Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Abigail Reynolds

  Apparently, she would have no answer tonight. It was a disappointment; she wanted to be his wife, not an acquaintance living in the same house, and this was the strongest assertion of that. Or would be, if he would only come to her again.

  She missed the sensation of his arms around her. Would she feel it once more?

  She smoothed the fine silk nightdress her aunt Gardiner had given her as a wedding present. She had never worn it before, choosing instead simple shifts. She had been too embarrassed by its translucent fabric and low-cut neckline in the early days of her marriage, and then there had been no reason to wear it afterwards. It had been her hope that tonight it would be an indication to Darcy that she welcomed his presence.

  But what if he required more than welcome? He had been hurt badly by their quarrel, of that she had no doubt, now that she had experienced what such rejection meant. Perhaps he needed more reassurance that she would not again throw harsh words at him.

  There was a way to test it if she dared. In a moment of desperate resolution, she took up the matching silk dressing gown and wrapped it around herself. A last look in the mirror showed she was as ready as she would ever be. She rinsed her damp palms in a basin of cool water, then dried them on the embroidered towel.

  It seemed a long distance across the sitting room which separated her bedroom from her husband's, but at the same time, it was too soon when she reached his door. But she would not back down now. She forced herself to knock.

  "Yes?" Darcy's voice was barely muffled.

  She opened the heavy door. She had spent so much time in his room when he was ill, but now it was like a foreign country again.

  "What brings you here, Elizabeth?" He was in his nightshirt, reclining on his bed. He laid down the book in his hand.

  "The same thing that would bring any wife to her husband's bedchamber." She smiled in what she hoped was a winsome manner. She untied the sash of her dressing gown and slipped her arms out of the sleeves then laid it over the back of a chair. He could not possibly doubt her intention now.

  "There is no need for this." His eyes travelled down her form and lingered for a moment before returning to her face. Apparently, her aunt's ideas of what would appeal to a gentleman were correct.

  Emboldened, Elizabeth sat on the bed and laid her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his nightshirt. "You do not come to me; therefore, I must come to you." She leaned forward to press her lips against his, but there was no answering response.

  "Elizabeth, I will not have you sacrificing yourself for me."

  Her smile faltered. This was not the response she wished for, but she had gone too far to stop now. She moved her hand, stroking him lightly from shoulder to waist, hoping he would not think her wanton. "It is no sacrifice."

  He caught her hand and removed it from his body. "This is not what I want."

  He was turning her away, although he was clearly tempted; his face showed not even a hint of warmth. Her gamble had failed, and now she was in worse straits than she had been before. She rose to her feet. "Then I shall trouble you no longer. Good night, sir."

  Her cheeks burned as she made her way to the door. No, her entire body burned from shame. It was the second time her husband had dismissed her from his room, and it would be the last, for she could never brave this again. She almost looked back as she went through the door, but she did not think she could bear to discover he had gone back to his book.

  She closed the door of her own bedchamber and leaned back against it. There would be no more efforts; she had thrown herself at him like a loose woman. If there was ever to be anything more to their marriage, it would have to come from him. But perhaps her behaviour tonight had disgusted him enough to remove that possibility.

  With trembling fingers she unbuttoned the silk nightdress and let it fall to the floor, then kicked it into a corner. Tomorrow she would tell Lucy to dispose of it. She never wanted to see it again. She found one of her everyday plain linen shifts and pulled it over her head. The coarseness of it against her skin was a shock after the smooth silk, but she would grow accustomed to it again, just as she had grown accustomed to her empty bed.

  So his respectful warmth to her during the day was nothing more than politeness. No, that was not true; she had seen the look of desire in his eyes, but apparently his distaste for her outweighed it. She threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, her body shaking with silent sobs.

  When she heard the door open, she did not raise her head. No doubt Lucy looking in and then realising her mistress should be left in privacy. It was not as if she could hide her tears; she was sure her eyes must be red and puffy. The click of the door closing again told her Lucy had left, and her tears began anew.

  Then she felt a movement on the bed beside her and a hand on her shoulder. Lucy would never intrude so, and Elizabeth could not mistake that touch. She burrowed her face even deeper into the pillow. She could not even bring herself to care that he knew she was crying over him.

  His hand massaged her shoulder. "Elizabeth, I am sorry to cause you such pain. More sorry than you can know."

  It did not matter. His regrets could change nothing. She could not stop her tears.

  "I know you came to me tonight out of the best of motives, and I appreciate that. The fault is mine."

  The gentleness in his touch and his voice only made it worse. She gripped the bedsheets, wishing she could pull them over her and be hidden from his sight.

  "Will you not look at me, Elizabeth?"

  She shook her head. She did not ever want show him her face again. "You need explain nothing," she said into the pillow. "I understand perfectly. Had you wanted a loose woman to come to you, you would have paid for one."

  She heard the hiss of indrawn breath. "I do not ever want to hear you speak that way again, Elizabeth. That is a gross untruth."

  "I will speak as I wish." There was no point in anything else.

  There was a silence which was interrupted only by the movement of his hand. "There is, I suppose, something to be said for that. I would rather hear the truth than what you think will best please me, just as I would rather you stayed away than come to me just to please me."

  "It was not to please you. That is a hopeless task. Nothing I do pleases you." Sobs overtook her once more.

  "That is not true. It pleases me to see you take an interest in the estate. It pleases me that you and Georgiana are better friends."

  "Very well, it pleases you that I fulfill the expectations of the mistress of your household. Nothing more." She stopped speaking before her anger led her to say even more.

  His hand stilled, but she could feel the heat of it through her nightdress. "It pleases me to see you smiling more often."

  She struggled to control her breathing. There was no point in arguing, no point in noting that he did not mention being pleased to see her. He was being gentle and attentive. It was the best she could hope for, and she ought to appreciate it while it lasted. "Thank you." A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

  "You need not thank me for the truth." His hand resumed its stroking. "It pleases me that you do not have a taste for mutton."

  She could not believe she had heard correctly. She turned her head to look at him. "What has mutton to do with this?"

  "I am not fond of it and am glad to see it appearing less often at dinner."

  "Why did you not simply ask the cooks not to serve it?"

  He moved her hair away from her eyes. "I suppose it was a habit. Mrs. Reynolds believes children should learn to eat what they are served without complaint."

  "It has been a long time since you were a child." Despite the circumstances, she found it endearing.

  "A very long time." His fingertips caressed her cheek, coming to rest on her lips.

  A shock of heat ran through her. Her distress had kept her from wondering why he had come to her, but there could be only one reason. "I thought this was not what you wanted."


  He looked off into the air. "I came here because I feared you had taken my words in a way I had not meant them, and it seems I was correct." Then his eyes turned to watch her again. "And also because I could not forget how breathtaking you looked."

  "Oh." She could make no sense of the conflicting urges inside her, both drawn to him and yet still hurt and angry.

  He placed his hand over hers. "I would not wish you to do anything distasteful to yourself on my behalf." There was an odd note in his voice, almost of pleading.

  She bit her lip. "You are not offended, then, by my behaviour?"

  "Offended? Why should I be offended?" He sounded genu inely surprised at her words.

  "It was at best indelicate and at worst ill-bred."

  "To come to me?"

  Heat burned her cheeks. "To express an interest in…" She could not find words.

  "Elizabeth, if in any small part of yourself, be it the most minute corner of your soul, in truth wanted to be with me, I would be… beyond pleased."

  "Then why did you send me away?"

  He paused, as if trying to make a decision, then turned his face away from her. "The day I proposed to you, I kissed you out of selfish greed and desire, without a thought for what it would mean for you or a suspicion that you might object. Because of that, you lost your home and everything you loved. And I continued to take my pleasure in you, never considering how I might be hurting you. I knew I was not as successful as I hoped in bringing you to enjoyment of the act, but I thought with time and familiarity… but no matter." His dark eyes met hers. "If you think I have forgotten what my desires have cost you, if you think I do not remember what I have done to you every time I see you, you would be quite incorrect. That is why I seek to control my impulses with you and to assume any offer you make comes from a sense of duty rather than anything else."

  There was no mistaking the pain in his voice. Elizabeth raised herself on her elbow and entwined her fingers with his. "Sir, you do yourself too much wrong."

  "I doubt it."

  "You were always gentle and considerate with me. I had no cause for complaint. If I felt any distress, it was out of my own… confusion." How could she explain it to him without confessing her own faults?

  "Had no one, then, explained it to you?"

  "No, I understood it well enough. It was not that." She could hardly believe they were discussing this. If it were not evident how important it was to him, she doubted she could force herself to speak. As it was, she could not bring herself to say what needed to be said. Finally, she sat up and blew out the candle on the bedside table. In the protective darkness, she leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. "I am well aware that ladies are supposed to feel nothing. That was not always my experience."

  There was a heavy silence. "And that… troubled you?"

  That was easier to answer. "I consider it a weakness. I thought you would take it as a sign of my ill-breeding."

  "Good God, no! Far from it." His response was instant.

  She let out a long breath of relief. So, that fear had been for naught. "Otherwise, it was not distressing at all, and I often found it comforting when you held me."

  "Did you?" There was a catch in his voice.

  She nodded, then, realising he could not see her, said, "Yes."

  "Would you…" He hesitated. "Would you find it comforting if I held you now?"

  Did he truly mean it? "Yes," she said, half-breath, half-sob.

  "Then come." He led her by the hand through the darkness to the sitting room door, then across the sitting room and into his bedroom. Not to his bed though. Instead, he paused, turning to cup her face in his hands. He did not say anything, just looked into her eyes as if trying to solve a puzzle. His thumbs caressed the corners of her jaw, and she felt her mouth grow dry and her lips tingled.

  She expected him to kiss her, but instead, he drew her head against his shoulder. The warmth of him and his tenderness as he held her sent a shuddering sigh through her. She pressed her hands against his back, holding him tightly, the way she had wanted to when he was injured. The fabric of his nightshirt rubbed against her cheek, and she closed her eyes to appreciate the happiness she felt in his arms.

  It was not long before she became aware of the tension in his body, the pressure of his arousal hard against her. It sent a new awareness through her, one that seemed to touch her every limb, and she became acutely aware of the weight of her shift against her breasts. A tightness between her legs begged for relief.

  Yet Darcy did nothing, although she was almost certain he wished to. Perhaps if she initiated it—but no, that had not worked well earlier. But then, he had come to her. She tilted her head to see his face, hoping for a clue there, only to discover his eyes fixed on her.

  One of them would have to do something if it were not always to remain thus. Elizabeth touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. No, from the look on his face, there was no mistaking what he wanted, and that very look was bringing forth more desire in her. But she dared not act, not when he had refused her kiss in this very room not more than half an hour past.

  Still, she could indicate receptivity. She tipped her chin up, moving her face closer to his until she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek. Then his mouth was against hers, not gently as she expected but with urgent hunger that made her gasp.

  Instinctively, she knew how to meet the raw need in him, arching herself against him and gripping his shoulders. A guttural sound burst forth from his throat as his hands strained to pull her ever closer. So he did still want her. Intoxicated by the knowledge, she ran her hands down his back.

  Finally, he broke away, his breathing uneven. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

  "Quite certain." And suddenly she was certain, not just to be close to him or to please him but with a sense that she needed his touch.

  Then, her feet left the floor as he swung her up into his arms, carrying her the last few steps to his bed. But he did not put her down, instead looking intensely at her. "I want to learn what brings you pleasure."

  She buried her face in his shoulder, her cheeks burning. "Do not ask me to say. I am too embarrassed already."

  "Then I must discover it for myself." He lowered her to the bed. His hand curved around her breast as he lay beside her, his thumb skimming across the sensitive tip. His voice took on a new roughness. "And discover it I shall, so do not attempt to hide it from me. Do you understand?"

  She nodded, acutely aware of his hand, wanting him to touch her that way again. When at last he did and a shaft of pleasure rushed through her, she raised her eyes to his. "I will try not to hide it." But she could hear a trembling in her voice.

  "In fact," he said in an autocratic tone she had not heard in some time, "I do not wish anything to be hidden." He tugged at the ties of her nightdress. "Nothing at all."

  Her eyes widened. He had never asked this of her in the past, though she had heard of men who liked their women unclothed. Her skin burned at the idea of him looking at her so. But she would not deny him, although the very thought sent tension spiralling through her. She sat up and drew the shift over her head then let it fall to the floor. She could not look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her body.

  His hands cupped her breasts, and then he rested his forehead against them. Now she could only see his thick dark hair and sense how rapidly he was breathing. Then came a moist, warm sensation which could only be his mouth moving across her, travelling across her breast in an almost intolerable intimacy. She made an involuntary sound when his tongue touched her nipple.

  He looked up at her with eyes black as night. "Yes, that is what I want from you, Elizabeth." He pushed her shoulders back against the pillow then removed his nightshirt.

  She had only seen his chest when it had been marred by his wound. She reached out to touch the newly healed scar still livid with colour, not yet faded to white, recalling the agony of not knowing whether he would live or die. How f
ortunate she was that he was still with her and she in his bed!

  As he moved closer, she felt the roughness of his skin touch hers, her breasts pressed against him with an excruciating sensi tivity. Almost of their own volition, her fingers found their way into his hair and she kissed him with all the love pent up inside her. His response was all that she could wish for.

  He did not seem to need any lessons in what pleased her; he seemed to know just where to touch her, how to caress and kiss her to bring on those urges she had so fought against in the past. Whenever she shivered in response, he redoubled his efforts until she was burning with desire for more.

  She did not know what to do with this torrent inside her, this unfamiliar ache consuming her, fuelled by the movement of his hands on her body, across her hips, finally finding their way between her legs. She tensed then, for this had always been the most difficult part for her to control in the past, but even so, she was unprepared for the intense pulse of heat his fingers created in her most private parts. Unable to stop herself, she pressed against his hand and made a strangled sound.