Elizabeth’s last fortnight at Longbourn proved as distasteful as she had expected. She was beginning to doubt whether her mother’s vexation with her would ever abate. Mrs. Bennet’s want of propriety and inclination to complaint led her to be more vocal on the subject than another woman might have been, and her daughter could only do her best to turn a deaf ear to it. Her father’s occasional gestures and words of support warmed her, but she still could wish he might do more to rein in his wife’s behaviour in regard to her.
She was naturally relieved when the time came for her to remove to Netherfield, though there was a certain sadness attached to leaving her childhood home forever, especially under these circumstances. Although Bingley and Jane welcomed her warmly to their household, Elizabeth, conscious that they were still newlyweds and she had been invited to live with them as an act of charity only because it was untenable for her to remain at Longbourn, made an effort to leave the couple to their own devices as much as possible. She began to feel more comfortable as she realized that Jane was reassured by the familiarity of having Elizabeth with her, and that she could offer support and assistance as her sister took over the management of Netherfield House.
The thought of Darcy was a constant undercurrent during this time. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was thinking of her; or whether, with more distance and time to reflect, he had come to acknowledge the seriousness of her reservations. The memory of his look and his kisses left her lying awake more than one night longing for him.
While she was still at Longbourn, her thoughts had been full of unhappiness and doubt, but gradually, once freed of the constraint of her family’s disapproval, her usual sense of humour began to emerge once more. It did not hurt that winter was turning to spring, and she could resume her habit of long walks, although she now never went in the direction of Meryton except when absolutely necessary. She could even be in good spirits if she avoided the painful question of how she was to face life without Darcy. She was tired of self-pity, and did not want him to think her to be grieving. She decided that if he returned to Netherfield, he would meet with her wit this time instead of her sorrow, and she ignored the qualm which came with the thought he might not return.
But it was only a month or so until Bingley received a letter from his friend announcing his plans to arrive the following week, accompanied by his sister and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Bingley, who enjoyed the lively company of the latter gentleman, exclaimed with pleasure over this addition to the party. Elizabeth, however, was silent; the traitorous surge of excitement she felt at the thought of seeing him tempered by the knowledge that their struggle was not over; he would not be bringing his sister were he not still resolved on changing her mind.
As the day of his arrival approached, Elizabeth began to admit to herself just how much she had missed him. It was almost as if he were a part of her which had been lost, and was now returning. The depth of these emotions worried her, and caused her to revisit her decision more than once.
She could not find another solution, though. She remembered his words at Hunsford about his connection to her being a degradation, all Wickham had said of his pride, the descriptions of Pemberley she had heard from her aunt and Miss Bingley, and she knew it to be impossible. It had been unlikely at best before the events of the autumn, but the Mistress of Pemberley and wife of Mr. Darcy must not be touched by any hint of scandal, much less be sister to the steward’s disreputable son and have a past with another man. Darcy might now, in the heat of passion and infatuation, be prepared to overlook it, but she could not imagine he would not eventually come to feel the shame and degradation of it. It would break her heart to see him suffer it, and to know she was responsible for it.
Yet she knew she would weaken again in his presence, especially if he was as unrelenting as she rather suspected he would be. Flight seemed her only option. I will stay a week, but no more, she thought. Surely I can manage one week. Feeling a complete coward, she quickly penned a letter to her aunt Gardiner, asking if she could again pay them a visit.
On the day the guests were scheduled to arrive she found herself unaccountably nervous, and decided to walk out to calm herself. She was longer returning than she had expected, for when she reached Netherfield, Darcy’s carriage was already being unhitched and the guests were inside. She took a deep breath before entering.
They were situated in the large sitting room. Elizabeth’s eyes flew immediately to Darcy, where they were met with a gaze of such intensity as to make it impossible for her to turn away. His eyes told her everything he wished to be doing, and it did not stop at kisses; he looked at her as if he wanted to strip away every secret she possessed. She found herself becoming aroused in response, and quickly turned her attention to greeting Colonel Fitzwilliam, who seemed delighted to see her again.
Darcy presented his sister to her, and Elizabeth was astonished to see that Miss Darcy was at least as embarrassed as she. Mr. Wickham had described her as very proud; but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceeding shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much relieved by discovering such different feelings.
“So there we were, making our annual pilgrimage to Rosings,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had clearly been in the midst of a tale when she had entered. “You cannot imagine how dull it was, and one day I was saying to Darcy how much more agreeable it had been last year, when you, Miss Bennet, and Miss Lucas were also in Kent. Imagine my surprise when Darcy told me he had just seen you again! It has been an age since I had seen Bingley here as well, so when he told me that, I could not resist the opportunity to join him.”
Jane and Bingley both expressed their delight in his presence. Elizabeth, conscious of her position as a poor relation, said nothing, limiting herself to a smile of welcome.
Darcy could not take his eyes from her. She seemed more in spirits than when he had left, though her sober reaction on seeing him suggested she had not changed her mind about him. Well, he had been expecting that; he knew she was not a woman to be won over by a few kisses, and he had spent six weeks marshalling his arguments. For now, it was enough to be in her company and to see her smiles. Once he found a time to be alone with her, it would be different.
He was constantly aware of her presence, feeling alive in the way only she could make him, but had no opportunity even for guarded discourse until after dinner. When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Elizabeth without a word rose and moved to a corner of the room where she began to work on some embroidery. Jane cast a concerned glance after her, but said nothing.
Darcy was less than happy about Elizabeth establishing so clearly that she was not one of the hosts of the occasion, but he was not averse to taking advantage of the situation. He excused himself, then returned a moment later with a book in his hand. He sat in the chair nearest Elizabeth and said, “Miss Bennet, I hope I am not disturbing you.”
She glanced up with a quick smile. “Not at all, sir.”
“I brought you something from London.” He handed her the volume.
Looking down at it, she said carefully, so that no one could overhear, “You know I cannot accept this, Mr. Darcy.”
“Certainly you can. I will not tell a soul,” he said with an engaging smile which wrought havoc on Elizabeth’s equanimity. “Or you could consider it a permanent loan.”
“It is not proper,” she insisted.
“You could make it perfectly proper by accepting me,” he continued lightly. “Or you can refuse it utterly, but I will feel obliged to make a scene if you do.”
A glance at his face was enough to reassure Elizabeth that he was teasing her. She narrowed her eyes and replied, “Very well; if it is that important to you to have me read it, I shall be happy to accept the loan. Thank you.”
His smile broadened fractionally. Every concession from Elizabeth was one more step towards victory. “You are very welcome. I must mention there is little point in returning it, as I already have a copy in my library, and I did purchase this specifically with you in mind.”
“You are quite incorrigible, Mr. Darcy, but you are not a whit more stubborn than I.” Elizabeth opened it to the frontispiece and raised an eyebrow when she saw the title. “Songs of Innocence and Experience?” she asked dubiously. “I have never heard of it.”
“Mr. Blake is not as well-known as he ought to be,” allowed Darcy. “You might not want to admit to receiving it from me; he holds some rather scandalous religious and philosophical views. His poetry should not be missed, though.”
“Interesting reading material you are choosing for me,” she murmured, glancing at him teasingly from under lowered lashes. She flipped through the first few pages, noting the appealingly childlike illuminations accompanying each verse.
Darcy took the book from her hands for a moment, opened it to a page marked with a silken bookmark, and handed it back to her. She took one look at the drawing of a tiger at the bottom of the page and laughed delightedly, reading aloud,
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?”
She paused. “Is this meant to be a warning for me, Mr. Darcy?” she asked impudently.
“Merely a reflection, my dear Miss Bennet,” he said with a sidelong glance.
“And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
“A valid question, sir.”
“Read on,” he requested.
“When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “And which is it, Mr. Darcy? Are the tigers of Pemberley creatures of God or of the Adversary?”
He gave a low laugh. “Surely that is for the reader to decide.”
“But you must have some thoughts on the matter,” she said mischievously. “After all, I am not so experienced with tigers as you are.”
He gave her a look full of meaning. “Not for want of trying,” he said.
They were interrupted at that moment by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who came to request that Miss Bennet favour them with some music. Elizabeth, covering with a mocking glance the disturbance which Darcy had created in her sensibilities, readily agreed. Darcy watched her walk off with his cousin with a mixture of satisfaction at how their encounter had gone and vexation with his cousin for interrupting and for having the presumption to smile at his Elizabeth.
***
The next day Darcy hoped to find some time with Elizabeth when they could be alone, but his hopes were doomed to frustration. While he likely could have stolen her away from Mr. and Mrs. Bingley easily enough, it was a different matter altogether with Georgiana, who did not expect to be dismissed, and was overwhelmed enough by being in an unknown place. Colonel Fitzwilliam also seemed to gravitate to Elizabeth’s presence, making what seemed to Darcy to be a rather intolerable crowd. It was rather ironic, he reflected on more than one occasion, that he should be wishing two of his dearest relations far away, even though he had specifically brought Georgiana to Netherfield to become acquainted with Elizabeth. This endeavour had not had much success so far either, since Georgiana hardly said a word to anyone but him, and Elizabeth insisted on deferring to Jane as Georgiana’s hostess in terms of spending time with her.
In the meantime, he found consolation in being the frequent subject of Elizabeth’s teasing, which he interpreted as a sign of affection. There were a few intimate looks exchanged between them, and on one occasion, when everyone’s attention was distracted, he managed to catch her hand in his own for a few minutes. While she did not acknowledge his action overtly, neither did she draw away. Still, he had hoped for much more; and staying under the same roof as Elizabeth was exciting both his fancy and his desire.
It was the third day of his stay before he saw his opportunity. Stealing away while Bingley was showing his cousin his prized collection of hunting rifles, and able to hear the distant sounds of his sister practicing the pianoforte, he sought out Elizabeth, hoping fiercely she would not be with Mrs. Bingley. It seemed he was in luck; he discovered her alone in the dining room, standing by the table with her head bent over an arrangement of flowers. He stopped a moment in the doorway to admire the picture she made as her hands moved deftly through the blossoms. Her back was to him, and his eyes were drawn to the nape of her neck where a few tiny rebellious curls escaped the tight confines of her hairstyle.
A surge of desire overcame him, and his intention to speak with her slipped to the recesses of his mind. Without any plan, he moved silently towards her and, putting his hands lightly on her hips, he placed a light but lingering kiss at the point where those tempting curls met her flesh. She stiffened, apparently in surprise, but made no move or protest, which he took as invitation enough to continue to explore her tender skin with his lips.
After the first shock of being taken unawares, Elizabeth felt paralyzed by the exquisite agony of desire his caresses were causing. How could he, merely by moving his lips against the back of her neck, cause her entire body to ache for him? Against her wishes, she had found herself waiting for his touch since his return, and it had been a long time in coming. She closed her eyes and her breathing came faster as he explored her shoulder, then followed a line up to her ear. She felt him nibble her earlobe, sending a shock of sensation through her until, unable to resist the temptation any longer, she turned her face to his to meet him in a kiss of desperate longing.
She had not believe it was possible to want a man’s touch so badly. Nothing had prepared her for it; her response to Mr. Covington had been only lukewarm. It was as if she were a completely different woman with Darcy, one without shame, who could not have enough of the intense pleasure and arousal his touch afforded her.
Their mouths clung together passionately, meeting again and again as they sought to assuage the pain of their parting. Elizabeth sighed as she felt him slip his hands around her waist. As he drew her back against him, she felt a profound shock at the sensation of his body against hers. It was as if her entire body were coming to life in a new way, yet it also seemed so natural and so right. She pressed herself against him as if seeking more, but knew she could never have enough.
He whispered against her mouth, “Have you any idea how I have ached for you, my best beloved?”
His words opened a new well of need within her, and she kissed him as if wanting to draw his essence into herself. It seemed whenever he touched her that nothing else mattered in the world—not society, nor propriety, nor any rules or limits—only this conflagration burning between them.
Her need for his kisses was by no means sated when he heaved a sigh and buried his face in her hair. She attempted to still her breathing, but his arms were still around her, his thumbs caressing her body in a manner which sent shivers of fire through her. She could not concentrate on anything but those slight movements and the profound reaction they were eliciting from her, igniting a desire which came from her most secret self.
Darcy had hungered for her for too long; though he was able to force himself to stop kissing her, it only drew his attention that much more to the feeling of her soft body against his. He wondered vaguely how much longer he would be able to stop himself at kisses, and even whether Elizabeth wished him to or not. The thought itself was so provocative as to make his lips return to hers.
He murmured, “Please tell me you have reconsidered,” though he knew within his heart she had not.
“I cannot,” she said, her conflict evident in her voice.
He could not stop himself. “How can you kiss me like this and still refuse me?” he asked.
She could hear his frustration with her. It was a question she had asked herself repeatedly while he was away—how could she allow it, and be so shameless as to wish to do it again when she knew there could be nothing more between them? She could not be his wife, and would not be his mistress. “I do not know,” she whispered. “I do not know!”
“You cannot deny you want to be with me,” he insisted.
It was unanswerable, so she avoided the point. “Passion is a poor predictor of felicity—I must listen to my rationality,” she said. “Kisses are simple. Life is not.”
“No, life is not simple, but that is no reason to let past errors dictate future mistakes! I have considered it time and again, and each time the answer is the same—having you is worth far more than any potential loss from social consequences.”
“So it seems now,” she said tiredly, removing his hands from her waist and stepping away. She hated this conflict between them. “It may seem very different in a year or two.”
He looked at her with distress in his eyes. “Do you really distrust me as much as that?”
“If you call it distrust of you to fear the impact of society’s judgement and past sins coming back to haunt me, then yes,” she said in deep frustration. She wanted only his love, his embraces, and his kisses, yet all she could do was quarrel with him.
Their eyes battled, then he gave a sigh of defeat, and held his arms open to her. She did not even stop to think before she went into them, laying her head upon his shoulder and taking the momentary comfort she could in his embrace.
“Can you give me something—anything?” he asked quietly, his voice ragged.
So this is heartbreak, she thought. She looked up at him and said gently, “We both want the same things, my dear—we disagree only as to whether they are possible.” She could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath.
An edge of determination entered his voice. “I am still resolved, you know.”
She could not help laughing. “I would be a fool to think otherwise,” she said ruefully.
They heard the voices of Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching, and sprang apart guiltily; but Darcy’s eyes continued to assure Elizabeth that he was far from giving up.
***
Darcy was not slow to recognize the error he had made by pressing Elizabeth too hard. He determined that his best strategy lay in wearing down her resistance, and realized one of his strongest weapons lay in the pleasure he could give her by touching her. She could refuse him with words and looks, but when he kissed her, the truth of her feelings seemed inevitably to come out. He could not change her mind, but perhaps with enough time and enough familiarity with him, she would change it for herself.
Having determined there was no reason to deny himself, especially since he had every intention of marrying her, he seized every opportunity to steal kisses from her, and when this was not possible, at least to find a way to unobtrusively touch the back of her hand. He did not raise the subject of marriage again, concentrating as much as possible on being agreeable to Elizabeth. He was civil when her family called at Netherfield, even to Mrs. Bennet, whose appearance inevitably led to a rapid disappearance on the part of her second daughter. Once he was even fortunate enough to discover Elizabeth during one of these times of flight, and was able to offer her the solace of his embrace. He was encouraged that she no longer fought off his comfort in times of distress, and pleased he could give it to her.
Elizabeth would not have disagreed with his assessment that her resistance was weakening. Although she made every effort to disguise it, her resolve seemed to flag each time they were together. Her strongest defense came from knowing she would leave soon, and so need not resist long. But as the days passed without a response from her aunt, she began to worry.
Finally a letter came, but not with an answer to satisfy her. Mrs. Gardiner was very apologetic, but confessed it was not the best time for a visit; her brother and his family were staying with them for a time, and the house on Gracechurch Street was not large. She suggested perhaps Elizabeth might come to them in the autumn, if that were convenient for her.
Elizabeth was taken aback by this; it had not occurred to her that her request might be denied. As she considered it further, though, she came to the guilty realization that a great deal had already been asked of the Gardiners in terms of care for wayward nieces. First Jane had spent months with them the previous winter, pining over the loss of Mr. Bingley, then they were forced to deal with the vexation and very real financial stresses of Lydia’s elopement and wedding. By the time they had taken in Elizabeth, fleeing from the effects of her broken engagement, and apparently grieving over it, they must have already been feeling the stress, although they never let it be known, any more that they had admitted to laying out money to bring about Lydia’s wedding. With four young children of their own, they could not have avoided feeling the burden.
In a paroxysm of guilt, Elizabeth immediately wrote back to Mrs. Gardiner, making light of her own request and thanking her for all she had already done. She painted as rosy a picture of her life with the Bingleys as she dared, and sent it off, hoping for the best.
This left her, however, in a position of having nowhere to go. She considered her other alternatives—Longbourn hardly seemed a viable option, and Darcy would not let three miles stop him in any case. She even debated the possibility of writing to Charlotte, but the words of the condemning letter Mr. Collins had sent Mr. Bennet on the occasion of the ending of her engagement still remained fresh in her mind. No, she would not be welcome at Hunsford for quite some time, if ever.
Finally, with resignation, she accepted that she had no choice but to stay and somehow manage to deal with Darcy. She had no answers as to how she might do this; none but the treacherous one which drew her more each day she spent in his company. She had by this time given up any pretense that she was not hoping for more of his kisses, and it went hard with her because she felt the fundamental hypocrisy of her position, and was disturbed to acknowledge her own weakness.
Her distraction was evident the rest of the day. Darcy was solicitous, going so far as to ask if she had received any distressing news. Lacking time alone with her, though, he could not discover anything.
By the next morning, Elizabeth had resolved to put the best face on her disappointment. She determined that she could only proceed one day at a time, and fretting about the future benefited her not at all. Her improved spirits were apparent, and she had lively discourse with the others at breakfast.
Later that day, Darcy returned from a ride to discover her playing and singing for a clearly enchanted Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy’s usual pleasure in Elizabeth’s performance was muted by his unhappiness over discovering this tête-à-tête, and he took a moment to school himself into calm before entering. Just then he heard Elizabeth’s delighted laughter ringing out in response to some comment his cousin had made.
Without further consideration, he walked in wearing a cold look Elizabeth remembered well from his first visit to Hertfordshire. She raised an eyebrow, then turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam and said with a conspiratorial air, “Mr. Darcy looks quite fierce today—I hope we are not in his bad books!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and leaned closer to her. “Have no fear, Miss Bennet; he is never so fierce as he looks when the mood is upon him, but soon he will deign to smile on us mere mortals again.”
Darcy, who would have cheerfully strangled his cousin at that moment, only scowled more fiercely. Elizabeth, perceiving that he was in truth offended, but not knowing why, said with concern, “Come, Mr. Darcy, will you not join us? Your cousin has been quite negligent in failing to select a new piece for me to play; perhaps you can do better.”
“Nonsense, Darcy, it is my choice!” cried the colonel gaily as Darcy silently moved to the stack of music by the pianoforte.
Darcy’s temper, already strained by the long days of uncertainty over Elizabeth and concern over the meaning of her withdrawn mood the previous day, reached the breaking point. “No, the lady says the choice is mine,” he said with an edge to his voice, and deliberately placed his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, encompassing both the top of her sleeve and the exposed skin above it.
She looked up at him in embarrassed surprise at this flagrant and uncharacteristic breach of propriety, but his attention was apparently on the music he was rifling through with his free hand. He chose a piece and placed it on the stand in front of her, directing a challenging look to his cousin as he did so. He then finally glanced down at Elizabeth’s frowning visage. As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he tightened his hand on her shoulder momentarily before releasing her.
Elizabeth was far too mortified to even look at Colonel Fitzwilliam. She could only imagine what he must be thinking of her, but between the grim look on Darcy’s face and her natural disinclination to draw any more attention to his lapse, she saw no better course than to begin playing as if nothing had happened. She was nonetheless roused to silent resentment by his action, and when Colonel Fitzwilliam politely excused himself after her performance had ended, she turned on Darcy with anger.
“What, pray tell, was that show about? Or dare I guess that, having lost patience with my refusals, you have decided to embarrass me into marrying you?” she demanded indignantly.
Darcy, having already had some minutes to regain his temper and to recognize that he had made a gross error of judgement, did not hesitate to self-criticize, both out of native honesty and a desire to limit the repercussions of his behaviour. “You are quite right,” he said penitently. “I had no business behaving in such a manner.”
“I know you had no business—I am looking, sir, for an explanation!” she cried.
Darcy schooled himself to patience despite a desire to respond as vehemently. “I have no explanation, only a poor excuse—it is hard for me not to feel angry when my cousin flirts so openly with you.”
“So you decided to demonstrate to him that I belong to you?” she asked acidly.
“I did not decide anything; my temper got the better of me, for which I apologize. I must remind you, however, that you have left me with little recourse, since you will not grant me the right to say anything to him!” said Darcy, his own irritation rising in response to her challenge. “And I cannot say I saw you doing anything to prevent his attentions.”
Elizabeth grew white. “I suppose I can blame no one but myself if, after having seen my hypocrisy in accepting your kisses while refusing your suit, you should think I would be hypocritical enough to accept another man’s attentions at the same time as well,” she said icily, her feelings truly wounded. “Perhaps this will inspire me to overcome that fault. But in the meantime, I fail to see why you could not simply have told him at some private moment that you have intentions towards me, instead of this!”
“I had been of the opinion you wanted no one to know of my intentions,” he retorted heatedly.
Elizabeth looked upwards, her foot tapping as she reminded herself unsuccessfully to have patience. “I would imagine Colonel Fitzwilliam would be able to keep the matter in confidence, would you not?” The humour of the situation suddenly became apparent to her, that she should be advising him to tell anyone at all of his interest in her, after having gone to such lengths to disguise it. “Or,” she said slyly, “you could simply have told him we have a peculiar understanding that involves stealing kisses in deserted corners, and that you let the tigers feed on any man who dares to flirt with me.”
Darcy did not know what to make of this sudden shift in her temper, and did not dare touch her for fear that he would be unable to stop in his present frame of mind. He sank down onto a sofa in deep frustration. Finally he said tiredly, “I am sorry, though you may not credit it. I am sorry to be so possessive when I have no right, and I certainly do not suspect you of any interest in other men. It is just this impossible situation where we can neither be together nor apart—and are we still to be stealing kisses in corners when I happen to visit Bingley ten years from now? Are we never to know the happiness of union between us?”
She could not bear the bitter discouragement in his voice. Sitting beside him, she impulsively put her arms around him. He rested his head against hers, accepting her comfort as she stroked his hair, and wishing this could be real and she would always be there for him.
Elizabeth could not decide what she should say—it seemed as if anything she could say to lessen his distress would also be encouraging him. Finally, feeling as if she must say something, she said, “I wish I had an answer, for both our sakes. I only wish for you to be happy, and I know that I am making you unhappy. I wish there were anything I could do to make this easier, but if there is, I do not know what it is.” She kissed his cheek as it lay near her mouth, more for reassurance than anything else.
“You could tell me you love me.” His voice was muffled.
She took in a sharp breath. “Surely you know that already,” she replied, feeling as if even this was more than she was ready to put into words. She was so vulnerable to him already; speaking of her feelings would only make her more so.
Although he said, “Yes, I do,” she could feel his disappointment in the tension of his body.
It seemed that his distress made her vulnerable as well. “I do—I do love you,” she said impulsively, wanting to ease his pain.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he whispered, gathering her closer to him. “Thank you, my best beloved.” His mouth sought out hers, immediately causing a stirring within her as she gave herself over to him. As the familiar waves of desire pulsated within her, she could only think of how much she wanted to be his. She only hoped he would not press her on marriage again now, since she did not know that she could resist him at this moment.
His hand travelled down to explore the curves of her body, leaving trails of fire in its wake. She arched herself against him as her body demanded even more intimacy. His kisses seemed to be drawing her most inner self out, marking her as his forever.
Despite the danger, Darcy let his hands continue to claim her in a way he never had before, stroking and caressing her back, her arms, and going so far as to travel over her outer thigh. He could feel her surrender, and only prayed he would have the strength not to take advantage of it. “My dearest love,” he murmured in her ear as he trailed kisses along her face and neck, “if you cannot accept me, at least tell me you will never send me away.”
His words cut through the cloud of desire and longing that enshrouded Elizabeth, bringing her back to reality painfully quickly. She struggled to regain control of herself, even while her body was trembling with need Darcy was all too happy to continue to fulfill. Finally, to be able to think clearly enough to respond, she caught his hands to prevent their roaming. “I cannot promise that, my love,” she said, the need to say it paining her as much as she knew the hearing of it would hurt him. “There may come a time when I must do so.”
Darcy stilled at her words, his face still buried in her neck. He understood immediately what she meant, and that it was a direct result of how far the passion flaring between them had taken them. He was probably fortunate she had stopped what was between them—he had been at the edge of losing control of himself, and he did not want her ever to know that side of him. What an untenable condition they were in, where each needed the physical reassurance of the other’s touch, and desired the natural progression from it enough not to struggle against it, yet knew if it went too far, they would have to separate! He wondered if she had any idea how very badly he wanted her, and what it was costing him to stop at kisses when he suspected she would not demur should he go further. But being able to touch her, even with these limits, and to feel her response, afforded him a release and a reassurance he sadly needed, and he was determined to learn to live within whatever limits she set.
He lifted his face so their eyes met and she could see his acceptance. “I understand,” he said evenly. “Forgive me, I should not have asked it.”
She bit the corner of her lip. If she had any idea how that little gesture impacts upon me, she would never do it again! he thought with rueful humour, considering the irony of the situation. Seeing her continued uncertainty, though, he added, “I hope you will always tell me when I ask too much of you.”
He seemed to have succeeded in his effort to reassure her, for she gave a musical laugh in response. “Sir, if I always told you that, you would not have a moment’s silence. I fear it is a natural consequence for me of being in your company, at least in this regard.”
His lips twitched, acknowledging the truth of her statement. “Then perhaps it will make no difference if I ask one more thing,” he said with a teasing inflection.
She gave him a look of amused suspicion. “What is that, Mr. Darcy?”
“It is exactly that—I think we have gone somewhat beyond ‘Mr. Darcy.’ Will you not call me by my name?”
Elizabeth hesitated. In one sense, he was asking very little, but in another, it was breaching one of the last barriers which differentiated their relationship from that of a formal coupling. With a spurt of independence, she decided that he was not the only one who could make requests. “If you wish it, I will—but only if you acknowledge that I have some basis for my concern for your reputation.”
He grimaced, but not ill-humouredly. It does me no good, I suppose, to pretend there is nothing to it; it likely only makes her think I am blind to it, he thought. “Very well, I admit that there is some basis, but I think you perhaps overestimate its impact,” he said, then added more tenderly, “I do understand you are insisting upon it for my sake, though, and I only love you the more for your concern, even if I disagree with your decision.”
“It is not just for your sake, either—your sister could be affected as well. It is not long until she comes out, and what if suitors stayed away from her because of me? It is unfair, but not unrealistic,” she pointed out.
Darcy heaved a deep sigh. Shifting himself so her body rested against his chest, he said, “That is a worry unto itself. Sometimes I fear the only way Georgiana will marry is if I can find a trustworthy young man interested in her fortune and simply announce it is to happen. She will never look at a man for herself.”
“Because she is so shy?”
“Because she has never been herself again since Wickham got his claws into her,” he said with deep bitterness. “She was always somewhat timid, but never like this. You must have noticed—she hardly says a word to anyone, she almost never smiles, she picks at her food and does not sleep at night. All she does is play the pianoforte, and even that she feels as if she does badly. I have kept hoping this would pass, but it has been almost two years now. I could kill him for this.”
“I had not realized it was such a change for her,” said Elizabeth, with concern as much for Darcy as for Georgiana. “Does she say what is troubling her?”
“No; whenever I have tried to speak of what happened, she does nothing but apologize for all the trouble she caused, and for being a fool, and she will not listen no matter how often I tell her it was not her fault, and that I do not blame her.” He sighed again, tightening his arms around Elizabeth. “I have tried everything I can think of—I have tried keeping her with me and paying more attention to her, I have tried leaving her to herself, thinking that my presence might remind her of Wickham, I have kept her away from people who might accidentally hurt her feelings, even when it has meant offending relations—I have done everything I could think of that might bring her happiness, and nothing has seemed to relieve her grief for more than a day or two. I had hoped she might take a liking to you, but she has been just as quiet as ever since coming to Netherfield.”
“I have not made it easy for her to become acquainted with me,” said Elizabeth slowly, feeling guilty both for this and for never having wondered whether Darcy might have concerns outside of her. “I thought it a complication we did not need, but if you would like me to try, I will.”
“I would be grateful for any assistance or advice,” he replied.
She thought he sounded somewhat relieved. Nestling closer to him, she said, “I cannot promise any results, but I will try—William.”
“Thank you, my dearest,” he said, moved by hearing his name from her lips. He found her mouth again and soothed himself in the pleasure he could find in her, and she was happy to assist in the process.