Unleashing Mr. Darcy

by Teri Wilson

  The kiss was demanding, urgent, as if they were making up for lost time. Elizabeth’s heart pounded, struggling to keep up, until Donovan brushed the hair back from her face. His lips slowed, softened and made a careful trail down the side of her neck.

  His hair smelled of soap and cool, clean air, and it tickled her nose. She giggled.

  Donovan pulled back to look at her. There was an unmistakable challenge in that look. “You’re laughing.”

  He reached behind her and unzipped her dress, the echo of the zipper slicing though the sexual tension of the dimly lit room like a knife. “Give me five more minutes and you won’t be laughing.”

  Her sleeves slipped off her shoulders, and the silky fabric of the dress pooled around her waist.

  Five minutes? Try five seconds, she thought as his hands—and his glorious mouth—made their way toward her breasts. She was helpless. She could do nothing but surrender. With her hands buried in his hair, she released a sigh of pure pleasure. Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned her head back.

  It made contact with something hard. The wall?

  “Ouch.” She opened her eyes and found Donovan eyeing her with concern.

  His hair was adorably rumpled. Bed head. And they hadn’t even made it to the bed yet. “Are you okay, love?”

  The endearment caught her off guard, but somehow made her glow, from deep in the pit of her stomach to the tingly sensation making its way across her flesh. “I’m fine. More than fine.”

  Donovan pressed a gentle kiss on each of her shoulders. His lips were velvet soft. And hot. So very hot. “Perhaps we should move to a more comfortable location. There’s a bed right over there, after all.”

  “A bed sounds nice.”

  He took her hands and ran his thumbs in lazy circles over the insides of her wrists. “Yes, it does.”

  She was melting. Any minute she would surely dissolve into a puddle on the floor. She slipped her hands free, slid them down the back of his pants, across the smooth skin of his backside, and pushed them the rest of the way down.

  Donovan stepped out of them and kissed her again. His lips were hungry, seeking. Patient.

  At first.

  As soon as their breathing grew quick again, he pulled away. “Come to bed with me,” he said on a ragged inhale. “Now.”

  He wove his fingers through hers and took a step backward. Elizabeth slid off the edge of the dresser as her dress fell in a dainty pile at her feet.

  Donovan’s eyes flashed, and he took her in his arms, covering her mouth with his as he led her backward toward the bed. Elizabeth ran her fingertips over the length of his body as they went, making her way across his lithe muscles in a glorious exploration. Just when Elizabeth was convinced she couldn’t wait any longer, he pushed her gently back onto the covers.

  Donovan stood beside the bed and paused, his gaze roaming over every inch of her exposed body, taking its fill. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Elizabeth felt no self-consciousness or hesitation. On the contrary, her skin felt as though flames were licking across it. Then he moved over her and rested his hands on either side of her head. She was surrounded by him, and still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to touch him, to feel him, to delight in that smooth, hot skin. She held her breath in anticipation as she let her hands skim lightly over his firm chest, roam past his flat stomach and follow the fine line of hair leading to his erection.

  Donovan’s lips parted as he groaned, and his eyes closed. He lowered his body onto hers. Elizabeth was at once overcome. She felt every inch of him pressing against her. He filled her senses. Even so, her fingers gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. She wanted more. More of him. She wanted everything.

  “Elizabeth.” He gave her the gentlest kiss, as though she were made of glass. Then he said her name again, as softly as a sigh. “Elizabeth.”

  She couldn’t get enough of it, the sound of him speaking her name.

  Ah-lizabeth.

  She wanted him to say it over and over. “Say it again,” she murmured.

  “Elizabeth,” he said. She could feel him smiling against her lips.

  “Mmm. Nice.”

  “Elizabeth, open your eyes.”

  She obeyed and found him staring down at her with a look so tender it made her heart ache.

  “Do you want me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her voice was barely louder than the pounding of her heart. Or was that his? She’d lost track of where her body ended and his began.

  “Tell me.” His gaze bored into hers.

  “I want you, Donovan Darcy. I want all of you.”

  With one sure push, he was inside her, filling her, reaching every part of her. At last. His every movement, every whisper was a caress that reached into her soul, soothing old wounds and awakening sensations in her she’d never before experienced. And, as she gave herself up to him, Elizabeth Scott had the oddest feeling that she’d finally discovered the place she’d belonged all along.

  * * *

  What now?

  The thought wormed its way into Elizabeth’s unconsciousness even as she snuggled against Donovan’s chest and let her gaze roam down the length of their legs, still tangled together after the entire afternoon in bed.

  Donovan kissed the top of her hair and drew her closer. “My God, Elizabeth.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck and gave her shoulder a gentle nip.

  “I know.” She sighed—a sigh of pure and utter contentment. It was outrageous how wonderful she felt. She should have been at least a little embarrassed by the way her body had all but sung under Donovan’s careful attention. On the contrary, she was fulfilled to the point of giddiness.

  Except for that nagging question.

  What now?

  A line had been crossed. They’d all but obliterated the line. Multiple times.

  “What’s gotten into that gorgeous head of yours, love?” Donovan whispered into the crook of her neck. “I can hear the wheels turning.”

  There was that endearment again. Elizabeth hated it.

  That wasn’t altogether true. She actually loved it. But she very much hated the way she loved it.

  As much as she reveled in how she felt in Donovan’s arms, in his bed, the prospect of what would happen once they left his bedroom and stepped out into the real world terrified her.

  As wonderful as this was, how could it possibly last?

  She swallowed. “Nothing, really.”

  “Elizabeth.” He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes narrowing with concern. “I’ve just spent the better part of a day making love to you. And now I can feel you slipping away.”

  Slipping away? It was both the first and last thing she wanted to do.

  What had she done? Things were too far gone now. There was no turning back. How would she show under him at dog shows now, knowing what it felt like to have him inside her? Not only inside her, but part of her, under her skin?

  And even if she could take it all back, would she?

  No, she realized. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured, willing it to be true, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  “Good,” he half groaned. “Because neither am I.”

  Elizabeth felt herself growing light-headed again, being swept away by another rising tide of desire.

  She planted her hand against his chest and pulled back, breathless. “Except the ball starts in less than an hour. I should probably get ready.”

  “Bloody hell.” Donovan’s head fell back against the headboard. “I forgot. Do we have to go? I’ve a mind to skip it altogether.”

  “As appealing as that sounds, you’re the host.” She moved to slide off the bed.

  “I suppose I am.” He
caught her by the wrist and drew her back for one last kiss. It was slow, intoxicating, and she felt herself slipping under a spell of longing once again.

  “Donovan.” She shuddered. “If you don’t let me go, your aunt Constance is going to come storming in here in a couple of hours and find us together in this bed.”

  “All right.” He chuckled as he released her. “But I want you right back here, Miss Scott, before the last guest leaves the ballroom.”

  She held on to that tantalizing thought as she prepared for the ball. After a bubble bath and a minor struggle to tame her hair into a chignon with a minimal amount of tendrils coming loose, she stepped into the glorious Marchesa gown Jenna had convinced her to purchase at the Bridal Market. The corset tied at her lower back with a smooth satin ribbon. She anchored it with a bow, glancing at her reflection in the mirror over her shoulder. Miles of spun-gold chiffon fell over her hips, to just above the floor. She twirled around and her hand fluttered to the delicate rhinestone belt at her waist, and she was hit with a startling realization.

  She was actually excited about the ball.

  She inhaled a steadying breath. She’d been so busy preparing herself for the worst—to feel like an impostor in a room full of Donovan’s peers—that she couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when she’d begun to feel the first stirs of anticipation. Surely it had been sometime this afternoon, between kisses and sighs.

  She was going to a ball.

  With Donovan Darcy.

  A soft knock sounded on the door that joined their rooms, followed by the silky smoothness of Donovan’s voice. “Elizabeth.”

  Ah-lizabeth.

  A trail of chills made its way up Elizabeth’s spine. “Yes?”

  “Are you ready, love?”

  She swung the door open. “Are you?”

  Donovan drew in a sharp inhale as he took in her appearance. “Oh, my.”

  She smiled, pleased to see him unnerved. As perfectly enticing as Donovan Darcy was when he had his wits about him, he was even more appealing when he was thrown off-kilter.

  He reached out and grazed the sweetheart neckline of her gown with his fingertip, then groaned.

  Off-kilter.

  Most definitely.

  “Good God.” He shook his head and ushered her toward the hall with his hand in the small of her back. “We need to leave. Now. Before I change my mind.”

  Elizabeth smiled and fell in step beside him. She couldn’t help sneaking sidelong glances in his direction as they headed down one long hallway after another, presumably toward the ballroom. Donovan was perfection in a tuxedo. She really should have expected it, given the fact that he pulled off the whole charming-Englishman thing with such panache. But good grief. In a tuxedo, the effect was mind-blowing. The man made James Bond look like a poseur.

  Donovan caught her watching him, and he winked at her.

  A surge of something hit her straight in the chest with such force it was almost painful. It was so foreign, it took Elizabeth a moment to put her finger on just what it was. She had to fight back the sting of tears when at last she identified it—happiness.

  Against all odds, this—Donovan, the two of them together—made her happy.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look this evening?” he asked as the sound of music drifted into the hallway.

  “You mentioned it a time or two.” Her voice shook, as did her hands. Was this what happiness did to a person?

  He pulled her close and gave her a tender kiss on her temple. She was growing accustomed to the softness of his lips against her skin. At times, she wondered how she’d never missed it before, as if some part of her must have been waiting for him all along.

  “Here we are,” he whispered as they approached an imposing set of double doors framed by both uniformed butlers and gilded molding.

  “More gold,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Fancy that.” And, with a grin, he led her inside the ballroom.

  Other than the occasional dog show held in generic East Coast hotel ballrooms, Elizabeth had never set foot in one before. And from the moment the toe of her nude patent-leather stiletto crossed the threshold into the Chadwicke ballroom, she knew with absolute certainty this was no Hilton Garden Inn.

  The ceiling was impossibly high and dripped with enormous, tinkling crystal chandeliers as lush and elegant as the multitiered wedding cakes she’d seen in the magazines at Scott Bridal. Crown molding, as white as frosting, surrounded everything in sight. And velvet curtains of the palest blue framed windows that stretched almost from floor to ceiling, showcasing what Donovan called the formal gardens. The name certainly fit. Row upon row of trees had been finely manicured in the shape of giant mushrooms. They were so grand that benches lining a walking path in the shade of the huge trees looked almost like toys.

  The scene was so quiet and serene, it almost didn’t look real. She’d only been to one place before that had such a dreamy quality about it. The memory of it filled her with warmth.

  “It reminds me of the Orangery at Kensington Palace,” she murmured, just loud enough for Donovan to hear.

  He gave her a knowing smile and curved his hand around her waist. “Perhaps we can go for a walk out there in a bit. After we’ve greeted the guests, of course. And I’ve had the chance to dance with you.”

  “I’d like that.” Her heart swelled with anticipation. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Elizabeth had been so caught up in the regal surroundings, she’d forgotten all about the dancing. And the guests, who stood clustered in small groups, chatting and plucking delicate hors d’oeuvres and champagne in glasses as fine as spun sugar off the passing trays of smartly dressed waiters. Donovan led her from one group to the next, making small talk and introducing Elizabeth to anyone she hadn’t met before.

  Through it all, he never took his hands off her, keeping a proprietary hold on her waist or letting his fingertips roam over the exposed skin of her back and shoulders. His hand had just slid up to cup the back of her neck when Helena Robson came into view.

  She stood between Henry, Jenna and another gentleman whose back was turned, as he seemed busy talking to one of the waiters. Jenna’s eyes lit up as Elizabeth and Donovan approached. Henry waved. Dressed in a red lace gown, so tight that Elizabeth could count every bone in her rib cage, Helena tilted her head and seemed to study the way Donovan’s fingertips were playing at the back of Elizabeth’s chignon. Elizabeth braced herself for a teeth-baring. Or at least a snide comment or two. But Helena simply smiled sweetly. And, crazily enough, it actually seemed genuine. Elizabeth was only beginning to ponder this when she heard something that chilled her to the bone.

  To anyone else’s ear, it would have sounded like just another British accent. Upper-crust, refined—not unlike Donovan’s in that regard. But to Elizabeth, the difference couldn’t have been greater. This was the voice that had whispered in her ear from her worst nightmares, causing her to wake in heart-pounding panic. The voice that had breathed hot against her neck, demanding things from her, as if she owed them simply because she wasn’t among society’s elite.

  The voice that belonged to the man who had ruined her.

  She looked at Jenna for a split second, begging for an explanation with her eyes. But Jenna simply shook her head.

  Elizabeth’s consciousness screamed, It’s him!

  Jenna reached out and touched her arm. “Lizzy, is everything okay?”

  The room began to spin as the man standing beside Helena slowly turned around. All the blood drained from Elizabeth’s face at the sight of that familiar sneer. Its owner’s lip curled with even greater scorn as he took in the sight of Donovan’s fingertips playing at the back of Elizabeth’s hair.

  “Donovan, Elizabeth, allow me to introduce my guest,” Helena gush
ed. She looked as though she had just won the lottery—triumphant, giddy. Clearly, this was the moment she’d been waiting for. She trained her piercing eyes on Elizabeth, giving her a look that left no question as to her motives. “You remember Grant Markham, don’t you?”

  Jenna coughed on her champagne.

  Elizabeth couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now. Not when things are finally so perfect.

  Markham gave a slight bow and reached for her hand. She was so out of sorts, she could do nothing but watch him take it.

  “Elizabeth, what a pleasure to see you again.” Markham kept his dark eyes glued to her cleavage as he lifted her hand and, to her horror, lifted it to his lips for a kiss.

  22

  Donovan watched Elizabeth snatch her hand away from Grant Markham’s grasp with such force that her elbow reared back and crashed into his side. The wind was nearly knocked out of him, both literally and figuratively.

  “Don’t touch me.” Her voice was barely audible. Donovan wondered if he was the only one who’d heard it, until she repeated herself loud enough for anyone within a ten-foot radius to get an earful. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

  Donovan had no idea what was going on. He’d known Grant Markham for years. He wouldn’t have called him a friend, really. More of an acquaintance who ran in the same circles when he was in England. While Donovan had never found him altogether pleasant, he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to elicit such a reaction from Elizabeth.

  A stunned silence fell over the group and made its way across the ballroom. Jenna’s face grew pale, without an ounce of color in her cheeks. Donovan was vaguely aware of his aunt Constance watching, wide-eyed, from a short distance away.

  Henry cleared his throat and chuckled, obviously in an attempt to bring some levity to the moment. “So, I take it you two know each other.”

  “Oh, yes.” Grant Markham set his gaze on Elizabeth in a way that made Donovan’s blood boil. It bordered on leering, really. And it didn’t sit well. “Elizabeth and I are old friends. Intimate friends, you might say.”