Truth about Mr. Darcy (7 page)

Slowly, Darcy opened his eyes and placed a kiss upon her gloved fingers.

“What is your Christian name, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

His mouth felt suddenly dry. “Fitzwilliam,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he looked at her with undisguised longing.

“Fitzwilliam,” she murmured. “May I call you Fitzwilliam when we are alone together?”

Swallowing, he said, “You could call me anything you wish, Elizabeth, and I would think it wonderful so long as it came from your lips.” In a seemingly unconscious gesture, she ran her tongue lightly along her own lips as he watched, utterly transfixed. “May I?” he whispered.

She had barely nodded her acquiescence when he leaned in to capture her mouth in a slow, seductive kiss, his arms slipping around her waist to draw her body firmly against his as he caressed the small of her back with soothing strokes. Her hands, still lingering upon his face, soon coiled themselves into his dark curls, brushing the skin of his scalp with her gloved fingertips. She sighed against his lips, once again marveling at the way Darcy was able to take control of her body and awaken such delicious sensations of pleasure within her. She felt surprisingly complete, as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime for his touch. Elizabeth shivered from more than just the cold.

Darcy, though well on his way to losing himself in her expressive mouth, felt it acutely as an extension of his own body. His hands wandered to caress her hips, and a moan rose from Elizabeth’s throat. With concern, he suddenly recalled their somewhat prominent location on Bingley’s balcony and reluctantly broke the kiss. He touched his forehead to hers and held her close for a brief moment before once more brushing her lips and releasing her. Their hands immediately joined, and they held on for a few moments longer as their breathing evened.

“Though it is by no means what I would rather do, I am afraid we ought to return. I would not wish to risk your reputation, though, now that I come to think of it”—he smiled—“it would, undoubtedly, prove to be invaluable in my endeavor to convince you to accept me.”

She flashed him an arch smile filled with warmth and amusement. “I believe you are correct, Fitzwilliam, as well as incorrigible. But, by all means, let us return now to the house.”

Darcy’s pleasure upon hearing Elizabeth speak his name as she teased him could only be described as transparent. He raised both her hands to his lips and lingered over them while his gaze caressed her, touching her inner core with a flood of warmth she hardly knew how she contained.

As he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and covered it, she heard his voice, low and soothing, say, “Come. I will take you back to your sister before I find myself tempted to do something—nay,
several things
—which I ought not.”

***

Contrary to popular opinion, Mr. Collins was not an ignorant man. It is true he did think rather well of himself, for how could he not, having had the exquisite good fortune of finding himself, at the age of five and twenty, on the receiving end of a valuable living from the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh?

To say he merely worshiped her ladyship would be a gross injustice, for there was nothing in the world the obsequious clergyman would not do to pay her the proper respect and reverence he believed was her due as his esteemed patroness, and it was this, and only this, that had kept him from stepping in and tearing his fair cousin Elizabeth from Darcy’s side throughout the course of the evening.

With no small degree of pride, Mr. Collins had enjoyed the dubious distinction of opening the ball with a woman as handsome as Elizabeth, which, in his opinion, should have been enough to ensure an animated evening of dancing, wholesome conversation, and perhaps, if he was truly fortunate, at the end of the evening, a stolen kiss with his coveted future partner. He was effusive in his admiration of his cousin’s feminine charms and smugly congratulated himself for having selected for his intended bride a woman who was, undoubtedly, held in the highest regard by Lady Catherine’s own nephew.

Though more than willing to relinquish Elizabeth’s hand for a few inconsequential dances, save for the opening set, for the express purpose of indulging and flattering Darcy, suffice to say by the time the guests had been called in to supper, Mr. Collins was no longer feeling quite so honored by that gentleman’s particular attentions to the object of his own future happiness.

He had been extremely gratified to hear Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiastic though wholly improper compliments to himself, not finding it offensive in the least when she stated her expectations of an impending marriage between her second-eldest daughter and him. To be perfectly honest, Mr. Collins had viewed the entire situation as a blessing in disguise, for, surely, after hearing his intentions being thus spoken of in so favorable a light by her own dear mother and in such a public forum, Darcy could not possibly continue his marked attentions to Elizabeth in any honorable way. Therefore, it was with shocked indignation he later watched the gentleman in question escort his fair cousin back into the ballroom from the balcony, where they had been alone together for some time.

When he observed Darcy standing close to Elizabeth and reaching around from behind her slender figure to unclasp the closures of her wrap, Mr. Collins’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. The manner in which Darcy eased the garment from Elizabeth’s shoulders and then handed it to a waiting servant while he whispered intimately in Elizabeth’s ear, all the while keeping his eyes fixed upon the bewitching woman in front of him, was almost indecent to see—and seen it was by several in attendance, including both of her parents.

So intoxicated was Darcy by Elizabeth’s presence, and so overwhelmed was he by the intimacy of the words they had exchanged on the balcony, he did not even realize the liberties he was taking with her—and in full view of Bingley’s guests, no less. Indeed, he could think of nothing beyond the beautiful woman in front of him, of how she had looked at him only moments before with such heartfelt delight and tenderness in her eyes, and of how very much he longed to be alone with her once more so he could continue to reassure her, in a most ardent fashion, of his devotion. With such sentiments, Darcy could no more stop himself at that moment from reaching around to unclasp her wrap and whisper words of adoration to her than he could stop the rise of the sun in the east.

Mrs. Bennet was the first to reach them, nearly tripping herself in her efforts to remove Elizabeth from the overly solicitous company of the
wrong
man before steering her toward the
correct
one, leaving Darcy gaping after her in shock as he found himself suddenly jolted back to reality. Unsurprisingly, her voice carried to half the room.

“What do you think you are doing, Miss Lizzy, leaving Mr. Collins alone while you scamper about? Why, if I were Mr. Collins, I would begin to think you did not care for me at all, and I would be quite put out by your ungenerous, unfeeling behavior, no matter
how
rich and disagreeable a man Mr. Darcy has shown himself to be!”

“Mama, please,” Elizabeth murmured most uncomfortably. “He is not at all disagreeable, and he will hear you.”

“And what should you care if he does?” her mother replied with indignation. “Mark my words; there is nothing for you in
that
quarter, so you had better concentrate your efforts for the rest of the night on securing Mr. Collins. Oh, selfish child! You have no compassion for my poor nerves!”

Elizabeth could do nothing but allow her mother to hand her over to the keeping of Mr. Collins and look miserably at Darcy from across the room as her father approached him.

“Well, well, Mr. Darcy, you look exactly like a young boy who has just had his favorite toy taken away from him.”

Darcy had no idea how to respond to such a statement by Elizabeth’s father, and so he wisely chose to remain silent.

“I have noticed your admiration for my daughter on several occasions, sir, but I must confess I was rather startled by your marked attentions to Elizabeth in such a public setting as this. I trust you have not failed to realize you were observed in your attentions by others, as well?” he asked.

Darcy swallowed. “No, sir. It has, by no means, escaped my notice.”

“I also trust I have been in company with you often enough to understand you are not the kind of man to trifle with a gentleman’s daughter, so I can only assume your intentions toward Elizabeth are honorable.”

“Yes, they are. You have my word, Mr. Bennet, as a gentleman.”

“Come see me tomorrow morning, Mr. Darcy, and we shall continue this discussion in a more appropriate environment.”

The morning that followed the Netherfield ball would be a leisurely one for the five inhabitants of Netherfield Park and the four-and-twenty country families who had been their guests well into its early hours. As it was unlikely that calling at the usual time upon one’s neighbors would be expected after such a late night of stimulating company, joyous dancing, excellent food, and overconsumption of wine, it could only follow that more sedentary pursuits close to home would be the order of the day.

Though the Bingleys and the Hursts slept well past noon, Darcy rose at his usual hour, just after dawn. He had much on his mind—foremost, his conversation with Elizabeth’s father. Mr. Bennet had been generous with him by not demanding immediate satisfaction for the familiarity Darcy had been exercising with his favorite daughter in public. Darcy did not doubt he would probably do so once he reached Longbourn later that morning, but he was more than willing to comply with any demand in that quarter.

One of his greatest fears, however, was Elizabeth’s reaction to being forced into a marriage with him after she had turned him down just over a fortnight ago. His other fear was that his aunt’s sycophantic parson would somehow manage to manipulate a union between himself and Elizabeth before Darcy could manage to plead his own case.

Then there was the issue of what had led to Darcy’s overly familiar manner with Elizabeth in the first place. He knew he had no right to touch her—or to take
any
liberties with her at all, for that matter—but he could not for the life of him imagine how he was ever going to completely curb his ardor when he was in her company. True, he had been quite adept at the practice for several agonizing months, but that was before he had fully come to terms with his feelings for her. Now that Elizabeth was actually allowing him to court her, and knowing at last what it was to hold her in his arms and feel her lips upon his—not to mention the exquisite sensations that accompanied these tender exploits—how would he ever survive her intoxicating presence and maintain an appearance of composure?

Darcy breakfasted alone, thankful for the silence the unconscious household afforded. Within a quarter of an hour, he was out the door and astride his horse, ready for a good ride to clear his head and ease the tension that had settled in his body. There was a decided chill in the air, and the surrounding landscape was blanketed by frost. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with fresh air. It was invigorating. With no particular destination in mind, he urged his horse into a full gallop. Leaning low over his mount, Darcy guided his beast across the surrounding fields and far beyond, determined to lose himself temporarily in the thrill of a hard ride.

Like Darcy, Elizabeth had also risen early, and to a mercifully empty breakfast parlor. She sat sipping a cup of hot tea, pleased to see that the day promised to be especially clear. After donning her spencer and gloves and securing her bonnet, she set off at a brisk pace to enjoy her morning walk.

The crisp November air assaulted her senses, making her feel alive and rejuvenated. Elizabeth continued her energetic pace and soon found herself traveling through one of the many fields bordering her father’s estate. She stopped at the edge of a thicket to catch her breath, enjoying the magical, frosty transformation of the landscape. She discerned the pounding of approaching hooves and soon glimpsed a lone rider galloping toward her. As he neared, Elizabeth recognized his form, and a smile spread across her face.

Darcy reined in his horse and, in one fluid movement, leapt from the saddle to stand before her with one of his rare, devastating smiles. He labored to catch his breath, his chest heaving from the exertion of his long, hard ride, and brought her gloved hand to his lips. “Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said.

“Good morning, Fitzwilliam.” Her voice was warm, and she painted a tantalizing picture, her cheeks a most becoming shade of pink from her exposure to the morning chill. “You are certainly up early, considering the lateness of the hour we kept last night.”

“I could easily say the same for you,” Darcy quipped. He had not bothered to relinquish her hand. “I am often an early riser, but I confess I did not sleep very well last night.”

“Oh? And pray, why was that, sir?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“Something particular weighed heavily upon my mind, and I missed you terribly after our evening ended. I am afraid such a combination made repose impossible.”

A sympathetic smile played across Elizabeth’s mouth as a blush appeared on her face. She, too, had found it difficult to fall asleep once she had returned to Longbourn, her head overflowing with images of Darcy and memories of his lips upon hers and the warmth of his hands upon her body.
What on earth is this hold he has over me?
she wondered for what must have been the hundredth time. Elizabeth could hardly credit it. When Elizabeth was with him, she could think of very little beyond the exquisite pleasure his company afforded her—to say nothing of his touch, his mouth, even a penetrating look from his dark, expressive eyes. Even when alone, her thoughts were filled with Darcy.

But what distressed her most was how she could possibly feel such a powerful urge to abandon propriety, for that was very much what Elizabeth found herself wishing every time she observed Darcy’s intense gaze settle upon her. And Darcy’s gaze
always
came to rest upon her. This enigmatic power he seemed to have over her sensibilities disconcerted her greatly. It seemed so easy to surrender her body, but was she truly equal to completely surrendering her heart to such an overwhelming passion? Was she even worthy of such a love as he claimed to possess for her?

It had been far easier than Elizabeth had ever anticipated to come to like him. And, indeed, she now had to admit she liked him very much. Darcy had shown himself to be an excellent man, intelligent, insightful, fair-minded, and honorable, with a dry, clever wit she could well appreciate. Yet, at the same time he could be tender and caring—passionate, even—and vulnerable.
But surely I cannot be falling in love with him so soon!
she attempted to reason with herself.
What if I am mistaken in this? My Lord… how am I ever to be certain of anything?!

Something in Darcy’s eyes caught her attention then, and Elizabeth found herself drawing closer. She could see just by looking at him that whatever unpleasant preoccupation had been weighing upon his mind the previous night tormented him still. She felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him, and almost without thought, she moved to place her free hand upon his face. “Would you care to speak of what bothers you?” she asked quietly.

The heat from her touch and the delicate lavender scent of her fragrance flooded his senses. Darcy closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I would rather not. Not at this time. Forgive me, Elizabeth.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

The urge to bring him comfort did not abate. Elizabeth traced the line of his jaw, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip while his breathing deepened. She kept her voice as soft and caressing as her touch. “Is there, perhaps, another way, then, that I might ease your troubled mind as effectively as you seem to be able to ease mine, dearest?” She tilted up her face to his and parted her lips in an invitation.

It was the first time Elizabeth had ever referred to Darcy by such an endearment, and the fact that she was the one initiating the physical intimacy between them caused an unbearable source of emotion to surge through his breast. His body grew heated with undeniable passion, and before he could master himself, Darcy pulled Elizabeth against him in a tight embrace, kissing her passionately and with unwonted abandon.

He had caught her completely off guard. His way was usually more tender and less demanding, but apparently Elizabeth found this exchange to be far from unpleasant. So loving was her response, that his hunger for her threatened to overpower him.

They continued thus for what seemed an eternity, Darcy holding her as he ran his hands down her back and over her hips, reveling in the utter intoxication of losing himself in the woman he loved. He suddenly felt himself desiring her so much, he found himself vocalizing his fervent wish that she was already his.

Elizabeth gasped at the boldness of such a declaration, as well as the path of his hands as they traveled upward from her hips to caress the softness of her breasts. She froze, held captive by the many delectable shocks of desire coursing through her from this new intimacy.

It took Darcy a moment to comprehend, that Elizabeth was no longer returning his ardent kisses, and realizing with sudden horror the liberties he had been taking, he tore himself from her and stepped away.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” was all he could manage, but he repeated it over and over again in a whisper as he sank to his knees and ran his hands over his face. He was appalled he had taken advantage of Elizabeth in such a way—
his
Elizabeth,
whom he loved and respected beyond measure—even beyond reason. He knew he had no right to do what he had done, just as he had no right to wrap his arms around her waist to draw comfort from her presence, but when she quietly moved to stand before him, he could not resist doing just that.

Darcy clung to her, burying his face in her spencer and the soft folds of her gown while she removed his hat and entwined her fingers through his curls. It had a soothing effect on him. He could not cease marveling at her generous capacity to continually overlook his offenses.
How can she still be so tender and caring toward me? How can she even permit me to hold her after I have taken such liberties?
If anyone had come upon them, Elizabeth’s reputation would have been in tatters; yet, here she was comforting
him
. He was overwhelmed.

“Fitzwilliam?” Her voice was soft and gentle, with no hint of admonishment in her tone, only concern.

Shaking his head, he said, “You have placed your trust in me, enough to offer yourself in such a way, and yet I have taken advantage of your generosity and tenderness in a manner that can only be described as completely reprehensible. I do not deserve you.”

Elizabeth recognized the self-loathing in his voice and stared at him for a moment in confusion. “Why would you think that? Surely, you must have noticed the pleasure I receive from your attentions?”

He remained silent.

She lowered herself to the ground and held his hands. “Fitzwilliam, look at me. Do you truly think I would not welcome such a natural progression of intimacy between us? If this is the case, I can assure you that you are mistaken. I welcome it, very much. If I did not, I would never encourage you to kiss me or permit you to take me in your arms as I do. You must know that.”

He sighed before saying, “Yes. I do. I also know you would never have allowed the liberties I have taken in the first place if you did not feel some degree of tenderness for me. It is just that the regard I know you now have for me is not yet equal to the strength of my feelings for you. I do not wish to ask too much of you, Elizabeth. I would never be able to live with myself if my…affections for you were to drive you away from me. I cannot tell you how much I fear losing you, losing what I have found with you.” His voice was suddenly hoarse. “You know not how much I—”

“Shh, dearest, shh,” she said as she stroked a curl from his brow, “there is no need to think of such things.”

Needing very much to feel her reassurance, Darcy pulled her onto his lap, and they held each other in silence for some time before he finally allowed himself to voice a concern that had been tormenting him since the previous evening. “Elizabeth, you must promise me you will not allow your mother to persuade you to marry that…
man
. I could not bear it.”

She could not help but laugh. “By
‘that man
,
’
I suppose you refer to my cousin, sir? No”—she smiled—“have no worries on that account. Heaven forbid, even if I were to be found with Mr. Collins in a compromising situation, and the chance of that is practically nonexistent, I can safely promise you I would
never
consent to marry
him
.”

“And what if you were found in a compromising situation with me?” he asked softly and with complete seriousness. “Would you continue to refuse me, as well? Or might I be successful by employing some particular manner of persuasion that might entice you to accept me?”

“I believe, Fitzwilliam,” she said with an impish smile as she caressed his jaw, “that in a matter of only a few weeks, you have already had far more success on that score than my poor cousin could ever hope for in the course of his entire life!”

Darcy’s eyes flared. “Truly?”

She bowed her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “Truly. But I believe I am not yet prepared to formalize more than a courtship between us at this time. I hope you understand and are not terribly discouraged. You see, sir, I have only just now come to learn I do not enjoy being the cause of any disappointment to you.”

He traced her cheek with his finger as his eyes devoured her. “Then why do you continue to refuse me the one thing that would most assuredly
not
disappoint me?”

She raised her brow in admonishment.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have asked it. Of course, I would never wish for you to consent to anything I ask of you before you are ready to do so with your whole heart.”

“I know, and I thank you,” she whispered as she leaned in to kiss him with warmth and feeling.
If I cannot yet agree to say what I know will make him happy, at least
I can show him how much happiness he brings to me.

***

Not until some time later, Darcy and Elizabeth managed to find their way back to Longbourn, where they were met at the end of the walkway by Mrs. Bennet, her nerves in an obvious dither.

“Good gracious! Mr. Darcy, you are certainly out early this morning. And how kind of you to condescend to escort such an impertinent, headstrong girl home from her wild ramblings about the countryside. You are very welcome to breakfast, sir, for we are all just sitting down now, but I am afraid Lizzy will be prevented from joining us. Mr. Collins has something very particular he wishes to speak to her about.” She snatched Elizabeth away before either could raise any objection, and propelled her into the house.