“Love,” she whispered, but it was so unconvincing that Darcy did not know what to think.
“Louder, Elizabeth Darcy,” he commanded, full of hope.
“Do not torture me,” she begged. She did not meet his gaze, for she feared she would lose herself and surrender to whatever he wanted to know and, even more dangerously, accept whatever he wanted to do—everything she desired with a passion and a pain that had burned within her since the first moment she had realised she loved him.
“I just love you[JA1][DO2],” he said, and only when she heard his rough voice did she open her eyes, startled, undecided, desperate, and happy at the same time.
She wanted to cry about how much she loved him, but still afraid to cause him harm, she closed her love in her soul, shrouding him in complete darkness.
He could not understand what was happening with her. There were clear signs she liked him; her affection had always been evident, yet her eagerness to see him was the purest testimony that her soul had stronger feelings for him. Suddenly, he did not care any longer what the names of those things were. All he wanted was to make her his woman, even if that meant leaving her forever. But at least he would leave her and the world as a man and not a cripple in a wheeled chair.
“Come here. I want to show you what a kiss truly means—”
“No!” she cried, shaking her head violently. “No,” she repeated, more tempered, fearing again to display strong feelings in his presence.
“Elizabeth, what did we discuss before you left? You agreed to be mine.”
“No, Darcy, no. How can you believe I would take such a risk now?”
“But you promised,” he replied, and the joy that had lit his face only moments ago vanished, replaced by an expression of frustration and helplessness.
And then she saw that he was not in the wheeled chair but in one of the library’s armchairs.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, astonished by his ruse. “You waited for me in this chair, knowing that I would fly into your arms—”
“Hoping,” he admitted, for the three weeks without her had been tormenting, and each day, he had reproached himself for sending her to Pemberley instead of keeping her by his side.
“Please, Elizabeth, that conversation was the most important of my life.”
“I know,” she said with conviction and determination, settling on the arm of the chair and wrapping her arms around him. “It will be as you wish. But grant me a little time. Let me savour this moment… It was my first kiss, after all. Let me savour…you,” she added in a murmur, blushing as those were the most daring words she had ever said.
“You cannot savour anything fromten paces away,” he muttered like a disappointed child, for he had imagined her arrival as the moment he had been waiting for—when Elizabeth would finally be his.
She leant in and brought her face close to his when she felt his hand taking possession of her head, his lips brushingover hers, caught in a grip so strong that she could not escape. But this time, the kiss was no mere caress. With hunger, he crushed her lips until they learnt to follow his rhythms, and then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, with infinite tenderness, he opened and conquered her in their first deep and intimate kiss that made her tremble and cry out, wanting him to stop yet hoping he never would.
“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, still kissing her. She quivered as his warm breath and soft lips touched her ear when she succeeded in escaping.
Then, to her horror or unbearable delight—she did not know for sure where the borders were—he took her hand and guided it to show her what passion and a mere kiss had done to him.
“Oh!” she cried, her eyes squeezed shut, incapable of understanding for a moment but finally fully aware that for the first time in her life, she had intimately touched a man.
She wanted to run, but her own passion, her yearning, that newly discovered pain which ravaged her body, unveiling the meaning of ardent love, were so strong within her that she caressed him, making him groan.
“Do you imagine the pleasure?” he whispered in her ear, and only then did she snatch away her hand.
As she did not answer, he continued softly, “Elizabeth, I want you to be mine. Nothing is going to happen to me. You have seen I can be ready for love and be alive…at the same time.”
“Do not speak like that about leaving me,” she ordered. Caught in that terrible dilemma, she took him into her arms again, just holding him; every fibre of her body yearned for him, yet her mind still warned her how dangerous that could be.
A soft knock on the door startled them both. Engrossed in that magical realm, they had entirely forgotten the world outside.
“Not now,” Darcy shouted, furious at the intrusion upon that special moment.
“My apologies, sir,” said the butler. “I have an urgent message from Colonel Fitzwilliam for Mrs Darcy.”
Elizabeth sprang away from him, hurriedly smoothing her hair and pressing a hand to her chest as though to still the wild beating of her heart, fearful that its sound might betray her in the hush of the room.
“It isimportant,” she said, turning to him. All the memories of the world they had forsaken for those fleeting minutes returned with force—the questions, the fears that had tormented them for months.
