by Lory Lilian
“Oh God, David,” she whispered tearfully. “Of course I remember everything about that ball, and no, that evening I was not a child any longer. I remember vividly every moment of that night.”
Cassandra seemed so distressed and her suffering so obvious that David looked at her disconcerted and regretful, furious with himself for that imprudent confession. How stupid he was! He took everything in jest, but for her, the recollection of the time when her parents were still alive was nothing but cause for more grief.
“Cassandra, I beg you to forgive me, I did not want to— I am such a fool! I hoped you would be amused, I hoped you would at least smile a bit, and instead I brought back only painful memories and made you cry. How could I be so thoughtless?”
He rose and bowed politely to her. “I had better leave; I should have left much earlier.”
“David!”
She grabbed his arm and forced him to return to his place near her. Her lips opened to speak, but no words came out; instead, she looked at him with an expression he had never seen before.
Incredulous, David watched her as she leaned her head toward his and felt her lips approaching his face. His mouth ached with desire to feel hers, but her soft kiss rested on his cheek, and then her whisper burned his skin.
“Do not worry about my crying, David. Though you see tears, my heart does smile. And no, you did not bring back only painful memories. I truly thank you for remembering me at that ball. You surely are neither thoughtless nor a fool. Please do not apologise to me ever again.”
An hour later in the carriage taking him to his regiment, Colonel Fitzwilliam remained incredulous about their last conversation. He could still feel the touch of Cassandra’s lips on his face as he wondered how it was possible that his silly confession made her heart smile.
***
A few streets away, still preoccupied with the situation of Cassandra and the colonel, Elizabeth was staring through the window, waiting for her husband. He had some important letters to finish for the next morning, and he was already an hour late; she became impatient and tired.
She lay on the bed, snuggling between the sheets. Surely, he would wake her when he came to bed. She closed her eyes, trying to find his scent in the pillows. But there was no trace of him there as a servant changed the bedclothes each evening. He would come soon; she knew it. He had slept with her every night since they were married. Would he continue this habit at Pemberley? Or were other rules to be followed there?
Suddenly, her mind was invaded by the memories of her first visit to Pemberley —the torment in her heart, the uncertainties, Cassandra’s little jokes, the day in the grove, the storm when he held her on his horse, and that night when he entered her room and held her hand. Then there was the revelation of his lasting love, the happiness, the hopes and the news about Lydia shattering all her dreams. She remembered the sadness, the pain breaking her heart, and the rain falling upon Pemberley when she left unexpectedly without any hope of seeing him again.
She had almost lost him forever—not once, but twice: first, when she rejected him with all the power of her prejudiced anger and a desire to punish him, and second, when she ran away from him, the power of her love trying to protect him. How would life have been without him?
“William!” She jumped from the bed and promptly entered his room. Darcy was at his desk, reading some papers; his servant was preparing his belongings for their trip. Her entrance startled them both; the servant instantly exited the room as Darcy hurried to her.
“My love, what happened? You look so pale—and you are trembling. Are you ill?”
“Nothing happened, just hold me, please,” she whispered, her arms tightening around his waist.
He wrapped her in his arms and took her to his bed, lying down with her. He covered her with the sheets, but she would not let go of his waist. He gently caressed her hair, her arms, and her back while his legs entwined with hers. Her toes were frozen, and she continued to tremble for a few minutes.
“Elizabeth, you worry me. Please talk to me, dearest.”
“I missed you so much,” she whispered, and he was astonished and even more worried.
“I missed you too, my beautiful wife.” Lost for other words, he held her in silence, hoping she would recover soon and confess to him what happened. About a quarter of an hour later, when Darcy was certain she had fallen asleep, Elizabeth lifted her head and looked at him.
“So, will you tell me what happened? Besides the fact that you missed me, which is easy to understand, considering I am a man without fault and have ten thousand a year.”
His teasing tone spread a smile on her face as tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.
“I really missed you; that was the reason. I waited for you, and I started thinking about the trip to Pemberley, and I remembered everything that passed in the last year and how close I came to losing you, and…Forgive me for interrupting you; I will let you continue now.”
“Mrs. Darcy, you should never apologise for coming into my room. Besides that, I confess that I am truly disappointed with your confession. What has happened to your philosophy? Did you not teach me to ‘think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure’? Did you betray your own conviction?”
“Yes, so it seems,” she admitted, smiling through her tears.
“You must promise me you will be faithful to this philosophy from now on as I depend on you to remind me of it whenever I become trapped by unpleasant memories.”
“I shall try, but it is not easy, you know.”
“I trust my wife completely—since I was wise enough to choose the most perfect one.”
“Do you remember our brief talk in the parsonage about Mr. Collins and his choice of a wife?” she inquired, trying to ease the conversation.
“I certainly do. And do you remember how ridiculous I was in my attempts to be near you? I hated the colonel for all the time he spent with you.”
“You did not!”
“I most certainly did! I was so frightened that he would propose to you! That evening at Rosings, when you were playing and he was sitting next to you, I truly, deeply hated him in those moments.”
She laughed, light-hearted, and moved to place small kisses over his neck.
“You know, Elizabeth, I thought about bringing a small piano here to your rooms,” he whispered.
“As you wish sir,” she replied as her lips travelled along his jaw line. “However, you must remember—I am not truly proficient at the instrument.”
“I know perfectly well all your proficiencies, Mrs. Darcy. Still, I would dearly like you to perform only for me—with no strangers around.” She paused in her attentions and looked at him in wonder.
“Do you remember everything we talked of in the past, sir?”
“I do, and it seems you do too, or else how could you recognise the words I remember?”
“That was a complicated phrase indeed, sir!” She laughed with all her heart, and their lips finally met in a passionate, long-lasting kiss.
“Shall we stay in my room for the night or return to yours?”
“As you wish, but what about your papers? Do you not have to finish them?”
“The papers are my last concern at the moment,” he said and, to Elizabeth’s surprise, disappeared behind the door. He returned some moments later. “I dismissed Gerald for the night.”
“Gerard was in the hall this whole time?”
“Of course. He only left the room for discretion. He would not leave without my order.”
“Oh my! What will he think of me?”
“I am not certain. Probably he will think the mistress is so much in love with the master that she has no respect for rules or propriety when she bursts into his rooms,” he teased her.
She felt ashamed for a moment and then abandoned any attempt and sighed deeply. “Well, Gerald would be correct,” she admitted, just before Darcy rolled her on her back. Her fingers slid into his hair; their faces almost touched
, and their eyes, darkened by desire, stared into each other’s.
“So, Mrs. Darcy, shall we continue from where we were interrupted this afternoon?”
Never averting his eyes from hers, he slowly removed his shirt; the candles were still burning, and she could see small drops of sweat on his bare shoulders. He gently pulled up her nightdress; she closed her eyes and arched her body so he could remove it completely. With her eyes still closed and her skin shivering from a chill, she felt his moves and knew what he was doing. A moment later, he pulled all the bedclothes away from her and lay upon her, covering her only with his naked body. His hands captured hers and trapped them at either side of her head; their fingers entwined instantly.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered as he kissed her eyelashes. She obeyed and their gazes met again.
Slowly, his legs separated hers; she swallowed and licked her lips. He kissed her only briefly and then released her hands. She encircled his neck, but he kept his distance so he could see her face. His hands travelled down along her body, rested on her hips a moment, and then stroked her thighs. She moaned. He lifted her legs to encircle his waist and placed another soft kiss on her dry lips; she struggled to keep her eyes open and held her breath.
He entered her slowly, inch by inch, and a cry escaped her as her body tensed. He paused and then continued with gentle moves, his intense gaze never leaving her face. Her eyes closed of their own will as the sensations overwhelmed her. It was too slow, tortuously slow, and she tightened her legs around his waist to pull him closer. He kissed her again, and with a last thrust, their bodies were finally united; she sighed and then relaxed and opened her eyes to watch him.
Equally slowly, he began to move inside her, bare skin burning bare skin. He seemed infinitely patient, with no trace of the urgency that had driven his passion the previous nights. His hands took hers and held them over her head; his mouth captured her lips, and his tongue tasted them greedily. She wanted her hands free to touch him, to explore him—but she was a prisoner with no escape from his passion, and she adored the sensation of complete surrender to him. However, she could not remain trapped for long; she was eager and inpatient—eager not to be free but to be conquered even more. Her hips lifted toward his and she cried when she felt him deeper inside her. She started to move beneath him and against him, their bodies brushing one another.
His chest was painfully crushing her breasts, and she struggled to breathe under his weight. She broke their kiss in search of air; and then, without knowing what she was doing, she bit his shoulder. He moaned and his mouth sought hers, but she avoided it. Her tongue tasted his throat, sucked his skin then bit him again, gently. He cried her name and thrust inside her even harder—and she bit him again.
And then she felt a violent move and—with great surprise—discovered he had rolled on his back and she was now lying atop him. Their hands were still joined; her breasts crushed against his chest; her legs encircled his waist, trapped beneath him. She remained still for a moment, their faces mere inches apart, staring at each other without a word. She could feel him pulsing inside her and her hips moved instinctively. He lifted his body so she could free her legs, and his movement pushed him deeper inside her. Her moan was the sign he needed. His hands separated from hers and embraced her bare back, stroking her skin from her shoulders to her waist while his movements increased.
For a moment, she seemed to have lost her rhythm, but his strong palms lingered on her hips, squeezing gently, and then guided her body until it matched his pace. She learned quickly, and her renewed confidence made her even more daring. As much as she liked being trapped beneath him earlier, she enjoyed experiencing the novelty of being free from his weight, to discover she could breathe easily, she could move easily, and she could use this freedom to her benefit—and his. She slid her fingers into his hair and squeezed it as he was squeezing her thighs. He tried to laugh, but he groaned with pleasure instead. She lifted her body a moment, and her breasts brushed against the hair of his chest; the sensation sent shivers across her skin, and she instantly repeated the gesture.
“Oh God, Elizabeth,” he cried, and his voice brought her as much pleasure as his long, deep moves, which turned wilder with every moment.
She managed to keep her body moving together with his while she leaned toward his ear. Her full breasts pressed against his chest and the short, curly hair tickled her swollen nipples. The sensation was unbearable and, impulsively, she bit his earlobe. “Is this pleasant enough, Mr. Darcy?”
“God, yes, yes!” he articulated breathlessly, and with the same violent move, he rolled her back against the pillow as he reclaimed his place upon her. She was surprised—again—but only for a second. Instantly, her legs entwined around him and her arms encircled his back, stroking his skin; he moved inside her stronger, harder and deeper, and his mouth captured hers once more in a kiss that was deep, possessive, impatient, and mirrored the rhythm of their bodies unleashed in their need for fulfilment. When the moment finally came, he broke the kiss and demanded she open her eyes again, so they could see each other as their faces transfigured into the most blissful pleasure and their swollen lips cried one another’s names.
They remained united, silent and still; he only rolled their joined bodies to relieve her of the burden of his weight.
A couple of minutes later, Darcy covered her with a sheet and his hand stroked her long, silky hair, which was caressing his sweat-drenched skin. She chuckled and he became very intrigued. That was not the kind of reaction he was expecting.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“No, nothing really. It is just that…I am happy to be your wife.”
She surprised him; he could not repress a deeply satisfied smile, which she heard in his voice.
“I see. And may I dare ask the reason for such a sudden confession at this particular time of night, Mrs. Darcy? Does it have anything to do with my income of ten thousand a year?”
Flustered and slightly embarrassed, her fingers touched his chin tentatively.
“You sound very pleased with yourself and quite impertinent, Mr. Darcy.”
He took her hand and placed soft kisses on each of her fingers. “I am very pleased with myself; I have no reason to deny that. And I am waiting for you to tell me about your happiness.”
He teased her, and he could see she was amused, so he expected a sharp reply.
“My happiness has nothing to do with your fortune or with other things you have in mind, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and she laughed while her cheeks coloured.
“Very well, I will admit it has to do with some of the things you have in mind.”
His glance was a mixture of tenderness and teasing. “I can see you are happy, Mrs. Darcy—not just today, but every day since we married. I see your eyes sparkling with joy and your lips smiling; I can feel your happiness, Elizabeth. Your happiness as my wife is what pleases me.”
“Then you should be very pleased with yourself, husband, for I am not just happy but grateful to be your wife. I am quite serious now, William. As I told you when I came to your room earlier, I cannot stop wondering about how fortunate I have been in marrying you.”
“We were both fortunate—or better to say, we were both wise—in choosing whom we married,” he replied, his lips still pressed against her fingers.
“You were wise in choosing your wife. A woman can hardly choose—she can only hope she will gain the affection of a worthy man whom she can respect and appreciate. Of course, a woman can accept or reject any man’s attentions—but nothing more. It is a man’s privilege to choose.”
“Sometimes, a man’s privilege of choosing means nothing when he does not know how to use that privilege properly or how to bestow his attentions upon the woman he has chosen.”
“And sometimes a woman cannot see the worthiness of the man for whom she has waited and hoped her entire life! I know I have every reason to feel grateful and fortunate; my prejud
ice and my hasty, unwise estimation of your character almost made me lose the path to true happiness.”
“May I dare hope I am your true happiness?”
“Yes you are. Do you know what I adore most in you, husband?”
“Besides my income and my situation in life?”
She laughed and nodded. “Yes, and despite being tall and uncommonly handsome.”
“Hmm…Now you have made me even more curious to hear your praises, because if we put aside my wealth and my features, I doubt there is much to adore in me.” He cast her a meaningful look, and she blushed instantly.
“I adore exactly what I hated when we first met: your behaviour toward me. I could not imagine a more considerate and kind husband—
“Considerate and kind?” he interrupted her soundly. “Madam, of what are you talking? Something must be very wrong in this marriage if, after five days of intimacy, my young wife describes me in such brotherly terms.”
She chuckled, but his frown remained, and she started to laugh heartily. “Allow me to finish, sir, before you become upset with me. So, as I said—you are kind and considerate”—she paused and moved further so her face was at the same level as his—“and gentle, and generous, and tender, and loving, and passionate.”
A smile overspread her lips and her mouth moved closer to his.
“That is a much more comforting description, madam.”
Her smile became tender, and her head rested on his chest again.
“We should sleep now, William; it must be very late.” She sighed and brushed her cheek against his skin while her palm gently caressed him, and finally, she placed a soft, brief kiss over his heart.