Love Calls Again

by Lucianne Elsworth

  By the time dinner was served, he had had to endure the company of the females for the shortest time. Immediately after dinner, he begged to be excused and retired to his room.

  A heavy storm was gathering in the middle of the night. Dazzling lightning immediately followed by peals of thunder caused Fitzwilliam to wake up with a start. He sat up in bed and he thought he heard someone rapping at his door. A bit puzzled, he rose and went thither. Opening it ajar, he found Georgiana, wrapped in a shawl, candlelight in her hand, her whole body shivering wildly.

  Thirty-Nine

  —

  Practice Makes Perfect

  "Sprout! What are you doing here?" Richard could hardly believe his eyes.

  "I… I believe I have a fever. Pray, let me in."

  "I certainly shall not. Go back to your room. I shall call Mrs Annesley"

  "Pray, will you not take me to my room, first. I believe I am too ill to go on my own."

  "What are you up to, Sprout?" Richard inquired suspiciously.

  Georgiana stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. She was shivering, her countenance, in the dim light of the candle, did not look at all well.

  Richard relented. "Wait. I shall dress myself." Leaving the door ajar, he turned round, grabbed his robe and got dressed. He took a second candle and joined Georgiana in her path to her apartment.

  Richard opened the door leading to the antechamber, and halted there, moving aside to allow Georgiana in. She obeyed with mournful eyes. However, before trespassing the door leading to the chamber, she stopped.

  "Pray, come in. I must talk to you."

  "You have already talked to me. I have had enough, young lady. Go back to your bed now. I shall call your maid."

  "But Richard. I need to …"

  "Enough, Georgiana! Go back this minute!" And he closed the door with a thud.

  The nerve of the girl. What is it that she proposed to do? Put herself in a compromising position?

  After apprising Georgiana's companion of the girl's malady, Richard went back to his own chamber. The storm had now broken out and a constant rapping of the rain on the window pane made the entire business of regaining slumber a daunting exertion. Fitzwilliam purposely closed his eyes and wheeled his mind to abandon engaging thoughts, but to no avail. His reverie took him from Elizabeth to Jane, from Jane to Georgiana and back to Elizabeth again. So much was his mind engaged with this he failed to notice his door opening and the shadow of a woman entering his bedchamber.

  Outside the raging storm was sweeping the trees, a howling wind whistled through and against the windows making the wooden shutters rattle. A flash of lightning lit up the dark bedchamber and for the briefest moment he distinguished the figure of the lady standing at the foot of his bed.

  He sat up, and decidedly annoyed he commanded his cousin to leave.

  "Young lady, go away. What on earth do you imagine you are doing in my bedchamber? Leave this instant!"

  He discerned the intruder turning around and hurriedly making her way towards the door. Just then a new round of lightning lit up the room again and he realised he had just sent Jane back to her room.

  "Jane!" he called out.

  Jane froze.

  "I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude. I…" she said in a hushed voice.

  He meant to rise but he remembered he was undressed. He fished for his robe and struggled with it while thinking desperately how to apologise for his rough words.

  Finally, half dressed, he went up to her and begged her to forgive him.

  "It is I who must apologise. I was surprised! I thought … I mean I must have been still half asleep. I am awfully sorry. You are welcome here."

  If it was not for the darkness he would have noticed the pleasant smile on Jane's countenance. She was besotted, helplessly enamoured of the Colonel.

  "What can I do for you, milady?" he said under his breath. It was amazing the power this woman had over him. He was well aware of the implications of her visit, and could not help an overwhelming temptation to hold her body close to his. The more he beheld her enticing figure, the more tempted he was to strip off and carry her to his bed.

  To his amazement, it was she who, softly pulling on a delicate lace and without a word, got rid of her nightshirt, which swiftly dropped, gently falling in a pool around her feet. That done, she boldly encircled his neck with her arms and pressed herself against his hot body.

  His response did not keep her waiting long. He lifted her in his arms, for the third time in his life, and carried her light weight to the bed.

  "You seem to belong in my arms," he softly said into her ear.

  Richard comprehended a great deal in providing pleasure in bed. This time there was no alcohol in his system, his senses in complete alertness, he could not blame them for the course of action he was taking. He desired Jane. He wished to hear her sighing, feel her body ripple beneath him. For a brief moment he was thinking of a woman other than Elizabeth.

  Jane was a quick learner. The ardour her skin distilled while being caressed by Richard's intelligent hands made their embrace even more delightful. She groaned, and purred and moaned in sheer pleasure, his sensuous mouth, warm, wet, hungry every so often on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, licking, biting, sucking, taking her to unknown dimensions. How could she deny herself such delight?

  Outside, the storm provided the perfect background for the union of their bodies in the shameless dance of their intercourse. When they reached their peak, a peal of thunder roared in the sky muffling their cries of pleasure.

  Spent and sweating profusely from the exertion, instead of rolling over, he left the bulk of his body resting over hers, heavily breathing to her ear.

  "Do not go," he whispered. "I am not done with you yet."

  ~•~

  The second day of the Darcy's' journey to Pemberley went uneventfully. However, the night in the second inn brought along promises of rather better results than those Darcy had obtained the previous night. Notwithstanding that his wife, he had surmised, was decidedly aroused every time he had made love to her, his feverish lovemaking had failed to yield Elizabeth a sublime achievement in accordance with his.

  This time Darcy knew better than pouncing over her. He chose to leave her a bit on her own. Hence he went downstairs while she was having her bath, but returned soon enough so as to find her still in the tub. He saw her maid carrying a bucket of water, and before she entered the chamber, he halted her, and taking the bucket, dismissed the unwanted assistance.

  What was this question he had about seeing her while bathing? Perchance it was the sense of intimacy, or the alluring vision her petite, though stout, body would surely afford while still wet, her damp dark hair sticking to her neck and back.

  "Is there anything wrong, my own?" he asked while he poked his head into the chamber.

  "My maid is gone. Have you not seen her?"

  "I have not. May I be of service?"

  "Oh, no, I thank you. She shall be back presently, I am sure. Will you not check to see if she is perhaps waiting outside? If she saw you coming into the room, she will be reluctant to enter."

  "She certainly will not, for I dismissed her." Elizabeth stared at him uncomprehendingly. When finally it dawned on her that her husband had the intention of sharing her bath, she thoroughly and rather stubbornly refused.

  "Sir, I am not bathing with you!" she defied him.

  "Are you ready to wager your life on that?" he said while discarding his clothes.

  "Fitzwilliam!"

  "Husband to you!"

  He had not relinquished his intention, and after the last item of his garments lay on the floor, he went into the tub and ever so slowly he slid into it behind her, his large legs poking out for want of space. With a last light pull, he placed her naked bottom onto his… lap.

  Elizabeth became red in the face in anger.

  The sight of his temperamental wife on his lap, drenched, a furious look in her eyes, was cause for no trepidation
to him. Contrariwise, it seemed to encourage his diversion, and the more she endeavoured to free herself, the more insistent (and by the way excited) he grew. He laughed heartily at her persistence in freeing herself.

  "Why, Lizzy!"

  She was absolutely furious, her face flushed, her body tense. She would have slapped him had it not been for the fact that he had both her hands clasped in his grip.

  Darcy was a bit puzzled at her manner of reacting to his playfulness. Was she angry in earnest? Was she merely jesting? In truth he could not tell. Hence, he endeavoured to kiss her, thinking that his kissing would pacify her. To his surprise, she refused to accept his ministrations. Even so, he stubbornly tried to deepen his kiss but was shocked to feel her teeth decidedly biting his lower lip.

  At the taste of his own blood, he immediately let go of her hands. Elizabeth, pouncing like a cat, was back on her feet and out of the bathtub.

  Darcy rose from the tub, and taking his fingers to his lips, he inspected them. He was bleeding! Elizabeth was looking at him in defiance, grinning like the Cheshire cat, chest heaving, ready to pounce back the moment he gave the minimal sign of movement.

  "What in the name of…"

  "I told you I was not bathing with you," she laughed.

  "Oh yes, ma'am. You are. Just let me catch you."

  As he jumped out of his bath, she rushed in the opposite direction. Darcy almost slipped on the wet floor, yet he managed to avoid the embarrassing fall and continued in her pursuit. In a blink of an eye he had caught her by her waist, leaving a trace of water in his path. She let out a shriek and managed to grasp one of the posts of the bed to which she clung in vain, for he began to tickle her sides, which immediately forced her to relinquish the post. Still fighting in a very indecorous manner, Lizzy finally landed on the bed, her husband atop her, visibly enjoying the struggling he had been subjected to in fancying a bath with his wife.

  "You little shrew!" he muttered between his teeth. "You shall pay for the blood you have shed."

  They turned and tossed on the bed making all sort of noises, both naked and wet, until Darcy, holding both her hands over her head, pinned her to the mattress while endeavoured to dodge an accurate blow she had aimed at his nether regions with her legs.

  "You shall beg for mercy."

  ~•~

  The commotion that came from above the stairs had not disquieted the inn keeper in the least, for he was acquainted with the situation. Yet, the noises and shrieks coming from their guests' chamber was nothing one could easily overlook. In hearing the great splash of water and a thud of something or someone falling heavily onto the floor persuaded the young son of the owner to raise an inquiring eyebrow to his father.

  The dog barked. "Hush!" the woman ordered the dog. The beast, thinking his house in peril, thought his duty to growl his protest, but nonetheless, reluctantly resumed his nap at his master's feet.

  ~•~

  The exertion had left Elizabeth exhausted, though now she was no longer angry. In lieu, she had grown exceedingly excited and longed for her husband to return to his accustomed demeanour. Half struggling, half enjoying, ever so instinctively, she arched her back, commencing to ripple under his weight. The wetness between her thighs she immediately noticed and a strange vibrant sensation took hold of her body. In an involuntary movement she parted her legs. Obediently, Darcy sank into her while she wrapped her legs around him.

  To her delight not the slightest pain did she feel when he entered her.

  Still, Darcy feared her mouth, lest she endeavour to reduce his lips to mastication again. So he bent, and groaning in delight, he slid down to lick and suckle at her supple bosom.

  It was the first time he had done it so fiercely, and the sensation his suckling bestowed upon her was such, that she immediately heaved beneath him.

  He tilted his head and stared at her, stopping his ministrations.

  "More," she managed while gasping for air.

  A mischievous grin blossomed on his mouth.

  "Oh. So now you want more! You should have thought of it before you reduced me to a piece of meat between your teeth."

  "Pardon?"

  "You heard me. I take my revenge now. Beg me."

  "What?"

  "Beg me. You wish for more; you must beg." He bent down and teasingly reached out for the tip of her nipples with his tongue while he pressed his still burgeoning manhood deeper into her feminine portal. She closed her eyes in tense anticipation, yet he merely brushed her breast with his mouth while the rhythmical movements of his hips acquired tempo.

  "Please, Darcy!"

  There was a change in his manner, from anxious and uncontrolled, to unhurried and tender. He dove into the sweetness of her breasts and, although a bit uncomfortably, he maintained himself joined to her while he continued to relish the feast of her bosom.

  Purring like a cat, she was about to reach the peak of her pleasure for the first time in his arms while their union was complete. Elizabeth glowed in sweat and happiness, the source of which she hardly knew. Never in her wildest dreams, such exhilarating sensations she thought herself capable of feeling.

  Darcy almost stopped to admire her.

  Good Lord. This woman is Heaven.

  Thereupon, he made love to her in a most gentle manner. Although Elizabeth seemed quite desirous of his caresses, Darcy knew he must persuade her to go slowly, otherwise he would not be able to restrain himself again. When most seductively she began to bestow caresses upon him, he hushed her and, gripping her hand, instructed her to remain still for a while.

  "Allow me, my love. We must go slowly now."

  She nodded and lay supine on the mattress. Ever so instinctively, he searched her body once more for her sensitive areas which he had already found, sensing her response definitely in crescendo as his ministrations grew closer to her breasts. In noticing how much pleasure she derived from this exertion, he concentrated the bulk of his efforts thither, applying feathered kisses around the sensitive orbs, lightly sucking the pert strawberries, to which she readily answered with the involuntary arching of her back.

  Elizabeth found it impossible, almost unbearable to remain still while he was making love to her. She tried to grip him, but he begged her not to.

  "Pray, not yet."

  Finally, she consented to his plea and allowed him full command of the amorous rite. It all came as a surprise for Elizabeth. She discerned the flutters and pleasurable feelings she was having were very much in concord with Lydia's description of sexual intercourse. She soon could no longer bear it, a deep moan blurted out from deep down her throat while she shook heavily. More than a moan it resembled a she-wolf's howling to the moon.

  A misfortune, for at this unidentified sound, the hound that had resumed napping at his master's feet bellow stairs, raised its head and howled back.

  Both the owner of the inn and his wife tilted their heads and exchanged mystified looks.

  "Take the dog out," said the master to his wife.

  Their son, finally, expressed his fears. "I hope the missus is alright."

  "She surely is, me boy. She surely is," said his father, with a knowing smile.

  Indeed, Mrs Darcy was quite all right, yet the sounds her throat ejaculated while her husband unceremoniously came in and out of her privates, now so thoroughly enjoying the shuddering moment he was casting on them, wafted across the corridor, and inevitably the whole inn became aware of what was going on above the stairs.

  Darcy had become terribly aroused. He had not expected such a reaction from Elizabeth. Albeit he had imagined his wife could harbour such a passion to match his, but in witnessing her thus, his loins set on fire and he inevitably felt the urgency he now got to know quite well. The more she lingered in her pleasure, the sooner the fatal consequence would occur.

  He had to come.

  "Lizzy," her name was said with a trembling, agonizing tone. In a desperate action, he lifted her legs over his shoulders. She let out a gasp of surprise at the
position her body was subjected to. With quite an irreverent movement, he proceeded to thrust into her again until he was sure he had finally reached the innermost confinements of her body. Such was the force he used that she felt as if a sabre was slashing her in two. Much as she would wish to, she could not help contorting her face with acute discomfort as a stabbing pain took hold of her, and in an attempt to conceal her pain from him threw her arms upon her face and bit her lips to avoid letting out a cry.

  Hence, she endured the ordeal once more.

  Notwithstanding her excruciating efforts to shroud her throbbing trial, Darcy did not fail to notice the misery on her countenance.

  "You were in pain. I hurt you," he said after he was spent.

  "No, you did not," she said defending him, peeking from behind her arms.

  "I did. I noticed the look on your face. You were in pain. You must not keep it from me. You are supposed to enjoy as much as I do."

  He rolled over her, a frown on his visage.

  He had dreaded that something like this could happen. Taking into account their lack of experience in the matter, it was hardly unexpected. Truth be told, he had enjoyed himself immensely, particularly her so long refrained moment of release. The moment his body had joined hers had been so exhilarating, so very intense and overwhelming, that he had almost choked with the emotion.

  Undoubtedly, he was to take things easier.

  Although Darcy knew he had been selfish and unrelenting, he was at her a second, a third and even a fourth time that very night. And then again in the morning and again that evening, and the whole night through, so many times he lost count. He was experiencing the most pure physical pleasure he had ever had in his three and thirty years.

  He reckoned he was behaving like a beast.

  He could not help it.

  Forty

  —

  Heaven, Hell and Back

  Jane woke up when it was almost midday. She had instructed her maid not to interrupt her sleep and had asked her to tell her husband and their guests that a mild headache prevented her from being in anybody's company. Before going on his hunting excursion, however, her husband visited her to make sure she was not seriously ill. On noticing Bingley's distress, the memory of the previous night almost made Jane feel a pang of guilt. Almost, for she immediately realised Charles's main concern lay in making sure she was not with her menses.