His cravat was gone, and his shirt was open at the collar. She saw the line of his collar bones and part of his chest. He was not wearing his coat.
He raised a brow.
She lowered her eyes. He had caught her staring again.
“Sir, I have no towel or soap.”
“Ah, yes. One moment. I shall ask Reeves.”
He stepped away from the open door. She crossed to the large dresser and began searching through the neatly folded garments with her free hand. Surely her wrap must lie there somewhere.
She started when he spoke. He stood just behind her.
“Your soap and towel, Mrs. Darcy.”
She accepted them into her free hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“May I assist you, Elizabeth?”
“My wrap, sir. I have not yet found it.”
“Perhaps it is in the dressing room. Shall I look?”
“Yes, sir, please.”
He entered the dressing room and a minute later emerged holding a fine linen garment.
“Is this it?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. Thank you.”
He handed it to her, and she balanced it atop the soap and towel.
“Thank you, sir. I now have everything I require.”
He bowed and, chuckling, said, “When I heard you knocking upon the connecting door, I believed you may have changed your mind regarding the bath.”
Color rushed from her throat to her cheeks.
“Do not distress yourself, Elizabeth. All is well. I have waited this long. Dinner shall not last forever.” With that parting remark, he bowed and left her.
Elizabeth awoke chilled. Shivering, she reached for the coverlet, but it was not to hand. Then awareness dawned. Her husband’s arm was draped across her waist, and the warmth of his body pressed against her back. A thrill swept through her being.
She was in bed with Mr. Darcy. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the very gentleman she had believed too elevated for the likes of her. More astonishing still, he loved her.
She had not truly understood what love was until her illness had befallen her, and he had come time and again to perform the treatments so necessary to clear her lungs. That her violent coughing fits had not repelled him seemed a miracle.
And now she had been with him, had heard his broken declarations of love and pleasure, had known the happiness of being intimate with Mr. Darcy. Now she understood what love was, and she gloried in it.
She lay perfectly still, listening to his quiet breaths and the slow, steady beat of his heart.
She breathed in his clean, masculine scent, took in the beauty of his form, and wondered how she had ever lived without him. As she lay there marveling at the wonder of Mr. Darcy, he stirred and drew her closer.
She turned to face him, lifted her face to his, and kissed him. She caught his lower lip between her own, and a low sound of pleasure rumbled in his throat.
She was lost then. Lost together with him in a world she could never have imagined.
When she woke again, it was late. She could tell by the angle of the pale winter sunlight slipping through the partially openeddrapes. She lay warm beside him beneath the softest down coverlet she had ever known. He shifted his weight.
