Darcy Saga 01 Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy (8 page)

Darcy returned from her dressing room with a thick robe and helped her into it. Or more precisely he delayed the process with numerous kisses and caresses, but Elizabeth did not mind. Finally they sat on the rug before the now raging fire with the platter of food on the floor. Darcy popped the well-chilled champagne and poured them each a glass. "To us," he toasted, "the happiest couple on the face of the earth!"

Darcy attacked the superb provisions with relish and Elizabeth was not too far behind. They had fun with the process: feeding each other morsels, licking and sucking each other's fingers, and kissing honey-smeared lips. Eventually even Darcy's appetite was quenched and, with a satisfied sigh, he reclined on an enormous pillow. Elizabeth leaned against his bent knee and gazed dreamily into the fire. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. A warm blanket of peace and bliss covered them.

Darcy began to drift into sleep, warm and relaxed by the fire. Lizzy was lazily caressing the leg and knee she leaned against and the sensation was calming. As far as Darcy was concerned, life could not possibly get any better than this. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Elizabeth turned to gaze at her husband. He had a soft smile on his lips, hair in disarray, and one arm raised above his head and the other lying across his stomach. The robe was loosely tied so most of his chest was exposed. She recognized that, despite the intimacies of the last hours, she actually had not had the opportunity to examine her husband's form closely, as she had teasingly told him she needed to do.

He was so beautiful and perfect to her eyes. She had spent the past weeks memorizing his face and intimately knew every inch of it. The small scar on his right cheek was the result of a tree branch while riding when he was fifteen, he had told her. She knew how long it took from the time he shaved until whiskers began to reappear, and that they sprouted first along his upper lip.

She had discovered that his eye color altered depending on his mood or what he wore. When he was thinking passionate thoughts of her, his lips would part slightly and eyelids would flutter. When he was annoyed or concentrating, his jaw would tighten and several small creases would appear between his brows. When he was very angry, his eyes would darken almost to black and his lips would press tightly together into a thin line. She had found that a singular expression crossed his features with thoughts of each person he loved. He had his "Georgiana face" and "Richard face" and "Mrs. Reynolds face" and "Elizabeth face."

At times her hurtful words came back to haunt her.
Your arrogance, conceit... selfish disdain for the feelings of others.
Oh, how could she have thought such things! He would be angry with her if he knew she was remembering those words because they had spent hours discussing the past, their mutual errors, and had promised to learn from them and then put it all behind them. Perhaps in time it would no longer wrack her with guilt, but she continued to loathe herself for the pain she had caused him. Knowing now the depth of his emotions toward those he loves, his loyalty, the profound grief he carries for those he has lost, and his goodness, made it all the harder to forgive herself. Not for the first time she vowed to herself that she would never cause him pain again.

Impulsively she kissed his knee, causing his sleepy smile to deepen, and then gently pushed his leg down while she resituated herself between his legs. He opened his eyes, still smiling, and considered her movements with interest. She carefully opened his robe to initiate her inspection.

"Elizabeth?" he whispered.

She smiled. "I made a promise, sir, to give you a full accounting of all your attributes that are pleasing to my eyes. Never let it be uttered that I do not keep my promises. Now, relax."

"That may be a challenging order to follow, my beloved, if you continue in this manner."

Elizabeth did not reply. Her fingers traveled slowly over him, noting his muscles, counting each rib, graphing the pattern of his chest hair. She reveled in the contrast of smoothness and roughness, felt each of his breaths and the beating of his heart. She grazed rigid nipples and he inhaled sharply. She detected for the first time a bump atop one of his ribs. "What caused this?" she asked quietly.

"I fell out of a tree when I was twelve," he answered. "Broke my rib and lacerated my arm here," and he rolled up his sleeve showing her a long scar along his inner left arm. "Ten stitches. My mother was furious but Father just laughed. 'Boys must be allowed to be boys,' he said." Darcy chuckled at the memory. "My mother kept me abed for a week, and Mrs. Reynolds forced all manner of hideous-tasting concoctions down my throat. I am convinced they punished me due to their own fright, rather than any actual need of my own."

Elizabeth loved how his eyes glowed when he spoke of his family. He did it rarely, the memories being very painful to him. His childhood was much a mystery to her. She could not wait until she was at Pemberley, the place where he grew up, the place he loved more than any other. She remembered how at ease he had been there when they had spent their glorious day together, how he laughed and smiled. Somehow she knew that their relationship and understanding would reach even greater heights once in his home.

"I cannot quite picture you climbing trees," she said, her head tilting to the side. "You seem more the library-dwelling boy to me."

He laughed. "Well, I did rather spend inordinate amounts of time in the library, but I do love the outdoors. I generally prefer riding my horse to long walks, although I am coming to appreciate what can be accomplished on long, solitary walks." He grinned slyly and she blushed, knowing full well to what he was referring. "I was not normally stupidly reckless though. It was usually George...," he stopped abruptly as a dark cloud crossed his face, "... Wickham that baited me into something foolish. He dared me to climb the tree, in fact. Of course, the fault was mine in allowing him to drive me to such follies." He took a deep breath and, with a visible shrug, he shoved the unpleasant memory aside. He looked at her face, shining above him with pure love and devotion. It was impossible, he thought, to stay morose with such beauty to behold.

He tenderly captured one of her tresses in his hand and twined it around his fingers. For long moments they gazed at each other, enraptured by the love they felt. Thoughts of sleep vanished. Darcy started to rise up, intent on taking her into his arms, but she stayed him with her hands. "I am not finished, sir," she murmured and lowered her face to his neck as she stretched fully onto him. It was her turn to bestow feather kisses to all his sensitive places and to discover the secrets of how to please him. This she did with an intensity and directness that left him beyond breathless... and completely satisfied.

Their wedding night was not yet over.

CHAPTER FOUR

A New Day Dawns

F
ITZWILLIAM
D
ARCY WAS HAVING
the most extraordinary dream of his entire life. Elizabeth was there, although that fact was not unusual since she had graced the vast majority of his dreams for months now. This dream, however, was exceedingly more erotic than any of the previous ones, and, yes, there had been several! Darcy was enjoying this dream enormously and did not want it to stop, so it was with tremendous dismay that he felt the beginning tendrils of consciousness return. He valiantly fought against them, but the tingles in his right arm persisted no matter how many times his subconscious self tried to move the offending appendage.

The cold blast of wakefulness was like a knife to his heart. He had really liked that dream! So acute was his disappointment that one can imagine the soaring heights instantaneously reached when he realized that the object of his dream was in his arms. In fact, it was her head, which at some point during her sleep had crept from his chest to the inner aspect of his elbow, that was causing his arm to burn. The irony of it did not escape him, and he chuckled softly.

Memories of the fine dream, coupled with the vision of her beauty before him, were temporarily enough to drive away the ever-increasing discomfort to his poor extremity. For some moments he manfully bore the pain and watched her sleep. It was an enchanting sight to behold. Her lush lips were slightly parted, her thick lashes resting peacefully on her rosy cheeks, her mane of hair scattered haphazardly about, and her creamy neck and shoulders visible. Darcy could quite contentedly have stared at her all day, but now his fingers had lost all feeling.

Resolving this issue was suddenly one of the most problematical calamities of his life! He did not want to wake her, nor did he want to remove his arm completely. He thought maybe he could roll her gently back towards his body, a pleasurable prospect, but his arm now had not only lost all sensation but refused to comply with his brain's request. He saw no choice but to use his left arm, which would probably mean waking her up.

There seemed to be no other option, so he began to reach for her. Just at that moment, she stretched her body, sighed deeply, nestled closer to his side, and moved her head back to his chest. Darcy sent silent thanks to whichever guardian angel takes care of these sticky situations.

His relief was short-lived, sadly, due to the sudden rush of blood that ignited a blaze of fresh pain in his unfortunate arm. He gritted his teeth, and his whole body tensed and shuddered in his effort not to cry out and wake his peacefully sleeping wife. Eventually the torture subsided and he was able to move his arm again. Naturally he made good use of it by hugging his wife against his side, resting his hand on her silky hip.

Well, that was interesting,
he thought.
Certainly a drawback to sleeping with someone that has never occurred to me, but most assuredly worth the experience.
He lifted his head slightly to view the clock. A quarter to nine! Darcy could not remember the last time he had slept so late. Of course, neither could he remember the last time he had slept so deeply and contentedly, nor woken up feeling so amazingly refreshed and blissful. He sighed and closed his eyes again, a joyous smile on his face.

As pleasant as his dream had been, the reality of his wedding night was vastly superior. They had ended their first night of marriage by loving each other before the fire on the bearskin rug. Elizabeth's initiative, coupled with the location of their union, had added another dimension to what they had already discovered to be a most delicious activity. Darcy never claimed to be a particularly creative man, but how he could not have imagined being with Elizabeth in a site other than his bed surprised him. He was a trifle embarrassed, but he now found his mind drifted to all sorts of promising possibilities. Pemberley had any number of secluded areas, both inside and out, that would work nicely.
Good God, man! Listen to yourself!
But the self-chastisement was ignored and the erotic ruminations manifested themselves physically.

His decadent musings were interrupted by movement from his wife. She murmured something unintelligible, stretched, and then rose up from his chest so she could see his face. "You are awake," she said with a happy smile and reached up to brush his hair.

He caught her hand and kissed it. "Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?"

"Extraordinarily well. I had the most charming dreams. Quite invigorating, actually," she said with an impish grin.

"Really? How so?"

She smiled roguishly. "There was a man there. Could not quite determine who he was, but he made me feel so nice." She purposefully assumed a dreamy expression. "Black hair he had, dark green eyes, rather short..."

Darcy stopped her words with an ardent kiss, lasting just long enough to leave her breathless, and then he released her abruptly. "Does that drive thoughts of this other scoundrel from your mind, or must I search him out and challenge him to a duel?" There was an edge to his voice, but Lizzy did not detect it.

"Hmmm... A hazy memory remains. I fear I may need more persuading."

Darcy brusquely flipped her onto her back, trapping her wrists above her head with one hand. His other clutched her bottom, securing her against his hips with her legs parting naturally to accommodate him. He kissed her deeply, covetously assailing her mouth as far as he could manage.

"Listen to me, Elizabeth
Darcy,
" he growled huskily, "You are
mine
! I forbid you to dream of any other but me." He punctuated his intense words with firm presses of his arousal into her pelvis. She moaned and writhed with the pleasurable sensations arising and struggled to free her captive arms, but he held her fast. He moved his lips along her neck and shoulders, tenderly nibbling and sucking.

Her squirming became frantic with the urgent need to hold him, and she arched into his flaming body, moaning and whimpering. "Please, William!" she cried in desperation.

"What do you want, my wife?"

"I need you!"

"Tell me what you need," he commanded.

"I must have you. Hurry!"

His voice was guttural and hoarse with desire and jealousy and a hint of vulnerability. "Say you want
me
, Elizabeth, only me!"

Somehow through the haze of her passion-induced stupor, Lizzy heard and sensed the frailty in his tone. A pang of guilt ran through her and she forced her eyes open. He was watching her with a dreadful intensity. As calmly and softly as possible, she said, "Always and forever it is you, Fitzwilliam. Only you I want and need... " Her words were cut off by a massive gasp of sensual delight as he claimed her mouth, her body, her heart, and her soul.

When they were blissfully spent, he rolled to the side, bringing her with him in a tight embrace. It was a while before either of them had sufficient lung capacity to speak. It was Darcy who broke the silence, "I am sorry, Elizabeth, if I was too rough, if I frightened you." He sounded so miserable and regretful. "I should not have allowed my petty jealousy to govern me. My passion for you overruled my senses."

Elizabeth rose up to see his face and was pained by the sadness she saw where only happiness should reign. "William, look at me," she demanded, and he did. "If there is fault, it is mine for making such a poor jest. My tongue often rules over my reason, as you know." She moved closer, grasping his face in her hands firmly. "I love you beyond the words to express it. It frightens me how much I love you because my very existence is now inexorably bound to yours. I am not easy with these feelings of vulnerability. It is my nature to make light of serious matters or to tease when I am afraid. Forgive me for my thoughtlessness."