“It had a very short barrel!” she said, smiling. “And it recoiled more than I expected.” She gave him a mock scowl and playfully pushed his chest. “And it is not as though I know how to aim one.”
“I can teach you.” She shook her head. “Neither Balfour nor I suspected you would take any action tonight. I promise not to undervalue your mettle in the future.”
“I cannot make myself appear weak simply because gentlemen are supposed to be strong.”
He felt so weary, nothing at all like the strength he normally felt with her. “I lost a friend today, Elizabeth, as though he had died.” He had expected to see Utterson, a man who had just moved from an acquaintance to friendship. He had not truly prepared himself to see Balfour plunder the dead.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, it must hurt terribly.”
“The pain of betrayal is real, like a knife wound.”
Elizabeth gave a small smile. “Or a blow to the face. Does your mouth hurt very much?”
“My fingers hurt more.” He bent and flexed the fingers of his righthand. “I have not punched anyone since I was thirteen, and I hit Balfour twice tonight.”
“Was Mr Wickham the last person you struck?”
He nodded. “Mr Wickham’s insults and offences were never a betrayal because he was never my friend. Mr Wickham betrayed my father, not me, and my father never even knew it,” he added. “Balfour... I can hardly stand to think of him at the end of a rope.”
“He killed someone. He stole, he killed, and he threatened both of us.”
Elizabeth’s eyes were now dry, and although she gave him a stern look, Darcy began to appreciate that she was astride him. It brought to mind all the pleasures she had given him last night. He brought his hands to her hips, brushing his fingertips back and forth. “I know it, and my conviction to see him prosecuted will not change. I only wish I did not care so much.”
“When you care about people, it makes you vulnerable. You care so deeply about your friends, your family, everyone who relies on Pemberley.”
“You make it sound like being vulnerable is an asset,” he said, scoffing.
Elizabeth looked thoughtful and said slowly, “I think if you were unable to be hurt, you would be unable to love, and then you would hardly be alive at all.”
She pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. By now, she had a manifest sign of his amorous intentions, and she gave a little knowing smile and started to stroke him with the same eager curiosity she had shown last night. After years of tending to himself, the novelty of her light, steady touch made him fear their encounter would be over before it had properly begun.
Darcy gently moved her hand away. “Too distracting,” he whispered, as he lifted off her nightshift. He could not kiss her mouth as he wanted, so he trailed his lips down her neck, softly sucking and biting at her throat, his tongue against her collarbone and his hand kneading her breast. He knew he would never forget how good his name sounded on her lips, intermingled with moans and breathy sighs.
The moan that escaped her after he had moved his hand lower, stroking faster, sent another surge of desire through him.
“You have become good at that,” she said breathlessly.
“A new skill,” he murmured before chancing a firm kiss to her lips. “I should practise to be proficient.” He focused on every response of her body to guide him until the pleasure rising in her made her wild with the sensations of it. Before it overtook her, Darcy laid down on the bed and watched Elizabeth close her eyes as she pushed herself all the way on to him.
She rested her hands behind her on his legs and, when she gave him an uncertain look, he gripped her hips to encourage her to move. She leant back farther, and he moved his hands to her breasts, caressing them as she began to move faster, arching against him until her broken murmurs gave way to a strangled cry.
Elizabeth fell forward and rested her head on his shoulder, panting heavily. “Fitzwilliam,” she breathed into his ear, “we had better do that again in the morning.”
Although she was satisfied, Darcy still needed to feel that release he had never found anywhere else. He rocked against her as a hint, and she gave a ragged gasp. She pushed herself up onto her hands and began moving slowly over him, taking him deeper and watching him intently. Soon, her enthralled gaze fell away from his, and Elizabeth started making small, needy sounds.
He wanted to know if he could bring on for her that critical ecstasy again, and how she wanted him to do it, but all he managed to ask was a breathless, “Again?”
Harsh, uneven breathing was her answer. It was all too much, and not enough, a building ache of need he wanted to surrender to but not before he satisfied her again. Darcy sat them up, bracing an arm behind him, and together they picked up the languid pace. The muscles in his back and arm were flaring at having never been used this way. But her gripping his shoulder and the headboard behind him, urging him on with murmurs of “oh God” and “harder” made it impossible to stop or slow.
Elizabeth’s naturally brilliant eyes darted flames until they rolled upward, her fingernails dug into him, and she cried out, tighteningaround him. Every thrust came harder and faster now, and the sound that ripped from his throat at the final moment was one he had not known he was capable of making.
After a while, they found their way to their sides, with Elizabeth’s back cuddled against his chest. “Wake me when you want to do that again,” she said sleepily, linking her fingers through his.
“I would like to, but you ought to leave before my valet comes in.” After a moment, he added, “I could look like a villain, you know, if anyone learnt of your being here.”
“How do you mean?”
“Your sister is absent, and you are in a single man’s house with a chaperon who encourages us to be alone.” He kissed her neck and tightened his arms around her. “And I was taken with you, I solicited your chastity, and obtained my desire.”
