In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  Darcy had uttered not a word. Instead he precipitously lifted her into his arms, moving quickly to the bed. Just that quickly, his solicitude disappeared!

  Lizzy laughed breathlessly. “You had to carry me the ten steps to the bed? We couldn’t walk?”

  “Far speedier this way. Time is of the essence, Mrs. Darcy.” He grinned, but was quite serious. He straddled her thighs, hastily discarding his shirt and tossing it onto the floor, and then bent over her supine body with a hand next to each shoulder and arms straight, his body not touching hers. He drew close, his mouth inches from hers. “What is your pleasure, my lover? Shall I kiss and lick your flesh, your writhing and pleading driving me insane with desire until I cannot resist and bury myself deeply here as you lay? Or do you wish to be in control, sending me to places unimaginable with your skillful touch?” As he spoke in a soft whisper he moved his lips along her jaw and face, warm breath stroking her sensitive skin with each word interspersed with feathery kisses.

  She was already running her hands over his torso, squeezing and pressing as she arched her back in an effort to contact his body. “I have no preference, Fitzwilliam. Just hurry!”

  Darcy smiled, aware she was no longer referring to their evening’s agenda and the preparatory requirements. God, how I rejoice in her response to me! The power to excite her so easily, so continually, was intoxicating. Of course, his ardor was as swiftly roused, probably even more so, the fire blazing uncontrolled through every nerve and his groin aching with need.

  Suddenly it was not about the shortness of time but rather the impatience to be one as they attained pleasure unparalleled. A ragged groan burst forth as he again captured her mouth in a plundering kiss. He kept himself aloft, unerringly using one hand to unclasp the row of peach cloth-covered buttons down the front of her dress.

  Lizzy clasped onto his shoulders, abruptly pushing him away as she launched upward from the bed. Darcy was momentarily surprised, but immediately relaxed, sitting back onto his heels. “Impatient, my love?” He asked with a salacious grin and raised brow.

  “Together we can accomplish the task quicker.”

  And they did. Seconds later she was completely nude, garments strewn wildly about the room for probably the thousandth time since their wedding night. She instantly attacked the straining buttons of his trouser fall, eliciting rumbling groans and tensing muscles as she spared several minutes in focused titillation to the newly exposed flesh.

  “Oh Lizzy! Please… stop!” He tugged harshly on her pinned hair, not intending to cause her pain but desperate to halt the arousing actions that threatened to send him over the edge without her.

  She rose as he bid, running her hands around his hips and over his firm buttocks, holding on as she joined with him in one strong motion. Simultaneously, they expelled loud sighing moans, assuming a familiar rhythm.

  Neither spoke, although the room was far from quiet. Time may have been short, but they enjoyed the interlude and did not rush. Attuned to his wife, Darcy knew seconds before she shouted and arched her back, fingertips digging harshly into his shoulder as she shuddered. He released the residual thread of his control, utterly succumbing to the spasms rushing through his body just as she cried out his name.

  The dazzling euphoria that blinded their eyes and gripped every muscle lasted a short span of time, but the warm tingling remained long after they collapsed onto the cushioned mattress. Lizzy idly caressed the muscled leg lying across her abdomen as clarity restored and she became aware of the familiar deep, rhythmic exhalations wafting over her bare shoulder. She chuckled, turning to gaze upon the face of her spouse. He was flushed, satisfaction evident in the upward tilt to his lips, but he was also falling into a doze, as he often did after they made love.

  “Fitzwilliam,” she said with a laugh and nudge to his inert shoulder, “we must leave in less than an hour. No time for a nap.”

  He garbled unintelligibly, moving only to cup one breast and plant a weak kiss against her upper arm.

  She laughed harder, wiggling and twisting until he was rolled onto his back with her leaning on his chest. She inevitably felt invigorated and alive after they loved, especially in the middle of the day. Darcy frequently did as well, but more typically he experienced a period of satiated inertia. He recovered fairly quickly—sometimes recovering very well and desiring a repeat performance—but for that span of time, he was borderline stuporous.

  Caught between a laugh and an annoyed grumble, Darcy opened his eyes slowly, peering into the radiant face of his wife. “Go on ahead, darling,” he mumbled gratingly, “I’ll just rest here for a minute or two.” And his eyes slipped closed.

  “Oh no you don’t!” She exclaimed, leaning to kiss his lips and playfully slap his cheeks. “Samuel will scowl and scold if you force him to hastily dress and shave. You insisted on having your way with me so now you must pay the price.”

  “Ha!” He said with increased vigor. He opened his eyes, the blue orbs shining and clear, and grinned. “I was prepared to be a gentleman until my lascivious wife threw herself upon me.”

  “Well,” she countered, “You can no longer wail and bemoan your need for comfort amid the stress, now can you?”

  Any retort was lost, Lizzy delivering a pert kiss before launching from the bed. She was laughing as she flounced toward her dressing room, turning at the door to blow a kiss his direction. Darcy happily watched her naked figure sway and mince, his lethargy abruptly disappearing in the surging joy that life with Elizabeth brought. With a final chuckle, he too rose from the bed, his step light and gay if a bit more swaggering than his wife’s.

  ***

  Darcy chaperoned his sister for her initial appearance at Almack’s Assembly beginning that Wednesday.

  Dressed in one of a dozen new gowns designed specifically for her Almack’s engagements, Georgiana was a vision of loveliness. Again the mixture of pride and dismay that pierced Darcy’s heart was difficult to bear. He knew his sister well enough to recognize the subtle signs of her anxiety and shyness, yet was amazed at her outwardly tranquil expression and lack of fidgeting. It had taken him at least two years to master the reserved aloofness that was now too easily construed as arrogance and disdain, his hands still often betraying his discomfort by twiddling in some manner. Georgiana, on the other hand, was the picture of serenity.

  They arrived some half-hour before dancing commenced at eleven o’clock. “You do not wish to be the first to arrive,” Darcy explained to Georgiana, “nor should you delay and miss the opportunity to secure a respectable dance partner for the first set.” Thus with impeccable timing, they presented their subscription tickets and passed through the widely opened doors, entered the revered interior of the premiere dance assembly in all of England.

  For Darcy, entering the spacious and lofty room lit to dazzling proportions by a staggering number of chandeliers and candles brought back painful memories. He glanced about at the crush of young men and women, all in attire richly adorned and fashioned to display their attributes, noting the fathers and mothers and other chaperones peering speculatively at each person of the opposite sex than their ward, and silently sent a prayer heavenward that he had been so blessed to find his Elizabeth.

  Georgiana, on the other hand, noted the plush sofas lining the four walls, the profusion of finely dressed handsome men and beautiful women already engaged in gay conversation, the enormous roped-off area for dancing, the soberly uniformed musicians tuning their instruments, and the raised dais upon which the seven Lady Patronesses held court, and her heart soared.

  They wove through the tight press nearest the door, but managed less than ten feet into the room before Miss Darcy was hailed by a group of friends. She squeezed Darcy’s arm, gazing upward for permission, and at his stiff nod she was gone.

  The night passed in a blur for Georgiana. She danced almost every dance and rarely sat down. The introductions to dozens upon dozens of highly eligible bachelors were impossible to remember, and she honestly did n
ot care. She wanted to have fun, leaving thoughts of matrimony or falling in love for another day.

  Of course, Darcy did not fully believe this, despite his wife’s assurances, and he certainly did not trust the slathering hounds persistently dogging his baby sister’s steps with eyes far too bold for his comfort. Five in the morning could not arrive swiftly enough for him!

  Georgiana hardly noticed her brother at first, almost forgetting he was there. However, after hours of his stern mien bordering on a scowl with piercing eyes that marked every move she made, his towering attendance hinging on menace in close proximity to wherever she moved within the enormous hall, and his curt retorts to any comments directed his way by anyone of the male sex, she began to seriously yearn for her uncle or cousin! Thankfully, they were all too happy to accompany her for the remaining Wednesdays until they departed in June.

  The Season passed without a single offer of marriage made, although that was clearly not due to a lack of interested suitors. Georgiana embraced the lively diversions of dancing and conversation with far greater ease than anyone in her family would have expected, but her characteristic shyness and reticence nonetheless set her apart from the majority of the flirty, bold females, and kept the randy, rambunctious bachelors from pursuing too vigorously. Of course the image of her frightening brother and his surly reputation may have contributed! Whatever the case, she remained unbetrothed and had a marvelous time. Her step along the pathway of affability and confidence furthered considerably, but none of the gentlemen touched her heart specifically.

  Darcy’s relief was monumental. When the final Almack’s Assembly was held and his sister arrived home safely, he physically sensed a cord of coiled tension loosen in his body. Lizzy stood nearby as Georgiana raved on innocently with one eye on her sister and the other on her husband, the tender but humorous smile conveying unmistakably that she knew precisely what he was feeling.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A BALL AT GROSVENOR SQUARE

  The Matlock carriage slowly rolled through the crowded streets toward the grand Theatre Royal of Drury Lane. It was a spacious carriage, opulent and sturdy, but the five grown occupants in their finery were definitely beginning to feel the effects of close quarters on this sultry evening in late May. The fact that there was nary a hint of breeze added to the discomfort.

  “I daresay we could walk to the theatre from here and arrive sooner!” Priscilla Fitzwilliam declared, fan waving steadily.

  “The streets of London do seem to congest further with each passing year.” Lord Matlock’s baritone soothed the sharp ring left by the voice of his daughter-in-law. “Not to mention that Spohr’s Faust is a special event drawing large crowds. I am curious to see his interpretation of the classic tale.”

  “As am I,” Lady Matlock agreed. “The reports are that it is quite fantastic. A departure from the more familiar Goethe rendering, so I am told.”

  “I simply adore romantic operas!” Priscilla gushed. “I suppose it is therefore worth this infernal heat and delay. I only pray my curls remain intact.” She patted the springy clump of hair strategically escaping from the feathered turban, looking to her husband for verification.

  Jonathan, however, was staring at his brother with an amused smirk on his handsome face, noting the involuntary wince even though Richard’s attention appeared to be fixed on the passing architecture. “Frankly, all I can dwell upon at the moment is why my brother, who barely tolerates opera in general and abhors German compositions, would insist on accompanying us at all!”

  “Do not tease Richard so, Jonathan! I am sure he has his reasons.” Lady Matlock leaned over to pat her youngest son’s knee.

  “I may have no great love for the romantic babblings of the German composers, Jonathan, but I can appreciate opera in a general sense. I am quite fond of Mozart, as you know, since I attended several performances with you and Priscilla over the years.”

  “Indeed, but Mozart is in a class by himself.” Jonathan continued to gaze speculatively at Richard, who ignored him altogether while peering out the window. “You do not even speak German.”

  “Neither do you very well, yet here you are,” Lord Matlock interjected. “It is all about appearances, son.”

  Lady Matlock laughed. “Perhaps for you, my dear, but some of us do actually enjoy the music and story.”

  “You speak fluent German, madam, which shall add to the spectacle. I, however, shall be employing all my vast resources of strength to avoid falling asleep and making a fool of myself before all of London society!”

  “Do not fear, husband. I shall pinch you if necessary.”

  “Will you pinch Richard as well, Mother? He will surely require your assistance.”

  “I suddenly feel as if twenty years has been peeled away and I am again forced to play moderator to my two squabbling boys!”

  They all laughed, even a nervous Richard pulling his attention from inner musings to the chatter of his family as they clattered ever so slowly toward the theatre.

  The milling crowds along Russell and Catherine Streets were thick, necessitating the driver to halt nearly on the walkway opposite the main entrance. Richard’s eyes scanned the press of brightly bejeweled bodies glittering in the glare of gaslight, as always when he searched for Darcy, looking for that one head which seemed to rise above all others. It was Dr. Darcy he found first, momentarily thinking it his cousin until he noted the toothy grin and bellowing laugh almost audible over the cacophony from where he stood yards away. Richard shook his head with a smile and resumed his quest, easily spying Darcy seconds later, where he stood tall and silent behind Elizabeth on the walkway by the right hand corner of the building.

  Leaving his parents and illustrious brother to greetings from the gathering luminaries, Colonel Fitzwilliam eased to where Darcy stood, pulling him a pace away. With no preamble, he asked in a hushed whisper, “Anything yet? Have you seen her?”

  “Good evening to you as well, Colonel. Beautiful night for the opera, do you agree?”

  “Yes, yes! Lovely,” Richard waved impatiently, tugging on his coattail in agitation. “Have you—”

  “I adore these balmy nights in London,” Darcy interrupted pleasantly, gazing toward the clear, star-embellished sky. “So bright and refreshing. Ideal atmosphere for a divine operatic experience, I daresay.”

  “Darcy, I shall be hard pressed not to injure you in some manner if you do not answer my question!”

  Darcy chuckled. “Ah, but I am having entirely too much fun with this to let it go, Cousin. Rest assured, however, that if I had vital news to impart I would have done so. Alas, we only just arrived and have made it no further than this corner. I have been unobtrusively scanning the crowd and see no sign of Lady Fotherby.”

  “Are you certain she is to appear tonight?” Richard asked with a decidedly plaintive whine.

  “So I have been informed by my wife, who is privy to information of this magnitude from sources I have learned to trust. As shall you if your hunt proves successful.”

  “Do not be vulgar, Darcy.”

  “No vulgarity intended, merely pointing out the facts so you can be adequately aware of what you are getting yourself into.”

  “Do you not always say that marriage is the best thing to have ever happened to you?”

  “And so it is, my friend. It comes with perquisites unimaginable, one of which happens to be the delights of female gossip, some of it quite entertaining I must confess.”

  Richard shook his head, laughing low, the playful banter easing his nervousness.

  Elizabeth had cautiously probed and discovered that the widowed Lady Fotherby would be making her first public appearance at this specific opera since the death of her husband some seven months prior. All season Colonel Fitzwilliam had quietly attended the various social gatherings his duties allowed, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he loved. But the rumors insisted that she remained sequestered in mourning at the Fotherby estate in Buckinghamshire. Unable to inquire forthrigh
tly, he was left to lament to Darcy, who naturally shared all with his wife.

  It had required minimal investigation on Elizabeth’s part, as the news of Lady Fotherby’s relocation to the London Townhouse now owned by her as a specific inheritance from her husband was a prime topic for tearoom gossip. Richard digested the information with equanimity, only a rapid swallow and the fact that he did not flinch over the news that it a German opera she was to attend signs of his discomposure!

  “I would not worry too greatly, Cousin. Even if Elizabeth’s intelligence is incorrect, we have secured a positive response to our invitation. Lady Fotherby will be gracing us with her presence at the ball we are hosting in two weeks.”

  Richard’s face beamed. “When did you receive this?”

  “Just yesterday. And I expect your undying gratitude and willingness to grant me any favor asked for the remainder of your life as you know how I abhor such extravaganzas.”

  Richard grunted. “I know full well that Elizabeth bullied you into Darcy House hosting a ball for Georgiana’s benefit and as the perfect cap to the season. The painful requirement for you to be charming and gracious for one whole evening has nothing to do with me.”

  “I do believe that is the Fotherby crest, is it not, dearest?” Elizabeth’s voice rose above the din, turning with an innocent twinkle to the two men standing a few feet away. She had not been able to overhear their muted conversation, but she was quite certain of the vein, smiling sweetly at Colonel Fitzwilliam who ignored her faint smirk.

  Indeed, the lush carriage indicated, having rounded the corner and creeping toward the curb, bore the coat-of-arms for the Marquess of Fotherby. The occupants could not be seen, but Richard’s heart constricted nonetheless.

  Darcy leaned close, murmuring into the dazed Colonel’s ear, “You would be wise to attach yourself to your parents. I am certain Lady Matlock will consider it her duty to welcome Lady Fotherby, as friend to her mother. Plus, I think she is aware of your infatuation.”