The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy (29 page)

***

Elizabeth returned to her hotel room Sunday after dropping off the Forsters at the airport; she was restless and missed Darcy. She wanted to dance like a little girl, so happy was she that he had come yesterday. Her only regret was that they had not had the opportunity to make love and she wanted him desperately. He hadn’t seemed ready yet; she’d have to remind him of what he was missing.

She spent the evening with her digital camera in the large, stark white bathroom of her hotel room. She took photos of herself, edited them on her computer, and printed them out onto photo paper. Then she prepared four same-day delivery boxes and one overnight envelope and addressed each one to him.

Darcy received the first package at work late Monday afternoon. He glanced at it, saw that it was marked “Personal and Confidential,” and then saw that the return address was from Elizabeth. Curious, he opened it in the privacy of his chambers. What he saw made his jaw drop.

Inside was a black and white 5x7 photograph of Elizabeth wearing black pants and a white shirt opened to reveal a bustier that he recognized as the one she had worn at the club in London. He shook the box, and out fell the red bustier. He turned the picture over and saw Elizabeth’s slanted handwriting.

This photograph reminds me of a certain night in London. To be honest, the events of the night are somewhat hazy in my memory; I remember your agitation in the shops and your annoyance at me for wearing a suit. I also remember how hot the club was and your smile when you danced with that other woman. I remember crashing glass and the hardness of the table. I remember your laugh, and how you couldn’t stop. It’s been so long since I felt your laugh rumbling in your chest, I miss it terribly. Promise me that you’ll laugh when I see you again.

He pulled out the lacy bustier and looked closely at it. He had not remembered it in any detail. He saw now its fine lace and boning, the hooks on the back, the delicate black lining. It was soft and smooth under his fingers. How could she have worn this tiny thing and he not remember, in vivid detail, every inch of it?

He looked at the photo again. She was standing with her hands in her pockets, leaning one shoulder against the wall. Her hair fell in large, dark curls around her shoulders. She looked relaxed, pensive. She looked beautiful.

When he called her that night, he couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.

“That was a delightful surprise,” he said when she answered her phone.

She laughed. “I hope it passed courthouse security without too much inspection.”

“I imagine our mail sorter is very appreciative,” he grinned.

“Do you remember me wearing it? You were awfully drunk that night.”

“Yes. I believe that’s when I first told you that I loved you.”

“I believe that’s when I first called you ‘dirty fucker,’” she laughed.

“I’m looking forward to hearing it again,” he murmured.

She laughed huskily. “You’ll have to wait until this weekend.”

They rang off a few moments later and Darcy crawled into bed, the bustier in his hand.

On Tuesday afternoon he was surprised to receive another package marked “Personal and Confidential.” He closed his chambers door and opened it with anticipation. Out fell another photograph and folded leather pants. The photograph showed Elizabeth sitting in a chair, barefoot in the leather pants and unbuttoned white shirt; the bustier was missing from the picture. He turned the photo over.

I have always loved these pants. They are impractical, tight, and impossible to care for. I only wear them once a year. The last time I wore them, I was with you. Do you remember? I did a little dance. You laughed at me. Later you told me you wanted to bronze them.

He looked at the picture again. With a little lurch in his chest, he realized that she was stripping for him long distance. He laughed and put his head in his hands. She was such a tease, she enjoyed torturing him.

“Is this going to go on all week?” he asked, amused, that night over the phone.

“It will end when I run out of clothes,” she answered, laughing.

“Lizzy, you are driving me crazy. Why didn’t we shag last weekend?”

“Because you are the perfect gentleman and because I am an idiot,” she replied.

On Wednesday morning Elizabeth dropped off another same-day delivery package at the hotel desk. She went to work and waited for him to call her, smiling to herself all day long.

Darcy was agitated when no package arrived at 2:00 on Wednesday. He paced in his office and wondered if she had sent one or if it had gotten lost. He was relieved when a Personal and Confidential package arrived an hour later. He immediately closed his door and opened it. A white shirt fell out, and another photograph.

In the photograph, she was kneeling on the floor with her knees apart. She was wearing only a white man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt was hiked up enough to show her bare thighs, but nothing more. He looked at the photo for a long, long time before he turned it over.

This is your shirt. I remember exactly the day you wore it. I wore it the next morning, because I loved how it smelled. Did you know that you smell like sunshine on a mossy tree? I love the smell of you. It says strength and warmth and springtime. I never told you how much I love your smell. I found this shirt in my suitcase, and I have slept in it every single night since. For a long time, I couldn’t wash it; you still clung to it. Alas, at some point it had to be washed, but not before it smelled like both of us. Now it only smells like me. It is a lonely smell and I have decided to give it up.

He read the note twice, and then turned the picture back over. He put his face in the shirt. She was right, it smelled like her: sunshine and pears. He called her immediately.

“I miss you,” he said huskily when she answered.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” she said in a teasing tone.

“Do you have any idea how seductive scents are? I love the way you smell. It’s feminine and sexy and makes my mouth water.”

“Keep that in mind for this weekend,” she answered softly.

On Thursday morning, Elizabeth sent out one same-day delivery package and one overnight envelope.

Darcy was extremely agitated when no package arrived at work. He asked his secretary three times, but no package had arrived. He even went to the mail room to see if it had been misplaced, but to no avail. He frowned, and returned to his chambers.

“Did you run out of clothes already?” he asked when she answered her phone.

She laughed. “I thought this one should be opened at home,” she answered.

She was right. The photograph showed her kneeling on the floor with her bare back to him, wearing nothing but a black thong. Her hair was swept over her shoulder, baring her entire back and neck for his admiring gaze. Her head was turned slightly over her shoulder so that he could see her profile. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks and the corner of her mouth was curled in a slight smile.

The silky black thong slipped over his fingers as it fell from the package. He raised it to his nose. It smelled of oranges and pears: tangy and sweet. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply; the scents evoked a flood of memories of nights spent at Pemberley. It tugged both at his heart and his groin. He opened his eyes and turned the photo over.

The last time we were together, you put kisses all over my back. You left your mark on me. It took two weeks for them to go away. But now I think I am ready for another set.

“Elizabeth, you are the worst tease I have ever known,” he said quietly when she answered her phone.

“I miss you,” was her husky reply. They listened to the sound of each other’s shallow breaths for a moment; he couldn’t help it when he touched himself as he looked at her picture. But only for a moment; this anticipatory build-up was delicious, and he eagerly awaited the moment when he could touch her, taste her, smell her and love her. He didn’t want even a temporary release before then. So he removed his hand and closed his eyes.

“I think you should go to work late tomorrow if you can,” she said mischievously.

He laughed quietly. “I’ll see what I can do. How late will I be?”

“It should arrive before nine,” she answered.

“And you? When will you arrive?”

“My flight leaves at 3:15.”

On Friday morning, Darcy called his secretary to advise her that he would be in late and to please advise all the attorneys with morning appearances. Then he waited anxiously for the Fed Ex man.

He received a slender envelope at 8:45. He looked at the envelope for a long time, heart thudding. He carefully pulled the cord on the envelope and opened it. He pulled out the photograph.

She was lying on her back on the floor with her face turned to the side, facing the camera. Her elbows were bent over her head, tendrils of hair hanging from her fingertips. Her back was slightly arched, pushing her breasts up and emphasizing the transition from slender waist to curved rear. Her legs were bent at ninety degrees, crossed ankles resting on a chair. Her expression was a mixture of innocence, humor, and seduction. She wore nothing at all, not even a necklace.

With shaking hands he turned the photo over.

I surrender
, was all she had written on the back. He shivered. They had surrendered to each other at Pemberley and it had led to the two most blissful weeks of his life. Could he hope that they could recapture that? The response she was evoking from him by these pictures promised that at least on his part, their reunion would be exhilarating.

What could he do but respond in kind? He changed his clothes and set up the camera. He took several photos, edited the best on his computer, and emailed it to her.

“You’d better be ready when you get here,” he said when she answered her phone.

She laughed. “Is that a threat or a promise?” she replied.

“I think you should check your email,” he answered.

“Really? Should I do this at work or at my hotel?” she asked coyly.

“Lizzy, I’m not a porn star like you,” he smiled. “I have to get to work. Call me when you leave.”

Elizabeth smiled as she hung up and turned to her computer. She opened the photo that was attached to the email.

Darcy was standing in his hallway, one arm braced against each wall. His hair was slightly damp, accentuating the curls. His head was tilted to the side with a soft smile curving the corners of his mouth. He was wearing his riding pants and boots and nothing else. The caption read,
Please come home to me
.

After lunch, Elizabeth rushed back to her hotel and hastily threw together an overnight bag. She hailed a taxi to the airport, arriving just in time to run to the tarmac. Darcy did not answer when she called his cell phone but she knew he was likely in court.

“I’m getting on a plane right now,” was the message she left.

Darcy had his phone off when she called but at 4:30 he checked his voice mail during a break in his trial. He smiled when he heard the message. When the attorneys returned, he said,
“Gentlemen, this looks like a good place to end testimony for the day. I’m afraid I’ve got to rush to the airport, so why don’t you go to the clerk and get another date to continue.”

Without even waiting for a response, he rose and left the courtroom. He hurriedly shut down his computer and tossed his robe on the coat rack. After putting on his suit jacket and grabbing his briefcase, he jumped into his car and steered toward the airport. When he got caught in rush-hour traffic at 5:30 he called her cell phone.

“Where are you?” he asked when she answered.

“In a taxi on my way to my house.”

“Go to my place instead, it’s closer. I’ll be there shortly.”

Elizabeth instructed the taxi driver, who made a quick U-turn. Within 10 minutes she was at Darcy’s building. She paid the taxi driver and pulled her bag up to the doorman.

“Is Mr. Darcy back yet?” she asked him.

“I’m afraid not but you can go ahead up and wait if you like.”

She nodded and pulled her bag behind her. A few moments later the doorman appeared.

“Mr. Darcy called and asked me to let you in,” he said as he unlocked the door for her. She smiled gratefully and he carried her bag in for her. He didn’t tell her that Mr. Darcy had nearly taken his head off for not escorting her up in the first place. He refused her tip and wished her a good evening.

Just as the doorman was resuming his post, Darcy came jogging up the steps.

“She’s in?” he asked. The doorman nodded; Darcy thanked him and strode swiftly inside. He paced impatiently in the elevator while it ascended to the 21st floor.

Elizabeth dared not explore his place; she wanted to be at the door as soon as he came in. She sat on his couch and waited nervously. As soon as she heard his key in the lock she stood.

He had not even closed the door before she threw herself at him, crushing her body to his and winding her arms around his neck. He kicked the door shut and kissed her fiercely, wrapping his arms tightly around her and lifting her off her feet. Their lips mashed in a hungry, desperate kiss, little
umphs
coming from his chest unheeded.

After a moment he put her back on her feet, their kisses retreating from blistering heat to tender warmth. One of his hands curled into her hair while the other caressed her neck, his thumb stroking her soft skin. Their mouths opened and shifted, tongues tasted and withdrew, lips nibbled and caressed.

It was a full five minutes before either came up for air. Finally, Darcy raised his head a fraction from hers and opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed, the dark fringe of her lashes resting on her cheeks. Her parted lips were slightly swollen from their kisses and her breathing was erratic.

“Lizzy, open your eyes,” he whispered, smiling. She smiled and shook her head. She could feel his breath against her lips.

“I don’t want to wake up from this dream,” she answered. He smiled and lowered his head, taking her lower lip between his and running his tongue along it. She opened her mouth and they shared another deep, tender kiss.

“It’s no dream, open your eyes,” he murmured a moment later, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. She opened her eyes slowly, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. She tipped her head back to look at him, taking in his familiar features. They stared at each other for a moment then she rested her cheek on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I’ve just been so incredibly stupid. I ruined everything. I’m so sorry.” She bit her lip to keep from crying. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so confused and scared of what I was feeling,” she said. She felt guilty; she had refused to see him on the pretext of the ethical issue, but had not sought to see him once she had been transferred. She had refused to listen to him when he said he loved her, and had let her insecurities drive her to distraction. She had nearly lost the only man she had ever loved.

He lowered his head, nestling his cheek to her ear.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I can’t bear to think of it anymore.” He couldn’t bear the idea that she might feel herself at fault;
he
had been the guilty party, always saying or doing the wrong thing.
He
had run hot and cold with her, pushing her to see him and then not calling her, writing her that letter then letting her think he was seeing Caroline. She had run away but
he
had pushed her away.

He tipped her face up to his and traced her cheek with his thumb.

“We’re going to put this behind us and move on,” he said softly but firmly. “We are going to forget that this ugly episode ever happened as I’m sure neither of us could truly have been that stupid.” He gently rubbed her nose with his.

“I love you, Will,” she whispered against his lips. It gave him goose bumps. He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Instead he crushed her to him and kissed her with a passion he had not known he possessed.

She ran her hands over his chest, eager to feel his skin against hers. Gently she tugged at his tie, loosening it and pulling it from around his neck. She pushed his suit jacket from his shoulders while he pulled her blouse from her waistband and splayed his hands across the hot skin of her back. She began to unbutton his shirt and kissed his throat. His fingers trembled as he undid the buttons of her blouse and pushed it from her body.

He pulled her toward the bedroom as they continued to undress, leaving a trail of shirts, pants, skirt, socks, pantyhose, bra, and underwear. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

He placed her on the bed and she pulled him down to her. With his head cradled in her arms, she kissed him; he leaned on his elbows and put one knee between her legs. His lips trailed over her jaw line and down her throat. He opened his mouth and laid hot, wet kisses on her shoulders. His hands caressed her waist while he ran his tongue over her nipples. When she let slip a little stifled moan, he smiled and took one rosy bud into his mouth.

He continued to run kisses down her waist and dipped his tongue into her bellybutton. He could smell her tangy scent, stronger now that she had been in pantyhose all day. It acted as an aphrodisiac to him; he loved the smell of her, the taste of her.

He spread her legs and ran the flat of his tongue along her wet core, curling the tip to dip in just beyond her folds. He had never tasted anything as delicious as she tasted at that moment, like a slice of succulent, ripe orange given to a parched man. It made him tremble. Such intimate smells and tastes were sensed only by him now; she was his
...
his
...
his
. He rested his forehead on her belly, suddenly overcome with the roiling emotions in his chest.
Don’t cry, don’t cry
, he said to himself.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

Elizabeth felt his breath on her hip as he rested his forehead on her belly. She wiped a hand across her face, brushing away a tear that had squirted from her eyelashes. She didn’t want to cry but she was overwhelmed by the intensity of what she was feeling
...
guilt, joy, desire, love. She curled her fingers in his hair, and tugged gently. They had been apart for too long; she wanted him with her now.

He pushed himself up to kiss her; she tasted herself on his lips and tongue. His knee found its way between her legs again, and his erection pressed against her hip. He twined his fingers with hers, squeezing her hands with his as he opened his mouth over hers. He released her hands and slid his arms under her shoulders, pushing his fingers under her head, twisting into her hair.

Elizabeth put her arms around his lean torso and pulled him tight against her, arms curling up under his to rest her hands his shoulder blades. She pulled her thigh up, sliding it along his waist, and curved her hips toward his body. Her invitation was clear.

He settled on top of her. He paused in his kisses to look at her; their eyes met in understanding. He brushed her hair away from her face, caressing her cheek as he did so. She kissed his palm, then returned her gaze to his eyes.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. His lips hovered over hers.

“Again,” he said barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” she repeated, holding his gaze with her eyes. He pushed deeply into her, stifling her exclamation of pleasure with his kiss.

She curled her legs around him, their naked limbs twisting. Her hips rose to meet his in a synchronized rhythm. Their lips joined and parted, tongues meeting and tasting as if for the first time. Fingers twined in hair, trailed along dips and curves. His hands pressed flat against her flesh, nerve ends straining to absorb every sensation. She soothed her hands over his rough angles and trailed a fingertip along the dip of his spine.

Their climaxes spiraled and peaked together. His long back strained over her; she arched her torso into his. He ground his hips into her and groaned into her mouth when his desire crested, spurting forth; she received his culmination with her own, answered his groan with a sigh of pleasure, her walls pulsing tightly against him as she slipped over the edge of ecstasy.

He rested his forehead against hers as they fought to catch their breath, willing their speeding hearts to slow. After a few moments, a lazy smile spread across his face.

“Ah, just once more, then,” he murmured sleepily.

“I love you,” she laughed softly against his lips.

“Thank you.” He kissed her. “Thank you,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it, Elizabeth. I need to know that you love me as well.”

She laughed. “I think you owe me one,” she said. He smiled.

“I love you Elizabeth. I madly, truly, deeply love you.”

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his lips with her own.

His phone rang.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered drowsily against her lips, not moving from his position atop her. He let the phone ring again, and the answering machine picked up.

“
Where the hell are you?”
came Georgiana’s voice over the answering machine. Darcy jolted up, wakened as though an alarm had gone off.

“
Bloody hell
!” he exclaimed, leaping off the bed. His cell phone was now ringing. He scrambled to the hall to pull his cell phone from his discarded trousers. He ran back into the bedroom with the cell phone to his ear, pulling out a pair of underwear from his dresser.

“Georgie!” he said into the phone. “I’m so sorry, I got hung up. I’m on my way, I’ll be right there.” He frantically motioned to Elizabeth to get out of bed; she watched him in languid amusement.

“Just stall for a few minutes, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said as he stepped into a pair of jeans. He hopped on one foot to put on a sock while holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. He flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the bed. He pulled a brown t-shirt with a Led Zeppelin logo over his torso.

He crawled on his hands and knees onto the bed, where Elizabeth was smiling at him.

“Please get up so you can come with me,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to leave you now but I have to go, I’m already late.” He planted another kiss on her lips, then pulled away. “Come on, lazy, up you go!” he said, pulling her by the arm. She laughed and let herself be pulled out of bed. While he washed his face and brushed his teeth, she pulled a turquoise tank top over her head, tied on a green and turquoise sarong skirt, and slipped into a pair of sandals. She quickly brushed her teeth and looked at him expectantly.

He grabbed his keys and wallet from the discarded trousers and then put on his shoes. She followed him to the living room, where he picked up one guitar case and handed another to her. Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him again.

“I love you Lizzy
Bennet
. Don’t forget it,” he growled to her with a rakish grin, then planted another firm kiss on her lips. She marveled at the fact that no matter what he did, what he said, what he wore, or what he smelled like, she felt giddy when he was near her. He released her a moment later, and they rushed down to the street, both wearing silly grins.

“Mind if we walk?” he asked as they started down the street. She shook her head contentedly. She was walking quickly but his legs were much longer than hers. When he realized she was trotting to keep up with him, he slowed his pace.

“So, what is the story behind your coffee shop concerts?” she asked.

He looked at her shyly.

“A broken heart,” he answered. She looked down, ashamed. He squeezed her hand. “It took my mind off of things, gave me something to do.” Seeing her discomfort, he added “Don’t think on it, Lizzy. It started out as a distraction but now I do it for fun. I enjoy playing with Georgie.”