To her surprise, he stepped into the closet and reached directly past her to tug the trunk inadvisably close to the edge of the one beneath it. A waft of his cologne—very pleasant, masculine, woodsy, and warm—sent her heart thudding. She wished she was less affected by his closeness, only, with both of them in it, the space seemed even smaller. Mr Darcy—tall and imposing as always—was exceedingly close to her. Not looming exactly, for that implied that his presence was unwelcome, but certainly very muchthere.
“Done,” he said, lowering his arm and stepping away again. As he did so, there came the unmistakable sound of the door swinging closed, and they were abruptly plunged into complete darkness.
Elizabeth gasped and turned around, intent on following Mr Darcy out of the mortifying situation as quickly as possible, but he did not walk forwards as she had expected him to, and she collided with his back.
“Oh! I am so sorry!”
He did not respond other than to mutter a quiet, “Blast.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Pray tell me we are not stuckagain!”
“We are not stuck,” he said in a very low voice. “But Saye has returned—and he has someone with him. I cannot make out who, but we cannot be seen leaving a closet together by anyone outside of the family. It would ruin you.”
She sighed, quietly but gustily.
Mr Darcy turned around, every part of him seeming to brush against every part of her as he did so. “It will be well,” he whispered. “They will likely not remain for long.”
She nodded, though he would not have been able to see. She could hear the voices now that she had stood still—not clearly enough to know what they were saying, but enough to know that they were there. Enough to make her feel all the danger of the situation. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, determined not to give way to anxiety. Itwouldbe well, just as he said. When she relaxed again, she felt the fleeting touch of Mr Darcy’s fingers on her own.
It was impossible to know whether it was deliberate; they were in such close proximity, it might have been entirely unintentional. As might the second touch have been. After that, there was no doubting that it was consciously done, on both sides. What began as the merest caress progressed to tracing the contours of each other’s hands, to their fingers being first lightly, then tightly entwined. Elizabeth’s heart thundered in her breast as Mr Darcy tugged her, oh so gently, towards him and leant closer to whisper in a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
“This is becoming a habit.”
She nodded again. “At least you have not been drenched this time.”
He stiffened. “That is becoming a habit too. A far less agreeable one.”
Perhaps it was the darkness that made her feel safe; perhaps it was Mr Darcy, so close that she could feel the heat of him, driving all rational thought from her head. Either way, she was quite sure there were no other circumstances that would have loosed her inhibitions so completely as to give such a candid answer.
“I am not averse to it.”
The closet grew even quieter than before as she held her breath. It seemed as though Mr Darcy held his, too, for nothing at all moved. Then he tugged her more firmly towards him, so that she bumped into him, her free hand coming instinctively to press into his solid chest as he held her there, cradling her face with his other hand. She could feel his chest rising and falling beneath her palm, his breath on her cheeks; the smell of his cologne now filled her senses.
Then his lips were on hers, and she could not fathom the tenderness of it—how soft his mouth was when the rest of him was so hard and unyielding. She assumed it would be fleeting, a brief caress quickly doused by awkwardness, but there wasnothingeither awkward or rushed in the way he kissed her.
He enfolded her completely in his arms, making it feel as though the rest of the world was a million miles away, and only they mattered, and kissed her for a long time. Occasionally, his mouth moved away from hers to touch upon her cheeks, her jaw, or the spot beneath her ear. Every time, his lips returned to hers more hungrily than before. Her head was cradled in his hand, and hetilted it slightly to whisper her name in her ear, his voice dripping with the same longing as welled like a furnace in her. She answered it, rising to her tiptoes and sliding her arms around his neck and her fingers into his hair. He moved his hands immediately to her waist to pin her against him, igniting every inch of her skin—and then he moved his leg, pressing forwards in a way that tightened her throat around a whimper of desire.
Then the trunk, so carefully arranged to frighten Lord Saye, toppled from its perch and crashed to the floor of the closet with an almighty bang.
They froze, both breathing heavily but otherwise still. Mr Darcy held her so tightly she could feel his heart racing. Nobody came. Nobody opened the door to proclaim outrage at their damning embrace. Slowly, Mr Darcy loosened his arms, letting go of her just enough to crack the door open and peek across the room. “They have gone.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, gently brushing her hair from her temple.
“No, it missed me, thank goodness?—”
“Darcy? Was that you?”
Elizabeth held her breath.
“It is Fitzwilliam,” Mr Darcy said. “I shall get rid of him. Wait a few minutes for me to lead him away, then leave.”
She nodded, too panicked to know what else to do. He stepped out, closing the door behind him just as Colonel Fitzwilliam came into the dressing room.
“There you are! What the devil happened to you?”
“Saye came in,” Mr Darcy replied. “I had to hide in the blasted cupboard! What is he doing here—I thought he was supposed to be in London!”
