Page 113 of The Crown’s Gift

He removed them slowly. Each small piece of metal clicked upon the table. Her hair loosened, then fell over his hands. Darcy's expression in the glass was so tender that fear eased.

Elizabeth turned.

"You have seen my hair loose before."

"At Longbourn, when you walked through rain. I thought you beautiful and resented the conclusion."

"A severe burden."

"You have no idea."

She placed both hands upon his face and kissed him.

Their practiced restraint gave way slowly to care. Darcy held her as if desire and reverence were not opposites. Elizabeth discovered the pleasure of making him lose a sentence, of seeing composure return and fail again when she touched his hair or whispered his name.

When he lifted her, she laughed softly against his mouth.

"You might warn me."

"May I carry you upstairs?"

"You are already doing so."

He stopped on the first step.

"Fitzwilliam."

"Yes?"

"Carry me upstairs."

His smile was the last clear thing she saw before he kissed her again.

Later, beneath heavy blankets while snow touched the dark windows, Elizabeth lay with her head over Darcy's heart. The first awkwardness had given way to tenderness, laughter, and trust. No poetry could have made it perfect. Its humanity made it theirs.

Darcy traced one finger along her shoulder. "Are you well?"

"Very."

"Certain?"

"If you ask a fourth time, I shall become less so from irritation."

He kissed her hair. "I was advised to bring doubts to you."

"Not every three minutes."

"The terms were unclear."

Elizabeth lifted herself enough to see him. Without cravat, coat, or reserve, he looked younger.

"I love you," she said.

Emotion moved openly through his face. "I love you."

Morning came pale over snow. Elizabeth woke alone for one startled instant before hearing movement in the dressing room. Darcy returned carrying a tray with tea he had plainly removed from a servant at the door.

"I did not know whether you preferred chocolate."