Bingley, who had been standing beside his friend, coughed behind his hand. Then, upon seeing Darcy leading his wife to the center of the room, he offered his own arm to his beloved Jane. She accepted with a smile and a blush that became her. They were then joined by the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and many other daring couples whose mornings had lately been employed in learning the art of the scandalous waltz for just such an occasion.
As Darcy guided his wife around the ballroom, one hand clasping hers while the other held fast to her waist, Elizabeth could not recall a time when she had ever enjoyed dancing more. She and Jane had practiced all week with their willing partners, and now, as Elizabeth admired her sister’s beauty as Bingley led her through the dance, a look of absolute bliss upon both their faces, the mistress of Pemberley could hardly contain her smile.
Her gaze then drifted to her own partner, whose eyes were alight with happiness. Never before had she seen him looking so pleased, so relaxed while in company—especially in a ballroom. In fact, as Darcy gazed upon her with a look of delight, Elizabeth wondered if he had quite forgotten they were being observed. He held her a little tighter and pulled her a bit closer than propriety would have allowed—even during such a dance—and Elizabeth gave him an arch smile, knowing full well it was because he found her irresistible. “If you hold me any closer, Mr. Darcy, I do believe there shall be a scandal!” she teased.
Darcy loosened his hold, but only slightly. “Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, a sheepish smile quirking the corners of his mouth, “but I find I am still feeling a bit possessive. Indeed, madam, you can have no idea how intoxicating you look at this moment, or how many other men are admiring you as I hold you in my arms.”
Elizabeth’s voice softened as she continued to smile upon him. “You are correct, Fitzwilliam, for my eyes are only for you, my handsome husband, and, as I am certain you have noticed, there are just as many sets of fine eyes fixed upon your stately figure.”
“Perhaps, but my admiration is for you alone, Elizabeth.” His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. “Do you think it is too early to make our excuses to my aunt and uncle?”
“Fitzwilliam, you are incorrigible,” she laughed, suspecting he was half serious and half in jest. “You know very well we cannot. Besides, I have not yet had my dance with your cousin Harold.”
“Hang Harold,” Darcy growled. “I am tired of sharing you. How will I be able to stand the sight of you with another man after having danced a waltz with you? Besides, my thoughts at this moment are hardly conducive to gentlemanly behavior.”
Elizabeth wisely made no reply, but when the dance ended and all the couples applauded, she allowed Darcy to lead her away to one of the balconies. The crisp air was refreshing, and as they were quite alone, Darcy took the opportunity to steal a kiss. “Are you certain I cannot convince you to retire for the night, Elizabeth?” he asked in a low voice as his fingertips lingered along the edging at her neckline.
Elizabeth slapped his hand away and smiled. “No. I am by no means tired. You forget, sir, that you made me take a nap this afternoon.”
“Yes,” he said, “and I daresay you are in need of another.” He began to drag the tip of his nose along the curve of her neck. Elizabeth closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations that coursed through her. Darcy boldly continued on, his lips moving to caress the swell of flesh just above her neckline. He dipped the tip of his tongue between her breasts, which elicited a gasp of pleasure from her.
In an effort to steady herself, Elizabeth moved her hands to Darcy’s shoulders. “Fitzwilliam,” she protested, “we cannot. Not here. Someone might see. We must stop,” she insisted, though somewhat weakly.
“Very well,” he said, his tone petulant as he gave her one last kiss and offered her his arm. “But I demand the last dance of the evening.”
Elizabeth smoothed her gown and smiled as she took his proffered arm. “I would never have it any other way, Mr. Darcy. You shall always have the last dance of the evening.”
Chapter 31
The month of March arrived in much the same manner as that of a hungry lion—ferocious and unpredictable. The Darcys found themselves overwhelmed by countless social obligations, many of which the couple would have been perfectly content to forego. Nevertheless, at the urging of Lord and Lady Matlock, they steeled themselves and accepted the invitations with a sigh of resignation. There were still many within the exalted ranks of the ton who had not yet had an opportunity to make the acquaintance of the new Mrs. Darcy and, thus, were hesitant to accept the descriptions circulating about her being a witty and intelligent lady, rather than a clever fortune hunter who had used her arts and allurements to seduce the ever-vigilant master of Pemberley.
Throughout it all, Elizabeth bore with finesse the tedium of attending such events. To those who had come to know her well, it was no surprise to see her charming many of the naysayers with her easy, unaffected manners, her intelligent repartee, and her reputed beauty. Her affection for her husband—and his for her—was apparent to all who saw them together, and except for a handful of bitter mamas and their petulant daughters, who had long had their sights set on the highly coveted gentleman from Derbyshire, Elizabeth’s introduction to most of those who moved within the higher circles of London society was declared a success.
As the first day of spring approached, so did Jane’s wedding to Bingley. It was with great relief and a lightness of spirit that the inhabitants of Darcy House quitted London and headed for Hertfordshire once again. The trip was easier going than the one they had made previously. Elizabeth was now far enough along in her pregnancy to be feeling quite well all of the time. She no longer experienced bouts of nausea, fits of light-headedness, exhaustion, or much discomfort of any kind, to the immense relief of her husband.
Darcy had always admired her slender waist and inviting curves, but with the onset of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, he was surprised to find even more to admire in his wife’s figure. The knowledge that she was carrying his child in her womb was enough to send a flood of warmth through him, but the added inducement of seeing the slight bulge of Elizabeth’s increasing waist, her widening hips, and the more pronounced swell of her breasts was enough to drive him to distraction. She seemed to glow from within and, to Darcy’s very great pleasure, had an almost insatiable desire to lie with him at all hours of the day. He was always willing to oblige her.
Rather than sitting beside his wife on the carriage ride to Hertfordshire, Darcy found himself occupying the seat opposite her. Georgiana had never been able to ride backward in a coach for more than a few miles, and as Elizabeth had recently discovered that facing any direction other than forward agitated the heir of Pemberley and, thus, the contents of her stomach, Darcy was forced to endure a long, agonizing ride in which his eyes were constantly focused upon his wife’s most intoxicating attributes.
To her amusement, Elizabeth caught him staring at her bouncing breasts many times as the carriage rocked and swayed over the bumpy roads. Darcy’s lips would part, and his tongue would dart out to moisten them; his eyes would flare, and then, just as quickly, he would avert them, crossing and recrossing his legs as he stared out of the window with a heavy sigh or an occasional quiet groan, his desire for Elizabeth apparent.
Elizabeth smiled at his obvious vexation. She passed the time by chatting with Georgiana and Lydia—who remained with them still—and, to add fuel to an already blazing inferno, Elizabeth further amused herself by attempting to draw her suffering husband into whatever conversation happened to be at hand, but with little success. From the dark, penetrating looks he sent from across the coach, she was left in little doubt that he had no desire whatsoever to engage in any such act with her, but rather a different act altogether, and one that did not require words.