The second time they had fallen asleep, he had asked her to stay.
The first time they had fallen asleep, he said that he loved her.
When they woke up in the middle…
Elizabeth blushed bright scarlet. Her legs trembled, and she sat down on the floor with a bump. She was lucky that none of the shards cut her. They chimed around her legs like diamonds, making her ears ring. Her head ached, her limbs ached, but her body pulsed in slow, vague pleasure.
The first time they had fallen asleep, Darcy said that he loved her. He slept soon afterwards. Lizzie tried to sleep too, but she was too aware of the slow thud of his heartbeat under her ear.
His shirt, like her dress, was stained with port and crumpled against his skin. When she drifted in and out of sleep, Elizabeth found herself absently smoothing out the wrinkles. In her peaceful, tipsy way she was tidying up some of the mess they had made. (Not the decanter, of course. The maids could do that in the morning).
It was fascinating to see Darcy looking so dishevelled. As a rule, he was impeccably well-dressed. To see him in crumpled clothes felt almost as intimate as seeing him without them!
Darcy sighed in his sleep and moved a little, relaxing into her caress. It was an interesting reaction which made Lizzie want to giggle. But that would wake him up, and she very much liked him asleep. Asleep, holding her so firmly, with his crumpled shirt at her disposal. She bit back her laughter and nuzzled against his shoulder instead.
You’re drunk.Lizzie told herself firmly,stop playing and let him sleep!
But he isn’t asleep.
Elizabeth looked up into jet black eyes. Like her own, they were sluggish, slow to move and react, shying away from the candlelight. His hands fell away, and she felt his strong hold on her vanish. At once, she felt exposed and foolish.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” she mumbled, embarrassed.
“Ssh.” he whispered and drew her closer once more.
Elizabeth’s breath hitched at the press of his hard chest against her own, soft body. Now his hands moved down to her waist, clumsily but purposefully, and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Closer he pulled her, and closer, and then his lips met hers and she was lost.
“Elizabeth,” he slurred against her lips, “Dear Elizabeth.”
“Yes… I’m here.” she felt like her mind was drawing further away with every lingering kiss he gave her. The need to return them made her heart pound. Lizzie awkwardly freed her hand from his hold and gently traced his jaw with shy fingertips.
Darcy turned his face to kiss her palm. His breath was hot and harsh against her skin, and Elizabeth realised that her own was coming in uneven gasps. That was all she could hear: gasps, and then her own moans when he raised a hand to her throat and slowly ran his fingers down to her chest. A shiver built from his hungry touch, following its gentle torture until her whole body was afire.
“My angel,” he breathed when she moaned and arched against him. She interwove her fingers with his, unsure what to do, andhe guided her hand down his body. Her lightest caress made him groan, and Elizabeth felt breathless at the sound.
Darcy abruptly stopped caressing her to kiss her fiercely. He caught her waist and rolled her onto her back. The motion and his drunkenness made him giddy, and he fell. For a moment his whole weight pressed Elizabeth into the mattress. Why had she joked about being flattened? It made her whole body shudder with anticipation.
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s shoulders when he lifted his head and drew him down again, letting him press deliciously against her, trapping his lips in a greedy kiss. Darcy let out a breathless laugh against her skin, and she felt his hands urgently pushing her skirt around her hips. He moved clumsily against her for a moment, groaned her name, and then there was pain.
Lizzie cried out in shock, and for a moment the drunken haze ebbed away. She was suddenly aware of her bare legs and her swollen lips. The room whirled around her. She could smell sickly port and taste it in Darcy’s frantic kisses. Humiliation made her shudder, and she looked up. Her husband looked back with a stranger’s drunken eyes. Lizzie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think… then his fingers reached between them, and she was lost once more.
Crying out, she wrapped her arms around his back and buried her head in his chest. Her body belonged to another woman, who was shameless and wanton, and oh, she urged him to…
“Please…!” she cried, and then her whole body burst into helpless shudders.
He kissed her throat, so passionately that she could barely breathe, and she fell into oblivion. He shuddered and fell againsther, caressing and kissing and moving again and again until he groaned out in pleasure.
It was the closest they had ever been. Dizzy, supine, smothered by the shattered fumes, Elizabeth felt her heart race and her body tremble in pleasure. It was breathtaking - incomprehensible - but she had never felt further away from the man she loved.
When Darcy gathered her tenderly into his arms and kissed her temple, he looked unutterably sad. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“For what?” she asked, her voice an exhausted sigh.
“I’m sorry.” he said again and collapsed onto the bed beside her. Within a minute, he was fast asleep.
All of that, yet she had woken up alone.
What did that mean? Was it normal? Elizabeth wasn’t exactly sure what the proper etiquette was after a night of drunken debauchery. It was a question which, strangely, young women were not schooled in.
