"My steward possesses sufficient competence."The mattress gave beneath him, springs whispering as Darcy joined her.His fingers closed around her ankle with careful possession, and when she opened her eyes, she found him examining her—the flush of her skin, the restless sprawl of limbs freed from tangled blankets."How do you fare?"
"Warm."She found his cravat already loosened, his jacket discarded somewhere between door and bed.Eleven months of marriage had taught him efficiency in these matters."But not burning.Not yet."
His hand traveled higher, mapping the familiar territory of her calf, her knee."The staff?"
"Have their instructions."She'd handled it herself after breakfast, before the heat could muddle her thoughts—four days' seclusion, meals left outside the door, no one to enter unless summoned.The sort of frank conversation that would have been impossible at Longbourn, where every bodily function became a source of maternal hysteria or paternal embarrassment.But Mrs.Reynolds had simply inclined her head, murmuring about fresh linens and water pitchers, as though Elizabeth had requested nothing more unusual than an early breakfast.Pemberley's walls had witnessed this dance before—alpha and omega, need and satisfaction, the ancient rhythms that no amount of propriety could entirely suppress.The staff would melt into the background, footsteps avoiding this wing entirely, granting their master and mistress the privacy that nature demanded.Elizabeth found comfort in their practiced discretion.
"Good."His palm settled on her thigh, possessive and patient."I've been thinking about you all morning.Roberts was explaining the new irrigation system, and all I could picture was you here, waiting."
"Poor Roberts."She shifted, stretched, watching his gaze drop to the peaks of her breasts."Though I doubt he noticed.You've perfected that mask of indifference."
"Have I?"His fingers traced higher, ticking the inside of her thigh."Strange.I feel remarkably transparent these days."
She laughed, the sound catching as his touch wandered with deliberate intent."Only to me."
"Only to you," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her throat where his mark had silvered over time.The scar tissue was more sensitive than regular skin—he'd discovered that nearly immediately after claiming her, and had exploited it ruthlessly ever since.
Heat pooled low in her belly, different from those first desperate waves at Netherfield.This was languorous, confident.She knew what came next, knew he'd spend the next four nights worshipping every inch of her body with the same focus he brought to everything else, and the days caring for her.No more hasty encounters in darkness, no more shame-filled departures at dawn.
"I want—" she began, then stopped.After nearly a year, surely he knew what she wanted.What they both wanted.
His hand stilled on her skin."Tell me."
"A child."The words emerged steady, certain."This time, Fitzwilliam.I can feel it."
Something shifted in his expression—hunger sharpening into purpose.They'd been careful these past months, letting her body adjust to the changes, learning each other's rhythms.But last month she'd stopped drinking the tea that prevented conception, and though he hadn’t said anything outright, he'd noticed.
"Elizabeth."Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer.His hand splayed across her still-flat stomach, protective already."Are you certain?"
"Aren't you?"She covered his hand with hers."You've been hovering for weeks.Mrs.Reynolds says you've already interviewed three nursemaids."
Color touched his cheekbones."I merely made inquiries—"
"You've been nesting."She pulled him down for a kiss, tasting his surprise against her mouth."Tell me you haven't been preparing a nursery."
"The yellow room gets excellent morning light," he defended between kisses."And it's close to our chambers—"
She silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, letting him taste her certainty.When they broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, his eyes had darkened to near-black.
"This heat feels different," she admitted."Stronger but...calmer?Like my body knows what it wants."
"What does it want?"His voice had roughened, though his touch remained gentle.
"You."She arched into his hand."Always you.But more this time.Everything."
He made a sound that might have been her name or might have been something more primal.Then his mouth was on her throat, her chest, mapping paths he'd memorized months ago but treated each time like new discovery.She tangled her fingers in his hair—longer now than fashion dictated because she liked it that way—and let sensation wash over her.
At Netherfield, she'd been desperate, clawing at him with need she didn't understand.Now she knew exactly how he'd take her apart piece by piece, knew the rhythm of his hands and mouth, knew how he'd draw out her pleasure until she begged.The anticipation was almost as sweet as the act itself.
"I love you," she gasped as he did something particularly clever with his tongue."Did I tell you today?"
"Twice at breakfast."His breath was hot against her skin."Once in the garden."
"Not nearly enough then."
He lifted his head, meeting her eyes with such intensity it stole her breath."I love you too.Beyond reason.Beyond propriety.Beyond anything I thought myself capable of feeling."
"Show me."
