Truth about Mr. Darcy (32 page)

“Do not question your good fortune, my love,” he murmured. “Open the box. I believe you will approve.” He moved his mouth to her pulse and sucked lightly, then trailed the tip of his tongue along her shoulders, moving the fabric of her nightshift aside as he went.

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth moaned, “if you expect me to open this gift, you must cease your attentions, for I cannot… possibly… ooh,” she gasped, “concentrate on anything… beyond… your exquisite touch.”

With a grin, Darcy placed a kiss upon the nape of her neck and straightened as he nudged the box closer to her. “By all means, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with mock severity, “I would not wish to distract you from your purpose.”

“Incorrigible,” she murmured as she tore the paper from the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful arrangement of what appeared to be strand upon strand of delicate flower-and-leaf–shaped diamonds, amethysts, and emeralds. Elizabeth had never before seen anything so unique, and she gasped at the sheer beauty of such items. She lifted them from the box and examined them closely in the candlelight. “Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “I hardly know what to say. They are stunning—so delicate and lovely.”

Darcy could not contain his smile at her obvious pleasure. “I thought so, as well. You will look quite elegant with them entwined in your hair or perhaps even attached to one of your gowns. You might consider approaching Mrs. Duval about that possibility. I am certain she would enjoy accommodating you.”

After several moments of running her fingers over the precious stones, Elizabeth replaced them in the box with great care and turned her head to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I am speechless.”

Darcy laughed as he took her hands and tugged her to her feet. “I never thought I would see the day when my impertinent wife would be rendered speechless.”

Elizabeth buried her fingers in his hair and smiled against his lips. “Oh? So I am impertinent, am I, Mr. Darcy?”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured as his eyes darkened with a look that made Elizabeth’s heartbeat quicken. “The most impertinent woman I have ever known. Whatever shall I do with you, Mrs. Darcy?” he mused.

“I am certain, sir,” she said breathlessly, “you will think of something.” She smiled as she felt his arousal press against her stomach.

Darcy’s lips quirked into a rakish grin. “Ah. It seems I already have.”

For Elizabeth, the evening of Lord and Lady Matlock’s ball was filled with equal parts anticipation and dread. She took extra care with her appearance, knowing full well she would be under close scrutiny from hundreds of pairs of discerning eyes, not only for her success in securing Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley for her husband, but for actually going so far as to capture his heart, as well.

Sonia was just putting the finishing touches on her mistress’s hair when Darcy entered Elizabeth’s apartment. She was seated at her dressing table and watched his reflection in the large beveled mirror as he approached. A smile graced his lips as he gazed upon her with open adoration. She returned it, beaming at him. Sonia tucked the last of Elizabeth’s curls in place and made a minor adjustment to the strands of tiny gems she had entwined in her mistress’s hair; then she stepped back so the master of Pemberley could better admire his wife.

Elizabeth turned her head from side to side and beamed. “Sonia, you have outdone yourself. I believe I have never before felt so lovely as I do tonight, not even on my wedding day. Thank you.”

Sonia bowed her head. “Thank you, ma’am. I am honored you approve.”

Darcy gave the young woman an appreciative smile. “Yes, Sonia. I daresay Mrs. Darcy is nothing short of breathtaking this evening; though, I must also point out that this is not an uncommon occurrence while in your capable hands.”

“Thank you, sir,” she answered with a blush, then, addressing her mistress, asked, “Will you require anything else, ma’am?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, that will be all, Sonia, thank you. Do not bother to wait up for me. I believe we will not be returning until very late.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Sonia replied as she curtsied and turned to leave.

The door had barely closed before Darcy had taken Elizabeth in his arms. “You look absolutely beautiful, Elizabeth,” he whispered against her ear. “Wearing the jewels in your hair is a lovely touch, but that gown—it becomes you, my love, in ways I never dared imagine. You are stunning.”

Elizabeth kissed him and rested her coiffed head upon his shoulder as she encircled his waist with her arms. “It is completely your own doing, you know,” she said, her voice carrying an impish inflection. “I have never before owned such an exquisite gown. It is beyond beautiful. Yellow is, by far, my favorite color, and I know I shall cherish such a gift for many Seasons to come. I hardly care whether or not it is deemed acceptable to be seen wearing the same gown more than once. I know London fashions change quickly, but, as the mistress of Pemberley, I believe I shall do as I like. Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

Feathering a kiss upon the top of her head, Darcy smiled at her independent spirit and held her tighter. “I daresay you shall, and you are most welcome. I remember your sister once saying you have always wished to own such a gown—pale yellow silk the color of sunlight, a gown that would brighten the mood in even the darkest room. Tonight, Elizabeth, you will turn every head with your brilliance, and all of London will see precisely why I fell in love with you.”

Elizabeth raised her head, and their eyes met. “You are so wonderful to me. Sometimes I cannot help feeling I do not deserve you.”

Darcy fingered a rebellious curl at the nape of her neck as his other hand caressed her bare shoulder. “No,” he said, his voice serious. “You deserve a man far better than I, but I fear you are stuck with me for the remainder of our life together. You shall just have to make the most of it.”

His words and seriousness caused her to stiffen. Elizabeth placed her hand upon his cheek, and her eyes searched his. “I would never have it any other way. It is you I want. You I need. I love you. Do not ever forget that or take it lightly. You are the most important aspect of my life. You and this child I carry. I could never do without you, Fitzwilliam. Indeed, it troubles me to hear you speak so.”

Darcy closed his eyes, and just as he had done not so very long ago when they were alone together in the library at Netherfield, he turned his lips into her palm and kissed her. “I could never take your love lightly, Elizabeth. You have become more necessary to me than the air I breathe. I would be but a shell of a man without you to lighten my dark moods.”

The clock upon the mantle chimed seven times. Elizabeth stood on the tips of her slippered toes and kissed her husband’s cheek. “We had best depart if we are to be at your uncle’s on time, my dear,” she whispered as her eyes took on a mischievous gleam. “This is a joyous night, Fitzwilliam, and from what I understand, there is to be a waltz. What better way to celebrate our marriage than to dance with each other in our arms? Will that not be wonderful? It is something you have longed to do, is it not, my handsome husband?”

Darcy grinned. “Yes. I believe nothing shall give me greater pleasure tonight. Richard insists it is my uncle’s idea of a gift to us. Since he has witnessed my scandalous behavior toward you whenever my senses have become overwrought by your presence, I believe he views this as a perfect opportunity for me to appear in full company and hold you close without risking your respectability overmuch.” He smiled and caressed the length of her gloved arms. “I confess I am very much looking forward to it.”

And so he was, for when they arrived at Matlock House not a half hour later, Darcy found it difficult to stand sedately beside his wife in the receiving line—as was expected of him—to greet his aunt’s guests as they arrived. He was ever conscious of Elizabeth’s sweet fragrance and the feel of her body as he placed his hand upon the small of her back. His gaze was forever darting to and lingering upon the ample swell of her breasts, made even more enticing now that she was several months into her pregnancy. As expected, his actions did not go unnoticed by his uncle, who repeatedly cleared his throat while he attempted to hide his smile.

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.

Darcy lifted her in his arms, his lips pressing the curve of her neck. “Elizabeth,” he gasped, “I need you—I need you desperately!” Then, with urgency, he pressed her back against the wall and drove his hard length into her with a shuddering cry. Elizabeth clung to him as he possessed her.

His fevered urgency sent a thrill through her that served only to push her own desire to new heights. Far sooner than she had anticipated, Elizabeth felt the beginning of her release. Her muscles tightened around Darcy’s arousal, and as Darcy could not stop himself from moaning words of passion and desire in her ear, she soon surrendered to the feelings of bliss that coursed through her body.

For Darcy, who had watched his Elizabeth laugh and dance with countless handsome and engaging men for half the night, whose feral need to possess her, to mark her as his and his alone was driving him mad, it was the point of no return. In the next moment, he found his completion with a violent thrust and a primal groan as he spilled his seed into her.