Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (19 page)

Her
cheeks burned as she made her way to the door. No, her entire body burnt from
shame. It was the third time her husband had dismissed her from his room, and
it would be the last, for she could never brave this again. She almost looked
back as she went through the door, but she did not think she could bear to
discover he had gone back to his book.

She
closed the door of her own bedchamber and leaned back against it.

There
would be no more efforts; she had thrown herself at him like a loose woman. If
there was ever to be anything more to their marriage, it would have to come
from him. But perhaps her behaviour tonight had disgusted him enough to remove
that possibility.

With
trembling fingers she unbuttoned the silk nightdress and let it fall to the floor,
then kicked it into a corner. Tomorrow she would tell Lucy to dispose of it.
She never wanted to see it again. She found one of her everyday plain linen
shifts and pulled it over her head. The coarseness of it against her skin was a
shock after the smooth silk, but she would grow accustomed to it again, just as
she had grown accustomed to her empty bed.

So
his respectful warmth to her during the day was nothing more than politeness.
No, that was not true; she had seen the look of desire in his eyes, but
apparently his distaste for her outweighed it. She threw herself down on the
bed and buried her face in the pillow, her body shaking with silent sobs.

When
she heard the door open, she did not raise her head. No doubt Lucy looking in,
and then realizing her mistress should be left in privacy.

It
was not as if she could hide her tears; she was sure her eyes must be red and
puff y. The click of the door closing again told her Lucy had left, and her
tears began anew.

Then
she felt a movement on the bed beside her and a hand on her shoulder. Lucy
would never intrude so, and Elizabeth could not mistake that touch. She
burrowed her face even deeper into the pillow. She could not even bring herself
to care that he knew she was crying over him.

His
hand massaged her shoulder. "Elizabeth, I am sorry to cause you such pain.
More sorry than you can know."

It
did not matter. His regrets could change nothing. She could not stop her tears.

"I
know you came to me tonight out of the best of motives, and I appreciate that.
The fault is mine."

The
gentleness in his touch and his voice only made it worse. She gripped the bed sheets,
wishing she could pull them over her and be hidden from his sight.

"Will
you not look at me, Elizabeth?"

She
shook her head. She did not ever want to show him her face again.

"You
need explain nothing," she said into the pillow. "I understand
perfectly. Had you wanted a loose woman to come to you, you would have paid for
one."

She
heard the hiss of indrawn breath. "I do not ever want to hear you speak
that way again, Elizabeth. That is a gross untruth."

"I
will speak as I wish." There was no point in anything else.

There
was a silence which was interrupted only by the movement of his hand.
"There is, I suppose, something to be said for that. I would rather hear
the truth than what you think will best please me, just as I would rather you
stayed away than came to me just to please me."

"It
was not to please you. That is a hopeless task. Nothing I do pleases you."
Sobs overtook her once more.

"That
is not true. It pleases me to see you take an interest in the estate. It
pleases me that you and Georgiana are better friends."

"Very
well, it pleases you that I fulfil the expectations of the mistress of your
household. Nothing more." She stopped speaking before her anger led her to
say even more.

His
hand stilled, but she could feel the heat of it through her nightdress.

"It
pleases me to see you smiling more often."

She
struggled to control her breathing. There was no point in arguing,

no
point in noting that he did not mention being pleased to see her. He was being
gentle and attentive. It was the best she could hope for, and she ought to appreciate
it while it lasted. "Thank you." A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

"You
need not thank me for the truth." His hand resumed its stroking.

"It
pleases me that you do not have a taste for mutton."

She
could not believe she had heard correctly. She turned her head to look at him.
"What has mutton to do with this?"

"I
am not fond of it, and am glad to see it appearing less often at dinner."

"Why
did you not simply ask the cooks not to serve it?"

He
moved her hair away from her eyes. "I suppose it was a habit. Mrs.

Reynolds
believes children should learn to eat what they are served without
complaint."

"It
has been a long time since you were a child." Despite the circumstances,
she found it endearing.

"A
very long time." His fingertips caressed her cheek, coming to rest on her
lips.

A
shock of heat ran through her. Her distress had kept her from wondering why he
had come to her, but there could only be one reason. "I thought this was
not what you wanted."

He
looked off into the air. "I came here because I feared you had taken my
words in a way I had not meant them, and it seems I was correct." Then

his
eyes turned to watch her again. "And also because I could not forget how
breathtaking you looked."

"Oh."
She could make no sense of the conflicting urges inside her, both drawn to him
and yet still hurt and angry.

He
placed his hand over hers. "I would not wish you to do anything distasteful
to yourself on my behalf." There was an odd note in his voice, almost of
pleading.

She
bit her lip. "You are not off ended, then, by my behaviour?"

"Off
ended? Why should I be off ended?" He sounded genuinely surprised at her
words.

"It
was at best indelicate and at worst ill-bred."

"To
come to me?"

Heat
burned her cheeks. "To express an interest in ... " She could not find
words.

"Elizabeth,
if in any small part of yourself, be it the most minute corner of your soul,
you in truth wanted to be with me, I would be ... beyond pleased."

"Then
why did you send me away?"

He
paused, as if trying to make a decision, then turned his face away from her.
"The day I proposed to you, I kissed you out of selfish greed and desire,
without a thought for what it would mean for you, or that you might object.
Because of that, you lost your home and everything you loved. And I continued
to take my pleasure in you, never considering how I might be hurting you. I
knew I was not as successful as I hoped in bringing you to enjoyment of the
act, but I thought with time and familiarity ... but no matter." His dark
eyes met hers. "If you think I have forgotten what my desires have cost
you, if you think I do not remember what I have done to you every time I see
you, you would be quite incorrect. That is why I seek to control my impulses with
you, and to assume any offer you make comes from a sense of duty rather than
anything else."

There
was no mistaking the pain in his voice. Elizabeth raised herself on her elbow and
entwined her fingers with his. "Sir, you do yourself too much wrong."

"I
doubt it."

"You
were always gentle and considerate with me. I had no cause for complaint. If I
felt any distress, it was out of my own ... confusion." How could she
explain it to him without confessing her own faults?

"Had
no one, then, explained it to you?"

"No,
I understood it well enough. It was not that." She could hardly believe
they were discussing this. If it were not evident how important it was to him,
she doubted she could force herself to speak. As it was, she could not bring
herself to say what needed to be said. Finally she sat up and blew out the
candle on the bedside table. In the protective darkness, she leaned her head
back against the headboard and closed her eyes. "I am well aware that
ladies are supposed to feel nothing. That was not always my experience."

There
was a heavy silence. "And that ... troubled you?"

That
was easier to answer. "I consider it a weakness. I thought you would take
it as a sign of my ill-breeding."

"Good
God, no. Far from it." His response was instant.

She
let out a long breath of relief. So that fear had been for naught.

"Otherwise,
it was not distressing at all, and I often found it comforting when you held
me."

"Did
you?" There was a catch in his voice.

She
nodded; then, realizing he could not see her, said, "Yes."

"Would
you ... " He hesitated. "Would you find it comforting if I held you
now?"

Did
he truly mean it? "Yes," she said, half breath, half sob.

"Then
come." He led her by the hand through the darkness to the sitting room
door, then across the sitting room and into his bedroom. Not to his bed,
though. Instead he paused, turning to cup her face in his hands. He did not say
anything, just looked into her eyes as if trying to solve a puzzle.

His
thumbs caressed the corners of her jaw, and she felt her mouth grow dry and her
lips tingled.

She
expected him to kiss her, but instead he drew her head against his shoulder.
The warmth of him and his tenderness as he held her sent a shuddering sigh
through her. She pressed her hands against his back, holding him tightly, the
way she had wanted to when he was injured. The fabric of his nightshirt rubbed
against her cheek, and she closed her eyes to appreciate the happiness she felt
in his arms.

It
was not long before she became aware of the tension in his body, the pressure
of his arousal hard against her. It sent a new awareness through her, one that
seemed to touch her every limb, and she became acutely aware of the weight of
her shift against her breasts. A tightness between her legs begged for relief.

Yet
Darcy did nothing, although she was almost certain he wished to.

Perhaps
if she initiated it--but no, that had not worked well earlier. But then he had
come to her. She tilted her head to see his face, hoping for a clue there, only
to discover his eyes fi xed on her.

One
of them would have to do something if it were not always to remain thus.
Elizabeth touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. No, from the look on
his face, there was no mistaking what he wanted, and that very look was
bringing forth more desire in her. But she dared not act, not when he had
refused her kiss in this very room not more than half an hour past.

Still,
she could indicate receptivity. She tipped her chin up, moving her face closer
to his until she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek. Then
his mouth was against hers, not gently as she expected, but with urgent hunger
that made her gasp.

Instinctively
she knew how to meet the raw need in him, arching herself against him and
gripping his shoulders. A guttural sound burst forth from his throat as his
hands strained to pull her ever closer. So he did still want her. Intoxicated
by the knowledge, she ran her hands down his back.

Finally
he broke away, his breathing uneven. "Are you certain this is what you
want?"

"Quite
certain." And suddenly she was certain, not just to be close to him or to
please him, but with a sense that she needed his touch.

Then
her feet left the floor as he swung her up into his arms, carrying her the last
few steps to his bed. But he did not put her down, instead looking intensely at
her. "I want to learn what brings you pleasure."

She
buried her face in his shoulder, her cheeks burning. "Do not ask me to
say. I am too embarrassed already."

"Then
I must discover it for myself." He lowered her to the bed. His hand curved
around her breast as he lay beside her, his thumb skimming across the sensitive
tip. His voice took on a new roughness. "And discover it I shall, so do
not attempt to hide it from me. Do you understand?"

She
nodded, acutely aware of his hand, wanting him to touch her that way again.
When at last he did, and a shaft of pleasure rushed through her, she raised her
eyes to his. "I will try not to hide it." But she could hear a
trembling in her voice.

"In
fact," he said in an autocratic tone she had not heard in some time,
"I do not wish anything to be hidden." He tugged at the ties of her
nightdress.

"Nothing
at all."

Her
eyes widened. He had never asked this of her in the past, though she had heard
of men who liked their women unclothed. Her skin burned at the idea of him
looking at her so. But she would not deny him, although the very thought sent
tension spiraling through her. She sat up and drew the shift over her head,
then let it fall to the floor. She could not look at him, but she could feel
his eyes on her body.

His
hands cupped her breasts, and then he rested his forehead against them. Now she
could only see his thick dark hair and sense how rapidly he was breathing. Then
came a moist, warm sensation which could only be his mouth moving across her,
travelling across her breast in an almost intolerable intimacy. She made an
involuntary sound when his tongue touched her nipple.

He
looked up at her with eyes black as night. "Yes. That is what I want
from
you, Elizabeth." He pushed her shoulders back against the pillow, then
removed his nightshirt.

She
had only seen his chest when it had been marred by his wound. She reached out
to touch the newly-healed scar, still livid with colour, not yet fading to
white, recalling the agony of not knowing whether he would live or die. How
fortunate she was that he was still with her, and she in his bed!

As
he moved closer, she felt the roughness of his skin touch hers, her breasts
pressed against him with an excruciating sensitivity. Almost of their own
volition, her fingers found their way into his hair and she kissed him with all
the love pent up inside her. His response was all that she could wish for.