Despite the seriousness of their discourse, Lady Matlock smiled. “I can go to our own parish and ask Mr Rawson to marry you within a fortnight; in the meantime, I shall accompany Miss Elizabeth and you to Eastbourne. As for now, Miss Mary andI shall retire and give you ten minutes in which to make your proposal with propriety.”
Chapter 15
Finally alone, they just looked at one another in silence, as though speech might disturb the new and delicate happiness that had so unexpectedly arisen between them. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Darcy drew near and took her into his arms. Only moments before, neither could have imagined such felicity; it was as novel as it was unexpected, yet seemed at the same time so entirely natural that they wondered it had not always been thus.
“I feel almost guilty to be so happy,” he murmured beside her ear, the sound making her tremble; then, shifting, his gaze sought hers with a hunger that would not be denied. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His arms closed more firmly about her as he spoke.
“I shall, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she replied.
No further assurance was required; no other words were necessary before she felt his lips cover hers. She lost control under their gentle touch, only to sigh in amazement when his mouth became more demanding, intimately tasting hers in a kiss she did not know existed. She sighed as he gently forced herto open her mouth while his hands caressed her body in a frenzy of emotion.
“Stop, stop,” she whispered, attempting to calm the tempest that was overwhelming her—an intoxication of the senses that seemed to dissolve her will, leaving her defenceless against his caresses.
“I cannot,” he breathed, his lips straying to her throat, while she made a token effort to free herself, only to abandon the struggle and permit him to teach her the first, bewildering lessons of love.
“I love you,” he said, and at the sound, she nearly swooned in his embrace. He laughed softly by her ear, and a wave of exquisite sensation swept through her, culminating in a strange, almost aching pleasure that shook her to her very depths, concentrated in those feminine parts of her body still a mystery even to her.
“I love you,” she cried, scarcely believing her own joy. “Thank you—thank you!”
“What for?”
“For this,” she said and blushed as pleasure engulfed her body again.
“We must be reasonable,” he pleaded against his will, still holding her.
Then he let her go, but their eyes still clung to each other.
“Yes,” she admitted, already longing for the return of his lips upon hers, for the warmth of his hands upon her form.
Only the thought of Richard’s danger could persuade them to part. Elizabeth sought to dispel the tumult of their passion with wise words that could make them remember the outside world. “We must find Richard and end this madness before that woman can do any harm.”
He inclined his head, resisting—though barely—the temptation to draw her once more into his arms. She stoodbefore him in all her beauty and animation, and his whole being yearned towards her.
“I must go home,” he said.
“Home?” She spoke with such astonishment that he laughed.
“Yes, madam, we possess a house in London.”
“You possess a house in London,” she repeated, as though the notion itself were a source of delight. “Is your house beautiful?”
“Our house,” he corrected, his hand lightly caressing her arm.
“Our house,” she whispered.
“Yes, it is beautiful, though if it does not please you, you shall alter it as you wish.”
She smiled, and he, curious for her reason, asked it of her.
“I shall have a house,” she said softly, still as one marvelling.
“You shall have a husband first, madam,” he returned, half playfully; then, more gravely, “We must seek my aunt and your sister.” Yet both found it difficult to leave that room which, for the first time, had been the scene of their happiness.
“Lady Matlock left the house a few moments ago,” Elizabeth murmured, remembering as in a dream the voices in the hall.
“It seems to me, madam, that you were less wholly engaged in a declaration of love than I was,” he said, his tone lightly tinged with irony, though there was a note of concern beneath. Did she love him with a fervour equal to his own?
“Only because I feared she might enter and find us—”
