Her eyes would flash in anger, and her entire face would crumble in disappointment when he returned and told her exactly how he had met with Wickham. He sighed heavily and forced himself to think of fonder memories of Elizabeth when she had not at all been cross with him.
He pulled her toward him and met her lips, delighting in her gentle moan and eager response. Darcy entwined his fingers in her dark hair. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to show her every way he felt about her. Elizabeth’s skirts were gathered at her hips, and the sight of her stockings and boots peeking out from beneath them was curiously exciting. Darcy bent to kiss her neck, basking in the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.
Elizabeth whispered his name as she tilted back her head. He had never heard anything sound so sweet. “I love you.”
She had said the words many times—as had he—but in this moment, she looked so beautiful, so full of desire for him that he could not find his voice. He pulled her into a crushing, soulful kiss, desperate to express all the love, passion, and faithfulness he felt for her. If he lacked the words to tell her all that she meant to him, then he would be sure that his actions left her in no doubt.
Fine eyes blazing with desire, she thrust her tongue into his mouth as she raked her fingernails through his hair. Darcy returned her ardour equally and roughly held and touched her with an urgency that had not felt necessary their first time together. They kissed wildly, their breathing erratic. The low moans she made against his mouth and her instinctive movements against him were almost more than he could stand.
Darcy relished her sharp gasps of pleasure when he brought his hand beneath her skirts. Elizabeth’s mouth fell away from his, and he saw a look of naked hunger in her eyes before she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath hot and moist as her teeth grazed against his neck. His arousal was nearly painful in its intensity, and out of a baser instinct that had long been suppressed, he begged her to touch him. Elizabeth fumbled for his buttons, and then Darcy felt more alive than he had ever been.
His lips came crashing back to her mouth with an unrestrained groan; his body burned where she caressed him. A fear of never being with her in this way again struck him, and his distress manifested itself in his actions. He kissed and stroked her with an impatient need, whispering endearments of devotion, how he adored her body, what pleasures she brought him, and how desperately he wanted to be inside her.
His eyes met hers possessively when she pulled away to look at him in ardent desire. Darcy kept her gaze, and then both of them shuddered at the blissful contact. They eventually fell into rhythmic movements, and Darcy could barely hold on amid the blinding pleasure she gave him. Elizabeth clung to him, her eyes closed, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and they moved together faster.
“Elizabeth,” he gasped, and she met his fiery gaze. “Say it again,” he begged as his hips surged upward, his grip on her waist tightening. “Please, tell me again.”
Without dropping her eyes, Elizabeth breathed, “I love you,” and Darcy became undone.
It was some time before their heartbeats slowed and their breathing calmed. Elizabeth’s head rested on his shoulder while Darcy ran his fingers through her damp hair. It was even longer before he was capable of coherent speech. He gently pushed her back to look into her face and took no small amount of pleasure in her dishevelled appearance and satisfied smile.
“‘Love’ is not a strong enough word for all that I feel for you.”
The increased noise on the street brought Darcy’s attention back to the present. Thoughts of Elizabeth’s happiness and their families’ reputation had influenced him in everything he had said and done—or omitted to say and do—in the last four-and-twenty hours. As he considered what he would face at dawn, he realised the sad fate that would befall her and her family should he be bested by Wickham. But now that he was alone, with the remembrance of his betrothed waning and without his cousin’s company, the resolute determination to do what was right, to do his duty as a gentleman, had faded.
Darcy then felt the first stab of terror at facing a dishonourable man who eagerly sought to kill him.
ChapterTwenty-Six
It had been a week since anyone other than Lady Lucas or Mrs Philips called at Longbourn and nearly as long since the Bennet ladies had been received elsewhere. Mrs Bennet sat in the parlour with Jane and Lady Lucas. Elizabeth was about to enter the room when the tone of their conversation made her hesitate, and she hovered in indecision outside the door.
“But, Mamma, my reputation cannot, in rational expectation, survive such a blow as this,” she heard Jane say.
“Only should you stay in this neighbourhood,” said her mother. “This trifle with Lydia will be too insignificant to be held against you in London. Lizzy will be in a better position to put you in the path of men far richer than that changeable Mr Bingley. Darcy is so very rich and moves in much higher circles. I am certain our dear Darcy would be very satisfied to host a ball in London for your sake.”
“That does not coincide with what I know of Darcy’s nature. He is generous, to be sure, but I do not believe—”
Elizabeth stepped away to lean against the wall. Although her mother had ceased speaking on ways to bring Lydia home, she had now moved on to securing the future of her eldest daughter. Mrs Bennet’s plans fluttered between using Fitzwilliam’s influence to introduce Jane to wealthy bachelors or to throw her in the path of Mr Bingley again in the hopes that the match might yet be recommenced.
“You ought not to lurk in doorways,” Mr Bennet teased as Elizabeth jumped in surprise. “Mr Darcy would not want his future wife to act indecorously.”
“Darcy is kinder enough than you realise.”
“I suppose you are correct; he has been generous thus far. Although, I would not test his patience as far as your mother is concerned. I would not invite her to Pemberley. As grand as it may be, it will not be large enough for your husband to hide from the sound of her voice.”
While her mother was a silly woman, there was no reason for her father to be cruel. “You could show her more respect.”
“Come now! Your mother is too ignorant and silly for my respect.”
“And you are too mocking and hurtful for mine!” Elizabeth left without another word.
The joyfulness of family love had long been subdued in the Bennet household. Kitty grumbled of having no amusements now that the only one who would receive her was Maria Lucas. Mary still sought commendation for her mediocre talents and was summarily ignored. Jane’s spirits were not yet recovered enough for her to shower her family with her usual kindness and goodwill. As for her father, he chose to be diverted by provoking the frayed nerves of anyone who crossed his path.
Such were Elizabeth’s days while she waited for Fitzwilliam. She had begun, regretfully, to care less about their reputations the longer he stayed away. Every day passed in the same manner as the previous, and the monotony was torture to her active mind. Elizabeth decided to walk to Meryton. If her aunt Philips were at home, she could, for lack of any other company, call on her.
Elizabeth felt the eyes of Meryton’s citizens following her as she made her way to the circulating library. She held her head high and did her best to affect Fitzwilliam’s stern and disinterested demeanour as she passed them by. She had not yet received a reply to her last letter to him, and she was in the midst of composing a second letter in her mind when a gentleman on horseback called her name.
“Mr Bingley!”
