His eyes opened to see Elizabeth looking back at him with love and delight.
Darcy kissed her fiercely on the lips, his throat nearly choking with emotion. “I love you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”
He had never known such intimacy. Elizabeth Bennet had given herself to him fully, and they were united in a powerful way that he had never known was possible. And never in all his twenty-eight years did he imagine that such love and happiness would ever be his.
ChapterFifteen
Elizabeth awoke feeling short of breath, as though her stays were laced too tight. She blinked in the bright sunlight and realised it could not be her stays because she was not wearing them; she wore nothing at all. The weight over her was Fitzwilliam’s arm. He had rolled onto his side in his sleep and had wrapped her in his embrace.
While she had not intended this outcome when they set out on their walk, Elizabeth was thoroughly delighted with the result. It felt like a reasonable progression in a relationship that, although suffering misunderstandings and conflicts, had steadily developed into an unfaltering and passionate bond. She did not, could not, feel an instant of regret.
She restrained a chuckle as she admired the view of the unclothed master of Pemberley. Her amusement then shifted to a more tender emotion as she regarded his sleeping face, inches from her own. His features were relaxed in the early morning sunlight, and his hair was charmingly dishevelled. His unshaven jaw was not set in determination, nor was his forehead creased in thought. Elizabeth was elated that, in a matter of weeks, it would be her privilege to awaken by his side every morning.
Needing to breathe, she lifted his arm and rolled to face him. He stirred with her movement and raised his head, bleary-eyed and confused, but she saw in his eyes the precise moment he recognised his surroundings. His smile widened, and he leant over to brush her lips with his.
“You smell like lavender.”
“Good morning to you as well.”
“I have often wondered whether it be your gowns that smell of lavender or your perfume.” He pulled her closer, and a thrill travelled over her skin. “As I have removed you from all of your clothes, it must be you.”
“You are a clever man.”
“That I am. I have decided to marry you.”
He rolled onto his back and brought her with him as Elizabeth shrieked with laughter. He pressed his smiling lips against her cheek and shoulder and ran his fingers through her hair. He drew back to look into her eyes, his face filled with a tenderness she had rarely seen.
“You are not a dream after all,” he said before he pulled her into his chest. “I had no sense at all that being with you would be as wonderful as this. I have never been happier.”
Elizabeth thought of how delightful it was to be pressed so close to his heart, to know him as no one else would. She was now more sensible than ever before of the tie between them. “If I did not know that you love me as much as I do you, I could not tolerate feeling dependent upon you for my happiness.” After gathering her courage, she continued. “The description I heard from the neighbourhood matrons was a poor depiction of what we did. However, I shall not tell them what they are missing.”
She felt Fitzwilliam’s soft rumble of laughter as she rested her head on his chest and wished never to leave his side. She did not realise that she had spoken those words aloud until her betrothed replied.
“I would like nothing more than to stay here with you, and after you become Mrs Darcy, I think a fortnight in bed might satisfy me, but if we do not return soon, you could be missed.”
“But I do not want to leave you yet.”
“Very well—as your father already hates me, we might as well stay here until we are discovered.” Elizabeth was swiftly overturned, and Darcy lay above her, smiling widely as he placed kisses across her face. She had never seen him so unrestrained, and she felt herself falling even more in love with him.
“I would rather stay here with you, but we ought to go back. Would you check your watch?”
He rose and crossed the room to search through his discarded clothes, and Elizabeth admired him. As she recalled their lovemaking, she was flooded with sensations that she never previously imagined were possible.
“What can you mean by looking at me so?” he asked.
“I am simply admiring your figure. It appears to the greatest advantage while walking.”
Fitzwilliam blushed as he gathered his watch and clothes. It was seven o’clock, and they needed to return. Fitzwilliam fastened her dress with marginal success, and she impressed him by showing that she could tie a simple, but not altogether striking, knot in his cravat. Quitting the cottage, they walked among the blooming flowers toward Longbourn.
The surrounding fields bustled with labourers, and a horse and cart were coming down the lane as they neared home, which forced them to part in less private a manner than they might otherwise have enjoyed. Fitzwilliam would not return to Netherfield until Saturday.
“Despite what happened,” Elizabeth said quietly, “it would not do to throw all convention aside to kiss you in full view of watchful eyes.”
Fitzwilliam stepped closer, clutching her hand. “You do not regret it, do you?”
She smiled, hoping the sparkle in her eyes and the animation of her voice would be enough to assuage his fears as they held a private conversation in a very public place. “You are the very best of men.” She squeezed his hand in return. “I love you, and I have no regrets about anything we have shared.”
Darcy looked at her with a passion she suspected he could not communicate in words. “Nor do I.”
