Darcy Saga 01 Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy (48 page)

Afterwards, Lizzy lay stretched on Darcy's front side, arms crossed over his chest. She rested her chin on one hand, the other stroking feathering fingertips through his wispy hairs while he played with one long tress. They admired each other in serene approval. Darcy smiled and murmured a soft
hmmm
as he brushed her cheeks.

"What are you thinking, my love?" she asked.

"I am watching the sunlight wave over your face and it reminded me of the day I proposed, successfully, that is." He laughed lowly. "Many aspects of that day are rather dreamlike to me, but I vividly remember how the sun illuminated your beautiful face precisely at the instant you accepted me. It was as if God Himself blessed our proclamation."

"William, you are such a romantic and a poet! You ceaselessly astound me." She kissed the skin over his heart. "However, for the sake of clarity I am obligated to point out that your actual proposal occurred several minutes later," she teased, playfully pinching a nipple.

"A technicality, Mrs. Darcy. I do believe, if my memory serves, that you kissed me preceding the sun's caress, thus assenting to my declaration of love and wish to share my life with you."

She laughed. "We should say that you proposed three times! Each one an improvement and the kisses increasing in intensity and delight."

"Do not remind me, beloved. I nearly forfeited my right to the title of gentleman ere we were betrothed an hour!" They both smiled in happy remembrance. He grasped her shoulders tenderly and drew her closer, kissing passionately. "My Lizzy, my lover! It is fortunate I did not comprehend the ecstasy of our love prior to marriage, or I never would have maintained my restraint for those interminable two months. As it is, I was sorely tested. My ardor for you appears to be boundless."

He spoke the truth as decidedly evidenced when she pressed her hips against him. With reciprocated moans of pleasure they gave in to their love again. The memories of the day they at long last proclaimed their love and blissfully shared first kisses augmented their passion.

Late September, 1816

"My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

How do you tell a man whom you have rejected and so wounded about your emotions for him? Can they be conveyed in a kiss to the hand? In a mumbled, nonsensical reply? Perhaps to a degree. He stands before her, impossibly handsome, declaring a love and desire for a life commitment that she does not deserve, yet now accepts as what she yearns for with every heartbeat.
It will take all of my life, daily and hourly saying I love you, to wholly express the depth of my sentiments
, she thinks, and by some miracle he has offered her that chance again. She grabs onto it as a drowning man clutches the rope, vowing never to relinquish as he is her salvation from a lifetime of emptiness and despair.

Darcy stands stunned and anxious as she steps close, taking the offered hand and bestowing a gentle kiss and caress. No words are necessary, the gesture a declaration of caring and acceptance. He understands this although the dream-like atmosphere and months of longing despair prevent him from instantly grasping it. His hand is on fire! In fact, his whole body is aflame, jolted by waves of heat emanating from her soft lips and fingers. His soul is renewed, and he knows it is a miracle purely and completely. The beautiful face that has haunted his dreams is now lifted upward. He touches her cheek tentatively and the world ignites.

For a horrifying second he suspects she will flinch or slap him or vanish into the mist. Instead, she closes her lovely eyes and leans minutely into his hand. Nothing in all his eight-and-twenty years has prepared him for the sensation of her velvety warm skin cupped in his palm. It is the most erotic, exhilarating experience of his life! At that instant, the sun lights her glorious face, rendering her mien angelic.
It is a benediction from God Himself!
Only her flesh anchors him to the ground.

Relief overwhelms and, with eyes closed, they surrender to the sublime delight of a tender touch. This is love! A profound heat rushes from their connected skin to the roots of their loneliness, disintegrating forever the walls of misunderstanding.

Time halts. They are dazzled. Enchanted in the rays from Heaven.

"I love you," she whispers.

He inhales sharply and jerks as if stuck by a pin, eyes flying open. "Say it again," he pleads softly.

She smiles, "I love you... Fitzwilliam."

He shuts his eyes briefly, sighing with a sibilant moan. Then he flashes the brilliant smile she has so rarely seen, eyes sparkling and the palest blue. "Elizabeth. Lovely, precious Elizabeth," he breathes as delicate fingertips trace a line of fire across her jaw and chin, finally lingering on her lips.

She holds her breath.
He must kiss me!
Her mind screams,
I will die if he does not and likely die when he does!
She trembles as he gazes at her with heart exposed and raw emotion written on his visage.

Oh, Lord, how I long to kiss her!
His well-honed discipline and reserve dangles by the thinnest thread. Years hence he will recall this struggle as one of the harshest of his life; his very soul wars with the agonizing need to crush her to his body as he kisses her thirstily against the desire to show her the honor and respectability that is her due. How he manages to control his urges will remain a mystery. With a visible shudder he withdraws a pace, clasping both her hands securely in his.

"Elizabeth," he begins huskily, pausing to clear his throat, "Elizabeth, there is much to say, much for me to apologize for, although I do not deserve your forgiveness. I did not plan this... rendezvous, and it is not how I intended to proceed in winning your affection. I wanted to court you properly and allot you time to improve your opinion of me and maybe, if I was so blessed, to have you love me. I never entertained the notion, even after my aunt restored my hope, that you felt a fraction of what I do."

She squeezes his fingers, smiling up into his eyes. "I do," she murmurs with a nod.

He exhales a happy sigh and shakes his head slightly in amazement. "Elizabeth, clever phrases and spontaneous conversation are not my forte, as you can attest. Therefore, Fate has gifted me with this adventitious opportunity and, considering how atrociously I botched my well-rehearsed proposal, Fate has proven the wiser." They both smile and laugh faintly. "Simplicity appears to be Fate's recommendation. Therefore, on that note..."

He grips her hands tighter and, without leaving her eyes for a second, he bends onto one knee. She releases a wavering sob as tears well over. Beaming, he asks, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I love you fervently and with all that I am. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

"Yes! Oh, yes, you know I will!"

Then she is in his arms and it is indescribable. There is no doubt the embrace is vastly more intimate and considerably longer than propriety would dictate. They do not care. Oddly, although perhaps not, there is only a hint of sensual passion; that will come later. Currently they merely delight in the closeness of the other, the engrossing sensation of belonging and unity.

Her face presses against his hard chest as she encircles his waist. A faint voice in her head wonders how she can be so brazen and improper. How can this form of intimacy feel absolutely correct so immediately? His radiating heat, heart pounding powerfully, and sturdy arms that encompass her body and keep her upright, all combine to create a haven of love and protection that surpasses imagination.

He encircles her lissome frame with stunned amazement. She is so small! Nearly from the instant his eyes touched hers at the Meryton Assembly, Elizabeth Bennet has loomed larger than life, to his reckoning. Her vibrancy, sharp intellect, and bold presence offset her svelte physique. As if designed specifically, her head rests perfectly on his breastbone and tucks exquisitely under his chin, while his arms easily surround her, broad hands flattening on her back. With a shock, he recognizes her fragility, coupled with an overwhelming strength. He could snap her bones facilely, yet she grips him with an unbelievably strong clench.

"Elizabeth," he whispers hoarsely, gently pushing her away from his body, "do you think your father is home? I must speak with him and I cannot wait any longer."

She looks up at him. He wipes the tears from her cheeks, eliciting fresh waves of heat so that she laughs shakily. "Yes, he is at home."

He offers his arm, "Come then. We should not linger here any longer."

They walk in silence, arm in arm, and steal glances at each other. Strangely, neither feels shy or uncomfortable, simply suddenly acutely aware of the other's presence and their unchaperoned companionship. She cannot resist focusing on his exposed neck and chest, as well as noting how the damp linen of his shirt clings to his muscles. His eyes betray him by continually resting on her braided hair, her delicate shoulder line, and the flash of an ankle when she lifts her gown.

"Do you prefer to be called 'Fitzwilliam,' or do you have another name?" she inquires abruptly.

"My full name is Fitzwilliam Alexander James Darcy. James was my father's name and Alexander after an ancestor. No one has ever used either. Fitzwilliam was my mother's maiden name. It is the surname of my uncle, the Earl of Matlock. Consequently there are quite a few 'Fitzwilliams' about at family gatherings." He laughs, a sound still startling to her ears but beautiful. She mentally notes to tell him so, but he continues. "My cousins are both often addressed as Fitzwilliam. Col. Fitzwilliam is my cousin. Did you know this?"

She is genuinely surprised, "No, I did not. Nor did I realize you had an earl for an uncle. Mother will be impressed." She laughs and he smiles.

"Richard, Col. Fitzwilliam, is two years my senior, but we grew up together and have always been friends as well as relatives. Anyway, my family all call me William. It is what I prefer, although I rather think you, dearest Elizabeth, could call me anything and I would find it delightful."

She blushes.

"Your family is so illustrious," she says teasingly. "Lords and ladies abounding!"

He flushes and grows somber. "Yes, well, I fear my Aunt Catherine has proven how a title does not indicate worth or an assurance of proper manners. Fortunately, you will discover my uncle and his wife quite different. They will adore you, I am certain." He gazes at her with a bright smile, rendering her breathless. Her steps falter in her rapt adoration of his face, providing the need for him to steady her with one hand to her elbow and the other around her waist, his face then mere inches from hers.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth?" She nods, unable to speak, and neither of them moves. She has always been captivated, even in her annoyance, at how penetrating his gaze is. He has the bluest eyes, fierce as a raptor and brimming with intelligence; yet she notes that they darken somewhat when he stares at her. Previously she had erroneously decided it was disapproval and disdain. Now she understands it is enthrallment, love, and... passion? Desire?

She blushes and tears her eyes away, resuming her steps. Clearing her throat gruffly, she says, "Proper manners or otherwise, having peers of the realm as relatives will win you points with my family! Mother, especially, will likely faint dead away, so be sure you lead with that fact." Her laugh fades when she glances to see him trailing a step behind her, his expression grave. "Mr. Dar... William? Whatever is the matter?"

He meets her eyes and smiles slightly. "I love hearing my name spoken by you, Elizabeth."

"How providential that you do since you will be hearing it so uttered for the rest of my life!" She unthinkingly reaches a finger to the tiny furrows between his brows, rubbing lightly. "What troubles you, William?"

Catching her hand and kissing her fingers, he holds on and resumes walking. After some ten minutes of silent contemplation, he speaks, "I am well aware of the fact that I made a poor impression on the citizens of Hertfordshire, aided partially by Mr. Wickham but primarily due to my own surliness. Your father has no reason to approve of me as a suitor, wealth or family connections notwithstanding. Nor do I wish him to render his approval based on those inconsequentials. It is imperative, Elizabeth, that he knows I love you and deem your happiness of the utmost importance."

They are now within sight of Longbourn so he halts, staring into the empty windows of the manor. She touches his chin with her fingers, drawing his gaze to hers. "William, my father is a reasonable man. Be honest, as I know you only can be, and say to him what you have said to me. He will not refuse you."

He searches her eyes, still frowning mildly. "Does he know about Rosings?"

"No one knows about that but us."

His brows arch in surprise, "Not even Miss Bennet?"

"No, I never told anyone. Did you?"

"Only Georgiana. She extracted the information as only she can." He smiles fondly. "In truth, I was a bit of a wreck after Rosings, and she was worried." He shakes his head and shrugs the unpleasant memories aside. A moment later he laughs.