Desired By Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #2)

Chapter Nine

Darcy

S omething was wrong.

He could not understand the change in Elizabeth’s demeanour. Last night had been intoxicating, the sweet stolen kisses igniting his soul. What had happened after, though another soul would never know, was his greatest shame. What a wretch he was, unable to control himself in a public room. Anyone could have stumbled upon him in his study, hand around his cock as though his life depended on it. He had been desperate in his search for relief, the stolen kiss igniting the passion he had tried so hard to quell.

Whatever had transpired between them last night had clearly affected Elizabeth, for she could scarcely look at him. She had kept her eyes firmly fixed upon the breakfast table, not even daring to look at him for a few seconds. The kiss they had just shared was devoid of any real passion, quite unlike any they had shared before. She must be angry at him; he was supposed to be a gentleman, and he had risked her reputation. He owed her a thousand apologies for his indiscretion.

He had to get out of this house. The walls felt oppressive, as they always did after a few days in London. He liked the city well enough, for there was an undeniable quality of art and culture within its bounds, but it lacked the freedom he loved so dearly of the countryside. If he were at Pemberley, he would saddle up his horse and ride for miles. Perhaps his temporary insanity, as he thought of his lust, was simply due to a lack of exercise.

He found Fitzwilliam and together the two decided a walk around Hyde Park was just the thing while the women busied themselves with dresses.

“Are you well, cousin?” Fitzwilliam asked as they began their walk. “I feel as though I have done nothing else but enquire after your health these past few days. I wonder what it is that has your disposition so changed.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Oh, come, we are as close as brothers. There is no hiding from me.”

“It is your fault; you put the idea into my head. I ought never to have done it. I had never considered such a…”

Fitzwilliam held up a hand.

“Hang on, hang on. Are you telling me you are in such a foul mood simply because you had a harmless fiddle with yourself?! Larks, man! Get a hold on yourself - well, I suppose I do not need to tell you twice.”

“Shut up,” Darcy grunted.

“It is natural! All that nonsense at school about how it would make you go blind, eternal damnation, blah blah blah. The army would turn your hair white, for there are for more sordid activities going on than that when the lights are out.”

“Stop it. It is not the act itself, but what I think of. I defile Miss Elizabeth to dishonour her in such a way.”

“Oh, pish posh. I cannot walk around in circles all afternoon while you debate the moral implications of a quick tug, Darcy, really I can’t. It is fine, and if anything, it is healthy. Keeps a man in good spirts, I think. Let us have no more of this wallowing! You are to be a married man, and that can be a joyous thing indeed.”

“It is more than that. We were alone last night, and I must confess we kissed most passionately until her sister interrupted. I believe that my lustful desires were offensive to her, for Elizabeth barely seemed able to look at me this morning.”

“You never know,” Fitzwilliam smiled, “perhaps she has had a few bedtime fumblings of her own and the pair of you are matched in your embarrassment.”

“Do not make such implications. She is a lady.”

“Of course she is! A lady with feelings and passions of her own. Perhaps if you had lain with a woman as all gentleman do, you would know this, but they like it too, Darcy. It is not a matter of sufferance if you do it right.”

“I understand that…”

“I don’t think you do. You’ve been wringing your hands over your own immorality, when it hasn’t even occurred to you that Miss Elizabeth may desire you even more strongly than you do her. She will look to you to guide her, and if you wish for a happy marriage you must stop all this! A good fuck never hurt anyone.”

“I would argue that it has, and please do not use such vulgarity. We are in public. You behave as though we are in an ale house.”

“Nobody can hear what I am saying. To an onlooker, we are simply two gentleman – one a Colonel in His Majesty’s forces, no less – discussing important matters of business.”

“But we are not. I do not think anything about our conversation could be considered important.”

“Fine, I will put the discussion to bed. I just hope you are studying that book I gave you.”

“It is hardly Plato, Richard. I have managed to discern its contents quite easily, and it is nothing but filth.”

He did not say that he had read it that morning, hand covering the pictures, quite intently. He had committed the details of coupling to memory, the names of things, the intricacies. Treating the book as an education tool had quelled his endless desires. If one thought of the matter as mechanical, it was hardly arousing at all.

“But it is educational all the same. Forgive me for my impertinence, Darcy, I say it all in jest. I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You might tell your face; you have all the good humour of a man sentenced to the gallows.”

“I asked you to accompany me so we might get some exercise, and the only thing being exercised is your mouth and my patience.”

“Was that a joke, Darcy? My, she has changed you. Fine, fine, let us change the subject. I understand our dear aunt is still refusing to attend the nuptials.”

“That is something I want to discuss even less. I have nothing to say on the matter.”

“Fine. How far are we from the modiste? Perhaps we could wander over there and see if the ladies would like to promenade after their appointments have concluded. Their company would be far more entertaining than yours, if you insist upon being in this foul mood.”

“I believe it is located on the other side of the park.”

“Perfect! We shall have our walk, and then we can see if Miss Elizabeth can’t put a smile on your face.”

The modiste was situated on a fashionable London street, and there were several people of Darcy’s acquaintance strolling the cobbles. He greeted them all with a stiff “good afternoon”, but avoided all questioning on his life and upcoming nuptials. He was sure the scandal sheets would discover his aunt’s disapproval soon enough, or have their say on the disparity of Elizabeth’s birth with his own, but for now he wished to say nothing.

“Vultures, the lot of them,” Fitzwilliam said as they bid farewell to yet another well-meaning lady and her daughter, who had looked at the Colonel in a very deliberate fashion. “I am glad we are not in town often; I feel as though I am in a shop window with the world wondering how much I am worth. And I’m worth practically nothing, so I cannot imagine how you feel with your ten thousand a year.”

“I will not miss my bachelor days, it is true; I do not care for parties anyway, but I like them far less when I am being sized up like a prize cow.”

“I am sure Mrs Darcy will be the envy of all who meet her. She is charming, and they shall hate that!”

“I do not wish for Elizabeth to be disliked.”

“Then you ought not to have married at all, for nothing disappoints young ladies like another bachelor torn from the marriage mart!”

The modiste’s doorway came into view as the two men strolled leisurely along the bustling street. Darcy adjusted his gloves with a faint frown, though his stride remained purposeful. Fitzwilliam, ever attuned to his cousin’s mood, tilted his head with a wry smile.

“Do you suppose they are still inside?” Darcy asked, removing his pocket watch to consult the time. “Their appointment began an hour ago. Surely they could not still be choosing fabrics?”

“I have known you to spend hours at the haberdashers just to emerge with clothing that seems identical to that which you already own. Does Miss Elizabeth know she is marrying a peacock who spends hours fussing over his appearance, only to look exactly as he did before?”

Darcy ignored him.

“Besides,” Fitzwilliam continued, “there are two ladies having fittings, and I am sure our dear Georgiana will find an excuse to purchase something, too. Shall I poke my head around the door and see where they are in the proceedings?”

“I hardly think an unmarried man peering into a modiste will go down well,” Darcy warned.

Fitzwilliam laughed heartily, before happily walking towards the door of the modiste and slipping inside. Darcy watched, mortified, as he waited for his cousin to emerge. He waited. And waited. Finally, after around five minutes, Fitzwilliam returned, looking very pleased with himself.

“They will be finished shortly. Their measurements are complete, you needn’t worry about what I saw in there! They are pouring over fashion plates. They were surprised to see me, but Miss Elizabeth smiled most prettily when she realised you had accompanied me.”

"She smiled at the mention of me? You are sure?”

"Yes, a very warm smile," Fitzwilliam said, his tone growing more serious. "I dare say whatever you felt this morning may not be entirely as you imagine it. You are overthinking again. I know you believe yourself inscrutable, but your moods are written plainly on your face. If Miss Elizabeth noticed your unease, she may have interpreted it as something to do with her. Perhaps that is why she was subdued at breakfast."

The thought struck Darcy like a blow. Had his own discomfort been the source of Elizabeth's behaviour? The possibility made his chest tighten.

"How do I rectify this?" he asked, his voice low, almost as though he were speaking to himself.

Fitzwilliam clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Simple. Speak with her. She is not one to shy away from honesty, and I daresay she appreciates the same in you. If there is any misunderstanding, clear it. Marriage, dear cousin, thrives on communication."

Before Darcy could reply, the sound of feminine laughter floated toward them, light and melodic. He turned sharply, his heart lifting at the sight of Elizabeth stepping out of the modiste's doorway alongside Georgiana. Elizabeth carried herself with her usual poise, though her cheeks were touched with a faint blush.

Darcy's breath caught as their eyes met. For a brief moment, the unease of the morning dissolved under the warmth of her gaze.

"Mr Darcy," Elizabeth greeted with a slight curtsy, her tone teasing, "have you and the Colonel been wandering the streets all this time?"

Fitzwilliam answered before Darcy could even open his mouth.

“We decided it was quite the day for a stroll around the park, and it was my suggestion to join you ladies afterwards. Darcy was powerless to refuse his favourite cousin, of course.”

“Well, I am very pleased to see you. Although, I am afraid Pemberley will be quite overrun with all my new purchases. I am sorry, but Georgiana is most persuasive.”

“I am sure whatever you have chosen will do very well.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, their eyes meeting at last. “Shall we continue on?”

The afternoon passed without consequence; Elizabeth seemed to be herself again, and by the time they returned to the house, Darcy’s own temper had improved considerably. Dinner passed most pleasantly, and he bid Elizabeth goodnight along with the rest of the party.

Fitzwilliam retired early too; he had fallen out of his army routine, he had said, and wished to regain the rhythm he had become accustomed to. So, Darcy roamed the house alone.

Sleep had never come easily to him. He supposed, at one time, it must have done; when his parents were alive and there was no burden of responsibility on his young shoulders. Then everything changed, and he had barely had a night’s uninterrupted sleep since Georgiana’s birth.

He settled in the library, listening as the footsteps from the room above him quietened and the house fell into wonderful silence. The fire crackled softly in the grate, and he sat back in his favourite chair, the smell of leather and books filling him. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. This was his very favourite place in the world, though he supposed it shared its position with the library at Pemberley. There was an air of serenity that a library possessed, as though the silence were sacred.

He did not take a book from the shelves, instead slipping a book from his own pocket.

He ought to have destroyed it by now, but he could not help but read it over and over in his attempt to familiarise himself with the female body. He had read it the previous night, once again succumbing to his own cursed desires as he and Elizabeth replaced the figures in the book in his mind. He would not do such a thing tonight; tonight, he would view the book from an entirely scientific angle.

He thumbed through the book, carefully reading the passages (for, despite Fitzwilliam’s description of the book, there were in fact words that Darcy found to be quite educational) and making note of what might be acceptable within a marriage bed.

He was lost in his own thoughts as the clock on the mantle struck one.

Darcy stirred slightly in his chair, blinking against the flickering firelight. The clock’s chime echoed softly in the stillness of the room, a gentle reminder of the lateness of the hour. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, debating whether he should retire to his chambers or linger a little longer in this rare peace.

The faintest creak of the door interrupted his musings. His head turned sharply toward the sound, his breath catching.

Standing in the doorway, wrapped in a dark shawl, was Elizabeth. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, as though she had not expected to find anyone there, but she quickly composed herself.

“Elizabeth!” Darcy said, rising to his feet. His voice was soft, careful not to disturb the quiet of the house. “Is everything all right?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, clutching the edges of her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“I... I could not sleep,” she admitted, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I thought perhaps a book might help. I did not know that you would be here.”

“I find this room to be very peaceful at night. I often find myself in a library, wherever I am.”

“I shall know where to find you when I have need of you at Pemberley, then.”

Elizabeth moved toward the nearest shelf, her steps light against the rug. The fire cast a warm glow on her features, and Darcy found himself watching her with an intensity he could not suppress. There was a vulnerability in her expression that made his chest tighten, as though she carried the weight of some unspoken thought.

“What sort of book do you seek?” he asked, trying to keep his tone steady and hide his erection.

“Something complicated,” she replied, running her fingers lightly over the spines of the books. “Though I fear my mind may resist all attempts to be quieted tonight.”

“Perhaps I could recommend something?” Darcy offered, stepping closer.

“I would be pleased if you made sure it was a very boring book. A list of facts and figures that I cannot understand would be most welcome.”

“Why?”

“If a book is too absorbing, then I have no hope of sleep. I shall read until it is finished. If I do not read at all, then I shall do nothing but think.”

“I, too, have been preoccupied by my thoughts.”

“And what are you thinking of tonight, Mr Darcy?” she asked, her voice soft but probing.

Darcy hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again.

“I was thinking of you,” he admitted, the words escaping before he could stop them.

Elizabeth’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing in the firelight. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with unspoken emotions.

“I fear I was not myself this morning,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “I... I owe you an apology.”

“Please, you need not…”

“I saw you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Last night. I saw you in your study. What you were doing. I saw all of it.”

The ground seemed to give way beneath him.

“I…”

“I want to see it again.”