Desired By Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #2)

Chapter One

Elizabeth

F itzwilliam Darcy stood before her, dressed not in the stiff formality of society, but in an open-necked shirt and breeches, his dark curls tousled and sweat glistening on his brow as though from extensive exertion. His eyes, always so intense, held something even deeper now - a look of longing, of unguarded tenderness.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, stepping closer.

The sound of her name on his lips sent a thrill through her. She knew she should speak, should offer some witty retort, but the words would not come. He reached for her, his hand warm as it cradled her cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, reverent path down her jaw. She felt fire trail in his wake, her need heightening.

“Say you are mine,” he whispered.

She shivered, though the night was warm.

“Have I not already said it?”

His lips quirked in a half-smile, but there was something desperate in his gaze.

“Say it again.”

She swallowed, her heart pounding.

“I am yours,” she whispered.

A sharp exhale, as though he had been holding his breath, and then his lips were on hers. Slow at first, searching, savouring. She melted into him, her hands slipping into his hair as he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her as if he would never let go. His hands began to move, caressing her body. His wide palm splayed over her breast, squeezing gently as she gasped against him.

The world around them faded - the garden, the flowers, the very air - until there was only the feel of him, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

She had never felt so cherished, so wholly his.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured against her lips. “My Elizabeth.”

The world around them began to shift, slipping like sand through her fingers. His touch faded, the warmth receding, and she tried to hold onto it, tried to stay with him just a moment longer.

With a soft gasp, her eyes fluttered open, her heart still racing. She looked around; she was not in the magical garden of her dream, but her childhood bedroom at Longbourn. Jane slept peacefully beside her, but Lizzy knew she could sleep no longer. The room was filled with the strange half-light of the early autumn morning. It was not dark, and yet it was not light – Lizzy knew before even opening the curtains that the sun would be shrouded by thick cloud, as was so common as winter neared.

Lizzy moved carefully, not wishing to disturb Jane. As Lizzy left the bed, Jane murmured softly in her sleep but did not stir. She tied her wrapper securely around her waist and tiptoed to the window, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath her steps. Drawing aside the curtain, she peered out at the early morning.

Her breath fogged the glass as she pressed her fingers to the cold pane. It was a scene she had admired countless times before, yet this morning, it felt different. The trees, the hedgerows, even the distant chimneys of Longbourn seemed to belong to a different life, one that she was soon to leave behind. The thought brought both a thrill and a pang of sadness. This was her home, and she loved it fiercely. But now, she was to have another home, a new life, and a future that held endless possibilities.

Slipping out of the room, Lizzy made her way down the quiet hall. The house was still, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the parlour and the soft creaks that came with every step she took. She found herself in the kitchen, its hearth still warm from the embers of the previous night. Taking a seat by the fire, she wrapped her arms around her knees and allowed herself a moment of solitude.

Her thoughts inevitably turned to Mr Darcy – Fitzwilliam, as she called him when they were alone, determined not to be one of those women who referred to their husbands as though they were a stranger. To think that she had once considered him the very last man in the world she could ever marry! His pride, his reserve - how they had infuriated her. But now, she understood the depth beneath that exterior, the kindness and loyalty that had slowly, inexorably, won her heart.

She thought of his letter, his words still etched into her memory. She thought of his gaze, steady and unwavering, as he had asked for her hand the second time. No trace of arrogance, only love and quiet hope. How could she have resisted him?

She got up from her perch, wishing for fresh air. It was Sunday, so she did not have to worry about being seen by the servants, as they received every other Sunday off. She opened the back door, stepping out into the chilly morning air. The crisp cold bit at her cheeks, and the frost crunched beneath her slippers. She wrapped her robe tighter and lifted her face to the sky. It was a frivolous thing, she knew, to walk outside in such a state of undress. Her mother would scold her terribly, claiming that she would contract all manner of illnesses. The world was still asleep, the garden a private sanctuary.

She was alive with joy, and the world felt alive with her. Today was the day the final Banns would be read, and in two short weeks they would be married. It seemed a waste to wait for so long; if she could, she would insist upon marrying Fitzwilliam tomorrow, and they would run away to Pemberley where they would be able to share a moment alone without her mother hovering over them, as had become her infuriating habit.

Her mother, frustratingly, was a dutiful chaperone. Lizzy had expected a certain amount of discretion on her mother’s behalf once the betrothal had been announced, but it was not to be. As it was, the couple had not been allowed a moment without her keen eye watching over them. She accompanied them on walks, complaining loudly, or to tea or – well, everywhere. Lizzy had never seen her mother be so meticulous in her observation.

Elizabeth pulled the robe tighter to her; it was of no use, for the fabric did little to keep the autumn chill from her body. She shivered, staring out ahead. The sound of footsteps made her startle, and she squinted in the half-light. It felt like a dream, but Fitzwilliam was walking towards her.

“Fitzwilliam!”

“I came to see if I might escort you to church this morning, but I can see that you are not ready.”

She looked down at her wrapper; it was more decent than a mere nightgown, but not fit for company.

“What time is it?!”

“Eight o’clock. I thought I would be early, but I did not expect to be so early I would find you…”

His eyes drifted lower, and she could not help but search for approval in his eyes. Such vanity was quicky replaced with humility.

“I apologise. I am glad to see you; we have scarcely had a moment to ourselves since the engagement was announced.”

“We have no chaperone.”

“I do not think my mother would expect a visitor at such an early hour. A moment more, please? I cannot let you go so soon! I know a place where we shall not be seen.”

“If we were to be found…” he said, turning his gaze towards the house.

“Please, my mother and father are snoring so heavily the very foundations of the house are rocking!”

She took his hand, pulling him through the garden and to the small gazebo that had been installed two summers ago. Her mother had insisted upon its instillation, stating that it was the very height of fashion, though in reality it was rarely used. Lizzy now found the small slip of privacy it provided entirely invaluable, and silently thanked her mother for her follies.

Without hesitation, Elizabeth slipped her arms around his waist, her head leaning against the cool material of his coat. Fitzwilliam remained as frigid as a statue, her embrace unreturned. She flinched, pulling away from him hurriedly.

“Forgive me, I should not have…”

“I have wanted to embrace you for as long as I can remember,” he interrupted. “I fear I am inexperienced with expressions of affection.”

“Then I shall endeavour to be your tutor,” she teased.

He blinked, and she realised he had misunderstood. She clapped her hand to her mouth, her cheeks hot even in the frigid air.

“No! No! Please do not mistake me, I have never…I am as inexperienced as you, more so I am sure! I merely meant…”

“I took no offense. You are talented in showing affection to your relations and friends. One is never in doubt when they are admired by you. My own ability is sorely lacking.”

“And how is it, sir, that you feel about me?” she whispered, looking up at him. “You said, when you asked me to marry you, that you love me. Is it true?”

“Of course.”

“Have I told you?” Lizzy whispered. “Do you know my own heart?”

“I would hear it as often as you would tell me,” he said, so softly she could scarcely make out the words. “Please.”

“I love you,” she whispered, her arms once more threading around his waist as she gazed up at him. “I love you, and always shall.”

His arms raised from his side, and her eyes fluttered closed as he pulled her into him, his palms splayed at the small of her back. She prised her eyes open, utterly breathless at their proximity. They stared at one another, and she could not help but rise to her tiptoes, closing the space between them. Their lips were only the barest of breaths apart, and he whispered softly,

“I…”

His words were lost as the loud, unwelcome crow of their cockerel broke the blissful peace of the morning. They jumped apart, and Fitzwilliam had almost thrown himself to the side of the gazebo in his haste to create distance between them.

“He is late today!” Lizzy cursed. “He normally crows as soon as the sun begins to rise, not at eight o’clock! Oh, you must go! The whole house will awake with such a racket, and it is about time! Here, out of the back gate. Follow the path and it will take you back the way you came.”

“I will linger with my horse and wait until I see life about the house to escort you to church; your family will be late if they do not rise soon. It would not do to miss the banns, Elizabeth.”

“Very well – you must pretend you have not seen me today! Go, Fitzwilliam!”

She led him to the side gate. She lingered as he disappeared down the path, her gaze following his retreating figure until he was lost from sight. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her lips still tingled with the memory of his touch, an ache that refused to fade. Every part of her felt as though a spark had ignited within her, setting her entire being aflame.

Oh, if this was a fraction of what it was to be married, then the time could not pass quickly enough!