“Shhh, Fitzwilliam, we are not to speak of it any more tonight, and, indeed, my love, I am in earnest about this,” Elizabeth whispered as she feathered a kiss upon his furrowed brow. She removed herself from his lap and extended her hand. He raised it to his lips to bestow a kiss upon her palm, her wrist, and each finger before lifting it farther still, to cradle against his cheek.
She caressed him, feeling the slight growth of his beard, and tugged against the hand that held her captive. “Come, my dearest, and we will endeavor to make happier memories of tonight.” Without further thought, he followed her into the hall, up the staircase, and to her bedchamber. Elizabeth pushed the door closed and led Darcy to the bed, the very same bed where he had first made her his own not so many weeks before. He closed his eyes against the world as she began to work the intricate knots of his cravat free, his breathing deep and even.
“Elizabeth,” he rasped, “you need not do this.”
“Hush,” she whispered. “I want to.” She pulled the length of silk from around his throat and began to unfasten the buttons on his tailcoat, his waistcoat, and his shirt. She removed each item and dropped them to the floor with very little formality.
Elizabeth turned her attention to the expanse of her husband’s chest, now fully revealed to her discerning eyes and gentle hands. Darcy shuddered when he felt her fingers exploring the contours of his torso. She lowered her mouth to his flesh and placed sensual kisses along his neck and shoulders, gradually, unhurriedly, making her way lower. When she reached his waist, her hands made quick work of the buttons on his trousers as she dipped the tip of her tongue into the slight depression on his stomach. She slid the fabric from his hips, and before Darcy could form a coherent thought, Elizabeth had knelt down to caress his arousal with her lips, her tongue drawing slow, wet circles over his flesh.
A low moan escaped from the back of his throat as Elizabeth’s warm mouth enveloped him fully. His fingers tangled in her thick mass of curls. It was almost effortless for Darcy to lose himself in her—in her eyes, in her body, in her very existence. It had always been so. Even in the lonely, confusing weeks that preceded their courtship, when even a chaste kiss upon her hand was never an option, Darcy had adopted a nightly ritual of escaping the trials and tribulations of his mundane existence by submersing himself in private musings and forbidden fantasies about the only woman he had fallen in love with.
Elizabeth’s fingertips brushed his hips and his thighs. The glorious curls crowning her head tickled his flesh. The sensations she elicited were potent, almost overpowering in their intensity, and Darcy began to fear for his self-control as he surrendered to the bliss of her ministrations. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught as he was overtaken by the exhilaration of watching his wife, still clad in her nightshift, kneeling before him in such a manner. He groaned as a wave of raw passion swept through him. Elizabeth’s eyes turned up to meet his, and in an instant, Darcy pulled her to her feet, his mouth devouring her lips as his hands traveled over her body, leaving her skin hot and tingling, as though she were on fire. He struggled to untie her shift, his fingers fumbling with the ribbons, until, with a sound of frustration, Elizabeth nudged aside his hands and released them herself. She took a step back, and their eyes locked as the shift fell away to reveal her curves, pooling in a puddle of ivory upon the floor.
Darcy closed his eyes, fighting for command of his body, which, at that moment, desperately wanted to ravish this bewitching seductress. Elizabeth must have sensed his urgency, because she reached out and entwined her fingers with his, which were trembling with his efforts. He gripped her hand tightly, as though afraid she would somehow slip away from him. He felt her full breasts brush against his chest as she leaned toward him, pushing him back upon the bed, and inhaled sharply.
Elizabeth climbed atop him, dragging her body along his frame, moaning as his arousal brushed against her. She was about to take him into her, when Darcy rolled them over, showering her lips and face with kisses while his hands found their way to her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her. His hands continued to roam over her curves, exploring, tantalizing her flesh. When Elizabeth moaned his name, Darcy let out a strangled sob of longing, alerting her to the urgency of his need.
“Fitzwilliam,” she gasped, “I need you. I need to feel you. Please. Now.”
Her words, spoken so quietly, yet with a commanding insistence that only served to further inflame his desire for her, penetrated the last fragments of Darcy’s self-restraint, granting his body permission to take action over the more tender sentiments of his heart and mind. He slid into her depths with a shuddering cry that drew forth an identical response from Elizabeth as their bodies began to move together in a rhythm that heightened the intensity of his pleasure. His movements soon grew frenzied.
It was not long before Elizabeth was soaring toward her completion.
Darcy felt her muscles tightening around him as he buried himself within her, time and again, deeper and deeper, until, finally, with a loud cry, he suddenly felt one of the most powerful releases he had ever experienced.
They did not speak, but lay together, hands and bodies entwined, rapid breathing slowing, frantic heartbeats calming, the silent reassurance of the other’s presence enveloping them. Darcy bestowed a lingering kiss upon his wife’s forehead as he closed his eyes, exhaustion finally claiming them at last.
Chapter 26
Lydia, you are insufferable! Surely, you must see the danger and impropriety of indulging in such disgraceful behavior with a dangerous scoundrel! You permitted him to take outrageous liberties with you that many respectable married women will not even allow their husbands, and you were in public! Have you no shame at all?” Elizabeth found Lydia’s refusal to see the error of her ways regarding her scandalous conduct with Wickham the night before infuriating. To further inflame her anger, Lydia merely turned her back to her sister and sulked.
Jane’s approach was more sedate. “Lydia, you must understand that with your lack of fortune, your virtue and reputation are all you have to recommend you to a respectable gentleman. You cannot continue to conduct yourself in such a degrading manner with a man like Mr. Wickham. Surely you must know by now he cannot be respectable if he insists on taking advantage of you in such a way and encourages you to bestow your favors upon him. Your scandalous behavior not only reflects poorly upon your own reputation as a respectable young lady, but that of your dear sisters, as well. By indulging in such sinful behavior, especially with a man of questionable character, you are greatly lessening the probability of Mary and Kitty making prudent marriages. Even if you are not concerned with your reputation, you must at least consider those of poor Mary and Kitty.”
“Lord, Jane, you sound just as droll as Mary when she is reading from Fordyce!” exclaimed Lydia. “I cannot see how I have done anything so very wrong. I daresay no one would have been the wiser had Lizzy not stuck her nose into my affairs last night instead of minding her own business like she ought. I am heartily disappointed in you, Lizzy, for turning out to be so disloyal and hypocritical!”