In the Arms of Mr. Darcy tds-4

by Sharon Lathan

  She shrugged, beaming up into her husband’s face. “It is not a favorite dish, William, and I know you dislike it. I guess a treat now and then would be nice, however.”

  “Mrs. Langton will prepare more than one entrée if you order it so, dearest.”

  “And the aroma of fresh trout will not send you screaming from the table as mutton surely would?” Her eyes twinkled as she teased, Darcy smiling wider and reaching to caress the hand resting on his arm.

  “It is a large room. I can always sit at the opposite end.”

  Mr. Bennet observed the unconsciously affectionate interplay with an inner fount of peace, never tiring of seeing his children’s happiness. How maudlin I am in my old age, he thought with a silent chuckle.

  Mrs. Bennet was more oblivious to the romance. “Well, it is fortunate, Mr. Darcy, that Lizzy does not like mutton either! At least in that you will be spared any distress.”

  They had reached the eastern end of the lengthy terrace, pausing to absorb the sparkling landscape of white with glistening fountain and waterfall, the Greek Temple rising in a glory of marbled stone on the hill. The jolly squeals of skaters were audible, floating from the distant, small pond that was hidden from view by snow-topped trees and hedges.

  “How about it, Thomas?” Mr. Gardiner turned to his brother-in-law. “In for a spell of fishing? I tell you, the trout practically jump onto the hooks. It is divine.”

  Mr. Bennet chuckled. “As long as you promise to maintain some awareness of the time. I have no desire to turn into an icicle.”

  “Dr. Darcy? Care to try your luck yet again?”

  “Do you suppose there is any way to build a fire near the edge of the pond?” The shivering man, bundled in two wool coats, turned to his nephew with a pleading expression.

  Darcy laughed, shaking his head negatively. “Sorry. Mr. Clark would strangle you if you marred his landscaping or damaged the dormant lawns. Afraid you just need to be tough.”

  “We can share a flask of brandy while we fish. That should help.”

  George shuddered, sighing in resignation. “Thank you, Mr. Bennet, but I think I shall bring my own flask, just to be on the safe side.”

  “You men enjoy yourselves. I, for one, am beginning to freeze already. Lizzy, Rose, care for a few hands of cards? You can bring Alexander for us to gush over and take turns holding.”

  Lizzy smiled at her aunt, eyes glowing happily. “Sounds wonderful. William, do you yet intend to go for a ride with Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy nodded. “As soon as he is done cavorting as a juvenile.”

  “I seem to remember a certain mature gentleman engaging in a fair amount of juvenile cavorting at the pond last year at this time, or so I was told,” Mrs. Gardiner remarked with a grin to Mr. Darcy, who flushed slightly and coughed.

  “Well, yes, but it was all the doings of my devious wife who claimed to be a novice skater in dire need of assistance and rescue.”

  “Lizzy a novice?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Why she has been on skates since she was three, although the winters are not as harsh as here and the skating opportunities fewer. Shame, Lizzy, deceiving your husband! What must you think of her, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I assure you, madam, I have only the highest regard for your daughter. Her ruse was only in jest and thinly veiled. I knew she could skate all along, plying my own arts of deception. It was a friendly game with a pleasurably outcome.” He smirked at his blushing bride, knowing full well she was recalling their interlude in her bathtub afterwards.

  The afternoon waned into evening. The gentlemen, including Mr. Daniels and George, were invigorated by their brisk jaunt on horseback. Varied entertainments prevailed both before the excellent Christmas Eve dinner and after. Georgiana and Mary delighted with duets on the pianoforte, Kitty lifting her voice a time or two, as did Lizzy and Violet Gardiner. The guests differed from the prior year, but the revelry was in the same vein. Alexander joined the group for a time, alternating between wakefulness and slumber, but in good humor throughout and horribly spoilt by all.

  Past Christmas reminiscences were shared as they sat in the cozy parlor with fire crackling. The rowdy Bennet celebrations differed hugely from the sedate festivities at Pemberley, but everyone delighted in the story telling. With his customary flair, George related the long ago holiday memories, clear from his dramatizing that the Darcy children of his generation possessed few of the strict manners of later generations.

  “It was the only night of the year that we did not argue about retiring in our anxiousness to greet the dawn and open presents. And the only night we did not sneak into Estella’s room after we were supposed to be asleep.” George chuckled. “Our parents were ignorant of how late we often extended our ordered curfew, romping and mischief making until nearly midnight upon occasion.”

  “I doubt if they were as ignorant as you surmise,” Darcy interjected with a smile, continuing at his uncle’s questioning look. “Grandfather once said to me, when I was seven or so and upon the occasion of a visit from my cousin Anne with Richard and Jonathan here as well, that now I could, ‘disobey as children ought, by pretending to be abed before traipsing the darkened halls to cavort with your siblings.’”

  Richard was laughing. “Oh yes, I remember that! And I also remember how surprised you were, William, and Anne as well. Poor souls with no conspirators about on a regular basis! You two were scandalized at the idea of disobeying a parent.”

  “And you managed to break me sufficiently of that ridiculous notion. Bursting into my room with Anne being pulled along by Jonathan. I nearly screamed in fright. Dear Anne looked ready to collapse. This one”—he indicated Richard while glancing about at the grinning faces of his audience—“had gone so far as to steal food from the kitchen!”

  “Ah yes. Fun times,” Richard said, his face radiating puckishness.

  George, however, was mournful. “I can’t believe they knew! Rather spoils the whole purpose of being naughty and breaking the rules if the authority figure is aware of it. I am crushed.”

  “Do not be dismayed, Dr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner offered placatingly. “I imagine there was a wealth of roguish misbehavior they never knew of.” George brightened considerably.

  “How does one celebrate Christmas in India, Doctor?” Mary asked.

  “It varied depending on where I was at the time. The English compounds held lavish parties, upholding the traditions for the children. But quite often I was traveling about. I never heeded calendar dates, simply going where I was needed or as whimsy inspired me. Obviously, the indigenous peoples of India do not celebrate Christmas.”

  “Did you not receive any gifts?” Kitty asked in shock, her young mind stunned at the idea.

  George laughed. “I had little need of additional trinkets or possessions, Miss Kitty. I traveled with the barest necessities and my quarters in Bombay were modest. James always sent me something special, although I rarely received it before Christmas. I had a few close friends, both Christian and not, who expressed their affection with a token. In later years I had a dear friend who set the day aside, furnished me with a gift, and insisted I honor the birth of my Savior, even while gently teasing me about it.” His smile was soft, eyes dreamy for several seconds before he shrugged, the lopsided grin again in place as he met Kitty’s eyes. “Of course, shaking the gift was always an imperative! Have you shaken and guessed your gifts yet, Georgie?”

  His gaze slid to Georgiana, the young woman startling and reddening instantly as her guilty eyes snapped briefly to Darcy even as she exclaimed, “Of course not!”

  Laughter rang out. Darcy pretended a stern scowl, his smile evident nonetheless. “Shaking presents is forbidden in the Darcy household. Is that not so, Georgiana?”

  “Yes, Brother.”

  But she glanced at George from under her lashes, meeting his wink with twinkling eyes.

  It was early yet when Lizzy cornered her husband where he stood for a moment’s solitary contemplation by a far window. S
he laid one hand gently on his arm, Darcy turning with a ready smile.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Darcy.”

  “My thoughts are all of you and our family, my heart, and therefore priceless treasures.”

  “So romantic you are my darling. Impressive.”

  Unconsciously, he reached to stroke her cheek with a fingertip. “Must be the brandy, reminiscences, and excessive body heat pervading the room causing my mind to become all foggy and nonsensical.”

  “Whatever the stimulus, do not cease as I am deeply affected by the sentiments.” She ran one hand lightly down the lapels of his jacket, holding his tenderly piercing gaze. “It is time for Alexander’s last meal. May I ask a favor? Can you form a polite reason to excuse yourself early and join us? I crave your undivided company and cuddling before the fire on our second Christmas Eve together.”

  He smiled, that singular smile that lit his entire being and was only for her, touching even his vocal cords as evidenced by the huskiness in his voice. “Nothing could be simpler, beloved. I will be right behind you.”

  And he was. Lizzy never knew the excuse he gave, although she would have been surprised to learn it was nothing more than the truth. Darcy declared that he wished to spend the evening alone with his wife and son, bowed gracefully if abruptly, and hastily exited the room. Having washed and divested himself of all clothing but his shirt and breeches, he entered the nursery as Lizzy was finishing the exhilarating task of nursing their son. He happily assumed the chore of final burping and rocking to sleep while Lizzy retreated to her dressing room.

  Lizzy returned, pausing on the threshold and smiling at the scene. Darcy held Alexander as he rocked, whispering silly phrases of love and singing in his off-key resonant tones, bringing to life the vision of her dream from so long ago. That prescient image of Darcy calling their baby by name had cemented in her heart that they were to have a son. Brought to life innumerable times already, watching their son being adored by his father never ceased to move her.

  “Is he asleep?” She whispered.

  Darcy nodded, kissing the top of Alexander’s curly head. “Out for the duration I believe. Yet I do have a difficult time parting from him, even knowing he is likely more comfortable on his cushiony mattress.”

  “I rather doubt he prefers the cradle to his papa’s warmth, but tonight I want you for myself.” Darcy looked at her with a raised brow and lilt to his full lips. “Yes, my selfishness unmasked. Put him down, love, and I will tell Mrs. Hanford we are retiring.”

  That accomplished, Lizzy laced her fingers between Darcy’s, bending for a final kiss to the baby’s forehead before steering him out the door. To his surprise she bypassed their temporary bedchamber, leading unerringly through the sitting room to the Master suite. Darcy had barely stepped foot in this room for nearly a month, almost forgetting how cozy and spacious it was, not to mention how much larger the bed. He crossed the threshold, Lizzy’s hand warm in his, and halted thunderstruck.

  A fire blazed, casting glows of red and amber across the bearskin rug and pillows before the hearth. A scattering of candles and oil lamps were lit, but the room was muted in soft rays of gold, warm and incredibly inviting. A bottle of champagne sat by the turned down bed, fluted glasses alongside a tray of fruits and sweets.

  Lizzy had moved a few paces away, still clutching his hand, watching the dawning enlightenment spread over his features as his glittering blue eyes swept the scene and returned to her face. She smiled at the expression of mingled childish enthusiasm and raging ardor, his grin both breathtakingly seductive and frivolously exuberant. He truly was speechless.

  She stepped closer, eyes shining as passion rose, raising the free hand to feather fingertips over his chest. “Merry Christmas, Fitzwilliam.”

  For a span of several harsh breaths they stared at each other, ignoring everything beyond their acutely alive bodies. Darcy pressed Lizzy’s hand flat against his rapidly rising chest, her palm instantly burning as his skin transmit flares of heat through the linen of his shirt. Lizzy ached for his touch, yet she held still waiting for him to move. His eyes penetrated her soul, searing through her mind and body as he studied her intently as only he could.

  The moments stretched, Darcy finally bending in increments that were agonizing in their sluggishness until he was inches from her upturned lips. His blue eyes were openly gazing into her brown depths, voice a bare hoarse whisper with breath brushing her sensitized mouth when he spoke.

  “Are you absolutely certain, Elizabeth? Positive you are fully healed and ready for me? No reservations whatsoever? I must know because I do not think myself capable of stopping once we start. My desire for you, my hunger, burns as a consuming fire. God, how I need you, my Lizzy!”

  She was already nodding as he teased the tip of his tongue over her lips. Involuntarily, a faint moaning sigh escaped her throat, Darcy shuddering as he fought for control. The urge to sweep her into his arms, carry her to their bed, and love her thirstily nearly overwhelmed him. Instead, he moved away from her deliciously devastating mouth, planting tender kisses down the sloping expanse of her neck.

  Still gripping one of her hands by his side and tightly pressing the other over his wildly palpating heart, he kissed and huskily resumed his inquiry, “No lingering pain? No discomfort? I could not bear it if I hurt you even while bringing you great pleasure. We need not rush, my lover, as I will wait as long as you require…”

  Lizzy halted his words by the straightforward method of clamping her mouth over his in a forceful kiss, lips parting demandingly and tongue seeking. Darcy groaned, releasing her hands to encircle her body, drawing her soft curves onto the hard planes of his entire torso... Some small section of his brain screamed to take it slowly, but Darcy was beyond reason. Even through the thick layers of his old robe that she now wore belted securely over her gown he could feel the mass of her breasts, the warmth of her flesh radiating through the fabric, her scent intoxicating and taste enthralling, as her lush figure yielded to his probing hands.

  “Oh, sweet Lord, I love you, Elizabeth!” His voice was covetous, the fingers of one hand franticly fumbling with the knot at her waist, firmly compressing her upper body against his chest with the other, and simultaneously inching toward the bed.

  “William, wait!” Lizzy grasped the hand at her waist, breathing so heavily she saw stars before her eyes. Darcy had halted at her cry although the effort was clearly a torture for him. “I just… need you to know that… I am not… that is, my shape is not exactly… what it was yet. I may never be… as thin again, and there are a few… marks. Just faint ones, but nonetheless they are visible and… I just thought you should be warned.”

  Darcy was staring at her in genuine shock and surging amusement. The combination worked to cool the craziness of his passion, a lazy smile spreading over his face while he calmly resumed untying the robe sash, peeling it unhurriedly off her delicate shoulders. “My beautiful, sensuous, absurdly silly, adored wife. I shall not waste words of praise in an attempt to convince you how absolutely stunning you are, how desirable, how perfect, how intoxicating, how adulated. Instead, I shall show you.”

  The robe fell to the ground. Lizzy stood before her besotted spouse in his silk shirt unbuttoned to below her abundant breasts, creamy skin glowing and chest rising thrillingly with each breath. Darcy’s smoldering eyes raked possessively head to toe then back to her face, grinning purely lascivious as he huskily said, “Yes, indeed, I will show you.”

  And then he did sweep her into his arms, carrying her the remaining steps to their favorite bed. Laying her gently down, he kissed teasingly, running one hand the length of her body. “You shall have no doubt whatsoever how I feel about you and what you do to me,” he murmured before pulling away. Stripping his shirt off and tossing it randomly, he then opened the top drawer to retrieve the nearly empty jar of massaging cream forgotten since the last application the day before Alexander’s birth.

  Lizzy giggled. “What are you doing with tha
t? I think the stretching is done for the time being.”

  “Ah, but the effects of the ointment are not exhausted. Besides, a woman who has been through such travails and who works so hard deserves a lengthy massage from her appreciative husband, do you not agree?”

  Lizzy nodded, smiling and sighing as happiness freshly washed over her. Her handsome husband settled onto his knees at the end of the bed, rubbing a glob of aromatic balm between his palms before grasping her feet. She giggled and wiggled slightly at the ticklish sensation, Darcy grinning and applying strong fingers to the task. He took his time, the visual enticements of his luscious wife more than a little bit arousing, but the need to allay her insecurity calmed his lust… somewhat. Besides, the pleasure derived from smoothing over her skin was heady, experience having proven that a checked passion once released was rapture heightened beyond comprehension.

  Transferring gradually to silky legs and knees, the oil soaked as he massaged firmly into each muscle. Lizzy watched him closely, mouth parted, and panting as ardor rose rapidly from the combined stimulus of his amazing touch and the sight of his flexing muscles. She pressed wiggling toes up his inner thigh, Darcy playfully pushing her foot away.

  “Behave, Mrs. Darcy, or the massage will not extend beyond your thighs.”

  “What a tragedy that would be.”

  “Perhaps not a tragedy, but assuredly not as pleasurable.”

  Her mumbled disagreement about the levels of pleasure was lost in a gasping moan as he pressed lips to her lower abdomen, hands stroking over her hips. The sensations raged, Lizzy completely forgetting to be embarrassed over the thin, silvery marks low on her belly or the residual mound of flesh by her navel. Darcy, as he had told her so long ago, adored all of her, especially these remnants of their child’s first dwelling place. She was beautiful, her sacrifice in bringing their son safely to the world was beautiful, and her giving soul was beautiful. Nothing would change how he felt about her or quash his desire for her.

  After a thoroughly enticing time, Darcy lifted, one by one unbuttoning the shirt to expose all of her. “So gorgeous,” he whispered, eyes revealing devotion and candor. “Elizabeth, I love you.”