He grinned and kissed her neck, winning a shuddering inhale. “Are you suggesting that I am too caught up with propriety?”
“Suggesting? I am saying it outright, sir. I have no desire to roll around in the dirt with the great and grand Mr. Darcy. He sounds terribly pompous.”
“But you dowantto roll around in the dirt.”
“Elizabeth does, certainly. Will you oblige her, sir, or must I tease you some more?”
He chuckled again - a resonant sound which she could feel vibrating in her own chest, where their bodies were pressed tightly together. Mrs. Darcy would not have wrapped her arms around her husband’s back - even less, raised her legs the way Elizabeth was, letting him lay deliciously between them. Mrs. Darcy had to be content with the polite kisses and promising touches that suited their genteel mornings together. Darcy had taken his instruction to wait until midsummer so much to heart that they rarely even embraced.
It was pure self-preservation for both of them. Their breathless time in the carriage had proven to both Elizabeth and to Darcy that their resolve was paper-thin. He barely needed to glance at her for Elizabeth’s whole body to warm. In turn, her smallest smile was enough to make Darcy’s hands clench.
Hewantedher. More than he had ever wanted a drink, he wanted that damnable woman.
Damnable, yes, for the way she looked up through her lashes at him at dinner and laughed so huskily whenever they were alone. Her perfume haunted him. And she was damnable, too, for the effortless sensuality which she held over him like a sword. Dearest, beautiful, infuriating Elizabeth, laughing and lying in the warm breeze and the swaying green grass.
Lying in his arms, laughing and breathless. Irresistible.
His hands moved without thought, pulling her ruined gown away to reveal the swell of her breasts. He tasted them reverently, hungrily, letting her moans and shudders feed his rising lust until he could think of nothing but possessing her.
Her own hands were just as busy, pulling at his shirt and tangling in his hair until her lightest touch set him afire. It was she who raised her skirt, her hips rising under him as she did so, her lips parting and sighing at the feeling of his arousal pressing against her.
Darcy freed himself impatiently, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss as he moved to enter her slick, welcoming warmth. She shivered, wrapping her hands around his hips to pull him closer. Darcy remembered himself with a jolt. Gasping harshly, drawing back, he shook his head and hastily pulled her up to sit.
“Why… why do you alwaysstop?”she cried, her breath panting against his cheek as she tried to kiss him again.
“Because youtoldme to, Elizabeth.” his own voice was just as torn, almost angry in its harshness. “Damn it, you told me to. I promised. I will not… I will nottakeyou like this. Not when we are so… so overcome. I want to make love to you, angel, not just… just claim you like a beast.”
“Propriety, again.” she muttered, pulling her skirt down and not bothering to hide her hurt. “I wish I had never made you promise.”
“You don’t wish that at all. In an hour, when your mind is clear, you will remember why you asked. Elizabeth, I… we cannot keep doing this.”
She looked down, tears sparkling on her lashes, and Darcy cursed under his breath. He could see how embarrassed she was - how the fog was fading, and shame was intruding. Shame, he recognised, and regret. He could not bear it. Gathering Elizabeth into his arms, he kissed her gently and stroked her hair.
“Shall we pretend I did not say that, dearest? I do not want to stop. Just… no further. You must help me to remember, my love, for every time I hold you, I lose myself a little more.”
“I am no better.” she smiled shakily and kissed his cheek. “I forget myself entirely.”
That made Darcy feel uneasy. It was not her tearful vulnerability that made him pause, but the words they were both using. Words that, only a few months ago, he had used to justify pouring another glass of scotch. It was the same wretched feeling now, for both of them.
He had thought he was doing better. That the weakness that made him drink had been overcome. Now, he realised, it had simply found a new vice. A new addiction, which had made him love and hate Elizabeth’s innocent sensuality as ardently as he ever had the sweet burn of liquor.
His weakness had made himblameher. What had he told himself? That she was doing it onpurpose?Darcy mentally scoffed at the idea. Any man could withstand a bit of teasing. It took a special kind of self-centred fool to use it as an excuse.
And yet, he loved her. Elizabeth was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he loved her far beyond his wretched desire. They were good together - well matched, both in their souls and yes, their bodies.
“Midsummer seems a long way away.” he muttered.
“Three weeks, my love.” she reminded him, then sighed, “That’s twenty-one days, or goodness knows how many hours.”
“Do not count the seconds, I beg you.” Darcy laughed, “There are far too many of them, and I shall go mad.”
“I already am.” Elizabeth sighed and then stood up. Her eyes were still a little red with tears, but her voice was steady again. “Thank you, sir, for your restraint.”
He stood up beside her and straightened Elizabeth’s dress a little. It was hopelessly dirty, just as she had promised. Despite himself, the sight made Darcy’s blood heat again. He leaned closer to kiss her throat and could not resist catching the tender skin between his lips, leaving a mark that made her let out a tiny whimper. He murmured darkly in her ear.
“Thank you for your lack of it, my angel. I shall dream of you tonight.”
Chapter 46
