Desired By Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #2)

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth

“W hy does Mama want to see me?” Lizzy asked, her brow furrowing as Jane tugged her down the hall, her grip insistent but not rough.

“Lizzy!” Jane hissed as soon as they had stepped away from the room, her voice a low but urgent whisper. “What were you doing? Oh, you should see your lips! I do not need an answer, for I know exactly what you were doing! I lied about Mama. Forgive me, but I needed a reason to steal you away!”

Lizzy stopped short, her cheeks flushing as she raised her fingertips to her lips. They felt slightly tender, and as her hand brushed them, she realised the truth of Jane’s words - her lips were faintly swollen beneath her touch. The memory of Mr Darcy’s kiss lingered like a ghost, haunting her even now.

“It was a kiss, that is all,” Lizzy said defensively, though her voice wavered slightly. “Surely you have kissed Mr Bingley!”

“That is not what we are discussing,” Jane snapped, her usual calm demeanour giving way to an uncharacteristic impatience. “A peck, that is all. Maybe two.”

“You are lying! Jane!” Lizzy exclaimed, her indignation tempered by the faintest hint of amusement. She knew her sister too well to believe such a claim.

“Hush!” Jane’s sharp tone cut through the quiet hallway. “A stolen kiss on a walk is expected, but to be alone in a room together late at night? You must control your passion, Lizzy, or your reputation shall be ruined!”

Lizzy’s smile faltered, and she turned her face away, her expression shadowed.

“I fear I am exactly what Mama accused me of, for it feels impossible. When I am near him…” Her voice trailed off; the unspoken words heavy between them.

“No more, Lizzy,” Jane said, her tone softening but still firm. “Perhaps I should ask Charles if we may stay with him.”

Lizzy halted mid-step, turning to face her sister with wide eyes.

“You think me incapable of resisting temptation?”

Jane said nothing, though she picked at the skin of her thumb – something she had always done when she felt guilty.

“It will not happen again,” Lizzy said quickly, her tone pleading. “I promise you that.”

Jane sighed, looking as though she wanted to believe her but wasn’t entirely convinced.

“You must. We have been given separate rooms here, Lizzy, but I think we ought to share.”

“Jane!” Lizzy’s exclamation was half-laugh, half-protest. “What do you think of me?! Do you think I shall wander the halls half-dressed and crazed with lust?!”

Jane’s lips twitched despite herself, though her tone remained serious.

“I did not, but now…”

“Mother has poisoned your mind against me,” Lizzy interrupted with mock severity, folding her arms across her chest. “I am sure I will be quite safe in my room, and I must admit it shall be nice to spread out a little. You always steal my covers.”

“I do not!” Jane protested, her indignation lasting only a moment before it dissolved into laughter. “Very well, as you wish.”

They reached the door to Lizzy’s bedroom, and Jane hesitated, lingering just a fraction longer than usual. Her gaze searched Lizzy’s face as though looking for reassurance.

“Stop it,” Lizzy said, her tone light but affectionate as she reached for the door handle. “Go to your own room and do not worry about me. Goodnight, sister.”

“Goodnight,” Jane replied softly, her voice tinged with lingering worry as she turned away.

Elizabeth closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment as she let out a deep sigh. The room was warm, the fire burning low in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the richly adorned walls. Its grandeur, previously so delightful, now felt strangely oppressive.

She crossed the room to the vanity, where a delicate porcelain pitcher and basin awaited. Slowly, she removed her earrings and set them on the table, her reflection in the mirror catching her eye. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips faintly swollen from the kiss she could not forget.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head. “What are you becoming?”

Her fingers moved deftly to unlace her gown, the rustle of fabric the only sound in the quiet room. She changed into her nightgown, the soft cotton brushing against her skin a small comfort. She slipped beneath the covers of the grand bed, the mattress far too large for one person.

Elizabeth lay still, willing her racing thoughts to quiet. Yet no matter how she tried, her mind would not settle. She turned onto her side, then her back, then sat up, fluffing the pillow far more aggressively than was required before slamming herself back down onto the bed. None of it did any good. The memory of Darcy’s touch, his voice, his whispered confession, echoed endlessly in her mind.

When the clock in the hall struck one, the soft chime cut through the silence, and Elizabeth realised she had not come even close to sleep. Her restless energy proved unbearable. She threw back the covers and put on her slippers. Perhaps a walk would help, if only to distract her. Perhaps she would go to the library and find a boring book to send her to sleep.

The corridor outside her room was dimly lit, the faint glow of sconces casting elongated shadows across the floor. Elizabeth moved carefully, her hands brushing the cold banister as she descended the wide staircase.

The house felt different at night, hushed and reverent, as though it too kept secrets. Her exploration began tentatively, her feet padding along thick carpets. She passed by the drawing room, her cheeks heating as she recalled Fitzwilliam’s lips upon hers, and then into the library, its vast shelves towering and silent.

Suddenly, a faint creak of wood from somewhere deeper in the house startled her. She turned toward the doorway, her breath catching. She hesitated for a moment before stepping back into the hallway, drawn now by curiosity. Following the source of the noise, she soon found herself near a room she had yet to see. The door was ajar, and light spilled faintly into the corridor.

She could not help herself; she peered round the door. What she saw made her breath catch.

Her Fitzwilliam sat in the chair near the desk, his head tipped back and eyes closed. Her eyes drifted down to see his hand grasped around…oh.

What was he doing?

His hand moved up and down, allowing her the briefest glimpse of the forbidden part of him that he held in his hand. Each movement of his hand seemed to bring him unspeakable pleasure, for he gasped and his hips bucked upwards. She could not breathe, enchanted by the scene before her.

Her own body responded in kind to his pleasure. That place between her legs seemed to burn with longing, her heart racing as she imagined what it would be to be the cause of his pleasure.

Lizzy knew that she should leave, that this was a private moment not meant for her eyes. Yet she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from Fitzwilliam's form.

His movements became more urgent, his breathing ragged. A low moan escaped his lips, sending a shiver down Lizzy's spine. She pressed her thighs together, trying to quell the ache that had blossomed there. He was beautiful like this, unguarded and vulnerable. She pressed herself closer to the door, trying to silence her breathing so she would not be seen. It felt impossible; the sight before her made her pulse quicken and her breath seemed to burst from her in gasps.

He was so beautiful. She longed to enter the room and embrace him, and some shameful part of her wished to replace his hand with hers. She did not understand what he was doing, but could tell from his soft whimpers that whatever it was, was most pleasurable indeed. His hand began to move with more haste, his hips rising to push himself into his tightened fist. And then, in a moment that seemed to pause time, he moaned in ecstasy as white fluid spilled over his hand.

Lizzy moved away from the door, not stopping until she felt the wall behind her. She could hardly think, hardly breathe. Her mind was racing, and still there was that throbbing between her thighs that would not abate. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She must leave before Fitzwilliam emerged from his study and realised what she had seen.

Her legs as heavy as lead, she fled from the corridor and returned to her room.

She closed the door, pressing her weight against it as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. What was he doing? She had not known it was possible to touch oneself in such a way, and the substance that had emerged from him…was that what was spoken of, the seed that made a baby?

The biggest mystery of all was just why it had elicited such delicious feelings within her? Such a strange sensation she had never felt, and yet she wanted to feel more. Closing her eyes, she pulled up the skirt of her nightgown. If Fitzwilliam could touch himself in such a way, surely it must be possible for her to do the same?

She could not help but to gasp as her fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her thighs, the feeling intensifying as she grew bolder and dared to move higher. She felt the soft curls of the hair between her legs, and she pressed her palm over the place she had never dared to touch for more than a moment or two. A gasp escaped her, the sensation so strange she felt her knees buckle. Snatching her hand away, she ran to her bed and buried herself beneath the covers, desperate for whatever this intoxicating feeling was to leave her.

∞∞∞

Lizzy woke to sunlight. She blinked deliriously; when had she gone to sleep? She was certain such relief would never come, but here she was, awake on a new day. The feeling that had almost consumed her last night was gone.

There was a knock on the door, and Jane slipped in before Lizzy could respond. She was already dressed for the day in a pretty blue frock that their mother had bought in haste when they had been invited to London. Lizzy had no such new garments in her own trunk.

“Good morning, sister,” Jane smiled, sitting beside her on the bed. “I trust you slept well.”

“Very, thank you.” Lizzy lied. “And you?”

“I slept terribly,” Jane said, reaching for Lizzy’s hand. “Oh, I am so sorry about what I said, Lizzy. I was wrong to speak to you in such away, to accuse you of such things! I have felt wretched all night, tossing and turning. I would have come in to apologise, but I know how grumpy you are when awoken, and how quickly you fall asleep! I thought I would have only made things worse.”

Jane rarely spoke so quickly, her words running together as she apologised fervently. The guilt that crept over Lizzy was instant and overwhelming. She could never tell her sister of what she had seen last night, of what she had done, and the burden of a secret weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

“It does not matter, Jane. I am sorry for lingering in the drawing room when I ought not have done.”

“I must confess, Lizzy, for it has been weighing heavily on me. You were right about Charles and I.”

Lizzy frowned in confusion before realising what her sister meant. Her eyes widened in shock, for she had certainly not expected such a confession from timid, proper Jane!

“Oh?”

“We have more than kissed.”

“Jane!”

“On a walk, he…he kissed my neck. And my ear. With his tongue. And I liked it! I am not one to lecture on morality when I, too, succumbed to lust.”

“Jane,” Lizzy said, trying not to laugh. “I do not think that is what people speak of when they discuss fallen women. I do not think you ought to feel bad about that.”

“Truly? Oh, that is a relief. We will not do it again, not until marriage, I swear.”

“Did you like it?” Lizzy asked.

Jane blushed from her cheeks to her hair, even the tips of her aforementioned ears turning red as a summer strawberry.

“Hush, Lizzy!”

“You liked it!”

“Lizzy! If you do not stop, I shall leave!”

“Fine, fine. Will you fix my hair? I am sure Hill is too busy with Mama to attend either of us.”

Jane nodded, moving to stand behind Lizzy as she threaded through her tangled curls with her fingers.

“Just think, Lizzy. When we are married we will have our very own abigail! No more fighting for the mirror in the morning, or fumbling with one another’s buttons.”

“It will be luxury indeed. Oh, Jane, I shall miss you terribly. Promise you will write to me every week.”

“I would write to you every day if you asked me to, but I fear I am not as eloquent in my correspondence as you,” Jane smiled. “Besides, Lydia always said married women are too busy to write. I wonder what we shall be busy with.”

“Have you given any thought to what Mama told us the other day?”

“Of the wedding night? Yes, I must confess I have. I am quite concerned.”

“Why?”

“I have heard that it hurts dreadfully – and that there is blood.”

“I have heard that too,” Lizzy agreed. “Charlotte did not tell me much, but she certainly did not look as though their marriage was a pleasant undertaking. I cannot imagine it would be, with Mr Collins looming over you night after night.”

“Lizzy!” Jane clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Have I shocked you terribly, Jane? I am sorry! I just wish that we knew more about it. I suppose we must leave it to the men, but how do they know what to do? They have never been married before, and so they must have lain with other women. Have you thought of that?!”

“I do not care to! Oh, Lizzy, I do not like this conversation at all! I do not wish to think of Charles in that manner. He is a gentleman, and a most moral man. Mr Darcy, too. You cannot think they would take a mistress!”

“No, I believe gossip would have reached our ears about that.”

She could not stop thinking of what she had seen the night before, and her own ignorance of her body. Surely one must have had a teacher, to be able to achieve such a release alone?

“Whatever happens,” Jane continued, “I have every confidence that they will be most considerate.”

“Yes,” Lizzy echoed dully, “most considerate.”

They descended the stairs to breakfast, finding Fitzwilliam and Colonel Fitzwilliam sitting at the table speaking in low voices. At the ladies’ presence in the doorway, both men shot to their feet and welcomed them.

Lizzy took the spare seat across from her betrothed, and found that she could not quite look him in the eye after he enquired about the quality of her sleep. She felt her cheeks heat, the memory of what she had seen in the darkness last night overwhelming her.

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “You seem a little flustered.”

“Quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Very well indeed. I hear that you two fine young ladies will be occupied for most of the day with modiste appointments. I do not know how you can bear such tedium.”

Lizzy smiled.

“I must confess, I have a weakness for new clothes. I know it is terribly vain of me, but I cannot help it. As one of five, it is a rarity indeed to have something all to myself.”

“I am sure my cousin will make sure Mrs Darcy has all of the new clothes she could desire,” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, helping himself to more toast and taking a hearty bite.

“You must have all that you need,” Fitzwilliam told her, his eyes meeting hers.

“Thank you. In truth, I will not require much. I have a good deal of dresses that are perfectly good and…”

“No, no, certainly not!” her mother’s voice startled her. “You shall be a married lady; it would not do to roam Derbyshire in tattered rags.”

“Good morning, Mama. How nice of you to join us.”

Mrs Bennet huffed and puffed as she took her seat, directing the maid serving breakfast how she took her tea. The rest of the party sat in stunned silence; the pleasant conversation they had been making prior to her arrival scuppered.

“I do hope the London modistes are as good as I have heard them to be. We have a very fine little shop in Meryton. The seamstress there used to work in Paris, if you would believe it, before all the nasty business erupted.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who might have disputed warfare being called ‘nasty business’, leant forward and drained his tea cup, standing up.

“Well, ladies, I best get on with the day. I wish you all luck in your endeavours at the modiste.”

“I shall join you,” Darcy said, rising too. “Elizabeth, would you be so good as to call into my study before you depart?”

He looked straight at her, and still she found herself avoiding his gaze.

“Of course.”

She tucked her head down and continued to pick at her breakfast, ignoring the conversation between her mother and Jane. Miss Darcy joined them, and still Lizzy made little contribution to the conversation.

“Well, we must be on our way. Lizzy, go to Mr Darcy as instructed, but see that you are not long,” Mrs Bennet said as they departed the breakfast room. “And the door is to remain open, of course.”

“Of course, Mama. I will be only a moment.”

She trudged unhappily towards Darcy’s study, retracing her steps from the previous night. Now, the hallway was flooded with light and the house filled with people. Yet she could not help but recall the way her heart had raced, the way she had ached for him…she could not help but want him desperately. It was wrong, surely, to feel lust so intensely.

“Elizabeth, is that you?” his voice called to her.

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not realised that she now stood just as she had last night, outside the slightly open door of Fitzwilliam’s study. Now, she pushed the door open and walked in. He was in much the same place as the night before, but wearing considerably more clothing. He rose to greet her, handing her a small envelope.

“Would you see that the modiste receives this?”

She looked down at the note, closed with the Darcy wax seal.

“Of course.”

“I would ordinarily have a servant deliver it but…I must confess I wished to see you before you left.”

“I see.”

“I apologise if my actions last night caused a disagreement with your sister. Unskilled as I am in the subtilties of the fairer sex, I gained the impression that she was most displeased. I fear if it was so transparent to me, the displeasure she was suffering was significant.”

“It was nothing. Do not concern yourself.”

“It is my duty to concern myself when matters concern you, Elizabeth,” he said softly, stepping forward. “Forgive me, for I know I ought to know better, but might I have a kiss?”

Her heart fluttered at his boldness, for he had never before asked for affection. Though she still felt shame to her core, she reached up and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was entirely chaste, and yet she could not help that familiar burning that returned between her legs.

“I must go,” she blurted, stepping back from him as though she had been burned.

She turned, envelope clutched in her hand, and ran from the room.