Page 112 of Midnight at Pemberley

Yet she did not respond with a retort or acceptance. Again, Darcy felt fear in the pit of his stomach. It was not of Elizabeth’s nature to abandon her opinions so easily. Did he not tell Wickham that nothing could sway her once she set her mind to a task? She is more than either of us can handle.

“Are you prepared to return to our quarters?” he asked politely after a long silence.

“I believe so. I find I am weary.”

Darcy remained wary. He thought they might revisit their earlier confrontation when they were once again behind closed doors; yet, when they returned to their suite, she asked Darcy to order a bath, and they sat before the fire while the hotel staff filled the copper tub with hot water. “If you do not mind, William, I shall go first.”

“Certainly. Turn and permit me to unlace you.” Darcy stood to assist with the back of her dress. The nape of Elizabeth’s neck tempted him again, but still uncertain of his wife’s thoughts, he chose to ignore it this time. “I will enjoy a brandy while you relax in the warm water.”

Once she was free of the clothing’s fasteners, Elizabeth stepped behind a screen to undress. Darcy studied her silhouette: the roundness of her hips and the perfect symmetry of her figure, and he gulped his drink, pushing away his desire. He felt lecherous watching Elizabeth without her knowledge, but he was loath to look away. He listened as she hummed a ballad. The water faintly lapped against the tub in the background as she stepped in. He knew exactly how she appeared while reclining in the tub, with the soapy water caressing her breasts, and he felt himself go hard.

Soon, the sound of her rising from the water signaled his own ablutions, so he removed his jacket and boots while she toweled dry. He was unbuttoning his waistcoat when Elizabeth appeared from behind the screen. Darcy quit breathing. She wore nothing but a slight blush and a smile. Her damp hair cascaded down her back and across her shoulders. Darcy had no idea how long he watched her before Elizabeth gave him a renewed blush and moved away to the bed, slipping on a satin gown and wrapper.

So aroused he did not believe he could breathe, Darcy swallowed the need bubbling in his chest and turned from her. Behind the screen, he unbuttoned the flap of his breeches. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. Normally, he preferred his bath water hot, but tonight he prayed it was icy cold.

When the cool liquid provided him his sanity once again, Darcy climbed from the tub and dried off. He donned a nightshirt and put his toiletries away, stalling before he joined Elizabeth in bed. He hoped she had fallen asleep while waiting for him. Finishing up a quick shave, he paused, thinking upon their earlier argument. Was he right in denying Elizabeth an opportunity for children of her own? He had no doubt she would make an exemplary mother. Did his father hold these same doubts? Had his mother made the same decision as Elizabeth? And is that not what every marriage is—the good mixed with the bad? His mother had never appeared unhappy, except when she begged his forgiveness for permitting the curse to continue. She had showered him and Georgiana with so much love. Her children and her husband defined her world.

The lamp barely lit the room when he reentered the bedchamber. Elizabeth rested upon her side, her face turned away from him, the bed linens pulled up around her shoulders. Her even breathing made Darcy believe her asleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he extinguished the light, and then he slid under the linens with her. As he always did, he spooned her body with his.

But when he touched her, he stilled immediately. His wife was completely naked. Elizabeth’s body felt soft and inviting. Instantly, the arousal returned. They had never lain together without clothing between them. What is she doing to me?

Growling back profanity, he lifted his weight to move from her, sliding as far to his side of the bed as possible. Elizabeth did not move: She remained facing away from him. Darcy fluffed the pillow behind his head and attempted to place the image of his luscious wife from his mind. He swallowed deep, steadying breaths and jammed his eyes closed. Perhaps it would be better if she did leave him. At least then his body and his mind could concentrate on something other than the prospect of claiming intimacies with her. Twenty minutes later, placing a pillow between him and his wife, Darcy permitted his eyes to close naturally.

Elizabeth waited quietly for Darcy’s reaction when he crawled into the bed. She had never acted so boldly in her life. Turning down the lamp so Darcy could not recognize her embarrassment, she executed her plan. Her husband desired her. Of that fact, she was absolutely certain. During her time in the tearoom, she had decided to remind him of that desire on a regular basis. To this point, he controlled their interactions, but now would be her turn. She set her uncertainty aside. Fortunately, Aunt Madelyn had explained how some men expected their wives to wear nothing when enjoying intimacies. Her aunt feared the rich to be more “experimental” in their relationships, and she had offered Elizabeth a warning. The knowledge seemed scandalous at the time, but now Elizabeth knew a certain type of freedom.

Gauging the evenness of Darcy’s breathing, Elizabeth smiled in confidence before she moved. Rolling casually over, as if in deep sleep, she cuddled into Darcy’s side and draped her left leg over his body. Pretending to be in the nearly waking stage of sleep, she lightly kissed the side of his cheek and muttered something unintelligible in a seductive breath. She briefly arched towards him and then settled her head in the curvature of his shoulder.

Darcy stiffened, but her husband’s arm came around her, and he held her tightly to him. She listened as his chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, and despite his obvious wish to deny her the manipulation, he moaned her name. Her fingers moved against the hair upon his chest in the opening of his nightshirt. Elizabeth relished how, in response, Darcy’s fingers trailed fire down her spine and across the rise of her hips, but she did nothing more than snuggle closer and brush her lips across his chest. She played at being asleep and permitted her husband to explore her body.

Mystified by his inability to deny his need for Elizabeth, Darcy’s mind fought for control, but, unfortunately, his body overruled his mind’s every objection. Elizabeth fought the battle with more stealth than he. They had married some six weeks prior, and his resolve weakened a bit more each day. When he thought about dying in Wickham’s cellar, his one regret had been that he would never know the pleasure of Elizabeth’s love. Someone else would claim her after his death, and the thought nearly drove him insane. Now she rested in his arms, and all that was necessary was to commit himself to loving her completely. With that in mind, impulsively, he rolled her to her back and hovered over her, burying his face in Elizabeth’s hair. “God help me, Elizabeth. I surrender.” His lips found hers in a deep, passionate kiss. “Tell me again. Is this what you really wish? If you have doubts, I will sleep elsewhere.”

“I have more love in my heart for you than the dear Lord should permit a woman to know. I want to be yours, William, in every way possible.”

They remained staring into each other’s eyes for several long moments. Then Darcy lowered his mouth to hers. This kiss spoke of hunger and need. “You know, Vixen, once I have you, I will want you again and again. I am a starving man.You must suffer my attentions for a lifetime.”

Elizabeth stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. “I want to feel your skin touching mine,” she whispered.

Two heartbeats later, Darcy stripped away the shirt, and then he draped himself over her. “I will be gentle,” he murmured.

“I do not fear you, William. How could a person fear love?”

“Look, Mama,” the girl called as she twirled in place.

“You are an excellent dancer, Lydia.” Elizabeth sat on a blanket and watched the child playing barefoot on the bank of the lake. The day was sunny, and it called to them to be outside.

The girl stepped left and right and pretended to curtsy to an unknown partner. “Come dance with me, Mama.”

Happily, Elizabeth rose to stand with the child in the clearing. Taking the girl’s hands, she counted, “One and two and three and four,” as they sidestepped over the carefully manicured lawn. Her daughter’s curly auburn hair bounced in ringlets, which bobbed to an imaginary tune. What started as a giggle soon turned into fits of bold laughter.

“Would you prefer to dance with me, Miss Lydia?” Darcy stepped from behind one of the nearby trees. He was covered in road dirt, but his appearance pleased both the ladies. He was pure masculinity.

“Papa!” the girl’s arms came up in a hug as he scooped her into his embrace. “I am so glad you are home.”

He planted a kiss on the side of the child’s cheek. She might have her mother’s hair and build, but Lydia Darcy was his child, right down to her icy blue eyes.

“Will you dance with me, Papa?”

“Permit me to greet your mother first, child.” He leaned to the right and placed a lingering kiss on Elizabeth’s upturned mouth. “Did you miss me also, Mrs. Darcy?”