish to make her his? He would have given his whole inheritance to George Wickham in exchange for the pleasure of planting his seed within her body. Resigned, he raised his head and covered her breast with the ripped cloth. "Not now. Not like this. If I take you tonight, you will never be mine."

  Elizabeth's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of the night, sank in absolute disappointment.

  "Don't go! I cannot bear it. I will do anything! Just stay with me."

  "No, Elizabeth. You do not deserve such treatment. I love you too much to take advantage of your innocence."

  "I am no innocent! Not after what you have done to me! I know perfectly well what I am doing!"

  "You know not what you are saying."

  "You cannot leave me like this," she said bitterly.

  She was right. He could not just leave. He felt he had taken advantage of her, and at the same time he knew lingering a bit more in bed with her would only make things more difficult for him. But she was so distressed, so confused, so grieved. Hence, he stayed on, abed with her, gently caressing her body, her hair, kissing her softly on the cheeks, on the lips and he made love to her, in the sweetest, most tender manner ever imagined, till she found her pleasure and conquered her wits. Only then her heart was in peace again. When she recovered her sense much later, she realised how generous he had been in fact restraining his own passion, leaving his own pleasure aside to keep her honour, thus her heart was softened again; she knew he could not love her any better.

  "What will be of us now?" she wondered aloud.

  He cupped her chin and kissed her softly on the lips, but said nothing. In truth he did not have the answer to her question. It was so difficult to go, yet on seeing that she had recovered her normal demeanour, Darcy bid goodnight.

  "I had better go while I still have the strength to part with you. You cannot imagine what your generosity has done for me. My happiness tonight can only be surmounted by the happiness it would give me to make you compleatly mine."

  "Will I ever?" she whispered with a bitter tone in her voice.

  He looked at her for the longest moment. Then he gently got closer, his lips rested upon her cheek, one of his hands clasping hers, the other employed to tenderly caress her hair. Pain, a terrible pain took power over his countenance.

  "I know you will. I know not the day, or the way I shall conquer this. But I promise you Elizabeth. You shall be mine. Regrettably, I am not free to take you now the way I do in my dreams, though tonight Elizabeth, I must confess I… lost myself. This behaviour I have always considered wicked. Yet your vision has captivated my senses. If only you knew of my misery, my penitence. My heart has never been inconstant to you, and seeing your love for me, your sweetness, your response to my passion, you must know that at this moment, you are dearer to me than ever. I wished I could make Anne disappear."

  "You ought not to speak in this way. You have made your own choice. It was not forced upon you. Your wife has a claim to you that I have not," she rebuked bitterly.

  "Do not talk to me of my wife." said he, with a heavy sigh. "She does not claim anything from me but my name. She does not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we married, neither had she any for me. Domestic happiness is out of the question in my case. But the memory of this night, Elizabeth, at least will be something to live for until… Were I ever, by any blessed chan
ce, at liberty again…"

  Elizabeth made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the irreparable injury his marriage to Anne De Bourgh had made to their minds, their values. The mere thought of her being deprived of his love, his warmth, was maddening in itself. And yet, she knew he was a talented, honest man, free of any extravagance and incapable of selfishness or cold-hearted behaviour. Regrettably, his attachment to herself had perilously led him to act against honour, against every better interest, outwardly torn as he was between the connections to his wife, for whom he had very little scruple, and what was no longer allowable. Even worse, it had tempted her to accept the most degrading situation a woman could ever fathom: to become the mistress of some rich man.

  "There is no use in my staying here; I must go."

  He searched for his clothes, which had been tossed somewhere between the silky sheets, and in its pursuit his hands brushed the sensitive skin of her legs. He perceived her tense response and sighed heavily. Reluctantly, he abandoned the bed, covered her trembling body with the quilt and turning around, proceeded to get dressed behind the screen.

  Dragging his feet, Darcy exited Elizabeth's bedchamber, looking very much like a man condemned to the gallows.

  Were I ever at liberty again…

  For a brief moment, he pondered their chances. He was not the kind of man to wish for someone's death. Yet, divorce was, though remote, still a possibility.

  But in truth, he was still too excited by the close encounter with sexual release to be able to think clearly. More so, there was a certain air of pride in his demeanour that evidenced substantial felicity. Notwithstanding sexual frustration, the intimacy with Elizabeth had made a new man of him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with her scent. He would never, ever forget the way she looked tonight. He would cherish its memory for the rest of his life. Betimes he wished he were not so proper, and a little more adventurous, more spontaneous, less dignified.