Darcy chuckled at her reaction and took pity on her. “As I said, you need not have any fear of me, Elizabeth. Your sister is sleeping just down the hall, and a note has long since been dispatched to Longbourn, informing your family you had taken ill upon your arrival. I am sorry to inform you, however, you have indeed slept, not only through luncheon, but through supper, as well. By the time your sister and Bingley became aware of the lateness of the hour, the weather had taken such a turn as to make it necessary for both of you to spend the night. You are now, and quite to my satisfaction, I might add, stranded by a rather unrelenting storm.”
More than a little mortified by his account of her current circumstances, not to mention most reluctant to credit it, Elizabeth threw back the counterpane and made her way toward the window, muttering irritated words under her breath about Mrs. Blakely and the strength of her tea. Sure enough, upon peering through the curtains, her sight was instantly assailed by a blinding torrent of thick snow.
Turning back to Darcy in astonishment, she found his eyes lingering on her form with a look she had come to know well. It was at that moment she recalled she was wearing only a low-cut night shift she had borrowed from Mrs. Hurst, which clung to her body. Judging from his passionate gaze, he had noticed as well.
“Are you going to continue there all night in the cold, or will you come back to me where I can resume keeping you warm?” Darcy patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
Elizabeth moved to cover herself, but finding nothing near at hand to suit her purpose, she was forced to settle for wrapping her arms securely about her chest. This only served to make Darcy erupt in silent laughter. Elizabeth failed to see the humor in her situation. “I… well… exactly what, pray, are you doing in my bed, Mr. Darcy? I am correct in my assumption this is, indeed, my bed, sir, am I not?” She finished with a raised brow and an arch look.
“Indeed, it is, Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice full of mirth as he rose from the bed to join her by the window. “But I far prefer to think of it as our bed.”
“Our bed? Really, Mr. Darcy.” She was taken aback by his boldness, but not wholly intimidated. “And are you not afraid someone will discover you here, sir, in our bed?” she asked rather impudently.
Darcy was standing directly before her, his body so close Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating from him. “Not at all,” he said in a low voice. “I have taken the liberty of locking the doors.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard at this declaration but found her voice again quickly. “Ah, such foresight, sir, but it seems you have forgotten you will have to return eventually to your own chamber before morning. So how, pray, do you propose you will manage that feat without calling attention to our current, scandalous situation?”
“That, my love, is simple.” He directed her attention to a door she had not noticed, next to the chaise. “Our rooms are adjoined. I need only open that door to return to my own apartment quite undetected.”
Her mouth formed a silent “O,” and her eyes widened.
“Yes, it is most convenient.” He took a deep, steady breath and, with a small smile, trailed his hands down the length of her arms.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed. “I am surprised Mr. Bingley and my sister approved of such an arrangement. You must admit it is highly improper.”
“Yes,” he murmured, “highly improper. If I am not mistaken though, your sister is quite unaware of the close proximity of our chambers. Bingley, on the other hand, would very much like to believe the orchestration of this arrangement to have been an oversight by a careless servant.”
“I see,” she whispered, her pulse quickening. “Yet, it was not an oversight, was it?”
“No,” he agreed, “it most definitely was not.”
They stood in silence for some time, the eyes of each searching the depths of the other, before Darcy spoke again. “Truly, I intended this only for the purpose of slipping into your room undetected to provide comfort to you should you be in need of it, but, forgive me, Elizabeth, once I laid my eyes upon you as you slept so peacefully, I could not bring myself to leave you. I know it was very wrong of me, and indeed, I have no excuse to offer you for my behavior other than a sincere, heartfelt concern for what I know you to have suffered.”
Elizabeth stared at him, her eyes sparkling in the waning light of the fire. She reached out to him then, placing her hands upon his chest. Darcy swallowed, his throat suddenly parched as he forced himself to say, “I believe the time has come for me to return to my own rooms. If you are truly feeling better, my love, I would not wish to put your reputation at risk any more than I already have.”
He placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead and made to leave, but was stopped by Elizabeth as she laid her hands upon his arm. “You do bring me comfort,” she whispered. “Please do not go. Stay with me. No one need ever learn of it.”
Darcy could hardly believe what he was hearing and so closed his eyes, willing himself to remain in control of his senses. Elizabeth’s fingers had begun to move over his chest in the most exquisite manner, robbing him of all coherent thought. He took several deep breaths before finally managing to summon the strength required to remove her hands from his body. She gave him a puzzled look as he released her and took a step backward. “I cannot. You know I cannot.”
She was hurt; he could read as much in her expressive eyes. “You do not wish to lie with me, then?” she inquired, her voice pained.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “It is because I want nothing more right now than to lie with you that leads me to refuse you. Surely you are not so naïve as to believe you would awaken in the morning a maiden still if I were to lie with you tonight? My self-control when I am with you, and especially at this moment, I am afraid, is sadly lacking. I cannot consent to such a thing, my love. Not before you are truly my wife.”
Elizabeth raised her eyes. “My own self-possession, I fear, where you are concerned, also leaves something to be desired. So as you can see, sir, I believe it is a hopeless case.”
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, “you know not what you say. It is not right. You should be my wife.”
“Then make me your wife, Fitzwilliam. Make me your wife tonight.”
Darcy silently stared at her for some time, struggling against the overwhelming urge to surrender his body and soul to the intoxicating woman before him. His heart was already in her possession; it had been so for many months now, from almost the very first moment he had laid his eyes on her.
Elizabeth was gazing up at him, an unmistakable look of love in her eyes, and Darcy felt a searing pang of longing shoot through his breast. Suddenly, such temptation, when presented to him in the irresistible form of the woman he not only loved, but desired above any other, was simply too much. With a shaky breath, he indulged one of his favorite fantasies—that of entwining his hands possessively within her hair.
Elizabeth ran her tongue over her parched lips and quivered in anticipation, unable to deny the desire pulsing through her veins.
“My Elizabeth, I love you so,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Are you certain, absolutely certain, this is what you truly wish?”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes never leaving his, and Darcy pressed his body against her own and claimed her lips in a kiss that conveyed the depth of his desire. He deepened the kiss, and Elizabeth parted her lips, welcoming his tongue as it explored her mouth. His hands disengaged her curls to roam freely over her curves, tantalizing her body with firm strokes, his fingers pausing only to loosen the bodice of her night shift before resuming their previous ministrations.