His fingers brushed the hilt, as he lost himself in thought of battles long passed. Unexpectedly, the cool stroke of her fingers traced the long, white scar that puckered the flesh of his stomach, then the other which teased his mortality on the skin over his heart. Her touch was soft and curious, and her eyes held a hint of concern.
“Do they hurt?”
He shook his head. He hated to be reminded of the moments he had let his guard down even briefly. The scars had not been painful for a long time, but he still flinched when Elizabeth tentatively reached out and ran her fingers along the imperfection on his abdomen again. She immediately withdrew.
“Forgive me. I should not have presumed to be so bold. I have never seen such a thing before.”
“My body is yours, my lady. Your boldness, while unexpected, is certainly most welcome.”
Regaining herself, she took a step back. “Why me, my lord?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why choose me as thy wife? I do not, nay, cannot love ye and yet here I am, preparing to bed with ye.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” he replied, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He could imagine how it would light his dark face. What would she think of him now?
“Aye, but I fear, my lord, that it is another part of thy anatomy that is wanting.”
He surprised her by laughing outright. “And you ask why I chose you. It is for that very candour, my lady. Your constant irritation with me draws me in.”
“'Tis an unorthodox way to choose a spouse.”
He could not help himself. In a trice, he drew her into his arms and his mouth was over hers. At the shock of his latest attack, she opened her mouth in a gasp, and his tongue slid in to explore and taste. Her body, stiff and wary at first, eased as his hands roamed her back. Uneasiness melted away, and her arms wound around his neck, clinging to him.
Her body trembled beneath his touch, and he pulled back to stare down at her. Darcy was surprised to find her mouth already swollen and her eyes heavy. It was best to not make mention of those facts, though. Who knew how she would respond to knowing about her own passion? He ran his hands gently up and down her arms but was unable to gauge her temperature through the hazy mulberry silk of her reception gown.
“Elizabeth, are you cold?”
She seemed not to hear him. She appeared confused and unsteady, almost as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. He desperately had to find out what she was thinking.
“Elizabeth?”
She blinked. “My lord?”
“Are you cold? You are shivering.”
“I do not think so.”
He released her, his head spinning. As he had looked into her dazed, distant cornflower blue eyes, Darcy had been shocked at his sudden realization. With not a little horror had he discovered that she was not some temptress that had been unleashed upon him to drive him mad, but an innocent, simple girl who had aspired to nothing more than being but the wife of a shepherd. She had not bedded a man before and, in an instant, his duty became to guide her and keep her safe through the night. His responsibility to worship her and accept the sacrifice she made would come with all the tenderness and honour he could give. He had won her in a dark manner, and to be good to her now was the least he could do to repay her for the sins he had committed against her heart.
Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned away to add to the fire. As the coals settled in the fireplace, he had become conscious that, for the first time in his life, he was terrified. What if he failed her again? The thin line he now walked seemed to shrink before him and he teetered precariously on the edge, waiting to disappoint her. As he poked at the fire angrily, he attempted to regain control over these foreign emotions but was undone when he stood and turned around.
She was there, nude and bashful, her hands falling in front of her sex unconsciously. Her skin was pale and smooth like a pearl, which, he mused, was very much like a badge of her innocence. Her eyes were on the floor, and when she bit her lip, his heart stuttered within his chest. His drive to possess her physically gave way to his need to keep her from harm.
“I cannot unfasten my hair. Heather used too many pins.”
He came to her, took her hand, and pulled her closer to the fire. She looked up at him, embarrassment turning her cheeks, neck, even the tips of her ears pink, then abruptly turned away.
“I can see your skin prickle. I shall not allow for you to be cold,” he whispered as gently as he had ever heard himself speak. He pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her. With a light touch, he pulled the jewelled pins from Elizabeth's hair, letting her fair curls tumble loosely down her back. Sparks of red flashed bright within her pale mane in the firelight. When the last lock was set free, she moved to the bed wordlessly and sat down on the edge, clutching the blanket to her.
Still in his breeches, Darcy settled next to her and tenderly took her hand. “Are you frightened?”
She appeared to be shocked. Silently, she nodded, her fingers instinctively tightening around his.
“Did you ask no questions of Jane?”
“We spoke a little. Frankly, I was too embarrassed to ask more of her. She knows from experience, and her experience is with Finn. To ask questions felt intrusive. I cannot think of either of them in such a way.”
