But I had not said anything and I did not know what I was suppose to do now. Were we really meant be so intimate then go to our respective side of the bed and sleep? And why did my side have to be so damp? I wanted to be close to him. I also wanted to escape this abominable vat of bodily broth lest I drown in it.
Darcy reached out and took my hand lacing his fingers through mine. That was something at least.
"Come here," he said, giving my hand a weak tug.
I complied, dragging myself until I was beside him. I put my head upon his chest. He made for a most uncomfortable pillow, but I was too fatigued to search for better accommodation.
After a bit of rest, a question occurred to me. A question I found I must have the answer to immediately. Darcy was drowsing so I bit his nipple. Tit for tat—perfectly fair. He had done it to me and I had enjoyed it. Though he perhaps had not bitten me quite so hard.
"My God!" he exclaimed as he jolted awake. Then he muttered something about mebeing possessed by the devil followed by energetic blaspheming. And people say ladies overreact to being startled.
"I have questions."
"I never imagined you would not, though I thought perhaps we might catch our breathes before you began asking them."
I chose to ignore his scolding. "When you—" I began then promptly halted, how did one word this?
"When you . . .tasted my nectar—did you—did it—I hope it was not unpleasant."
Thankfully Darcy understood what I was trying to ask. "You taste like tea. Well, not precisely like tea. But not unpleasant."
Wonderful. Perhaps he might be persuaded do it again. Often. Soon.
Perhaps tomorrow.
At the latest.
But I was not going to mention it because I didn't want to seem greedy.
"So you will do it again?" Fine, I couldn't help but mention it.
"Indeed," he said. Most emphatically.
Lovely.
Another thought occurred to me. "You knew what you were doing!" I said accusingly.
"Thank you? Possibly I am sorry?" said Darcy with much beLizzyment.
"Mama told me gentlemen were either hopeless blunderers intent on their own enjoyment never mind their wives' pleasure, or they were lovers. And if they were the latter it was because they had extensive experience of a practical nature . . . or they had learned it all from books."
He understood the implication immediately. "Books! That is the origin of my expertise if that is indeed what you are accusing me of—or complimenting me for."
"So there really are such books?" I had been certain Mama was fabricating their existence.
"Yes."
"You have read them?"
"Yes."
"You possess such books?"
Darcy paused, sensing the trap. "Yes."
"I want to see one."
"Certainly not."
