“One I am afraid I do not possess when it comes to you, my dearest,” he said. “But you still seem averse to calling me by my name, even when we are alone.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And do you not know why, Mr. Darcy?”
“Please enlighten me.”
She looked up at him through her lashes. “As you wish, Fitzwilliam.”
A familiar light ignited in his eyes as he reached out to trace his finger across her lips and the line of her jaw. He smiled slightly as he shifted to allow her to lie in his arms. Elizabeth’s breath caught as he slowly bent his head to capture her mouth. His tantalizing kisses distracted her from her purpose, and she gave in to the temptation to taste the pleasure he offered.
After a moment, though, she laid her fingers over his lips, and smiled mischievously up at him. “Do you still wish to know why I do not use your name? I have noted it seems to have a most peculiar effect on you, much as it just did. But I promise you, when we are safely married, I shall call you by it frequently.”
He thoughtfully nibbled her fingertips, causing Elizabeth to feel a distinct loss of interest in discussing the matter any further. He noted to himself that it was true that, during the many times he had imagined her calling him by name, it was often in one very particular setting, with a particular response on his part. A slow smile came over his face. “You are a very wicked woman, Miss Bennet,” he murmured. He began placing excruciatingly light and slow kisses on the soft, uncovered skin of her shoulder, while whispering, “Very, very wicked.” By the time he had found his way to the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck, Elizabeth had given up any pretense of resistance, and allowed herself to tangle her fingers in his hair in encouragement. He continued to enjoy tantalizing her until her rapid breathing and arched body became too much for him, and their mouths met hungrily.
He lifted his face to allow her to meet his passion-darkened eyes. “Say my name, Elizabeth,” he commanded softly. Shaking her head playfully, she attempted to pull his head back to hers. “Oh, no, Miss Bennet,” he murmured. “No more kisses for you until you say it.”
She raised her eyebrow. “I am very wicked,” she said with a playful smile, and began reciting his name as rapidly as she could, with an inflection of mirth. With a mock glare, he nipped lightly at her neck, causing a squeal and fit of laughter. They smiled contentedly into one another’s eyes, enjoying the game, until without warning the lighthearted moment shifted into a more serious one of deep attraction and desire.
Darcy slid one hand to her head, allowing his fingers to caress the silky curls he had longed to touch for so long. His thumb traced circles on her temple, and his breathing became shallow as he watched her eyes darken and her lips part. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, making the syllables of her name into a caress.
“Fitzwilliam,” she responded, her voice warm with passion. “Oh, Fitzwilliam.”
It was far too close to his fantasies. He tried to assert control over his response, only to realize he had left it too long. He tasted her mouth, first lightly and then with burgeoning passion that stole away his senses. He knew that he must withdraw, but his lips would not cooperate and began to explore downward along her neck, then lower to the tender skin exposed by the neckline of her dress where he was not supposed to even allow his eyes to rest. He was even further inflamed by her gasps as this new sensation built in her to an excruciating tension.
Afterward Elizabeth would wonder what part of her had finally responded to her spiraling desire with a sense of panic that made her push him away. For a moment, Darcy looked at her uncomprehendingly as she withdrew from him, then he rose and took several rapid strides away from her. Facing away from her, he gripped one hand against a tree and stood in tense silence, staring unseeingly across the countryside.
Elizabeth also looked away, sobered by what had happened, and even more so by the realization of how far she had allowed her behavior to stray. How had it come to pass that she was allowing, nay, participating in the liberties he had taken? What was it about Darcy that tempted her to flout every rule she had ever known? She looked up to see him framed against the sunset, his unmoving form still in the attitude of painful tension. It hurt her to see him so, far more than she could explain to herself, and she realized the true question she should ask herself was how she came to love him so much that nothing else mattered.
“Mr. Darcy?” she said gently. Without turning, he held his hand up in a clear request that she desist. She bit her lip, not knowing how best to address his current distress, her own concerns forgotten in her apprehension for his. She waited briefly, then spoke his name again.
“Miss Bennet, please be so kind as to allow me to finish castigating myself before you take your turn; you may rest assured I am doing a very thorough job of it.”
Hearing the bitterness of his words, she recognized what she was witnessing was similar to Georgiana’s description of another time when he failed to meet his own strict standards. She saw this was where she would need to begin thinking like a wife, for she would certainly need the capability to handle these situations in the future. Georgiana had indicated that offering sympathy was not productive, so a different approach was required. A thought occurred to her of how to draw him out of himself. “Perhaps what I am lacking, sir, is not an opportunity to castigate, but to receive comfort,” she said.
He stiffened visibly, and for a moment Elizabeth thought her words had only served to make him blame himself yet further; then he approached her and, kneeling in front of her, took her hands in his. “Forgive me, my dearest; I was selfishly thinking only of myself, and not of you. Thank you for drawing my attention to the obvious.”
She gave a slight smile. “Thank you for listening.”
“Elizabeth, I shall always come when you ask, and no doubt more often than you would wish! Please do not distress yourself over what happened; it should not have happened, but given that it did, we can only remember that in two weeks we shall be man and wife, and none of this will matter.”
She squeezed his hands. “It has been a rather emotional day, has it not?”
“Indeed,” he agreed, “and I am sure that we are both somewhat overwrought at this point. I will not allow it to happen again.”
“For two weeks.”
“Yes,” he said with a smile, “For two weeks. Then you must take your chances. But I note that the light is fading fast, and we should be returning to the house.”
As he stood and moved to offer her his arm, she gave in to impulse and embraced him. In the circle of his arms, she thought to herself that perhaps her instincts would not serve her so ill with him after all.
Chapter 9
The next day proved to be just as busy as Elizabeth had anticipated, between a visit to the mantua-maker’s shop in Meryton to select fabric and a model for her wedding gown, the arrival of the Gardiners and Jane, and the excitement of sharing her news. Darcy joined them for much of the day, and though Elizabeth felt the lack of time alone with him, she had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get acquainted with him. She was also pleased to notice Darcy in close conference with her uncle at one point. It was of great satisfaction to her to see their mutual respect.
That evening, after she retired, Elizabeth was not surprised to hear a knock on the door, as she had expected Jane would want to hear more about the recent events in private conversation. Her surmise was incorrect, however, in that her visitor was in fact Mrs. Gardiner.