His eyes were so deep and expressive, and Elizabeth found herself wondering how she ever could have once mistaken such an ardent look of love and longing for one of cold disdain and indifference. She reached out to him, moved by his words and his devotion to her, and found herself questioning what she had ever done to deserve such admiration from an exceptional man. How could he, even after bearing witness to her mother’s disgusting declarations, continue to want her? Yet, somehow, he did. Elizabeth’s heart flooded with warmth at such a realization.
Resting her gloved hands on either side of his face, she began to trace her fingers over the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. Darcy closed his eyes and sighed, his breathing becoming shallow. At that moment, she finally realized how extremely fortunate she was—far more fortunate even than Jane. Perhaps, she thought with a sudden revelation, the risks of surrendering my heart to the keeping of such a worthy man would be well worth the rewards to be gained from knowing—and accepting—such an unfathomable love.
Slowly, Darcy opened his eyes and placed a kiss upon her gloved fingers.
“What is your Christian name, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.
His mouth felt suddenly dry. “Fitzwilliam,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he looked at her with undisguised longing.
“Fitzwilliam,” she murmured. “May I call you Fitzwilliam when we are alone together?”
Swallowing, he said, “You could call me anything you wish, Elizabeth, and I would think it wonderful so long as it came from your lips.” In a seemingly unconscious gesture, she ran her tongue lightly along her own lips as he watched, utterly transfixed. “May I?” he whispered.
She had barely nodded her acquiescence when he leaned in to capture her mouth in a slow, seductive kiss, his arms slipping around her waist to draw her body firmly against his as he caressed the small of her back with soothing strokes. Her hands, still lingering upon his face, soon coiled themselves into his dark curls, brushing the skin of his scalp with her gloved fingertips. She sighed against his lips, once again marveling at the way Darcy was able to take control of her body and awaken such delicious sensations of pleasure within her. She felt surprisingly complete, as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime for his touch. Elizabeth shivered from more than just the cold.
Darcy, though well on his way to losing himself in her expressive mouth, felt it acutely as an extension of his own body. His hands wandered to caress her hips, and a moan rose from Elizabeth’s throat. With concern, he suddenly recalled their somewhat prominent location on Bingley’s balcony and reluctantly broke the kiss. He touched his forehead to hers and held her close for a brief moment before once more brushing her lips and releasing her. Their hands immediately joined, and they held on for a few moments longer as their breathing evened.
“Though it is by no means what I would rather do, I am afraid we ought to return. I would not wish to risk your reputation, though, now that I come to think of it”—he smiled—“it would, undoubtedly, prove to be invaluable in my endeavor to convince you to accept me.”
She flashed him an arch smile filled with warmth and amusement. “I believe you are correct, Fitzwilliam, as well as incorrigible. But, by all means, let us return now to the house.”
Darcy’s pleasure upon hearing Elizabeth speak his name as she teased him could only be described as transparent. He raised both her hands to his lips and lingered over them while his gaze caressed her, touching her inner core with a flood of warmth she hardly knew how she contained.
As he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and covered it, she heard his voice, low and soothing, say, “Come. I will take you back to your sister before I find myself tempted to do something—nay, several things—which I ought not.”
Contrary to popular opinion, Mr. Collins was not an ignorant man. It is true he did think rather well of himself, for how could he not, having had the exquisite good fortune of finding himself, at the age of five and twenty, on the receiving end of a valuable living from the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh?
To say he merely worshiped her ladyship would be a gross injustice, for there was nothing in the world the obsequious clergyman would not do to pay her the proper respect and reverence he believed was her due as his esteemed patroness, and it was this, and only this, that had kept him from stepping in and tearing his fair cousin Elizabeth from Darcy’s side throughout the course of the evening.
With no small degree of pride, Mr. Collins had enjoyed the dubious distinction of opening the ball with a woman as handsome as Elizabeth, which, in his opinion, should have been enough to ensure an animated evening of dancing, wholesome conversation, and perhaps, if he was truly fortunate, at the end of the evening, a stolen kiss with his coveted future partner. He was effusive in his admiration of his cousin’s feminine charms and smugly congratulated himself for having selected for his intended bride a woman who was, undoubtedly, held in the highest regard by Lady Catherine’s own nephew.
Though more than willing to relinquish Elizabeth’s hand for a few inconsequential dances, save for the opening set, for the express purpose of indulging and flattering Darcy, suffice to say by the time the guests had been called in to supper, Mr. Collins was no longer feeling quite so honored by that gentleman’s particular attentions to the object of his own future happiness.
He had been extremely gratified to hear Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiastic though wholly improper compliments to himself, not finding it offensive in the least when she stated her expectations of an impending marriage between her second-eldest daughter and him. To be perfectly honest, Mr. Collins had viewed the entire situation as a blessing in disguise, for, surely, after hearing his intentions being thus spoken of in so favorable a light by her own dear mother and in such a public forum, Darcy could not possibly continue his marked attentions to Elizabeth in any honorable way. Therefore, it was with shocked indignation he later watched the gentleman in question escort his fair cousin back into the ballroom from the balcony, where they had been alone together for some time.
When he observed Darcy standing close to Elizabeth and reaching around from behind her slender figure to unclasp the closures of her wrap, Mr. Collins’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. The manner in which Darcy eased the garment from Elizabeth’s shoulders and then handed it to a waiting servant while he whispered intimately in Elizabeth’s ear, all the while keeping his eyes fixed upon the bewitching woman in front of him, was almost indecent to see—and seen it was by several in attendance, including both of her parents.
So intoxicated was Darcy by Elizabeth’s presence, and so overwhelmed was he by the intimacy of the words they had exchanged on the balcony, he did not even realize the liberties he was taking with her—and in full view of Bingley’s guests, no less. Indeed, he could think of nothing beyond the beautiful woman in front of him, of how she had looked at him only moments before with such heartfelt delight and tenderness in her eyes, and of how very much he longed to be alone with her once more so he could continue to reassure her, in a most ardent fashion, of his devotion. With such sentiments, Darcy could no more stop himself at that moment from reaching around to unclasp her wrap and whisper words of adoration to her than he could stop the rise of the sun in the east.