Page 79 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

He watched the first small flames catch and climb.

On Bonfire Night he had thought he would never like to watch a fire again. He had smelled smoke in his sleep for a fortnight. In London he had burned his drafts and made himself watch, and hated every moment.

Now he knelt and watched the flames take hold, and felt nothing but their warmth on his face. The fire had cost him his hands for a month. It had also put her into his arms on the grass at Longbourn. He found he could not hate it any longer.

He turned his palms to the firelight. The scars were pink and smooth. There was no pain in them at all.

"You are very solemn for so early in the morning."

He turned. She was up on one elbow among the pillows, watching him. Her hair fell down over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, and her mouth was soft.

"I was building up the fire," he said.

"I can see that. Do you always build fires in your shirt, with nothing on your legs?"

"Only on very special occasions."

She laughed. "Come back to bed, Fitzwilliam. It is freezing, and you are letting the cold in."

He came back to bed.

She held the covers up for him, and he slid in beside her. She gasped when his cold feet found hers. "You are ice," she said. "You are a block of ice."

"Then warm me."

"That was my line. You have stolen it."

"Yes," said Darcy, and kissed her.

He had meant it to be a short kiss. A good-morning kiss, such as husbands gave. It did not stay short. Her mouth opened under his, warm and lazy, and her arms came round his neck. The heat of her went straight through him.

When he lifted his head, she was smiling. "Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy." He brushed her hair back from her face. "Are you sore?"

She considered it with great seriousness. "No. Not in the least. I feel..." She stopped and stretched under the covers, slowly, all the way down to her toes. "I feel very well indeed."

"You are certain? Last night..."

"Last night hurt for a moment. At two o'clock it did not hurt at all." Her color rose, but she held his eyes. "Nothing hurts now. I promise you."

He believed her. She had promised him she would never say nothing to him again, unless she meant it. "Then I have a great deal of time," he said, "and nowhere at all to be."

"Have you?"

"Bingley has Jane. Georgiana has the Bennets. Parrish has the house. Pemberley has my steward." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "And I have you."

"And what do you mean to do with me?"

"Take my time." He did.

He had made love to her twice now. Both times he had been half out of his mind with wanting. This morning he was not. This morning the fire in the grate was taking hold, and the light was coming gray through the curtains. He had the whole day and the rest of his life.

He pushed the covers down to her waist and looked at her. She let him. Last night, by firelight, she had wanted him to look.

This morning she lay back on the pillows and watched him do it, and her eyes were bright with mischief. "You are taking a very thorough survey, sir."

"I have a great deal of ground to cover." He began at her throat.