Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  The colonel was right—it was the same, yet so incredibly different from anything Charles had ever experienced. And his adored Jane was not an angel to dream of but a most beautiful woman to caress, to kiss, to pleasure, to love—and share a life.

  Yes indeed—the colonel was right. But again, Charles mused, he is always right. He is so damn smart and knows so much about everything!

  ***

  “I see you did not open the box, Mrs. Darcy.” Darcy’s voice broke the silence, and Elizabeth startled and stepped away from the bed, as though she had been caught doing something improper.

  “No, I did not. I…”

  Elizabeth glanced at her husband and her eyes remained fixed on his intense gaze. Though she had seen him informally attired before, his appearance made her body shiver and her mouth turn dry.

  Darcy smiled at her and stepped forward; she looked at him, mesmerised, and his every step made her tremble. She quivered and licked her lips; he smiled again. A moment later, he was so close that his scent intoxicated her.

  “Do you not enjoy surprises, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “Of course I do, but I was not certain whether I should open the box. I was not sure it belonged to me.”

  “And to whom could it possibly belong as it is on your own bed?”

  “You should not tease me at moments like this, sir. I am quite nervous as it is.”

  A trace of concern passed over Darcy’s face for a moment. “Are you truly worried, Elizabeth?”

  “Indeed, I am,” she whispered. Her eyes lowered to the floor, and his anxiety increased. “I cannot stop worrying about…what is in that box!” she continued and laughed. He breathed in relief and then suddenly lifted her in his arms, almost suffocating her against his chest.

  “I see you find great delight in teasing me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, but she had no time to reply before he captured her lips. Her legs were not touching the floor, and her body was crushed against his, her arms entwined around his neck; she could not breathe, but she did not need air—she only needed his scent and his warmth.

  After a while, he put her down, and she feared—and hoped—he would take her to the bed. Instead, he took her to the little settee in front of the fireplace and bade her sit. Still breathless, she looked at him in wonder.

  “Do you not wish to know what is in that box?” he inquired, and for a moment she wanted to say “no”; indeed, she wanted to know nothing except what she knew must happen between her and her husband.

  “I do,” she whispered, and he seemed pleased.

  In an instant, he brought her the present and sat beside her. A moment later the secret was revealed; an exquisitely carved box rested in Elizabeth’s trembling hands, and its beauty left her breathless.

  “Thank you…” she barely managed to say.

  “No, do not thank me yet,” he replied and opened the box.

  The fascinating sounds of a waltz flowed from the music box, and Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat; tears glistened in her eyes as she stared at her husband in disbelief.

  “Oh, William. A waltz? This is. . . I cannot believe that. . . It is so. . .”

  “I sincerely hope these are grateful emotions,” he teased, and she burst out laughing nervously as tears filled her eyes. With the music box in her arms, she daringly started to kiss him softly. The music stopped and then began once more. They smiled against each other’s lips.

  “Am I to understand you like my present?”

  “Indeed I do like it. You are most unpredictable, sir. I never would have guessed the nature of your present.”

  “Well, I did promise you some private waltz lessons,” he said, his fingers brushing her cheeks.

  “So you did, but I never imagined it would happen tonight. I never imagined you were so fond of the waltz,” she replied teasingly, her hands on the box still trembling slightly.

  “I am not fond of dance, and the waltz would be a torture to me with any woman other than you.”

  “That is a pretty thing to say, sir. However, I could not help but notice you are truly proficient at it. You must have practiced a good deal,” Elizabeth replied, and a little smile twisted his lips.

  “No indeed, I practiced only a few times because Cassandra forced me. I do not need to practice too much in order to be proficient,” he said with a laugh, and she narrowed her eyes, still incredulous.

  “Elizabeth, I never danced the waltz in public except with you at the Netherfield Ball,” he continued, more seriously.

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  On the small settee, near the peaceful warmth of the fire, they took each other’s hands and their fingers entwined in a tender caress; the box was in Elizabeth’s lap, and still holding her hand, Darcy opened it again and the sound of music wrapped them anew. Her eyes sparkled with emotion and love.

  “You know, William, that evening in London at Cassandra’s ball, when you asked me to dance with you after you had just refused Cassandra…”

  “Yes?” He turned to embrace her closely, his lips resting on her temple.

  “Oh, nothing. Let us not speak of that now.” She abandoned her idea, but he would not.

  “You must tell me once you started, Elizabeth.”

  “I will…tomorrow,” she replied and then turned her face so their lips almost touched. Darcy was tempted to insist, but the sweetness of her lips was too appealing—so he tasted them and forgot what he wanted to ask.

  Her mouth parted with loving abandon while his hands travelled along her arms and lingered on her shoulders, then gently unfastened her night robe and removed it. She shivered—not from chill but from the touch of his burning fingers on her skin.

  “Elizabeth?” he said breathlessly, their mouths unwilling to separate.

  “Yes,” she barely managed to speak as she struggled for air.

  “Can we postpone the waltz lessons for another evening?”

  Elizabeth laughed only a moment before his lips captured hers again; suddenly, the music box became an obstacle, and she put it down as gently as she could. As though that was the sign he waited for, she felt herself lowered to the settee, his weight almost crushing her and his kisses becoming more possessive. The settee was small, and he was so tall and heavy that Elizabeth was certain she would faint from lack of air. However, just as she was pondering this, she felt free, though her lips were still engaged with his. She slowly opened her eyes and saw him kneeling at her side.

  Darcy withdrew from her enough for their eyes to meet; his fingers tenderly removed a lock of hair from her forehead and then brushed over her red, swollen lips; she caressed his face, and then her hands sneaked into his hair.

  Slowly, he leaned closer to her again, but this time his mouth travelled down from her chin along her throat; each spot of her bare skin shivered under his intoxicating exploration while his hands carefully lowered the gown from her shoulders. She knew—she hoped for—what would follow, and the wait was unbearable.

  Although she was anticipating it, the gentle, tentative touch of his fingers over her breasts startled her, and she moaned loudly as her back arched toward his touch. His caress, shy at first, became daring and more passionate, tracing torturous circles until his palms possessively cupped their roundness and rested there.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and she moaned again, turning her head in search of his lips. Yet, he avoided the kiss; instead, his mouth resumed its journey and one of his hands withdrew from its smooth captive, to allow his mouth to satiate its hunger. His lips traced a burning line over her skin, exploring and tasting with passionate urgency.

  His hand was now free to conquer the last unrevealed parts of her body; the thin silk fabric of her gown was soft, and his fingers, strong yet gentle, stroked her legs and then travelled up, pressing gently against her skin. Instinctively, her thighs locked together, but his hand continued its conquest; with tender care, his strokes tantalised her legs and parted them daringly. Soon, no opposition remained
and, to Elizabeth’s shock, his hand moved a little higher. She could not suppress a cry, and shocked, she tried to clasp her thighs again. She heard him whispering her name and wished to understand his words but could not. His mouth hungrily captured her other breast and she exclaimed again as her entire body arched.

  For Elizabeth, every sense was divided between the sweet torture of his lips on her skin and that most intimate part of her body, where his fingers began an intoxicating exploration. This cannot be happening—a vague notion—but an instant later, any reasonable thought vanished; she cried his name and her voice sounded so strange to her. Then, a few moments later, she heard nothing as waves of pleasure violently exploded in her body and everything turned dark around her.

  It took some time before she could—and dared—open her eyes and was able to distinguish his face in the dim firelight. He was smiling, and she forced a smile in return; with mortification, she realised he was still kneeling beside her, one of his hands resting on her breast as the other gently caressed her inner thigh. She wanted to move, but he would not allow it; he covered her face with small kisses while she averted her eyes. Her mind told her that what happened was mortifyingly improper, while her senses confessed that nothing could possibly exist more blissfully pleasant than what she had just experienced.

  “You are more beautiful than I have ever dreamed, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “And you are all mine now…”

  She looked at him puzzled, her cheeks flushed. “Is it…is it all done then?”

  He laughed, and she averted her eyes again, even more embarrassed.

  “No, my love, it has only begun. We should move to the bed now.”

  Her nightgown was discarded; she felt herself being lifted in his arms and carried across the room.

  Darcy laid her on the bed, and she instantly nestled beneath the sheets to conceal herself from his intense stare. He slowly removed his nightshirt; her cheeks coloured as her eyes desperately tried not to look at his intimidating figure. His naked body protectively touched hers under the silky sheets and his arms enfolded her.

  “What is wrong, my love?”

  Her head cuddled on his chest and she sighed when she could hear his heart beating. Her hands moved to encircle his waist but his skin –so fully exposed to her touch—made her shy, and her hands dared go no further.

  “Nothing is wrong. It is just…”

  “Yes?”

  “I never thought…Everything that happened was so…”

  She struggled to find the words as she fought against her own embarrassment.

  “My love, you worry me. Did I hurt you?”

  “Oh, no! It is just that I never imagined you. . . It was so unexpected…”

  “I see.” His voiced changed instantly, and a warm whisper close to her ear made her shiver.

  “So…may I dare presume you found it unexpected…in an enjoyable way?”

  His tongue shamelessly tantalised her earlobe and she shivered with nervous delight.

  “Oh please stop. I cannot possibly speak of that. It is so embarrassing!”

  “This is quite astonishing, Mrs. Darcy. I used to believe you could speak easily on any subject, and I thought we clarified the matter of embarrassment earlier in the carriage, but it seems you have already forgotten our agreement. I am truly disappointed to discover that so soon after our wedding.”

  Darcy’s voice could barely conceal his mirth as he scolded her with mocking sincerity. Elizabeth lifted her head slightly to meet his eyes and cast a sharp glance at him.

  “You are a cruel man, sir, to trifle with me in such a way. I would not expect that of you. You should know this is not a proper time for teasing.”

  “I might be cruel sometimes, I will admit that. It is unfortunate, too, that you discovered my cruelty after the wedding.”

  “It is, indeed.” She was forced to regain her spirit as their mocking argument continued.

  “There is little either of us can do now, Mrs. Darcy, except to reconcile with our mutual disappointment and try to reach some sort of understanding. I will start by agreeing with you on one important point: this is not a proper time for teasing.”

  They were his last coherent words before he assaulted her with renewed passion and desire, and Elizabeth surrendered completely; every touch, every kiss, every stroke seemed even more irresistible, as this time she knew what they would bring. Her body seemed to possess a will of its own, and every reaction was a plea for more. For a while, she tried to keep the covers around her, but his greedy hands kept pushing them away.

  “I want to see you, Elizabeth…please,” he begged.

  Her inner battle between reason and passion was won by the latter.

  When his hand intimately stroked her thighs again, they parted with welcoming desire. His caresses climbed along her legs again, and she moaned loudly, imagining what would follow. Yet, what followed was not what she anticipated. In disbelief, she felt his lips travel down from her breasts to her flat stomach, amuse themselves with her navel, and continue until his mouth nipped lightly at her inner thigh. With shocked astonishment, her head spinning, she felt her legs parted, and his burning lips traced a line of fire along her thighs as his voice, hoarse with passion, said, “I want to taste every inch of you, Elizabeth.” She was not certain of his meaning until his kisses moved closer and closer, and at that moment, she stopped breathing.

  Her mind was screaming that he must stop whatever he was doing. Yet, the voice of her mind was a weak whisper compared to her body’s demand for more. The sensations she felt when his mouth replaced his fingers were astonishing and the world collapsed around her. There was nothing except him and the storm of pleasure into which he threw her once more.

  “My beautiful wife…” She barely understood the words of love tickling her ear as his weight suddenly took her breath away. “Please look at me.”

  She obeyed instantly, though her eyelashes felt heavy. He was lying upon her, their faces merely inches apart, and his warm breath bore the scent of her own passion.

  “It will be painful,” he said with soft concern; yet, what she saw in his dark eyes, more powerful than his obvious care for her, was a profound, barely restrained desire.

  She knew it would be painful and had thought she would be afraid of that moment, but she was not. His expression changed again, and his eyes caressed her face with infinite tenderness. Elizabeth’s soul melted in it as her body opened to him. With her own love and passion matching his, and with complete, unconditional trust in her husband, Elizabeth offered herself to him. Whatever was to come could not but be marvellous because it would come from him! And marvellous it was.

  He entered her with a tender passion, causing the sharp pain that cut her body soon to be forgotten. He was inside her—inside her body as he had been inside her heart for so many months—and each of his moves tore through her in the most blissful, astonishing way—unbearable pleasure and unbearable pain. Her soul was full of love and her body full of passion—his passion and hers together.

  A cry—his or hers?—waves of fulfilled desire shattering their bodies, her hands embracing him with desperation, his lips covering her face with innumerable kisses, the sound of their wildly racing breaths—and nothing more. Silence and blissful happiness.

  ***

  Her hair smelled of jasmine and her body smelled of love—the most intoxicating blend of scents Darcy had ever experienced.

  He was lying on the bed, spent and yet restless in his desire, holding Elizabeth tightly. Her back was turned against him and her long, silky hair was caressing his chest. He would like to read in her eyes—in her soul—everything she was feeling and thinking now that she was his wife, but she was turned to face the fire and seemed to avoid his gaze. Darcy was puzzled and worried.

  His body was still unsatisfied in its need and urge for her, despite the fact that he had just experienced the most exhilarating explosions of pleasure. He still desired her and was angry with himself for this lack of contro
l. He knew he had not been as patient as he should have been. He knew that his pleasure must have been a painful moment for her; he also knew he must have frightened her with his unbridled behaviour as he himself was amazed by some of his gestures. She had already been embarrassed by their earlier interlude, and he took her distress in jest. Instead of restraining his passion, he cared for no boundaries—no rules. To kiss her everywhere the way he did—it was something he had never considered before. Yet, touching Elizabeth, kissing her, caressing her seemed the most natural thing to do, and he did not hesitate for a single moment; he had simply been thirsty for her passion and impulsively slaked his thirst. Was she upset?

  She did enjoy herself, he was certain of that, at least for some part of their…activities. He remembered vividly the expression of her beautiful face the moment she had reached the peak of her pleasure, and she was hurt too. He also remembered that moment very clearly. What was she feeling now? What was she thinking of him that very moment, lying naked in his arms, covered by bed sheets and her long, soft hair?

  “Elizabeth?” He placed a kiss on her temple and felt her startling. “Please speak to me, my love.”

  Hesitantly, she turned in his arms so they faced each other. Her soft skin brushing his was a sweet, painful torture, which further aroused his desire.

  “Do not worry; I am well,” she assured him, still avoiding his gaze.

  “You are not, my love. Were you well, I would see your sparkling eyes smiling at me. Was it very painful?”

  She finally glanced at him, and her eyes were indeed sparkling—only with tears. “It is not that; do not distress yourself, I am well. I am just being silly; it is of no consequence. I shall be fine.”