Mr. Darcy's Refuge

by Abigail Reynolds

  Seeing her response was not enough. He needed to feel her beneath him. Trapping her legs with his, he moved over her, brushing against her sensitized breasts, feeling the shock of it even through all the layers of clothing that separated them. Her hips rocked up to meet him. The motion against his hardness made him long to stop this slow seduction and take her right then and there, but he wanted to give her more than that.

  And Elizabeth wanted more. No, she needed more, was desperate for more. Then she was kissing him as desperately as he was kissing her, his hands exploring her body, touching her in ways no man had ever touched her before, setting her every nerve afire. Her hands clutched him to her, digging into the firm muscles of his back as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, then took his place between them. She knew full well that her skirts and his breeches stood between them, but still she was overwhelmed by an odd mixture of intimate vulnerability and anticipation. Then his hardness rocked against her, rhythmically rubbing against her most private places, each movement sending through her a shock of pleasure so pure that it made her writhe against him. Instinctively she raised her knees to open herself more fully to him and the intoxicating sensations he was creating in her. It built and built until she felt as if there was nothing left of her but a well of exquisite need.

  The intimacy of the moment was so great that it was almost a shock to look into his eyes, bare inches from hers. Her chest heaved as if she had been running a race. She tried to calm herself and let the storm inside her ebb, but then it intensified as Darcy laid his hand against the naked skin of her thigh. With a shuddering breath, she discovered that her skirts had pooled above her knees, exposing much of her legs to his view. What was more shocking was that she did not care. In fact, the heat in his eyes as he inspected them kindled a new fire inside her.

  Without removing his hand, he settled himself beside her, lightly caressing her thigh. Then he spoke, in a voice no longer steady. “Had my self-control not begun to fail me, and had my conscience allowed it, this was where I would have asked to be allowed to satisfy you.”

  She laughed shakily. “You would have seduced me after all, then?”

  His slow smile seemed to hold an enticing wickedness. “No, not that, just to give you pleasure. It will not violate you; you will still be a virgin, at least for the moment, if not precisely… untouched. And it would have helped you… ease the tension.” His fingers traced burning circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “That is what I plan to do now.”

  Awash in need, Elizabeth could not think of anything that might ease her tension short of being struck in the head by a brick, and certainly did not see how more of this temptation could possibly improve matters.

  The corners of his lips turned up, then he covered her mouth with a passionate kiss. But how could she focus on his kiss when his fingers were trailing up her inner thigh and then – oh, goodness – directly over her private parts. She was sure that she ought to want him to stop, but her body did not seem to agree, instead straining those same parts against his hand as if begging for more. She made the astonishing discovery that mere pressure was a torture of a new sort, sending her need for his touch spiraling. How could this possibly relax her, of all things?

  He seemed to sense her need, his nimble fingers continuing their journey of discovery until finding a spot where his caresses elicited blinding waves of pleasure. Unable to help herself, she moaned, and Darcy ceased his kiss just long enough to whisper, “Oh, yes, Elizabeth, yes.”

  She forced her lips to obey her long enough to quaver, “How….”

  “I adore you, and that is all that matters. Just feel.”

  And she did feel. She felt ragged with desire and wantonly desirous of more, and when one of his fingers slipped inside her, she could feel the shocking sensation through every inch of her body as he moved it in and out. Somehow he continued to stroke that incredibly sensitive spot, the one that made her writhe like a madwoman, yearning for something she did not understand.

  Cool air wafted over her breast, and she realized vaguely that he must have pushed her dress off her shoulder. Then his mouth unexpectedly descended upon her nipple, and he was sucking at it and teasing it with his tongue and teeth, sending unexpected riptides of sensation through her. This new tension, compounding the effects of the dance of his nimble finger in her private places, rose into something near pain, and she did not know how she could bear another minute of it.

  Then, without warning, the ache crested, a splendid flood of pleasure cascading through her, fountaining from the spot where he touched her all the way to her fingertips. She was shuddering uncontrollably with release, her body alive with sensation and responding to his lightest touch. Slowly the tide receded, leaving Elizabeth both drained and amazingly fulfilled at the same time.

  He kissed her gently, then raised his head to meet her eyes. “My dearest love,” he murmured. “That is what I wanted to do that day, to show you that we belonged together.”

  Overwhelmed by tenderness for him, she wanted to reply, but her muscles would not obey her. All she could do was to put her feelings into her eyes and hope that he understood.

  “All is well. It takes a moment to recover,” he said.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “So… I see. But it is much better than being hit on the head with a brick.”

  He laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just a random thought. Pay me no mind. I am full of nonsense.”

  Darcy could spare no more thought to the question, for his own dilemma was becoming a burning one. He had intended to remove Elizabeth’s clothing so that he could feast his eyes and lips on her before consummating their marriage, and of course his own enjoyment would be heightened by removing his own. But pleasuring Elizabeth had proved even more arousing than he had anticipated, and his body was clamoring for satisfaction with a vehemence that left no room for dealing with tiny buttons and unlacing stays, much less for calling his valet to remove his boots and fashionably tight coat. Not when Elizabeth was warm in his arms, gazing up at him with dreamy, aroused eyes, and he ached to make her his own. He cursed the tailors and modistes who had dreamed up all these impossible layers of formal clothes and the fashionable set which demanded boots so tall and tight that a man could not remove them himself. Well, that particular fantasy of admiring Elizabeth’s lovely body would have to wait until tonight if he was not to become a candidate for Bedlam.

  Elizabeth reached up to touch the tip of his nose. “You look so serious. Is something the matter?”

  “No, not a thing.” And it was true. “Except that I am in great need of more of your kisses, my love.”

  “What a fortunate man you are, then, for I am well supplied with them!”

  He knew just how to chase that arch smile from her face and replace it with a look more appropriate for their wedding night – even if it was actually the middle of the afternoon. Experimentally he moved his fingers, still ensconced in her private places, and was rewarded when Elizabeth sucked in a sudden breath.

  Yes, indeed, he was going to make her his, but he wanted her to be thoroughly aroused when he did so. Now he was the one smiling as he delicately caressed her most sensitive spot. “And now, my loveliest Elizabeth, since we are not after all in the hollow,” He paused to run his tongue tantalizingly over her nipple, making her arch up toward him. “It is only fair to warn you to disregard anything I said about not seducing you, because ….” he trailed kisses along her bared breast before taking the peak completely into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at it as she groaned her pleasure, her hands entwining into his hair. He lifted his head just enough to release her nipple and said, “… because now I am quite definitely going to seduce you.”

  With those words, he plunged two fingers inside her. She gasped, her hips rocking up gratifyingly to meet his hand. If it was possible, it made him even harder and more desperate to possess her. With the last shreds of his self-control, he used his fingers to thrust in and out of her, pre
paring her for what was to come. His thumb drew tiny circles over her nub until she began to whimper and press herself harder and harder against his hand.

  He could wait no longer. He stopped his ministrations only long enough to drop the flap on his formal breeches and free himself. Poising himself at her entrance, he kissed her deeply, exploring the sweet depths of her mouth for a long minute. As slowly as he could bear, he pushed inside her warm wetness, exulting in each moment, until he reached the last barrier. Then, with a final thrust, he made her his own.

  Elizabeth winced, but did not cry out. He paused to kiss her tenderly for a moment, but she was so sweet, so tight and he was so hard that it was impossible to wait long. As soon as she began to return his kiss, he allowed himself to move, doing his best to be gentle. When she wrapped her legs around him with a sigh of pleasure, permitting him to go deeper still, his restraint broke. As she finally cried out, her flesh spasming around him, he found his bliss at last as he spilled his seed within her.

  He would have stayed in that moment forever if he could, connected to Elizabeth in the most basic way possible, her soft body pressed against his in the last tremors of her pleasure. He had dreamed of this so long, and now it was real. There were no words for it. Raising himself on his elbows so as not to crush her, he said the only sensible thing which came into his head. “Are you well? Is there pain?”

  Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his in a tender look. “Less than I was led to expect, and it was over quickly.” She raised a hand to cup his cheek. “My love.”

  “Always yours, my dearest.”

  Elizabeth glanced down at herself, noting her skirts rucked up to her waist, the shoulder of her dress pushed down to expose one breast, and her hair coming loose. She looked up at him half-ruefully. “At least this time I will not have grass stains on my clothes.”

  “No. And tonight, when I come to you, we will not have all these accoutrements between us. But you may have the pleasure of knowing that I followed your sage advice by doing what I wished instead of waiting until then – and you are all that I ever wished for.” His voice was low and intense.

  She felt a deep upwelling of affection for him, and wondered how she could ever have failed to love him. Then a pattering against the windows drew her attention. Laughing, she said, “Look -- it is raining!”

  “Good.” He kissed her deeply. “I hope it continues until the Thames overflows its banks and traps us here for days.”

  ***

  It was a pleasure to watch Elizabeth even when she was doing something as mundane as selecting which roll to eat for breakfast. Her fine eyes flicked back and forth between the selections, then her slender hand hovered in the air for a moment like a hummingbird about to sip the nectar from a flower before it descended on her choice. The curve of her arm reminded him of how it had felt to have those arms around him last night, and then to wake in them this morning. Heaven.

  His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of his butler, who presented him a silver salver with a card on it.

  “Who the devil is calling at this hour?” He took the card and looked at it, then threw it down again in disgust.

  “What is the matter?” asked Elizabeth. “Is it Lord Matlock?”

  “Worse. George Wickham.”

  The butler bowed. “Shall I show him in, sir?”

  “No. Better yet, I will tell him myself.” Darcy tossed his napkin on his chair and strode past the shocked butler.

  Wickham was awaiting him in the entry hall wearing that smirk Darcy so detested. The very presence of that man was polluting his house! “What is it, Wickham?”

  “Why, I heard the good news and came by to give Mrs. Darcy my best wishes, of course.”

  Darcy silently glared at him, waiting for him to get to the real purpose of his visit.

  The smirk grew wider. “And I have been thinking that the reputation of Mrs. Darcy’s sister is a more valuable thing than when she was no more than your, shall we say, somewhat intended bride?”

  “You will not get a penny more from me.”

  “Really? Well, I hope the scandal of Mrs. Darcy’s sister does not affect Georgiana’s marriage prospects too severely. You will be responsible for it, you know.”

  Darcy considered briefly. “No. It will be your fault, and I am done cleaning up after you. Good day.” He turned to the butler. “Stephens, if that man is not out of this house of his own volition within one minute, he is to be thrown out.” With one last look of distaste, he strode back to the breakfast room and Elizabeth.

  Wickham’s wheedling voice came from behind him. “Darcy, is this any way to treat your future brother?”

  Darcy ignored him completely, apart from closing the doors to the breakfast room behind him.

  Elizabeth wore an arch smile. “That was quick.”

  “I assume you heard it all.” He stood behind her chair and bent to brush his lips against her neck. “I hope you are satisfied, even though I did not do what I truly wished to do, which was to pitch him out the door myself.”

  “An excellent compromise. Some things are better left to the servants.” Her eyes sparkled up at him.

  “Speaking of compromises, I agreed to your request to come down for breakfast so that the household could see you. To my mind, that means you should compromise and agree to return to our rooms immediately after breakfast.” He continued his exploration of her neck and collarbone.

  “But what will the staff think?” she teased.

  “They will think that newlyweds have more important things to do than to eat breakfast.” He captured her mouth with his, and Elizabeth was forced to agree that he could be right.

  Chapter 22

  Darcy’s box at the Theatre Royal was full on the occasion of Mr. Bennet’s last day in London, when that gentleman joined the newlyweds, Jane, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Matlock in attending a play. Mr. Bennet seemed back to his usual self, with no hint of his recent illness, although Elizabeth had insisted that he walk up the stairs slowly. He had shown no sign of discomfort during Lydia’s wedding the previous day either, even going so far as to laugh during Lydia’s tirade when she accused Elizabeth of having cheated her of being the first in the family to wed. At least that matter was well settled now.

  Darcy guided Elizabeth into the second row of chairs in the box, ceding the front row to their guests, which was not only good manners, but also meant he would be able to hold Elizabeth’s hand during the play with no one the wiser. Even after a fortnight of marriage, he was still happiest when he could maintain physical contact with Elizabeth.

  Richard and Jane were directly in front of them, alongside Lady Matlock and Mr. Bennet, who were engaged in a lively conversation as if they were old friends. Darcy could not make out Mr. Bennet’s share of the discussion, but Lady Matlock trilled with laughter as she gave his wrist a sharp tap with her folded fan. “You would like it! Me, I am not so fond of the Hamlet. Why should it have so many deaths at the end? It would be much better if Mr. Shakespeare had allowed everyone to shake hands – except the evil king. He deserves his end, n’est-ce pas?

  Richard had been whispering in Jane’s ear when he suddenly sat up. “Oh, charming,” he said with heavy irony.

  “What is the matter?” Jane asked.

  He handed Jane the opera glasses. “The third box from the stage. My father.”

  Jane peered through the glasses. “Who is that lady with him?”

  Lady Matlock had by now taken note of their conversation. “No one of importance. The latest whore, no doubt.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Mother!” Richard said disapprovingly.

  “What is the matter? I am sure Miss Bennet knows what a whore is, n’est-ce pas? If not, I will be happy to explain it to her later.” Turning her attention back to Mr. Bennet, Lady Matlock raised her fan to whisper something to him behind it. Mr. Bennet’s response was a deep chuckle.

  Richard winced and turned a pained look on Jane. “My apologies. The Fre
nch can be very frank about certain subjects.”

  Elizabeth touched Darcy’s sleeve. “I do not know if this is a good idea,” she said softly, indicating her father with a movement of her head. “He is supposed to stay calm, but seeing your uncle even across the theatre could upset him.”

  Darcy thought it more likely that Mr. Bennet would be all too well amused by flirting with Lady Matlock under the eye of her estranged husband. “He seems unperturbed, but if that changes, we can leave at any point.”

  Just then the lights were extinguished, leaving only the halo from the footlights lighting the heavy curtain, which slowly rose to reveal the parapets of old King Hamlet’s castle.