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He lowered his voice until she had to strain to hear him.
She could hardly breathe with anticipation, her body seeking his, and at last she let him remove her nightgown.
“Do you know anything of what happens between a husband and wife?”
“A little,” she whispered, and he laughed. She did not know what to expect, so he whispered what they would do, gently guiding her at each step and giving her time to wonder and feel embarrassed.
“Your body,” he whispered, inviting her to know herself as she never had before. She marvelled at how much she had not known, and only when his touch had taught her something of herself did he say, “My body.” This time she hesitated and blushed, but she wanted to know everything, feel everything, make every new discovery her own. Only when she was ready and could no longer bear to remain apart from him did they become one, in pain and wonder.
At last she came, and her sigh told him that she had found pleasure in becoming his woman, his wife.
That first night was hers, but Darcy knew the nights to come would be theirs, united in pleasure for the rest of their lives.
When the first light appeared on the horizon, Darcy lay awake, watching her sleep in his arms, exhausted by the passion they had shared.
He had loved her in those first days at Netherfield, even before he recognised the feeling as love. He had fled from her and returned, angered by a feeling he could neither control nor understand. He had discovered her qualities and faults, her wit and independence, the muddied hem of her gown after her solitary walks, her intelligence, her laughter and her fierce looks. Even her uncertainty and fears. Little by little, she had entered his soul, loving him as no woman had before, ready to risk her honour for their future together and to become his because she loved him.
Her love and trust astonished him. She had given him what she held most precious, coming to him despite all the fears that had restrained her. In doing so, Elizabeth had freely shared in their happiness. To belong to each other a few days before their wedding meant that, in their hearts, they were already husband and wife, and nothing could part them.
She opened her eyes to find him close beside her. As she remembered the night, she blushed and smiled.
“Good morning, Mrs Darcy,” he murmured, kissing her closed eyelids.
“When did you fall in love with me, Elizabeth?”
“Did I?” she asked, and he adored her playfulness on their first morning together.
“Did you not?”
Elizabeth stretched lazily beside him, then looked into his eyes, her gaze still playful.
“Well, let us see. First, I fell in love with Pemberley. Who would not, even seeing it from a distance?”
He nodded slightly, accepting this. Pemberley was an important part of him.
“Then I felt sorry for you, being obliged to marry against your will.”
“Sorry? Is that all?”
“Well, I admit you look wonderfully handsome on horseback!”
“But you first saw me on horseback long ago, in Meryton.”
Only then did she remember that she had known him for almost a year.
“You are right. It must have been something else…perhaps the way you looked at me when we met at the theatre.”
“How did I look at you?” he asked, sincerely surprised.
“It seemed that you wished to know everything about me—”
“I desired you. Men are not as subtle as women.”
“Is that all?” This time, she sounded disappointed. “Is your love only desire?”
“Is yours only Pemberley? Is there nothing you love in me?”
His arms tightened around her, but he waited until she, impatient with a longing she now understood, whispered, “I love you.”
