Her fingers found his lapels, gripping the fabric as the kiss shifted from sweet to something that left her scattered all over like autumn leaves in the wind. He tasted intoxicating, someflavour that was uniquely him and it made her want to explore this new dimension of their relationship with abandon.
The solid presence of him against her and the slight tremor in his breathing suggested he was as affected as she was. All of it combined to create sensations she had never experienced. This was desire, she realised dimly. This urgency pulling her toward him, this need to be closer despite already being pressed against him.
She pressed nearer still, threading into his hair at the nape where it was slightly longer than fashion dictated. Fitzwilliam made a low sound of pleasure, drawing her further against him as the kiss grew more passionate, edges of restraint beginning to fray.
“Pardon me, sir, I have brought your tea—oh!”
They sprang apart as though burned. Elizabeth’s hands flew to her hair, smoothing strands that had come loose during their embrace. Fitzwilliam took several steps backwards, putting respectable distance between them.
The maid stood frozen in the doorway, tray trembling in her hands, her expression caught between mortification at having interrupted and poorly suppressed delight at having witnessed such a scene.
“Leave it on the table. Thank you.”
“Of course. Right away, sir.” The maid deposited the tray and bobbed a curtsey that encompassed them both. She murmured something unintelligible that might have been apology or congratulation, and fled with suspicious speed thatsuggested she would be sharing this tale with every other servant in the house before the hour concluded.
Elizabeth raised her fingers to her mouth, torn between embarrassment and inappropriate laughter that threatened to bubble up despite the mortifying circumstances. Her entire body hummed with the memory of his arms around her.
Fitzwilliam’s hair was slightly mussed where her fingers had tangled in it, and his cravat had shifted askew during their embrace.
“I should…” she gestured vaguely towards the door, her voice emerging breathless and unsteady. “That is, I ought to…”
“Yes. Of course.” But disappointment shadowed his features even as propriety reasserted itself. “We shall continue this conversation later. About our plans and other matters.”
“Later,” she agreed.
She slipped from the study, aware of his gaze following her into the corridor. The door closed quietly behind her, and she leant against the wall for a moment, pressing her hand to her racing heart.
He had listened and apologised with true remorse. He’d kissed her as if she were a precious stone, necessary to his happiness.
And she had kissed him back with an enthusiasm that left no doubt about her own feelings in the matter.
She drew a steadying breath, then another, willing the flush she knew had risen on her cheeks to dissipate before she had to face her family and their inevitable questions about where she had been and what had kept her so long.
The drawing room awaited, full of chatter and debate and her mother’s schemes for extending their stay. But she stood in the corridor a moment longer, savouring the lingering sensation of his mouth on hers, the promise of conversations yet to come.
Her heart had raced earnestly for him today. And if his kiss was any indication, he too had felt the same way.
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth
"Mrs Darcy?"
Elizabeth startled at the voice, turning to find a maid approaching with a sealed letter on a small tray.
"From Ireland, ma'am. Included in the morning post."
She accepted it with a murmur of thanks. The direction was in an unfamiliar hand — not her aunt’s, not either of her cousins’. Some acquaintance from Westport, perhaps.
Curiosity carried her to the small sitting room at the corridor's end, empty at this hour, afternoon sun slanting across the east garden where autumn had begun painting the landscape in shades of gold and amber. She took a seat and broke the seal, unfolding pages covered in elegant script.
Dear Elizabeth, how wonderful it was to see you again after so many years...
She frowned.See you again?She turned to the signature.
Your devoted friend, Annabelle Sempill.
Annabelle. The name surfaced something half-formed — finishing school, years ago. A girl in her own year, beautiful and utterly certain of the brilliant match awaiting her. They had not been close, but they had been friendly. Annabelle Sempill, who had attended alongside a younger sister.
