His smile did not disappear as he kissed her fingers. “It is your decision, my love. We can marry as soon as I am back with the licence.”
It was a game, nothing but a game. They had decided the wedding day would be in two weeks. Still, Darcy liked most of all to see the little expressions on her face—wonder, confusion, shyness—each dear to him as they reflected her world that was about to change.
“So?” she insisted further. “Were there other women in your life?”
“Yes, there were, but no one, you need to know.”
“How is that?” she asked again with that confused face he adored.
“Because in the life of a twenty-eight-year-old man, there usually have existed women of a certain type.”
They were still sitting on the chaise, not touching. That distance had a particular advantage for Darcy and a disadvantage for Elizabeth. He could clearly see her blushing as she could not conceal her thoughts.
“I want to know…” Elizabeth said, quite uncertain of what she wanted to know.
“You will, I promise—even those secrets a man does not tell his wife-to-be. You are a special woman who needs to know, not out of pointless curiosity but because it is important to understand the relationship between a man and a woman. Now tell me, before I go to sleep, why are you still afraid?”
Elizabeth was not tired; on the contrary, she was in an unusual state of excitement. Other nights, when turmoil had kept her awake, were utterly forgotten. She did not want him to leave; they were amid an important discussion, and she feared that the magic, once interrupted, would be lost forever. She longed for his hands to be as daring as they had been in the carriage and prolong their delicious time together. But Darcy was exhausted, and he needed rest.
“I told you that I was jealous and afraid.”
“For jealousy, we will have a longer discussion one day. As for your fright, I do not understand the reasons, so I am waiting for you to share them with me.”
Fright and jealousy were closely related in her mind, but it was difficult to explain how.
“I am afraid of losing you,” she eventually admitted.
Darcy understood her well; it was one reason he suggested they marry in haste. Therefore, Elizabeth was right not to agree to marry in the following days. Such a rushedmarriage would have revealed his fear, and he refused to be as afraid as he was in childhood. There were no motives that could change his intention of marrying Elizabeth. He had thrown away the key, and nothing could happen even if they should wait the two weeks she pleaded for.
“My dear,” he said as he stood and kissed her forehead, “we shall marry in two weeks in Hertfordshire. It is our decision, and nothing will change my mind. Only you can do that, but I shall ensure you want me so much that you cannot reject me again!”
He was laughing, and his mocking tone made Elizabeth feel a sudden urge to take him into her arms to be sure that this man would be hers, forever.
“Can I go now to sleep?” he asked jokingly. “It is past two o’clock in the morning, madam. I hope you have nothing against a late breakfast.”
And Elizabeth smiled looking around. She did not answer but it was clear she would enjoy a late morning in that lavishing room and luxurious bed that would be hers in two weeks.
She led him to the door and made a delicious move towards him inviting him to take her into his arms. They were both in such obvious need of a real kiss that he could no longer resist and folded her into his arms; then he stopped and said in a hoarse voice, “That discussion…about men and women…we shall have to have it very soon.”
Chapter 7
No matter how late he had retired, Darcy could never sleep past the early morning hours—unlike Bingley, who rarely rose before eleven, even on ordinary days.
Thus, when Bingley entered the library the following morning without waiting to be announced, and at a rather early hour, Darcy immediately rose from his writing desk to greet him, alarmed by the thought that something untoward had occurred.
“I hope nothing bad has happened!” he said, thinking of Mr Bennet or Jane, Elizabeth’s family soon to be his.
“Everyone is in good health, but the news after the opera is not as good…” Bingley’s hesitation froze Darcy, who stood, ready to hear what kept his friend from sleeping.
“Last night, some friends who attended the opera earlier invited me to a late supper. Unfortunately, the discussions about your marriage were not kind but filled with unfoundedstatements and malicious insinuations,” Bingley revealed, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Bingley was visibly shattered; a man of innate goodness could scarcely comprehend the malice of slander or the cruel delight some took in its spread.
At last, Darcy sank into a chair, his head bowed into his hands, burdened by the news and his friend’s sorrow and indignation.
“I am so sorry to bring you such news!” poor Bingley lamented, but Darcy, looking back at him, shook his head vigorously.
“Do not be! It is better to know the truth. I suggested to Elizabeth that we marry in a day or two. I shall get a licence today…and then, after the wedding, leave immediately for Pemberley.”
