In one smooth motion, Darcy was on his feet and striding toward the door, which he promptly closed and locked before returning to gather her in his arms. They were in the music room, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, instead of reclining with her upon the couch or the carpet, he carried her to the pianoforte, where he seated her, not upon the bench, but upon the instrument itself. He raised her skirts and pulled her forward to sit upon the edge, spreading wide her thighs. His breathing was rapid. Without ceremony, he wrapped one arm about her hips as he pushed two fingers into her depths and then withdrew them, brushing over her folds as he did so. Elizabeth shuddered as he raised the fingers to his lips and inserted them into his mouth, his eyes holding hers with a quiet ferocity she had not yet seen. When he spoke, his voice was rough, hoarse with emotion, raw with his need. “Lie back now, Elizabeth. I wish to taste more of you.” She gasped at his boldness but readily complied when she felt pleasure wash over her as he bathed her most sensitive flesh repeatedly with his tongue. She was soon crying out for him as the tension coiled tighter and tighter until, finally, she arched her back, and her release was upon her.
Though satisfied by his wife’s powerful reaction to such attention, Darcy was hardly sated, and without further warning, he released his straining arousal from his breeches and was upon her, sliding her farther back upon the instrument as he covered her body completely with his. He entered her with one deep, powerful thrust that tore a cry of pleasure from each of them.
His movements were frenzied, passionate, and it did not take long before he was driving Elizabeth, once more, to the brink of ultimate release. She wrapped her legs about his hips and met him stroke for stroke, raising her hips to meet him with a determination that matched his.
It was more than he could bear. “Lizzy, oh God,” he moaned with urgency before he filled her with a fiery explosion of such intensity it wracked his body for many long moments.
Elizabeth reached her pleasure just seconds later, gasping his name.
Later that night, as she lay in her husband’s arms in the privacy of their rooms, Elizabeth could not but think upon their passionate escapade in the music room late that afternoon. She could not say what had shocked her more—having her husband make love to her in such a public room of the house, and in broad daylight no less, or her having allowed it in the first place. She found it thrilling, however, beyond a doubt, and as she drifted off to sleep, she found herself wondering whether the heavy desk in the library or perhaps the sturdy sideboard in the breakfast parlor might not prove to be equally enjoyable as the pianoforte.
The following day saw Darcy escorting his wife back to Mrs. Duval’s shoppe on Bond Street. If asked, it was an experience she would have been happy to forego. However, her husband had been adamant, pointing out that the acquisition of a mere eight new gowns would hardly carry the mistress of Pemberley through the Season. Elizabeth was forced to concede, albeit reluctantly, that he was correct.
When the tiny bell on the shoppe door tinkled, announcing the Darcys’ arrival to all within, the bustling atmosphere altered dramatically. Dozens of eyes fixed themselves upon the handsome couple, several sets of which were accompanied by pale complexions and rounded mouths that suddenly felt as dry as a desert.
Elizabeth, who was not feeling quite as comfortable as she would have wished under the circumstances, forced herself to swallow down any misgivings when she saw an elegant older woman rush forth to greet them. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a warm voice, “what a pleasure to see you. Please allow me to offer you my sincerest congratulations on your marriage.” She turned kind eyes upon Elizabeth and smiled with sincerity.
“Thank you, Mrs. Duval. I believe you have not yet had the pleasure of making my wife’s acquaintance.” Then, bestowing an affectionate smile upon Elizabeth, which he made very certain would not go unnoticed by any of those in attendance, Darcy performed the proper introductions. “Mrs. Darcy will be purchasing a significant number of gowns for her Season in Town. I trust that the utmost attention and courtesy will be extended to her by your staff. Whatever my wife wants, Mrs. Duval, I am determined she shall have. No expense shall be spared.”
Mrs. Duval understood him perfectly. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I have every intention of seeing to Mrs. Darcy personally.” Then, to Elizabeth, she said, “Indeed, ma’am, you shall want for nothing while you are a guest in my shoppe. This way, if you please.”
Darcy nodded curtly as Mrs. Duval shot several disapproving looks in the direction of her eavesdropping assistants. He felt no small degree of satisfaction as he watched the meddling women avert their eyes and lower their heads, properly chagrined. With the barest hint of a smile, he escorted his wife toward a private salon, where she would soon be shown nothing but the most fashionable styles and the most elegant fabrics and adornments. Darcy took great pleasure in observing the startled faces of the modiste and her assistants as they realized the master of Pemberley, against all previously established expectations regarding husbandly duty, meant to attend his wife on her shopping excursion, and with no intention of going away.
After four tedious hours sitting in idle repose, reading the paper, drinking tea, and eating biscuits while Elizabeth selected patterns and silk, Darcy had grown weary. If left to her own devices, he had no doubt Elizabeth would have ordered only the barest number of gowns allowable, and not the thirty or so he had insisted upon. In his opinion, thirty was a minimal number of gowns for the new mistress of Pemberley. Darcy’s own mother had needed at least twice that number for her social obligations in Town each Season, but he did not wish to push his luck. They could always return another day when Elizabeth had a more thorough grasp of her new position in society and what would be required of her as his wife.
When they rose to leave not an hour later, Darcy was more than ready to return to the comfort and privacy of their Grosvenor Square home. Again, many eyes turned toward them, and he made a pointed show of raising Elizabeth’s hand to his lips as they made their way to the entrance to the shoppe, his gaze caressing her with a look of complete adoration, which Elizabeth returned with equal feeling. Though he had always taken great care to avoid drawing attention to himself in the past, Darcy had to admit he felt a significant amount of satisfaction in making it clear to the busybodies and gossips in attendance that afternoon that he not only valued and esteemed his bride, but that he loved her. Let them talk about that, he thought, with no small degree of vindication.
Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy happened to glimpse none other than Caroline Bingley as she stood with her friend Cecelia Hayward, both staring with wide eyes and raised brows at his display of devotion. In a sudden fit of irritation, he cast a cold, haughty glare in Miss Bingley’s direction as he escorted Elizabeth from the shoppe. Miss Bingley’s face, which had only moments before been envious, turned pale as she realized, with horror written on her face, that Darcy had just publicly cut her.
Darcy slid his arms around Elizabeth’s waist and placed a kiss upon the curve of her neck. “You are utterly intoxicating, Mrs. Darcy. I daresay I shall be the envy of every man in Haymarket Square this evening.”
His warm breath felt delightful against her skin. “Mmm… and I the envy of every lady, sir.”
Darcy raised his brow and, with the barest hint of a smile, said, “You flatter me, Elizabeth. No one shall even notice me with you at my side, ladies included. They will be far too busy speculating about the identity of the enchanting temptress on my arm and wondering why it is she would ever be with me in the first place.”