Dinner was torture, but she could now admit that the chaotic sensations were not conducive to clear analyzing. Lizzy sighed, the prune pits following the apple core into the fire. George swore he did not brew her evening tea with any sedative herbs, but inevitably she grew sleepy after drinking it. Just as well, she thought, perhaps my dreams will be better than the dismal reality.
A few hours later Elizabeth was dreaming.
She and William were on a beach. It was not Caister-on-Sea, but rather an empty expanse of sandy shore with no hint of habitation. The waves lapped gently against the sparkling sand, the roar of the tides was muted, the call of birds rang in the azure sky, and the sun shone warmly on their naked bodies. They lay on a spread blanket, entwined and caressing. His hard body covered hers, the heat rising far beyond what the blazing sun administered as his hands moved expertly over her skin.
It was delicious! Delirium mounted with each kiss and caress.
Her sleeping body writhed and tingled as her dream-self responded to her lover. No words were uttered. None were necessary as their hearts beat in unison and passion overwhelmed. Joy and pleasure were exalting as they moved together in tune with rapture certain and cataclysmic when it occurred.
Slumbering-Lizzy cried out, waves of delight sweeping through her flesh as dream-Lizzy clutched onto her husband’s inflamed figure, neither Lizzy wanting the sensations to ebb.
Then, as dreams have a way of doing, she was suddenly standing on the water’s edge. William was swimming away, far beyond the safety of the gentle waves. She called to him, panic spiraling, but he did not look back. She rushed into the now surging tide, realizing with a start that she was clothed in the gown worn at dinner. The heaving surf dragged at the thick cloth, tangling it about her legs as she screamed for her lover to return. But he grew smaller and smaller until only a dot of dark hair. Then he was gone.
Lizzy cried in anguish, vaulting up in her bed as wakefulness crashed over her. Her heart beat wildly, the lingering sensations of sexual excitement and dreadful loss rushing through her cells. The blankets were a knotted mess, her legs trapped, and she flailed crazily to freedom. William’s side of the bed was empty, the covers disrupted from her thrashing, but the pillow was plump and mattress smooth.
She released a choked sob, lunging from the bed and grabbing the carefully folded robe from the chest at the end of the bed. It was his old robe, freshly splashed with his cologne. She had taken to wearing it again the past few days, the fabric comforting, but also a vivid reminder of the emptiness in her soul. She thought of that now as she dashed from the room, inhibitions completely gone. Flying on bare feet down the hall to the stairs, she prayed he was in the study or library. What if he had had enough, especially after the disastrous dinner, and left entirely? Gone to London or anywhere to escape her. The thought caused all air to vacate her lungs and she ran faster.
The library was dark and vacant. He was found in his study, and Lizzy nearly collapsed from the relief. She paused on the threshold, clutching the solid wood, and gazed at him where he slept on the sofa with soft snores reaching her ears. The fire burned low, one lit lamp on the nearby desk casting a liquid golden glow over his handsome face. He lay with his head resting on a small cushion, lips parted and thick lashes lying on shaven cheeks. He wore long trousers, boots discarded, and his shirt. A thin quilt covered partially, one leg bent and resting against the sofa back. It was clear that he intended to sleep here all through the night, purposefully choosing the hard, narrow sofa over the comfort of their spacious bed.
She hesitated, sadness causing her to tremble. Perhaps he does not want me? Then she remembered George’s assurances of William’s confusion and grief. She entered, kneeling by his side and taking the cold hand that dangled over the sofa’s edge. She kissed it and pressed it to her cheek, tears welling, as the fingers of her other hand lightly traced over his face. Reverently touching each precious feature, holding his hand tightly as it warmed, she murmured, “I love you so, William. Please forgive me. Tell me you love me as well.”
He mumbled indecipherably, turning his head toward her gently stroking fingertips. The hand lying on his chest rose slightly, golden band glinting in the firelight with fingers seeking before falling sleepily. “Elizabeth…”
“Yes! It is I! Wake up, William. Please! I love you and need to feel your eyes upon me.”
He groaned, stretching and lightly clasping her hand as he bestowed a tiny kiss to the palm. “My Lizzy,” he mumbled, beginning to turn toward the hand touching his face, his dreams incorporating the fleshly reality and holding fast.
“No, dearest, wake up! I am here and I love you!”
Suddenly his eyes flew open, dazed and uncomprehending. He saw her, but rather than gathering her into his arms as she so desperately needed, he released her hand and sank further into the sofa. “Elizabeth? Is something wrong? The babies?”
“No, no. They are fine. Soundly asleep.” He dropped his gaze to the hand she held cinched next to her cheek, returning to her eyes with confusion evident. As she gathered her thoughts, observing him in the dim illumination, she could detect the faint hope deep in his eyes.
“Beloved”—his brows rose at the endearment—“I… I dreamt of you tonight. We… we made love on the beach in broad daylight as you always wished we could.” She smiled, feathering hungry fingers over his befuddled face. “It was so beautiful. You were beautiful. I felt you… truly felt you, even beyond my dream. I… desired you as I have not in weeks and it was wonderful. Only it was not real. And then you swam away and refused to answer me and I woke terrified to find you gone, again, and I needed to see you, touch you, and tell you that…”—she sobbed—“I love you and that if you do not, I understand, but I will die and…”
“Please, Elizabeth, do not cry! I cannot bear to see your tears anymore!”
She shook her head, pierced by the pain in his gaze. “I do not want to cry anymore, my love. I just want to hold you.” And she leaned forward, capturing his mouth in an encompassing kiss.
He moaned, encircling her back and lacing sturdy fingers through the hair on her head, drawing her tightly to his body, and returned the kiss with all the pent up agony released in their yearning to reconnect.
It may only be a dream, he thought, but it is a dream I want and need.
Lizzy broke the kiss first, but not to draw farther than his neck. Hundreds of warm kisses and nibbles were bestowed, hands traversing the quivering plains of his chest as buttons were undone and fine linen pushed aside.
“Sweet Lord! I love you, Elizabeth!” Darcy gasped, his emotions surging blissfully. Dimly he heard his uncle’s voice: You are a fool. It seemed impossible that he had ever doubted their love as her luscious lips and arousing hands declared a passionate need. Yet the residuals of fear remained. He stroked her back and shoulders, vocalized his pleasure, but allowed her to lead.
Kissing down the middle of his torso to the rigid muscles of his flat abdomen, she lifted the shirt upward and attacked the area with gusto.
“Oh God…” he moaned, arching his hips as his head fell back, giving in to the sensations.
The shirt was rolled away as she kissed back up to his neck, catching the fabric around his outstretched arms as he lifted to assist. She paused then, holding his hands captive over his head, and gazed into his dark orbs.