A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) (25 page)

One fact managed to penetrate his sleep-fogged mind: Elizabeth needed comforting. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, he drew her onto his lap and held her soft, yielding form against him. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he thought life could never be sweeter than it was at that moment. “I was missing you as well,” he confessed.

“Do you know, while I was locked in that room for two weeks with nothing but a Bible to read, I spent hours just dreaming of being with you?”

“I cannot say I am sorry to hear it. You cannot know how often I have sat in the room which is now yours, grieving that you would never be there in your rightful place.”

“My rightful place?” she teased. “You are a gentleman of firm opinions, I see.”

“For myself, not for you. You have always been free to make your own decisions, but since I met you, I have never been able to picture another woman as my love. You were always here with me, in my heart.”

“You shall hear no complaint from me on that regard, sir.” Elizabeth laid her open hand against his chest.

“You need not call me sir, Elizabeth,” he said tenderly.

“Shall I call you Fitzwilliam, then?”

“I would like that.” In fact, he liked it so much that he could not resist lifting her chin and kissing her, first brushing her lips with his, then, finding himself needing more, deepening the kiss, his tongue meeting hers in an ancient dance that set a fire deep in his groin. Her response was everything he could wish for, all the passion he had always sensed in Elizabeth coming to life as she tangled her fingers in his hair. He relished the sweet taste of her and the warm softness of her lips. He told himself it would just be for one more minute, and then he would stop. Just one more minute. Just one more.

Then he felt Elizabeth’s hand lightly probing his chest, her fingertips tantalizingly touching the bare skin beneath his neck revealed by his open shirt. Good God, how much more could he desire her? He strained to hold her closer, which was a better option than allowing his own hands to explore her body, because if he started to do that, he might never be able to stop. But when her fingertip strayed beneath the collar of his shirt, he was overwhelmed by a surge of desire that made him press himself up against her in desperate longing. Just one more minute!

Somehow he found the strength to tear his mouth from hers. His breathing ragged, he said, “Elizabeth, I am only human. We must stop this.”

She nibbled his earlobe. “Why?”

How could he possibly think while she was arousing every inch of his body? “Because we are not married yet.”

“And that, my love, is precisely why we should not stop.” Her lips moved along the sensitive skin of his neck, making him groan. Good God, had she somehow had lesson in how to torture a man, or was it simply natural talent?

The hot blood rushing through his body made it impossible to understand her. Or perhaps it was merely his wishful thinking that she might be telling him not to stop, but that could not be. “Not stop?” he managed to say.

She pulled away just far enough that she could look into his eyes. “Once I offered myself to you in exchange for your assistance. Tomorrow night I will be your wife, and it will be my duty to accept your attentions. Tonight is the only moment when I can come freely to you for no reason but that I love you, trust you, and wish to be with you. And that is why I am here.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, deeply moved. “You honour me. But it is my hope that duty will never be the reason you give yourself to me.”

A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Not
solely
duty, or even primarily, of course. It is just the knowledge that the duty exists that makes it less of a free choice. After all we have been through, I want you to have no doubt that I am coming to you freely.” With those words, she arched herself against him and wound her arms around his neck.

The softness of her breasts pressed against him drove any rational thought from his mind. His hand, travelling to cup her tender flesh, made the astonishing discovery that she was wearing nothing at all beneath her shift. He might have still managed to assert control over himself, but at that point Elizabeth moaned involuntarily, her eyes drifting closed with pleasure at his touch.

Suddenly he could not recall why there was any decision to be made. Nothing could be more right or more natural than for him to love and pleasure the woman in his arms, to make her his in every way, to make certain that nothing short of death could ever part them again. “Ah, Elizabeth, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he murmured. In one swift movement, he stood, with his tempting burden in his arms.

Elizabeth felt herself being gently placed on his bed, barely aware of anything beyond Darcy’s passion-darkened eyes and the astonishing sensations rushing through her. Her body ached for his, but instead of joining her, he stood over her and trailed his finger down the side of her face, then her neck, seeming to leave a fiery path in its wake. When he reached the sensitive notch at the base of her throat, she strained upward in a desire for more.

Darcy’s smile was incandescent as he sat down beside her, his hands moving the untie the ribbons of her nightgown. Elizabeth gasped as his lips skimmed along behind his hands, pushing away the fine lawn until her upper half was exposed. She moaned as his hands cupped her breasts, anxious for more of the pleasure he had given her on the riverbank, but it was his mouth, not his fingers, that found her most sensitive spots, sucking and teasing with his tongue until a sharp craving plunged through her, seeming to lead straight to her womb and between her legs. Then his hand was rucking up the bottom of her nightgown, over her ankles and past her knees till she felt the cool air touching the heat of her thighs. His mouth still in possession of her breast, Darcy’s hand reached into her most secret places with a tantalizing touch that only made her crave more. She twined her hands in his hair again, holding him tightly to her as if he were her only hope. When he finally began to explore her wetness, she writhed in an agony of need for something she could not even define. Her need threatened to consume her as intense jolts of pleasure rocked through her, building and building until at last she exploded into a fountain of ecstasy, her body shuddering uncontrollably.

As she finally returned to herself, an astonishing lassitude consuming her, she found him looking into her eyes, his fingers still touching her intimately.

“Ah, my Elizabeth,” he whispered. “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.” He straightened and stripped off his shirt.

Elizabeth was so mesmerized by the sight of his muscled torso that she did not even realize that his breeches had followed his shirt until he moved to cover her with his body, pressing hard against the part of her that was still throbbing from his earlier ministrations. Instinctively she parted her legs to make room for him, even as the astonishingly intimate sensation of his hot skin pressed against her breasts made her gasp.

Then she felt her secret places stretching, making room as his hardness pressed into her, claiming her in the most primal of ways. She could tell when he reached resistance, and braced herself for the pain she knew was to come. But he distracted her by kissing her tantalizingly and murmuring words of love, so that he was able to plunge into her, and the sharp pain was over almost before it was begun. She felt herself filled as she never had been before, and knew that she was now bound forever to him.

He began to move within her moistness, very slowly at first, and then in a rhythm that seemed as natural to her as her heartbeat. To her astonishment, the sense of need returned more strongly than she had known it before, coiling and twisting inside her until it reached a near-unbearable urgency. She clasped her legs around him, pulling him even deeper into her, seeking to become one with him. Then he threw back his head, a guttural cry of triumph emerging from his throat, as he once again plunged into her, and this time she convulsed around him as she succumbed completely to pleasure.

Darcy shifted his weight until he lay beside her, his legs still tangled with hers. He rested his head against the silkiness of her hair as it spread along the pillow, just as he had so often dreamed. He held her close, treasuring every moment, wondering if life could ever be better than it was now. He did not want to ever let Elizabeth out of his arms.

Eventually she stirred, and said, “I must return to my room soon.”

“Must you?” he said with a slight smile. He was already beginning to desire her again.

“Yes, I must,” she said archly. “I do not wish to be found here in the morning, and I must sleep. In case you have not heard, I am to be married tomorrow and will need my rest.”

He laughed low in his throat. “I suppose I cannot argue with that reasoning.” Especially as he suspected she had not slept much the previous night, if at all. A wave of tenderness swept over him. Taking care of her must come first. She had already given him her most precious gift, and he must not be greedy.

He did not argue as she tied the ribbons of her nightgown, just kissed her tenderly as she prepared to leave. When her hand was on the doorknob he said, “Elizabeth?”

She gave him a luminous smile. “Yes?”

He came to stand beside her and twined a lock of her hair around his fingers. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. And you must allow me to tell you that frequently.”

She put her arms around him in a brief embrace. “If you continue in that vein, I may not be able to leave!”

“You have discovered my plan,” he teased. “Sleep well, my precious Elizabeth.” He watched as she glided across the sitting room and into her room. His own room seemed remarkably empty.

Elizabeth woke to a hand on her shoulder, uncertain at first where she was. The room was completely dark except for the glowing embers in the fireplace. Then she recognized the presence beside her, and remembered the many events of the day - and the night. “Fitzwilliam?”

He laid his hand on her cheek. “I thought I warned you to lock your door,” he said lightly.

She gave a wicked smile. “
I
thought it would no longer be necessary.”

His hand began to move, caressing first her face, then her neck, then travelling down to capture her breast in his hand. “It is now
my
turn to say that I found I could not bear to be parted from you, even for these few hours. Just as you came to me, now I am coming to you.”

With her body already beginning to long for his, Elizabeth could barely remember why she had returned to her bedroom in the first place. This was how it should be, and how it should always have been between the two of them. She held her arms out to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world - as perhaps it was - and he came into them with warm sense of belonging and deepest love.

Years ago, Amber Lore, the founder of the now-defunct Austen website Hyacinth Gardens, issued a challenge to me. We’d both write stories with dramatic tension without angst, stories where there was no antagonist, no misfortunes or misunderstandings, no interfering relations or embarrassing scenes. Amber, of course, had something written within weeks, while it took years for this story to percolate out of me. Nothing bad happens to the main characters except that it’s raining outside. Fortunately, Elizabeth and Darcy are quite able to provide their own dramatic tension!

“I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.”

- Jane Austen,
Pride & Prejudice

Elizabeth could not help but wonder whether Mr. Darcy would ever return to Meryton, or whether his aunt's particular brand of persuasion had found its mark and convinced him of the ills of marriage so far below his station. She half-expected that Mr. Bingley would receive a letter of excuse from his friend, but instead he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemen arrived early, despite the rain that drenched the roads. Elizabeth was proud of herself for the composure with which she met them. She smiled at Mr. Bingley before she turned to his friend, as would be expected from the slight acquaintance she was supposed to have with Mr. Darcy.

She saw immediately that his eyes were on her, though his countenance was serious. A slow warmth and an inexplicable shyness filled her at the notion of what his aunt might have told him, if she had carried out her threat to speak with him.

Mrs. Bennet greeted them both, but without her usual coolness for Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth sat in dread of the reason. Her mother could never keep gossip to herself, nor could she be silent about anything which might add to the importance of her family. Elizabeth briefly considered excusing herself, but that might only draw attention to the situation.

Mrs. Bennet said, “Mr. Darcy, I hope your business in London was successfully concluded.”

He bowed in acknowledgment. “Indeed it was, but I am glad to have returned again. London, unlike Hertfordshire, bears no great attraction at this time of year.”

Elizabeth risked a glance at him, wondering if this could possibly be meant as a compliment to herself. She met his gaze immediately, raising her suspicions and hopes that it might be the case. Embarrassed, she looked away quickly. It would not do for any of her family to notice a connection between them.

“You cannot imagine who called on us last week, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet announced with a certain pride.

“I am sure I cannot, but I hope you will enlighten me.”

“Why, none other than your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh!” she announced triumphantly. “It was most civil of her, given that her acquaintance with Lizzy was really very trifling, but she was kind enough to give us news of the Collins’.”

Elizabeth had rarely wished so hard for the power to become invisible. Her cheeks burned. If Mr. Darcy asked any questions about his aunt’s visit, she was sure she might die of humiliation.

“So I have heard, Mrs. Bennet. My aunt called on me lately in London as well, and mentioned the occasion of meeting you.”

That was it. She
was
going to die of humiliation.

Her mother then turned the conversation to her favourite topic, Jane’s nuptials. Elizabeth could hardly bear to listen, although she noticed Mr. Darcy remained civil in his replies, even when Mrs. Bennet was at her silliest. She dared not look up again, and he did not address her directly. She could not imagine what he must be thinking of her.

It was a question she asked herself again many times during the next week. Darcy called at Longbourn each day despite the inclement weather. Kitty grew fretful as the days went on without even the variety of a trip to Meryton, and Mary had taken it upon herself to offer even more moral platitudes than usual. Mrs. Bennet talked endlessly of the wedding, and Elizabeth felt each day more humiliated by her family. There was never an opportunity to speak with Darcy alone, and if he held her in any particular regard, the only sign of it was his increased civility to her family. She almost wished he would not call at all.

Darcy had several choices, as he saw it. He could call at Longbourn and drag Elizabeth bodily away from her family to some room where they could speak privately. He could take an impossible risk and ask Mr. Bennet for permission to court Elizabeth. Or he could wait for the rain to stop, and hope to get her out of doors where he might have a chance to say his piece. The difficulty with the first two options was that Elizabeth would likely never forgive him. The problem with waiting for the weather to change was that it might drive him out of his mind.

Seven days of rain! Light rain, heavy rain, thunderstorms. Cold, nasty rain. Did the sun never shine in Hertfordshire? Or were the fates simply conspiring against him, as they had in Lambton, causing Elizabeth to leave just as he hoped they might come to an understanding? He paced the floor again.

Why was her behaviour so changed from what it had been at Pemberley? There she had smiled readily, conversed, exchanged glances, but now her eyes were downcast as often as not. Instead of having the pleasure of seeing the sparkling intelligence in her fine eyes, he was reduced to watching the blushes on her cheek and wondering what they might portend. Were they a sign of pleasant awareness of him, or the embarrassment of dealing with an unwanted suitor who kept coming back, despite her best efforts to discourage him? The question kept him from sleep and haunted his days.

Perhaps he
should
speak to Mr. Bennet. At least then he would have an answer one way or another, and if it were to be the humiliation of a second rejection, he could always leave Hertfordshire behind him forever. He rested his hand against the wall. No, that would ruin any chance he had of persuading her if she were still unsure; and if she refused him, he would never forgive himself for failing to have the patience to wait for a break in the weather.

It was unfair that Bingley had the right to spend his entire day at Longbourn in the company of his beloved Jane, whereas Darcy had to limit himself to brief social calls, then return alone to Netherfield and face his unpleasant thoughts. It probably appeared odd enough that he was calling every day.

On the seventh day Mrs. Bennet invited him to stay for dinner. It was a casual invitation, clearly aimed at pleasing Bingley rather than out of any desire for Darcy’s company, but he seized the opportunity to extend his visit. At least he could enjoy watching Elizabeth, even if they could not talk privately.

Dinner started out propitiously, as he was seated next to Elizabeth. Perhaps that was a good sign. Surely they would have some conversation now. If only her presence did not make it so difficult for him to think about anything except the curve of her neck, the scent of rosewater, and how her lips would taste.

He forced his mind back to more innocent topics. “I received a letter from my sister yesterday. She asked me to give you her regards.”

Elizabeth’s smile drew his attention back to her rosy lips. “Is she still at Pemberley?”

“Yes; though she wrote last that she wished she could join me here. She regrets that your acquaintance was interrupted, and hopes to have the opportunity to resume it in the future.” It was a slight exaggeration of what Georgiana had written, but he was certain the sentiment was accurate. He kept a close eye on Elizabeth to judge her response.

That blush again. “I wish it might prove to be the case. She is a delightful young lady.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are very amiable company as well. I was glad to have the opportunity to meet them.”

She looked up at him with that arch look he loved so well. He was so enchanted he almost missed what she said. “I understand you had the opportunity to dine with them in London as well.”

Her words took a moment to sink in, then he felt his palms grow warm. How did she know of that; and if she knew that much, what else might she know? Surely her aunt and uncle were not so little to be trusted! “Indeed I had that pleasure.” He could tell she was amused by his sudden discomfiture. “I understand you have often visited there as well.”

“I always enjoy visiting
Cheapside.
”

He let out a breath of relief. If she was teasing him, it could not be all bad. “The company there is excellent.”

Her eyes turned down again. “I believe they have much to be
grateful
for.” Then she surprised him by looking up at him. “As do we all.”

She knew. But what did she think, and more importantly, what did she feel? Now even if she accepted him, he would never know whether it was for love or from a sense of obligation. Even the sight of her fine eyes could not make up for the disappointment.

He took a sip of wine to cover his confusion. “Gratitude is sometimes given where it is not deserved. I hope it would give no one any unease.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?”

She glanced beyond him meaningfully. “The potatoes.”

He looked to his other side and found her sister Mary holding a dish of potatoes with an air of saintly patience. He was making a fine fool of himself tonight. He took them from her with a word of thanks, then held the dish for Elizabeth. She served herself; then, as she placed the spoon back in the dish, she paused for a moment, caught his eye, and brushed the back of her hand against his as she sat back.

It could have been accidental except for her look. He stared at her in astonishment, completely oblivious to the rest of the company, his hand burning where hers had touched it. That settled it. He
would
drag her bodily out of the company and propose to her. At least, that was what he would do if his hands were not full with a dish of potatoes.

A sly smile curled his lips as he realized she was as discomfited as he. “Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

“The potatoes.”

There it was again, that arch smile. “Of course. How thoughtless of me.” She reached for the dish, but he did not release it to her until his fingertips had caressed hers for the briefest of moments. The shock of the exquisite sensation of touching her at last, even in such a limited fashion, was enough to make him catch his breath. By the flush on her face, he was sure Elizabeth was similarly affected.

But the sparkle never left her fine eyes. “Mr. Darcy, I understand you are travelling to London tomorrow. I hope the rain will not make for an uncomfortable journey.”

He dragged himself back from his contemplation of her beauty, hoping he could manage to sound at least somewhat sensible. “I believe that leaving my friends in Hertfordshire will be a greater source of discomfort than the rain. Fortunately, I will return in but a few days’ time.”

“I hope you will be back in time to attend next week’s assembly.” She gave him a look through her lashes.

“I would not miss it for the world. But since I may not return until the day before the assembly, would it be too forward to request now the honour of the first dances of the evening?” He waited in painful anticipation of her answer, knowing it would signify more than an acceptance as a dance partner.