Fitzwilliam’s desire for this sad affair with Lydia and Wickham to be over and done with was clear. She remembered sitting across his lap, smiling while they chatted amiably and lightly, and then spoke on more sombre topics. Elizabeth recollected the look of adoration in his eyes when he told her that she had saved him from a lonely existence.
Fitzwilliam held a tightening grasp around her, and Elizabeth leant in to meet his lips. She opened her mouth at the insistent caress of his tongue and returned his kiss with equal ardour. Elizabeth felt a rush of pure desire shoot through her. He pulled her toward him and she straddled his lap, facing him. She watched his pupils dilate and heard his laboured breathing, and the feel of his hands roaming her body added to her building excitement.
His warm lips left hers, and she arched her neck as his mouth moved down the column of her throat, while he cupped one breast firmly in his hand.
“I want you,” she whispered.
Fitzwilliam’s insistent mouth stopped, and his hand slowly slid away back to her hips. Her breathing was shallow and her vision hazy, but when she realised he had pulled away, she focused her gaze on his face.
“I did not intend this, Elizabeth,” he said, still breathing heavily. “I simply wanted to say good-bye to you alone, without the eyes of your family on us. I wished to speak freely with you without any regard to propriety.”
“It does not follow that this is unwelcome.”
He shook his head and seemed not to know where to rest his eyes. His white shirt clung to him from the heat of the room, and Elizabeth had a sudden need to tear the garment off of him. Something in his eyes made her pause.
“What changed for you since the last time we found ourselves here? Wickham’s treachery and Lydia’s situation do not change the way I feel for you.”
“What I ought to do and what I want to do have never been more at odds,” he answered in a controlled voice.
“We are not like them,” she murmured. “You cannot compare what we have to Lydia and Wickham.”
He met her eye but did not answer.
“Fitzwilliam,” she breathed with a sigh, “I have had enough formal civility, and I suppose that you have as well. You cannot believe that what we have done is entirely wrong, given our feelings for one another, given that we are engaged. If you thought it was immoral, then you would not have done so the first time. Your carefully prescribed manners serve you well in every other interaction, but you cannot be that way with me. Do you no longer think of me as your wife?”
“Of course not. I love you. You have been the wife of my heart for a long time.”
“Then there is no need for gentlemanly restraint when you are alone with me. While we neither of us wish to have our actions here spoken of by the outside world, with me you can simply act in the manner that will most constitute your happiness.” She leant closer and focused intently on his face. “There is no need for you to hold back from me.”
His eyes widened; then he gave her a roguish smile. There was a noise of rustling fabric, and her skirts were pushed up to her waist. His fingertips traced along her stockings and then finally reached the bare skin of her thighs. Fitzwilliam lifted his hands beneath her and forcefully pulled her closer.
“That is just as well, madam,” he said, his tone all confidence, “because I simply must have you.”
His words sent her pulse racing, but it was his look of reverent desire that made Elizabeth intoxicated with the knowledge that he was hers.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Darcy estimated there were five hundred people in and around the Upper Rooms on this blistering Thursday evening. He avoided the train of carriages and went inside, taking his share of the heat and inconvenience by mingling with the crowd. A fancy ball was always held on Thursdays, and Darcy arrived just as the second cotillion began. He made swift work of crossing the vestibule and slipping down the corridor to the octagon antechamber, eager to avoid being welcomed by the master of ceremonies.
The assembled company passed by him on their way to and from the ball room, the card room, and the tearoom. He paused before entering the card room to gather a calming breath while he steadied his mind. He acutely felt the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event and the certainty of it. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Darcy strode into the crowded room.
There were a multitude of tables in the card room, but it did not take long for Darcy to locate Wickham. He simply had to find the most crowded, boisterous table, and at its centre would be the man he needed. Near the middle of the room was a table of six rowdy men with Wickham revelling in his role as dealer at vingt-et-un, wearing a fine cut of clothes that Darcy was sure he could not have afforded a fortnight ago.
Wickham raised his smiling countenance from the cards he dealt and met Darcy’s cold stare. He paused with the last card still in his hand, and the laughter instantly died in his eyes. It was not until one of the men called his attention to the game that Wickham tore his gaze from Darcy. By the time Darcy approached Wickham’s side, he had regained his easy manner and finished dealing, but his pallor remained. Darcy was still recovering from the thought of having to address this poor excuse for a man, and Wickham took the advantage and spoke first.
“I have been in Bath these two weeks and have not encountered you. You must not have been here long enough to enjoy the evening parties.” Wickham displayed a false friendliness that turned Darcy’s stomach.
“No. The usual character of them holds nothing for me. I am no card player.”
“You always did prefer books to cards. Might I introduce you to my companions?” Without waiting for a response, Wickham addressed his compatriots. “May I present Fitzwilliam Darcy? All you need know of him is that all of his actions may be traced to pride, and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling.”
“I would speak with you privately, Mr Wickham.” He spoke in a measured tone, ignoring the assembled men.
“Do you hear this, my friends? So full of improper pride he cannot condescend to acknowledge you.” He gave an exaggerated frown and shook his head. “You can be on your way, Darcy.”
Wickham called for his companions to place their bets. Darcy watched in a controlled fury at Wickham’s audacity to ignore him. Wickham’s confidence had increased exponentially in correlation with his new wife’s fortune. He had known that Wickham would not be easy to deal with, but he had not expected outright disrespect.
But since when has George Wickham acted in a manner befitting a gentleman?
