Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) (11 page)

“Do you
want
me to answer
honestly?” The weighty undertone to his question gave her pause, but she
nodded. “As you wish.” He stopped kissing her hands and inhaled. His eyes, she
noted, were again touched with a sharp glint. “The truth is, the moment I laid
eyes on you, my desire to cross the room, enfold you in my arms, and kiss you
unceasingly was so powerful it was necessary for me to clamp down on every
muscle in my body and look away from your face. A second longer and I would
have succumbed to the urge. I am not sure Mr. Bennet bashing me over the head
or shooting me would have stopped me once I started.”

“I…see.” Lizzy was sure the blush
had spread to her toes. “And now?”

“And now I have re-exerted my
self-control. For the present. I shall have to be on constant guard.” He smiled
before resuming the tender kisses to her hands. “I pray that confession of my
weakness, and my intensity, where you are concerned does not frighten,
Elizabeth. Hopefully it eases your mind and convinces you that
nothing
will cause me to change my mind about us?”

“I am convinced, and I am not
frightened, Mr. Darcy. I am shocked to hear such lengthy speeches cross your
lips, however.”

Again he laughed, the amused, low
rumble initiating fresh flutters inside her belly. “The day of surprises and
strange flipping of our personalities continues, it seems. Except for the
flirting accusation. That is a skill I never mastered when it
was
acceptable, as you can attest, considering you are the only woman I
tried
to charm.”

“Oh my! You must be awful indeed
because I never detected behavior remotely flirtatious! Knowing you are a man
who speaks truthfully, Mr. Darcy, assures me on that count as well.”

 “I am relieved at your
assurance, Elizabeth. Do not doubt me or my convictions, please. Even…before,
when I proposed so insultingly, as you were right to forcefully point out, my
heart and soul belonged to you. I have never wavered in my feelings. Not once.
Now”—he sighed and enfolded her hands between his palms—“if that is
the extent of your vacillating emotions, then all is well. In general I am
sensing favorable currents between us, Elizabeth, but persistently addressing
me as
Mr. Darcy
is beginning to erode my peace.”

Impulsively, as much to fulfill an
inner yearning as to express a concrete assurance of her sentiments, Lizzy leaned
in and pressed a closed-lip kiss to his mouth. She pulled back before he
managed to overcome his surprise at her bold initiative and respond to the
kiss. Then she withdrew her hands from his warm caress and walked away—she
had to or it would be
her
losing control!

Best to instill additional
lightness to the topic and maintain some distance. With her back to him, she
pretended to examine the yellowing leaves of the elm. “Knowing your struggles,
William,
I am shocked you complacently agreed to my father’s demand to delay our wedding
indefinitely.”

He did not reply immediately, and
when he did, his voice was strained. “I agreed to no such thing. If allowed, I
would marry you tomorrow, Elizabeth.” She heard his cleansing inhale and
exhale. “That being said, I cannot fault Mr. Bennet’s reluctance in parting
with his daughters, nor the understandable request for time to grow better
acquainted with me. He needs the weeks to trust my love for you.”

“Did he say that?”

“Not in those precise words, no.
The implication was clear and, as I said, I do not fault him. I am willing to
practice patience. Within reason, of course. Time, as painful as it is in one
respect, is beneficial for planning a proper wedding and for me to make the
necessary preparations for my bride.”

“I see. It appears that my worrying
over what transpired while you and Mr. Bingley were with Papa was wasted effort
then. No climatic conclusion or dramatic confrontations to report. Pity.”

“We did reach an agreement, and
there were moments of drama and confrontation. Shall I relate our exchange as
it happened, or would you prefer I embellish for greater entertainment?”

The notion of staid Mr. Darcy
attempting to embellish made Lizzy laugh out loud. “A simple recounting will
suffice. Or even a synopsis, in the interest of time.”

“As you wish. First, we discussed
the importance of reading…”

Lizzy listened intently, as much to
enjoy the musical cadence of her lover’s voice as to learn what was said in her
father’s library. Portions were difficult to hear, such as her father bringing
up Darcy’s rude dismissal during the Meryton Assembly. She winced at
that
revelation and cringed over Darcy’s obviously feigned calm when informed of Mr.
Collins’s proposal. Otherwise, she delighted in his narrative, feelings of
amusement and respect outweighing the embarrassment. A couple times, she sensed
that he was omitting a comment or smoothly condensing, the prospect most
notable because he repeated the conversations precisely, as if reading from a
playwright’s script. Adding further to her amazement were his occasional slips
into a storyteller’s rhythm, random descriptions of a facial expression or
internal emotion, and twice an offhand mention of the scenery. The entire
performance was so entrancing, and enlightening, that she nearly missed it when
he revealed the date agreed upon for the joint Bennet daughters’ wedding.

“November the twenty-eighth?”

Darcy smiled brilliantly and nodded
at her stuttered repetition. “Truthfully, I believe Mr. Bennet randomly chose a
day as late in the season as he could without risking Bingley or me bursting
into another angry tirade. Fortunately, November twenty-eight is well before
winter sets in. It is long enough from now to prepare as befitting my bride,
yet not too long that I shall go mad with waiting. Does this please you,
Elizabeth?”

“It pleases me to have a date
established. It pleases me to be married in a ceremony with Jane and Mr.
Bingley.” She paused for a long moment before continuing in a firm timbre, “It
pleases me, mostly, to be marrying
you,
Fitzwilliam Darcy, and since it
cannot be tomorrow, November twenty-eight will do.”

He stared at her silently for a
full minute, his expression serious and eyes dark, and then he rose slowly from
the wall. It could not have taken more than five seconds for him to cross the
small space separating them, yet for Lizzy it was an eon during which her heart
doubled in speed and her respirations narrowed to short gasps.

Will I ever not be astounded by his
height and masculinity? Will the intensity of his gaze upon me ever cease to
overwhelm my senses? Will the anticipation of his touch and kiss someday not
cause my muscles to weaken?

The answer to each question was no—as
she would have wished it to be—if she could have seen into the future.
For the present she stood still, watched his approach, and gleefully allowed
the sensations to wash over and through her. Not a word passed his lips, only a
soft sigh as he engulfed her face gently between his palms and leaned to press
his mouth against her uplifted lips—a light brush to begin, then a
fleeting increase of pressure Lizzy knew would have lead to a glorious exchange
if not for the interrupting voice of Mr. Bingley.

Lizzy felt a wild urge to strangle
her sister’s sweet fiancé. Judging by the grim expression on Darcy’s face as he
released her and pulled away, he entertained identical murderous thoughts. An
instant later he was smiling calmly and offering his arm in a casual manner,
the almost inhuman self-control Lizzy was starting to comprehend he possessed
squelching his negative emotions before she managed to unclench her fists. If
not for a remaining glint of burning passion deep within his eyes, she might
have concluded she imagined the entire interlude.

As slim as the odds were for
Caroline Bingley to be in the Netherfield breakfast parlor at eight o’clock in
the morning, Darcy breathed a sigh of relief to find the room empty. He had
avoided telling her of his engagement before heading to Longbourn the prior
evening, and his return with Bingley was after she had retired to her chambers.
Fortune surely would not smile upon him much longer. He crossed directly to the
buffet. She rarely descended the stairs before eleven, but on the off chance
she did, it would be easier to face that conversation after a hearty breakfast
and cup of coffee. Or maybe three.

Truthfully, he yearned to declare
his joy to the world, Caroline Bingley included. In fact, Darcy intended to
pass the morning at his writing desk, penning letters to people guaranteed to
appreciate his engagement—and a few who may not be as thrilled, such as
Lady Catherine. Pleasant or unpleasant, it was a task he anticipated. Perhaps
writing the words, “I am betrothed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire,”
several times would erase the lingering fear that he was dreaming.

Once that duty was accomplished, he
would ride to Longbourn for an afternoon walk with his beloved.

Darcy was unaware of his smile, or
that he was staring into space rather than pretending to read the newspaper
spread over the table, until it was pointed out to him.

“Mr. Darcy!”

He jerked and swung his eyes toward
Caroline Bingley, who was standing directly beside him wearing an irritable
frown.

“I entered the breakfast room, none
too stealthily I might add, and spoke your name no less than four times. Being
captivated by a news article of a riveting nature would be understandable and
forgivable. But I am not sure how to explain the whimsical smile and vacant
stare into the air.”

Belatedly Darcy rose. “I do
apologize, Miss Bingley. My mind was elsewhere.” He executed a short bow before
purposefully walking to the other side of the table to scoot a chair out for
her.

She hesitated and glanced at the
chair closest to him. When he did not move, she drifted around the table, taking
the longer distance in what he supposed was an attempt to afford him plenty of
time to observe her lush figure in graceful movement.

Then, as predictable as the sun
rising, she shaped her face into what most men would agree was a beguiling
expression and curved her mouth into a winsome smile. Brushing her fingertips
lightly over his forearm, almost as if by accident, she murmured her thanks.
After a precision-timed pause to allot him the opportunity to glance downward
at her bosom, but not be caught in an ungentlemanly stare, she swiveled and sat
into the chair.

The maneuver had less effect on him
now than it ever had before, which was remarkable considering he had never been
remotely attracted to her.

Darcy was a man, and thus not
immune to a beautiful face, fine figure, and endowed breasts. Over time, he had
done his fair share of oblique visual inspection and enjoyed the activity.
Caroline Bingley’s bosom was as fetching as other ladies within the ton, he
could honestly admit, but beyond the standard recognition that any red-blooded
man would have, his interest went no further.

So he kept his gaze level at a
point over her left shoulder, pushed the chair in as expected, and returned to
his seat. In his peripheral vision, he detected a flash of disappointment cross
her face, although why she continued to play such games with him, or anticipate
a different reaction, was incomprehensible. All attempts on her part to entice
him—and there were many, constantly—had been rebuffed as pointedly
and forcefully as he could manage while remaining a gentleman. Why she
persisted he could not fathom. Another positive to his engagement would be
relief from Caroline’s uncomfortable advances.

He did not dislike Caroline. In
fact, he thought her amusing, her gossip diverting and talents at the
pianoforte entertaining. She was the sister to his best friend, and as such
they were frequently in close company. At times, this was annoying,
primarily when she was fawning over him or being
gossipy and catty
. Yet strangely enough, she was an excellent hostess,
cultured, well spoken, and charming when she wished to be. Most of all, Darcy
knew that she loved her brother. That love was often hidden behind
self-absorption but revealed itself in small ways.

Taken altogether, Darcy rarely
remained irritated toward Caroline for long. If only she would stop her vain
efforts to ensnare him.

“I shall forgive your lapse, Mr.
Darcy. After all, an evening spent in the uncivil company of the Bennets is
sure to addle the brains of any man, especially one as cultured and intelligent
as you.”

“I do wish you would cease your
harassment of the Bennets, Caroline. It is most unbecoming and unwelcome.”

“Oh, come now! There is no need to
pretend. Charles is not in the room—probably lying abed with unwholesome
dreams of Jane Bennet lying with him.”