After Mr. Darcy sent the squirrel on its way, he returned to bed and Elizabeth enjoyed a second delicious experience of spending the night in her husband’s arms. She had wanted to marry for love but had not known the delights of married life, what pleasures the flesh offered.
Now, she was less an innocent and grateful for it. Grateful to her soon-to-be husband for taking her to unimaginable heights of pleasure.
As sunlight slipped through the cracks in their lodging’s stone walls, Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open.
A noise?
Elizabeth held her breath, but she only heard Mr. Darcy’s even breathing. He held her protectively, keeping her close, warm. It was nice feeling, being almost married, of laying with a man who would do anything for her, who wanted to start a family, who wanted them to grow old together.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. She was sore, which her aunt had explained was to be expected, and her bladder ached. Also expected. Elizabeth carefully unwound herself from his sleeping form and got out of the bed to find a place to relieve herself, a chill running from her feet up her back and through her body.
“Come back to bed, love.” Mr. Darcy called out, rolling towards her and holding his hand out. “We can sleep a little longer. We were up most of the night. I am certain nobody followed us.”
At the reminder of what they were fleeing, Elizabeth tensed, heart beating faster. The bandits still pursued them.
What had roused her? What if they were here, searching? Would Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy need to run, to fight, both? She shivered at the thought, and Mr. Darcy got out of the bed and wrapped his arms around her.
“Come back to bed.”
A branch crunched outside, the distinctive sound of a footfall.
Mr. Darcy tensed. He put a finger to her lips and whispered the softest, “Down,” in her ear.
Elizabeth nodded and dropped to her knees, crawling away from the door. Sometime in the night, Darcy had put on his breeches. He strode to the fireplace and grabbed up a stout log they had not burned. Log in hand, he stood by the door, prepared to brain any who might force their way inside.
Elizabeth wished she had some weapon or way to help. Mr. Darcy had cut free her bonds with a knife? Where was it?
From outside, a man shouted, “Whoever is in there, come out! Now!”
At the man’s voice, Mr. Darcy relaxed, lowering the log. He grinned.
“Richard!” Mr. Darcy shouted through the closed door. “Is that you?”
Elizabeth started to stand, but Mr. Darcy waved for her to stay down.
“Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy leaned the log against the wall. “It is my cousin, the colonel.”
Elizabeth smiled and ran to the pallet to grab up one of the duvets to wrap around herself. She could do nothing about her hair beyond tying it at a loose knot at her neck as Mr. Darcy found his jacket and coat.
When they stepped out, Colonel Fitzwilliam was tying his horse. Behind the Colonel was a thin, copper-brown man with dark eyes and straight black hair. He was dressed for hunting in dark trousers and brown top-coat with a rifle slung over his back.
Both men’s breath steamed white clouds in the crisp air as they bowed to Elizabeth. Col. Fitzwilliam then strode to Mr. Darcy and embraced him with a laugh. “Darcy! And Miss Bennet, wonderful!”
When they had stepped apart, Mr. Darcy looked to the second man, head cocked, “Major Bajwa?”
The major nodded. “We met in Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy. And this must be your fiancé, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“It is,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth hugged the duvet closer to hold back the chill. “Major, were you also serving in Spain?” she asked.
“The colonel and I took our leave together,” Maj. Bajwa said. “A fortunate thing, as I am a better tracker than Fitzwilliam.” He grinned at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who laughed, shaking his head.
“It is true,” the colonel said. “And a good thing too, else we would have walked straight into the hands of an ambush, what was that, eight months back?”
Maj. Bajwa nodded. “Fortunate I was along then, too. For those who know when to accept good counsel.”
Col. Fitzwilliam’s smile faded a moment as he nodded a second time.
Elizabeth wondered at what horrors had brought the two men together, to allow Major Bajwa, of lower rank, to speak with such informality to his superior. But it was clear there was no offense meant or taken. “Is that how you found us?” Elizabeth asked.
Major Bajwa nodded. “The bandits did nothing to hide their tracks. They are in the hands of the constable and his men, so you have nothing to fear there.”
“You were a sight more trouble,” Col. Fitzwilliam cut in. “In part because you rode in circles, crossing your own tracks. What were you doing, asking the local wildlife for guidance?”
Elizabeth tried to stifle her laugh as Mr. Darcy said, “If left to Miss Elizabeth, we would have.”
“And found our way with greater ease,” Elizabeth returned.
“It is good to see you are both in high spirits,” Col. Fitzwilliam said. “I trust you had little trouble staying warm.”
Elizabeth’s face heated, remembering how well Mr. Darcy had warmed her the night before. Warmed and pleasured her so thoroughly, the thought of it stoked her desire again.
“I slept by the door. On the floor. As a precaution.”
“All night?” Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at Elizabeth, his gaze sweeping over her unpinned hair and rumbled gown. “Very uncomfortable.”
“It kept me awake,” Darcy said.
“I see.” Col. Fitzwilliam’s lips twitched. “A difficult time. You must be exhausted.”
“I am.”
Yes, the colonel suspected more had happened between them than Mr. Darcy simply protecting her honor, but fortunately, beyond the twinkle in his eyes and barely veiled ribbing, he was too much of a gentleman to speak of it directly.
“It is good to see the pair of you are well, if tired. You must be hungry, or did your accommodations provide food?”
“Apples,” Elizabeth said, neglecting to mention the gin. “And an onion.”
Mr. Darcy turned to her. “There was an onion?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Aside from plunging it into the flames, I had no idea how to prepare it. Did you?”
Col. Fitzwilliam laughed. “My kingdom for an onion, remember Major?”
Major Bajwa smiled, “We managed a potato.”
“We might have roasted a potato,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I did not find a potato.” In the brief silence that followed, her stomach growled. Loudly. “My kingdom for a potato,” she said with a sigh.
Major Bajwa laughed. “We can offer nothing so fine as a potato, but Col. Fitzwilliam has our rations.”
“Yes,” the colonel reached into one of the bags at his horse’s saddle and pulled out a package of dried meat and hardtack. A leather canteen followed. “Water. Food. If you find a fry-pan, you can add the onion to the meat for flavor. This should hold you until we can send back a carriage. Now that we know where you are.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. “It is just after half-seven. It will take an hour to return to the village, and then we will send back a carriage. Let us say at eleven?” He looked them up and down. “Or noon. To give Miss Elizabeth ample time to refresh herself and you, Darcy, a chance to sleep.”
The emphasis on the final word made clear the colonel had every knowledge of her and Mr. Darcy’s activities the night before. Elizabeth’s face heated again, and she averted her gaze.
“Rest well, cousin,” Col. Fitzwilliam said, clapping Mr. Darcy once more on the shoulder. “Come, Major, we do not wish to interrupt. Noon, Darcy. Miss Elizabeth.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam and Major Bajwa remounted their horses and rode out of tiny glade where the cottage sat.
They watched until the horses were out of sight.
Then Mr. Darcy said, “We have until noon for a carriage to come for us, my lady.”
“So, we can relax and not rush, my lord.” They both laughed. “Shall we see if there is a fry pan?”
Mr. Darcy broke off some of the hard tack and handed it over with a strip of dried meat. They chewed and swallowed, passing the waterskin back and forth until the gnawing emptiness in Elizabeth’s stomach eased.
Elizabeth said, “I suppose we should see to straightening up?”
“We have hours yet,” Mr. Darcy said, taking her hand.
“Then we should rest. As you said to your cousin, last night was exhausting.”
“Not so exhausting,” Mr. Darcy said.
“And one would not wish to do anything scandalous.” Elizabeth pulled him towards the door. “It is cold out here. Perhaps we need to stoke the fire.”
“I would like very much, my lady, to see you warm.”
They walked together to the pallet. Elizabeth sat, legs at her side, her skirts swept over them.
Inside the cottage was still dark, with the outside light pricking through the gaps between stone and the narrow space between narrow, shuttered windows. Darcy took the log from the door and poked at the embers of the fire, stoking it back to life and then adding kindling to bring it to a crackling life. When the flames were strong enough, he added the log.
While he was working, Elizabeth freed herself of her gown. With the laces loosened the previous night, she managed to pull it over her head, leaving her wickedly in only her stays and pantalets.
When Mr. Darcy turned back to her, she leaned up on her elbow. “A fine job with the fire, Mr. Darcy.”
“Will.” Mr. Darcy shed his jacket and kicking off his boots before kneeling before her. I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lady.”
“If anything, it is you who has the advantage here,” she said, widening her eyes as she ran her fingers over her bosom. “I am an innocent. Now, I should like, very much, if you were to ruin me a second time.”
“You, my lady, cannot be ruined.” Mr. Darcy smiled, and his gaze heated her skin. Need pulsed inside her, heightened by the knowledge of the pleasures they could and would share. “Ravished, however...” He leaned down and claimed her mouth, hard and demanding.
Elizabeth yielded to his advance, and their tongues met. She was braver now, wanting to explore the hard planes of his body. She pushed her hands inside his shirt, mapping his stomach, chest, and back as she pushed her thigh between his legs to feel the length of him.
Her womanhood was already wet for him. She yearned for the pleasure of his touch, of him inside her, a need that was hardly ladylike. Thank goodness they would be wed within days. She did not wish to imagine days or weeks without the promise of his touch.
When they parted for a breath, Elizabeth said, “If you will get me free of these stays, I would like to feel all of you against me.”
Mr. Darcy chuckled. “I fear I am marrying a wicked, wicked woman.”
“Does this trouble you?”
“Nothing delights me more.” Mr. Darcy reached behind her and loosened her stays. Soon she was freed of them and her chemise, leaving only her pantalets. Mr. Darcy reached between them, stroking the wet seam of her womanhood. “Far more practical than a man’s drawers,” he said.
Elizabeth had never given a man’s drawers much consideration. “How so?” She asked.
Mr. Darcy’s fingertip found the nub of her pleasure and rubbed it with a slow and steady pressure. Elizabeth whimpered.
“There is nothing between,” Mr. Darcy said.
As the pleasure rose, Elizabeth breathed in through her teeth. Her breasts ached for his touch even as the rest of her attention was riveted to his tiny movements below. He caressed that nub between his thumb and forefinger, and Elizabeth clenched, her hips pushing into him.
How could such a small action bring so much pleasure?
“Wanton,” he said, leaning down to take one of her nipples in his mouth.
The dual sensations, his mouth on her breast, his fingers inside, left her breathless as her body strained towards that peak.
“Will?”
“Mmm?”
Had she not intended to ravish him?
The thought shattered as pleasure crested, washing through her, leaving her breathless and at the same time empty. Wanting more. She parted her legs, hoping he understood her unspoken invitation.
Thankfully, Elizabeth had not promised herself to a stupid man.
After he had filled her and spent inside, the hot pulse of his release spurring her to another, they lay together a while dozing. Then, she had ample time to explore his body, gentle touches growing more heated until he rose again, and she straddled him, taking her pleasure with him beneath until pleasure undid her a third time and he followed, calling her name.
They lay together, well warmed by their exertions. Mr. Darcy swept fingers through her hair. “I love your curls.”
“Will you love them when they are graying?”
Mr. Darcy took a lock of her hair and kissed it. “I will love every strand of it.”
“And I will love every gray hair and jowl time delivers on you.”
“Jowl!”
Elizabeth grinned. “A habit of scowling leads to jowling, did you not know?”
“What makes you believe I will spare a moment for scowling when I have such a lovely lady in my bed?”
“We will have to leave bed sometime.”
“I suppose.” Mr. Darcy laughed. “To think, I found Mr. Bingley’s romantic drivel so irritating, and now I fear I will be worse.”
“So long as you are not scowling.”
“You have promised to love my jowls!” Darcy said, with mock offense.
“Love them, yes. Anticipate them?” Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose it will be my duty, as your wife, to help you maintain a pleasant visage.”
“A duty to which you are well, suited, Miss Elizabeth. My Lizzy.”
They kissed.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said.
“Mrs. Darcy. Let us grow old together, my love. But not too soon.”
They kissed again.