By the time the dancing began, Darcy was eager to lead Elizabeth to the center of the ballroom to open the festivities. He had been correct—every eye was, indeed, turned upon her, though not all in admiration, Miss Bingley’s narrowed slits included. Though Darcy’s blood still boiled whenever he thought of her ill treatment of Elizabeth, for the sake of his long-standing friendship with Bingley, he had asked his aunt to extend an invitation to both his friend’s sisters. To his relief, Elizabeth bore it all—the crowd, as well as Miss Bingley’s odious presence—with grace and dignity, her elegance, her wit, and her impeccable manners serving as further proof of her suitability as his wife.
The ball was a crush, and Darcy, though anxious for Elizabeth’s acceptance in society, found himself growing irritated by the attention she was receiving from the other men in attendance.
Elizabeth’s dance card was soon filled with the names of unknown gentlemen eager to become acquainted with the enchanting Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.
Darcy could only watch as his wife was led through the dance by partner after partner, each of whom seemed to be captivated by her beauty and vivacity. Elizabeth was his. He did not wish to share her.
“You know, Darcy, if you are not careful, that scowl will become a permanent part of your countenance.”
Darcy only grunted in response to his cousin’s teasing remark. His gaze never wavered from Elizabeth as she danced with the handsome and accursedly agreeable Lord Abernathy, a good friend of his cousin Harold. The young man, several years Darcy’s junior, seemed to be mesmerized by her lively discourse, as well as her pleasing figure. Darcy took a sip of wine and asked dryly, “What do you think would happen if I were to call Abernathy out for making my wife smile? Am I well within my rights as a jealous husband, or should I wait until he does something a bit more untoward?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Really, Darcy, this is a switch! I believe I have never before seen you thus. Usually, it is the other way around, and you are the one to inspire feelings of jealousy, but rather in handsome young ladies. It is about time you received a taste of your own medicine.”
“A taste of my own medicine, is it? Fitzwilliam, you imply I sought such favor from all of those fortune hunters and their matchmaking mamas. I assure you, I did not, and I believe you are well acquainted with that fact,” he said stiffly.
His cousin clapped him on the back and said, “Precisely, Darcy. Is it Elizabeth’s fault so many men find her as irresistible as you do? What would you have her do? She cannot refuse to dance with them and still be able to dance with you later, though you are her husband. I am afraid this indulgence is necessary in securing your wife’s place in society, and let me just add that it is working. They seem to love her.”
“Yes, well, I will not deny that the gentlemen are certainly charmed; however, at the first sign of love, I shall be forced to remove her to Pemberley, where, I might add, I would happily remain for the rest of my days.”
“You are insufferable, Cousin! I would gladly trade my commission to gain at least a portion of the happiness you have found with Elizabeth. Indeed, you can have nothing to repine.”
Here, Darcy gave his cousin a look of warning, which only served to make the colonel laugh. “Darcy, you must face the music, old man—your wife is a highly desirable woman. It is a curse you will simply have to live with, but, apparently, it is a cross you will not have to bear alone.” He motioned then to Bingley, who was standing on the opposite side of the room, watching Jane go down the dance with the eldest son of an earl. The look of displeasure upon his face rivaled Darcy’s. Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned.
The dance ended, and Lord Abernathy escorted Mrs. Darcy back to the safekeeping of her husband, whose hand immediately went to the small of her back. “Thank you for returning my wife, Abernathy. I am most obliged to you. I daresay most of the other gentlemen in attendance this evening—if, indeed, they can be referred to as such—simply chose to keep her to themselves between sets.”
Elizabeth glanced sharply at him. Darcy’s haughty mask was firmly in place, as it had been when they had first met in Hertfordshire so many months ago, but then he focused his penetrating eyes upon her, and she could see something else—vulnerability. She was very soon reminded, however, that while she had danced every dance thus far, her husband had not, but not, Elizabeth knew, for want of willing young ladies to partner him. Indeed, whenever she had looked up from among her own attentive partners, searching for a glimpse of him, Elizabeth had not had to look far to observe Darcy’s stormy, protective gaze upon her, nor the many feminine eyes turned wistfully—and not so innocently—upon her handsome husband.
While Darcy engaged in small talk with Lord Abernathy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, his gaze all the while darting to his wife, Elizabeth formed a resolution and, when there was a pause in the conversation, intervened. “If you would excuse us, gentlemen, I would like a word with my husband before the next set is to begin.”
The two gentlemen bowed to her, and Elizabeth curtsied. She cast a meaningful look at Darcy, and they extracted themselves from the throng to search for a place where they might have a few moments of privacy. When his wife led him out of the ballroom and toward the family wing, where guests were certainly not allowed, Darcy expelled a lengthy breath. Surely this cannot be a good sign, he thought grimly as he began to fidget with his signet ring. Elizabeth placed her hand over his and stilled his action. Darcy swallowed.
They finally reached a small parlor—the very same parlor, he noted, where Elizabeth and Anne had met secretly at Christmas. Darcy reluctantly entered, and when he saw Elizabeth close and then lock the door behind them, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the chastisement he knew was coming. It did not, however, come. Rather than harsh words of reprimand for his display of jealousy, his ears received his wife’s soft lips as she bestowed a kiss upon his lobe. Darcy’s eyes widened. What on earth could she be about? “Elizabeth, what—” he began, his voice hoarse. Her gloved fingers silenced his words.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I thought, perhaps, you might be in need of some reassurance and also a reminder of where my affections lie.” Her gaze caressed him as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Darcy’s eyes searched hers, and upon receiving confirmation of her words by way of her lips caressing his hungry mouth, a low, inarticulate sound tore from the back of his throat. In the next instant, he clutched Elizabeth almost violently, his lips hard upon hers as his hands roamed possessively over her body.
Elizabeth gasped at Darcy’s powerful reaction, her initial surprise soon replaced by a potent desire as he unfastened the top buttons at the back of her gown to free her breasts. With a groan, he took one breast in his mouth and suckled her. While one of Darcy’s hands pleasured her other breast, toying with her nipple and eliciting the most delightful sensations in Elizabeth’s body, his other hand had unfastened the buttons on the fall of his silk breeches. Not until he raised her skirts past her hips and she felt the heat of his potency against her naked flesh, did Elizabeth fully comprehend the ferocity of her husband’s need.