Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  She said nothing, but happily nodded while she encircled her arms around him, kissing him tenderly in a sweet surrender. This husband of hers was beyond comparison.

  ~•~

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had never stayed in bed for so long. However, the day after his wedding night he found it impossible to abandon his bed till after noon. When he woke up, he realised his wife was still with him. Her hair wildly spread on the pillow, her lovely features at rest, her enticing curves welcomed his gaze. Darcy found her irresistible. Every time he saw her naked form beside him, he felt the sweet pulsing of blood in his loins, and the imperious need to have her once more overcame him.

  It will not do. I cannot spend the rest of my life mating.

  So, regardless of his impulse, Darcy, jumped out of bed and put on his robe. Then, ever so slowly, he covered his wife's form with a light sheet, so as to take her tempting figure away from his sight. That done, he rang for his servant and asked for his bath to be readied. To his surprise, his wife did not wake up. All the bustling and rustling did not seem to disturb her at all. He took his bath and returned to his bedchamber in his silky robe to find her sleeping still.

  The tea-things were brought in again to his bedchamber, and this time the aroma of freshly baked muffins did reach the new mistress's heart, who immediately opened her eyes. A broad smile covered her face at the sight of her husband, sitting up beside her, partaking of the delicacies served on the tray.

  "Are you not hungry?" he said inviting her to share his food.

  "Indeed, I am. Quite so."

  To her surprise, he poured some tea in a cup and buttered a slice of bread for her. Then he asked her if she wished to ring for a special fruit, she said no-I-thank-you-very much-this-would-do with a shy gesture and took the offered cup with uneasiness, sipping at it, ever so often casting a quizzical look at him.

  "What?" he asked when noticing his being observed.

  "You are very serviceable."

  "At your service, ma'am."

  "'Tis rather late, is it not? Are we still journeying for Pemberley today?"

  "I am afraid that would be impossible. The journey has to be started early in the morning. We are to remain in London until tomorrow."

  "'Tis noon yet?" she asked in surprise.

  "So it seems," he said with mischievous grin. At this she answered with a blush and a sweet smile of complicity. The innocence of their mirth, the sweetness of it all, filled their hearts and their contentment was such as to make them believe it had always been like that, as if they had never been apart. They continued in this manner, sharing the tea tray, while asking naive questions about tastes and preferences. Once the meal was over Darcy asked her what she wished to do. That took her by surprise, and she could not think of anything. They were alone, music was not a possibility, cards she did not like much, and London was not her favourite place for a walk. So it was decided that they would remain in the house. After her toilet, they made a new tour of the Town house, this time he took her to the most intimate corners, and even had a look at the kitchen. The house was handsome and handsomely fitted up. The former mistress had hardly been there, so every detail reflected the exquisite taste of Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  After that, as dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours, they determined to employ the interval in reading and with that purpose they went into the library. Books in hand they endeavoured to read but all went to naught. His wife, the notion that the beautiful woman in front of him was his for the taking, was too much for Darcy. He had hardly read a few lines when his disobedient eyes would stray towards the enticing curves of her body, losing themselves in the alluring swell of her bosom. Memories of her nudity immediately assailed his thoughts with an immediate reaction in his groins. He closed his book with a thud.

  She raised her gaze and their eyes locked.

  Rolling her eyes, she let out a chuckle. "You are not to read your book, are you?" she asked amused.

  "I believe I have a more agreeable entertainment in mind," he answered while rising from his seat. He walked the two steps that separated him from her and held his hand which she took, and in a second she had risen and was following him towards the staircase.

  "We are taking dinner in the Master's bedchamber, in two hours, Wilkinson."

  The servant bowed, an involuntary smile drawn by his lips.

  Thirty-Eight

  —

  More on Lust

  Elizabeth Anne Darcy was more than thankful to have so many servants at her disposal, for her trunks, full as they were with all the new items of clothing her husband had compelled her to purchase a week before the wedding, amounted to so many that she doubted she would ever live long enough to be able to wear everything before she died. Had she had to ready her luggage on her own, it would have taken her two days to pack it all, and she would have ended up worn out with the exertion.

  Needless to say, the new Mrs Darcy was thoroughly tired, having spent the majority of her second night as a bride lying supine on her bed with her husband atop, barely sleeping in the intervals he fell asleep. He was insatiable! The minute she made the slightest movement, he would wake up again and commence his cat-like rubbing against her thighs, or back, or whichever part of her body that happened to be close to his loins.

  Ardent passion notwithstanding, there is a limit to the endurance of every woman's intimate regions. And hers were to the point of exhaustion. She wondered whether her husband was aware of her predicament. What to do? Judging by the ill passed information afforded by the female line of her family, albeit inexperienced, the Mistress of Pemberley imagined her husband's size had not much to do with her discomfort.

  How much she wished to talk about this with Jane! There were so many questions she desperately needed to answer! Would her discomfort relent with time and experience? Was she perchance doing something wrong? The manner in which he approached her to become intimately engaged was nothing of the kind she had been described. Perchance he was doing something wrong! After all, he was not quite an expert on the subject, was he?

  Still, much as she would wish to have a heart to heart talk with someone wiser, she feared that exposing such intimacies would not be something a lady of station, least of all the Mistress of Pemberley, would do. No. No lady talked about that. Not even with their mothers. Her only source of information was her husband, and yet she did not trust him well enough to confess her discomfort. Howbeit she dreaded causing him any pain, she reckoned that would circumstances remain the same, she would be compelled to confess her predicament.

  Then again it was this issue of the bizarre questions he had taken to asking her at the most awkward moments. Questions which were far too embarrassing for one to answer while one's husband is coming in and out of one's sore lower self. Was she supposed to know whether she liked her legs in this or that position? What difference could it make after all?

  "You do not say much," once he complained while rolling over after he was spent. "I need you to tell me."

  For Gad's sake, what is it that he wished that I told him?

  She looked at him askance. How could he expect conversation in a moment such as that?

  In noticing her distress, Darcy endeavoured to find out the source of such discomfort. "Lizzy. You must trust me. Pray tell me. Is anything wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong, sir."

  As a matter of fact, it was not precisely wrong. No, of course it was not. There was nothing wrong with their being united. It was not their intimate embrace she objected to. Far from it, she enjoyed the moment quite a lot, and his caresses, and his kissing, and his breathtaking body, and all the pursuit of his touch. All that was very agreeable, indeed. But, ever since the wedding night, she had felt something was amiss.

  He sensed it too. It was not the same. She did not enjoy herself as much as she used to when they used to caress each other in their furtive encounters out of wedlock. He comprehended it was his fault, his complete lack of self regulation puzzling him exce
edingly. How could it be that his wife was the source of so much pleasure for him, but conversely, he could not take her to the same raptures? She did not fail to fulfil his every erotic dream. But Gad! She was too passionate and demonstrative. She caressed him and kissed him in such a manner that took his body to the point of no return in a matter of seconds. If only she were not so demanding a lover, he could exert some self-restraint and control his manly instincts before eventually finding his pleasure. But no. Elizabeth rippled under him, and moaned and sighed so much while making love, her poor husband could barely contain his passion to enter her before spending himself.

  Darcy meditated a little on her answer. He was far from being content with it, but he knew better than insisting on her telling him her real feelings. All in good time. They needed practice, that was all. The more they practiced, the better the outcome. Darcy had been deprived of a woman's favours for too long, and the time he had been thus, he had employed in fantasising the various manners of reaching sexual pleasure. His wife would be his lover, his private concubine. As a matter of fact, he did not think as much of his progeny as he did of his nights entwined with his wife, for ever joined to her body. Elizabeth was becoming aware of his musing soon enough.

  The morning they left London for Pemberley, the new Mrs Darcy was in terrible expectation. Howbeit she knew the place, it was a great difference to be entering it as its mistress. She acknowledged the journey to Derbyshire might have been long and tedious, had it not been for her exceedingly enamoured husband, who endeavoured to read to her half the time until she fell into such a slumber that it was impossible for her to tell of their whereabouts when she awoke.

  When the chaise halted, Elizabeth woke up with a start, to find her head resting on some rather hard, yet warm pillow. The blazing sun dazzled her eyes for a moment, forcing her to close them once more. It was oppressively hot in the carriage and her sweaty complexion, wrapped in the sticky wetness of her own perspiration, had left a wet circle on the home made pillow. Elizabeth opened one eye, raising her hand to her visage, then the other and she saw the sun was momentarily blocked by her husband's head tossing over her. Only then it dawned on her the indecorous accommodation of her head. It was her husband's lap she was resting on. The book had been tossed away somewhere in the carriage, while Mr Darcy's nonchalant hand rested on her ample bosom, rhythmically going up and down as it rose and fell with her breathing.

  They had reached the first post. Horses should rest, and the occupants of the chaise could take a rest, too. A light rapping at the chaise door awoke her husband, whose head almost collided with the carriage roof when he, also rather startled, suddenly rose to his feet.

  Darcy had made all the arrangements for them to have a special room readied at every inn where they would stop. Despite the fact this in particular was grand and possessed a great quantity of rooms, Mr Darcy decided to share his bed with his bride. So, soon after they had arrived, they partook of a light dinner while their bath was prepared, and after they finished eating, they headed upstairs where the promised refreshing bath waited. In a rapture of possessiveness, Darcy had mused to share the bathtub with her.

  Darcy dismissed the servants, and closing the door behind him, commenced his accustomed disrobing. Elizabeth gaped incredulously while he got rid of his cravat and pristine shirt, abandoning both items on the floor. She began to suspect she would have to get used to her husband's propensity for nudity, when he slid himself into his silky robe. Still, much as it pleased her to contemplate such a vision that he so generously afforded her, she found it exceedingly difficult to reciprocate. Hence, mournfully, hidden behind the screen, she commenced to undress.

  "Do you need assistance with your dress, Mrs Darcy?" he asked hopefully. "May I be of some use?"

  Elizabeth pulled her clothes instinctively to her bare chest, blushing at the sight of his enticing slim figure wrapped in his robe. Hard as she tried, she was far from getting used to seeing him while undressing. Still, she reckoned her husband was very much interested in witnessing her every movement.

  Darcy was beautiful in every sense. Everything about him was beautiful and her eyes were shamelessly attracted to that very spot in his groin that she had found so very puzzling the night before, from whence she now drew them with a stifled gasp. Turning around, sounding a little offended, she scolded him: "Sir, this is hardly proper. Pray, allow me some privacy to undress."

  "I am sorry. If my help is not wanted, I might as well ring for your maid."

  "There is no need. And, sir, help is not something a wife expects from a husband."

  "And what is it that you expect from your husband, my love?"

  Elizabeth face became flushed and she stammered her answer. "You… you misinterpret me. I mean I would be loath for you to end up in servile endeavours at the end of the day."

  "But it would be my pleasure, my love."

  Elizabeth smiled ruefully. She could sense there was a secondary meaning to his seemingly innocent words. Her eyes involuntary glanced at his loins again. Darcy had followed the direction of those, with a self satisfied smirk. That his wife was a little hypocrite he had long ago discerned. Yet he acknowledged her false modesty stemmed from the manner in which she had been raised. He doubted the intelligence on connubial practices she had referred to having been passed on by her female relatives would be in accordance to his expectations.

  "Indeed, madam. Nothing would give more pleasure than helping you afford me with the alluring vision of your body. May I be so bold as to beg you the privilege?"

  "I thank you, no; I shall be finished in no time."

  He shrugged and yet visibly mirthful left her by herself to finish her disrobing. His petite wife was there, behind the screen, looking devilishly fetching in an unsuccessful attempt to cover herself. Why, her petticoat and dress were a poor shelter for her curves even still on her, least of all would they conceal them once off her body. All in all, her small act of modesty he found arousing. She looked like a wood nymph about to bathe in a lake.

  Still he made up his mind to exert patience. He had to give her time to become accustomed to his presence, to his touch, to his desires. For he had many, so many that he could hardly wait to begin with the experimentation.

  By the time she made up her mind to come from behind the screen, Darcy was already in the bathing tub, rubbing his white back as best as he could manage. On seeing she was already wearing her nightshirt, he concluded that she was not coming to share the refreshing bath. Truth be told, the vision of her husband in the bathing tub was very appealing indeed.

  "Will you not join me?"

  "I have already washed myself, sir."

  "Well, come and do it again."

  "I thank you, but I had rather not. I doubt the tin would be large enough for us both."

  "Mrs Darcy. It is my express wish that you should come and have a bath with me."

  "Mr Darcy, you cannot make me."

  The woman that had filled his nights with longing and desire was there in his room, wearing a silly cotton nightshirt on the hottest day of the season. That he could exert all his erotic fantasies with her was something no one would deprive him of. Not even that stupid nightshirt or Elizabeth herself. He had always fancied her naked body far too much to be deprived of it by her just assumed modesty, her curves bewitchingly claiming his touch. Those days, when he had expected never to hold her in his arms, his reveries had made him have the most exultant dreams, licking, penetrating dreams. He would wake up drenched in sweat, many a time even spent, only to find himself alone and empty handed.

  While Darcy hurried his bath, which he found rather boring since her refusal to share it with him, Elizabeth went to bed, and sat up pretending she was reading. Ever so often, she would spy on his progress from behind the lopsided book, quickly averting her eyes the moment she suspected he had caught a glimpse of her actions.

  He went over to the bed, spread the sheets of his side of the bed, went into it and, taking the book from her ha
nds, proceeded to divest her of her nightshirt.

  "Why do you insist in sleeping in such heavy clothes on in a hot night like this? Have you not learnt I shall take them off when I come to you? Why bother at all?" he teased her.

  Making love to his woman had quickly become Darcy's greatest source of entertainment. He reckoned he had not been able to find the way to make it thoroughly pleasurable for her, as well.

  Indeed, now as he entered her, much as he endeavoured to find that sensitive area with his hands, which he already knew by heart, she would not respond according to his expectations. In vain would he kiss her and caress her breasts. To his chagrin, the urgent impulse to plant his seed immediately followed and soon he was spent.

  ~•~

  Colonel Fitzwilliam had spent the worst evening of his entire life. Lately his amorous life had become typical of Bedlam. His jealousy towards Darcy was consuming him, and his confusion regarding his recent affair with the lovely Mrs Bingley was worrying. On top of it, Georgiana had put his entire life up side down when she assured him of her undying love.

  Upon the first few days at Netherfield Park and after spending the bulk of the time trying to avoid both Georgiana and Mrs Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam sank his body into the comforts of his bath. He had not been able to avoid meeting with the new guests: Mrs Edward Ellison, now his cousin, whose acquaintance he had already made at Darcy's wedding, and Edward himself and Edgar, the eldest of Sarah's sons. But later in the day, Fitzwilliam had gone riding and did not come back until late the afternoon, when the ladies had all retired for a nap. The rest of the afternoon, he had remained in the company of the gentlemen, had been invited to a deer hunt the following day, and a fishing excursion the next. Before the ladies returned, Fitzwilliam challenged Mr Bingley to a billiard game, certain that the billiard room was rarely visited by the fair sex.