Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (15 page)

“Then we will not talk,” he said, before leaning forward and capturing her lips with his.

Elizabeth knew she should pull away, to depart and leave him alone in the garden, but the moment their lips met, her good sense abandoned her. Instead of breaking free, she shifted closer into his warm embrace, delighting in the way his arms enveloped her, tugging her closer still. She knew she was in trouble when his tongue probed the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and she opened for him eagerly, a small moan ripping free from her throat. The kiss went on and on, drawing out of her a passion she had not been aware she possessed. His hands glided down her back until they cupped her buttocks through the thick material of her dress. He squeezed, holding her roughly against his body and against the hardness at the front of his trousers. When Elizabeth gasped, Darcy used it to his advantage, pushing his tongue farther inside, devouring her mouth. And still Elizabeth could not stop—did not want it to end.

When they broke apart, Elizabeth expected Darcy to step back, to put distance between them, but he seemed as determined not to break the contact as she. Instead, he trailed hot, wet kisses along her jawline and down her throat. She gasped as she felt the cool night air hit the back of her legs as her skirt and petticoats were lifted. His hand, heavy and hot, trailed up her thigh, caressing and massaging where it touched. As his tongue licked along her collarbone and his hands moved higher, Elizabeth arched her back, getting wet between her legs. She was certain her nipples had hardened and pebbled in response to his ministrations. Every part of her body felt alive, poised, when he reached his hand up and touched her between her legs.

“You are wet,” he said hoarsely, his fingers stroking over her undergarment. “So perfectly wet.”

“I…” Raised voices cut off Elizabeth’s words and Darcy jumped back as though he’d been burned.

As Elizabeth’s skirts fell to the ground, panic engulfed her. What if someone had seen them? She would disgrace her family and be shunned from society. The voices grew louder and Elizabeth looked around her in desperation. There had to be somewhere she could hide.

“Come this way,” Darcy hissed, grabbing her hand and all but dragging her along behind him to a path that led around the side of the house.

Elizabeth was too anxious and alarmed to argue. She followed in his wake, lifting her skirts to allow her ease of movement as they hurried away. They followed the path until they reached the back of the house and Darcy pushed open a door that took them into the kitchen. He let go of her hand as they entered and strode through the room. Elizabeth kept her head down as she followed, but she was aware of some of the servants watching them pass.

Darcy pushed through another door at the end and guided Elizabeth down a corridor which brought them to a back staircase. He climbed it quickly, and she followed, even though she could not determine why. She should get back to the party before she was missed, but her legs carried her along after him. At the top of the staircase, Darcy made a right and passed by several doors. It was obvious they were in the servants’ quarters, but another turn at the end of the corridor brought them out onto a landing with a balcony overlooking the main hall.

“This way,” Darcy whispered, striding along until he reached a door at the end. He waited for her to catch up, then threw open the door, reaching out for her hand and pulling her inside the room. It was a bedchamber, likely his. Darcy quickly closed the door behind her and just when doubt began to creep into Elizabeth’s mind, he took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly. All sensible thought fled and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. This was what she had wanted all along, was it not? She had thought often of his kiss, about his hands touching her, his body writhing atop of her. But silly notions were one thing, seeing them through to fruition was another thing entirely.

When Darcy’s tongue entered her mouth, a moan tore from Elizabeth’s throat, and then Darcy moved them backwards until she was pressed against the door, his body holding her in place. The hardness in his trousers excited her beyond measure. One of Darcy’s hands slid up her body, capturing her breast, and she gasped into his mouth.

“Let us lie down,” he murmured in her ear.

She should refuse. She should end this now, leave the room and forget about her desire for him. She nodded instead and let him lead her to the large bed.

She was going to do this. She was really and truly going to do this. They paused the kiss just long enough so that they could cross the distance of the room. When he took her mouth again and kissed her deeply she felt her legs hit the bottom of the bed and then she was falling backwards, Darcy coming down on top of her. Elizabeth had worried the weight of his body might make her feel overwhelmed and overpowered, but instead, his large, muscular frame eased her doubts and made her feel safe. His tongue tangled with hers and his hips undulated, his hardness heavy against her thigh. She felt her body quiver, but it was not cold in the room far from it.

Darcy pulled back to allow them both to take a breath, then began trailing  feather-light kisses down her neck. Elizabeth closed her eyes and got lost in the sensation, but somehow even in her lust-addled brain, her earlier doubts reappeared.

“Mr Darcy, please. I can’t do this, I…”

Darcy looked up and met her gaze. His breathing was heavy and his eyes fiery with a passion that seemed to burn into her very soul, setting her entire body alight.

“If I gave you my word that upon my honour I would not do anything you did not explicitly want, would you have faith in me?”

She should not. She hardly knew the man, after all, and what she did know was not all good. The only conceivable answer to his question was no, she could not have faith in him.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Darcy swallowed hard. “Then let me pleasure you with my mouth and I swear upon my honour we will do no more.”

Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath, excited more than she dared to admit by his coarse words. She nodded her agreement and Darcy’s smile was bright. His mouth descended on her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut, getting lost in the thrill of what she was doing, getting lost in him. Confident hands lifted the hem of her dress and his fingers teased their way up her legs. He parted them.

“What…?” She opened her eyes, some of her earlier unease returning, but his gentle smile relieved some of her doubt.

Darcy replaced his fingers with his mouth, his tongue teasing its way up her leg, along her thighs. Elizabeth’s breath came faster as he neared her sex, then without warning he covered it with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the material of her undergarments. Elizabeth gasped, shocked at what he was doing to her.

His fingers slid into the waistband and he tugged them down a little and kissed the flesh beneath. He pulled them down farther.

“Oh no, I…”

“I promise you, Elizabeth,” he rasped. “Just my mouth.”

She allowed him to take off the garment, but felt vulnerable and exposed. She moved her hands to cover herself, but he shook his head.

“Let me look. You are beautiful.”

She removed her hands and Darcy gave an appreciative growl. He lowered his head and his tongue licked her sex, tasting her. A deep moan rumbled in his chest. Elizabeth cried out, but immediately regretted it, her head swivelling to the closed door.

“We are quite safe here,” Darcy said. “No one will hear us over the music downstairs.”

He snaked his tongue out to wet his lips, then lowered his head again and licked her once more. The foreign sensation was simply divine. The more his tongue swept over her heated flesh, the more she desired it, needed it even. No further words were spoken. While she watched in both disbelief and tremendous curiosity, Darcy flicked his tongue over her again and again. Elizabeth threw her head back, enjoying the tantalising wetness and the wonderful feelings it produced. He licked and sucked, nibbled at her until Elizabeth thought she was going to fly apart from the sheer delight of it. The sweeps of Darcy’s tongue grew faster as he lapped at her with abandon and Elizabeth could feel something building inside, rising within like a powerful tide about to break on the shore. Her knuckles were white as she grasped the bed linens and her legs clenched with each glorious lick of his tongue. The intimate act made her feel vulnerable, but incredibly powerful at the same time. Then he began to suck in earnest and the unknown occurrence she was barrelling towards became suddenly within her grasp.

The strokes of his tongue took her higher and higher until she felt that she was flying, utterly unaware of anything and everything but the sensations that were rolling through her body. Time seemed to stand still as she held on to the sheets as though they were the only thing that could keep her grounded. But it was not enough. Darcy’s hands gripped her thighs as an explosion she was unprepared for roared through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out. The timbre of her voice was low and husky, the sound unlike any she had made before. Her legs shook with uncontrollable tremors and through it all, Darcy kept his mouth on her, teasing out the release, extending it. When it was over, Elizabeth could only stare, in awe of what had happened. Darcy grinned and licked his lips before sitting back on his heels, looking utterly pleased with himself.

Elizabeth lay back for a few moments before reality set in and she sat up quickly, worriedly staring at the door. “I am not sure I know what to say.”

“So do not say anything.” Darcy smiled reassuringly. “I suppose you had better get back to the ball. You will be missed, I dare say.”

Elizabeth nodded then hesitated. “What about…you?” She nodded in the direction of his manhood, heat rising in her cheeks.

Darcy laughed. “Oh, fear not. I will be quite all right.”

As soon as her clothing looked appropriate, Elizabeth crossed the room, surprised at how shaky her legs had become. She looked back as she pulled open the door. Quite embarrassed by what had happened, she could barely look Mr Darcy in the eye. “I suppose I will see you later,” said she.

“Soon enough,” Darcy said quietly. He looked as uncomfortable with the situation now as she felt.

Elizabeth quickly made her way through the house until she stood outside the large reception room that held the ball. Standing at the door for a moment to gather her thoughts, she was utterly mortified with what had happened. How could she have allowed it? If anyone were to find out, if her family knew… She took a deep breath, hoping the colour that had undoubtedly risen in her cheeks had dispersed, and rejoined the party.

She had not long separated from Mr Darcy, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain accosted her.

“So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham. Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions, and I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you, among his other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr Darcy’s steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions. As to Mr Darcy’s using him ill, it is perfectly false, for, on the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr Darcy is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother thought that he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite’s guilt, but really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

Elizabeth was so full of shame at what had occurred that she answered Miss Bingley much more sharply than she ought. “His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,” said Elizabeth angrily, “for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr Darcy’s steward, and of
that
, I can assure you, he informed me himself.” Elizabeth had to wonder why Miss Bingley felt the need to warn her about Mr Wickham. Had Darcy said something to her? Was he jealous of their acquaintance?

“I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Excuse my interference—it was kindly meant.”

“Insolent girl!” said Elizabeth to herself. “You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr Darcy.” She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make enquiries on the same subject of Bingley. She could barely look her sister in the eye. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness.

“I want to know,” said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister’s, “what you have learnt about Mr Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon.”

“No,” replied Jane, “I have not forgotten him, but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr Darcy, but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr Darcy than he has received. I am sorry to say by his account as well as his sister’s, Mr Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr Darcy’s regard.”

“Mr Bingley does not know Mr Wickham himself?”