Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (182 page)

He stroked her cheek as he cocked his head and knitted his brow. “By the way, you have obviously deduced that I do not like to dance. This is not true. I abhor balls with all the protocol and vapid conversation that attend them, and I detest being on display. However, I enjoy dancing and have been told I am accomplished. One could even say I am light of foot!” he chuckled. “I have simply never been properly partnered, except for one time during which I behaved idiotically.”

Lizzy was crying again and fell into his arms, burying her face into his chest. “William, I am a fool! Please forgive…” He checked her apology with a deep kiss, and she responded fervently with a rapid transposition of her despair and anger to passion. Darcy swept her into his arms and swiftly carried her to their bed. He held her tightly, locked to her mouth as he gently sat on the bed with her in his embrace.

He pulled back mere inches and met her eyes. “Elizabeth, my love, there is no other but you, never has been, and never will be.” His voice was low and husky as he stroked her face, tenderly kissing her eyes and nose and every other feature. His fingers moved to the clasps on her gown, beginning the familiar process of undressing each other, a process they had discovered early on to be tremendously stimulating.

At last they were naked, crazily aroused yet peacefully content enough in their love simply to enjoy the sensation of touching each other. They knelt in the middle of the enormous bed, face to face, the unencumbered access to their bodies allowing for languid exploration. There was not an inch of Darcy’s sumptuous six-foot-three-inch physique that Lizzy did not adore.

His many scars were the evidence of a rugged youth and badge of a virile adulthood. A light dusting of freckles across the fair skin of his shoulders created a pattern she enjoyed tracing with her fingertips. The downy hair on his chest, the strong pulse in the hollow of his throat, every muscle defined and firm, and his hands… Oh, how she loved his hands! Not only how they felt on her body and the passion his skillful fingers could incite in her, but the very look of them: strong with calluses on the palms, yet soft with long, refined
fingers. Then there was his face with piercing blue eyes, lush lips, strong jaw, cleft chin, and noble English nose all combined masterfully. She touched all of him, arousing him with her devotion.

Darcy equally worshipped his wife. Elizabeth was so alive and vibrant and spirited that he frequently found himself freshly amazed at how petite she was. Her bones were so delicate he wondered she did not break in their wild passion, her body svelte yet firmly muscled, skin velvety smooth and flawless, and breasts that perfectly fit his large hands. He towered over her and around her, but rather than prompting a sense of dominance, his potent manliness activated a profound need to protect and satisfy her.

He loved the small mole located precisely where her right buttock swelled from her back, her narrow waist, the dimple at the base of her spine, her pink nipples, her fragility, the thin wrists that he could encircle with his thumb and index finger, her dainty ears, and her face. He could and often did become enraptured by her face. Elizabeth was beautiful by any standard, but what captivated Darcy was the vital force and character that shone on her countenance and primarily in her fine eyes.

He kissed her and she responded with fervor, as they held and touched and squeezed and teased. He trailed his mouth along her jaw to her ear, whispering, “Best beloved, do you remember the first time we touched?”

She hesitated for only a second. “When you assisted me into the carriage at Netherfield. I remember, yes.”

“We have not spoken of that event. What, if anything, did you feel?” He nuzzled her neck, planting feather kisses while his fingers lightly traced up her backbone.

“Initially I was merely surprised that you would extend the courtesy as I thought you disliked me. A bit angry, too, with what I perceived as presumptuousness. The way you looked at me though… it disturbed me. I could not decipher your expression, but I was captured by something in your eyes and the warmth of your hand.”

He was studying her eyes, smiling softly as they relived an odd yet now happy memory. “I felt a jolt rush to my heart and my hand tingled all the way home. I did not understand it and was troubled. I still am not sure what happened. I know I did not care for you then, and I do not believe it was a sexual response. Perhaps it was like a signal, if I had been listening, that there was more between us than I imagined. It affected me and I relived the moment
in my dreams, yet I cannot explain it. I do know one thing; it was the first time I consciously accounted you handsome.” She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

Darcy caressed his thumb over her lips and jaw as he cupped her face. “I did not plan to take your hand. It was impulsive. The instant I touched you, I knew I had acted from a desire to feel you, not out of courtesy. I was stunned by the emotions rushing through me. Prior to that moment, you had intrigued me but only as a challenge to my intellect, an enigma I failed to comprehend. I thought you lovely but no more so than many other women I had seen. At least this was my reasoning.

“You had already invaded my dreams,” he smiled and blushed mildly, “and I thought of you incessantly. I think I needed to touch you so I could rid myself of this obsession, rationalizing that the dreams were not reality. I was a fool. The instant your skin met mine, I was yours. I knew I loved you. Of course, you know the rest, how great my self-deception and denial.”

He took her face into his strong hands and drew closer, raptly staring into her eyes. “Elizabeth, I have touched other women’s hands and never, not once, have I felt anything, not a ripple. In addition, I have never dreamt of another. Whatever… sensual… dreams I have had in my life were vague with no discernable partner. You were vivid, much to my shame. I pictured you in stunning detail and that touch, as brief as it was, lived in me and came alive and grew with each dream. I love you, my Lizzy. No one compares to you.”

By the afternoon of the fifth, Lizzy was relatively calm and excited at the prospect of the Masque. She owed her renewed peace solely to her husband. His mild chastisement for her not sharing her anxieties had struck a nerve. After making love, they had cuddled and talked for hours, Darcy effortlessly ignoring any misgivings regarding his duties to their guests. His wife was precious to him, and her peace of mind was of paramount importance. His assurance to her of this incontrovertible fact alone was enough to placate the majority of her concerns.

Although Darcy was cautious not to label her silly again, Lizzy realized that she was precisely that. Her place in his life was indelible not because of the license that legally bound them, but because of the invincible love that connected them. Simply stated, Lizzy had nothing to fear from the society
of Derbyshire, or anywhere else. They belonged to each other in a love and devotion that exceeded logic. They both ended up laughing at how ridiculous they occasionally were in their vulnerability.

Darcy taught her the relatively basic steps of the waltz while still in their bedchamber, theorizing that if she could learn in this setting, then dancing while in a ball gown would be facile. If his generally well-honed ability to rationalize did not succeed as he had deduced, the unforeseen result of ending back in their bed was delightful and welcomed.

Over the next several days, Lizzy practiced with Darcy in the more appropriate location of the music room with Georgiana at the pianoforte, accompanied by both the Lathrops and the Gardiners, who happily embraced the fun. Once over her initial embarrassment at the close proximity of her partner, she found the waltz immensely enjoyable. In truth, much of her pleasure was
precisely
due to the closeness of Darcy, yet in no small measure was it also due to the graceful, swaying motions of the dance.

January 5, 1817

M
ARGUERITE FUSSED OVER
L
IZZY
like a mother hen, but the result was stupendous. Lizzy’s gown was a multilayered masterpiece. The dress was white satin with slightly puffed sleeves ending midway down the upper arm. The sleeves were edged in cornflower blue chenille tied in a petite bow. The same chenille edged the dress in a crossed fashion over the legs and along the hem and demi-train, exposing a white silk organdy petticoat edged with the finest Parisian lace.

Layered over the dress was a drape of midnight blue crepe edged with a braid of the blue chenille and lace. This darker overdress fastened at the left shoulder and fell across the left side of her bosom and back, pleated tightly under her breasts, and gathered under her right breast to fall in soft waves over her hips and buttocks to her knees. The bodice and back were low-cut in a V shape with an inch double frill of the Parisian lace over the shoulders. Slippers of white kid and satin elbow-high gloves completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled loosely to the right cascading over her shoulder in full curls secured by a bandeau of pale blue satin adorned with sprigs of honeysuckle and campanula. She wore the sapphire necklace Darcy had gifted her upon their engagement. Lizzy felt like a fairy princess!

Her husband waited in the grand foyer with bated breath. The only hint Lizzy had yielded was that he should wear blue. Darcy preferred blue anyway and, aware that Samuel and Marguerite had undoubtedly compared notes, he trusted his valet’s selection. Therefore, he stood on the marble floor wearing a dark-blue formal jacket and matching long trousers of fine wool, the pale blue waistcoat Lizzy had given him, white linen shirt, and an elaborately knotted silk cravat. Mr. Lathrop stood nearby, suppressing a laugh with difficulty, while the others loitered in the parlor.

When Lizzy materialized on the landing, resembling to Darcy’s eyes every iota the princess from a fairy tale, his breathing halted for a full minute and his heart skipped several beats. Lizzy blushed under the stunned scrutiny of her husband, loving him increasingly with each step she moved toward him. His smile was radiant and his eyes glowed. If only he knew how impossibly handsome he was when he smiled and gazed upon her in this manner, yet much of his charm was in his total ignorance of his attractiveness and allure.

He kissed the gloved hand she offered, meeting her eyes. “Mrs. Darcy, you are majestic. I am spellbound by your beauty.”

She curtseyed and beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. May I repay the compliment and say that you are an Adonis? Supremely handsome and dapper.”

“Elizabeth is here!” Georgiana exclaimed, dashing to her sister and followed closely by the others, who quickly surrounded Lizzy with gushing praise. Grinning indulgently yet conscious that this could continue for hours, Darcy rapidly called for Elizabeth’s coat and ushered her into their waiting carriage. Once settled and on their way, Darcy turned toward his wife, retrieving a small box from his pocket.

“For you, beloved. I ventured a guess, the gown a mystery of mythic proportions. Upon revelation, I warrant this bauble will accent nicely.”

The
bauble
was a silver brooch some two-inches in diameter in a vague sunburst design with inlaid diamonds and sapphires. Accounting it anything less than exquisite would be an insult. Lizzy was, again, overcome by Darcy’s generosity and impeccable taste. He pinned it to her left shoulder where the overdress gathered. It was perfect.

Darcy, painfully cognizant of the fact that for the next eight or so hours proper decorum would prevent him from overtly touching or kissing his lovely wife, made use of the time the ride afforded. Carefully, of course.