Desired By Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #2)

Chapter Fifteen

Elizabeth

A s the sun rose on her first morning as Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy, Lizzy hummed happily in her husband’s embrace.

“Good morning, my love,” he said, his voice rumbling through him, vibrating against her cheek.

She smiled, snuggling closer as she pressed a kiss to the soft hair of his chest.

“Good morning. Must we rise?”

“It is early yet,” he said softly. “Though we must leave by ten at the very latest if we are to make the inn by nightfall.”

She groaned.

“I should like to stay here, in this bed, forever.”

“Once we are safely arrived at Pemberley, we do not need to leave our chambers for as long as you wish,” he promised, kissing her shoulder. “In fact, I insist upon it.”

They had spent the night tangled in one another, hands and lips exploring as they grew more comfortable with one another. Lizzy was not sure how she would ever do anything else; reading, writing, even her beloved walking seemed utterly boring compared to the delicious time spent exploring her new husband.

Her body was pleasantly sore, muscles aching as she stretched out like a contended cat. The covers slipped down as she did so, and she did not miss Fitzwilliam’s gaze on her chest. She smiled, rolling over and kissing him soundly.

There was a knock at the door, and they both groaned at the interruption.

“Good morning, sir, ma’am,” Darcy’s valet’s voice came through the door. “I am afraid we must begin readying for the journey.”

“Very well,” Darcy called out. “A moment, please, and see that Mrs Darcy’s lady’s maid attends to her.”

“Very good, sir.”

“I hate you,” Lizzy mumbled against his neck. “You ought to have told them to leave us alone.”

He laughed, a sound she savoured all the more for its rarity. He kissed her forehead and prised himself from the bed. Lizzy could not help but admire him as he searched for his clothes; in the daylight, the lines of his lithe body were even more impressive. He turned, his face flushing as he caught her hungry gaze. She could not bring herself to be embarrassed, nor ashamed; indeed, she felt most bold in her adoration for him.

It had been quite unlike her mother’s description. Their marriage bed was no place for sufferance. Fitzwilliam had made every endeavour to see to her own pleasure, and had treated her with such tenderness that she could not even recall why she had ever been afraid.

“Here.”

He offered her the discarded nightgown, and she could see it was badly creased. Her cheeks heated as she recalled throwing it carelessly to the floor.

“Thank you.”

She stood, straightening out the crumpled garment. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt Fitzwilliam’s body press against her, his cock hard against her backside. She shivered, shamelessly pushing against him.

“You are sure we must ready for the day?” she asked, whimpering as his hand trailed over her hip bone and down between her legs. “Fitzwilliam, you mustn’t tease.”

“But you are so fond of teasing,” he murmured darkly into her ears. “We must be quick, but…”

There was another sharp knock, and he groaned.

“A moment, please.”

“Tell them to go away,” Elizabeth moaned, his fingers dancing over that little spot just so. “You are their master, and I their mistress. We are busy.”

Another knock.

“Go away!” Darcy called out, slipping a finger inside her. “We will call when we are ready.”

“I did not mean it!” she gasped, moaning with pleasure as he began his ministrations. “Oh, yes. There, please.”

“I do not know who I am,” he whispered against her ear, his hand cupping her breast. “I am lost to you, my Elizabeth. I would have you every moment of the day. I would spend my lifetime between your legs. I love you.”

“I love you. Oh, please…”

“May I take you?” he murmured, drawing her earlobe between her teeth and lathing the flesh with her tongue.

She shuddered, arching against him, his finger sliding deeper. She was on fire, every inch of her alive with sensation, her only thoughts mindless wanting, a desire that could be sated only by him.

“Please. God, now, please.”

He slipped his finger from her, and she turned, crushing her mouth to his. He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried them to the bed. She felt her back hit the mattress, a breathless laugh escaping as she admired her handsome husband above her. He knelt on the bed before him, grasping his cock firmly in his hand as he stared down at her with a hungry lust in his eyes.

She could not help but stare as he touched himself there, his large hand in a tight fist around his cock. She had never seen him in the daylight, and she found herself staring at this new anatomy. The skin was flushed and red, the head hidden and emerging with each pass of his hand.

He moved forward, no doubt to slip blissfully inside her, but she stopped him with a press of her hand to his forearm.

“What is wrong?” he asked, his brows knitting together with confusion.

“Show me,” she demanded huskily. “I have asked before, and you refused me. You are beautiful, Fitzwilliam. I am in love with every inch of you. Show me how you touched yourself that night.”

He swallowed heavily, and she watched, entranced, as he knelt back on his heels. He seemed to ask silently for consent, and she nodded. She devoured him with her hungry gaze as he inhaled deeply. She had not expected his muscles to move as they did, his body entirely different to hers in every way. He possessed such power, and he was somehow so gentle with her.

She watched as he twisted his hand gently down the shaft of his cock, moving up and down slowly. There was something hypnotic about the way he touched himself—unrushed, savouring the sensation, lost in the quiet pleasure of the moment. Heat pooled low in her belly, drawn not just from the sight but from the intimacy of it—the vulnerability, the raw honesty of desire laid bare before her.

Her own hand drifted between her legs; such a thing was not a sin now, for she was powerless to do anything but touch the part of herself that burned so desperately. Fitzwilliam stared down at her in awe. They continued for a few moments, their pleasure separate, yet entirely entwined.

“I am too close, Lizzy. Please, let me…”

She nodded, and at once he was over her, kissing her desperately as he slipped inside her.

“Yes,” she hissed, locking her legs around him and pushing him closer with the balls of her feet. “Oh, yes.”

It was quite unlike the coupling they had shared last night; in the light of day, she could see every expression on his face. He was beautiful, pleasure moving over his face as he thrusted into her at increasing speed. There was a desperation to him, a need she had not anticipated. She moved with him, her pleasure building as she felt her muscles tighten. She cried out as her release slammed into her. Fitzwilliam’s hips stuttered, his face buried in her neck as he found his own release.

“You are everything to me,” he moaned against her heated skin. “I am yours, Lizzy. Yours.”

She held him tightly as her breathing began to slow, murmuring her own words of love.

∞∞∞

“There you are,” Colonel Fitzwilliam was seated at the breakfast table as they entered. “I was beginning to think the house was empty. I suppose you are quite exhausted after yesterday’s exertions.”

“Cousin, please,” Darcy said in a low voice.

Lizzy frowned, surprised that he would speak to his dear friend in such away. When she looked closer at Colonel Fitzwilliam, she saw a distinct air of mischief about his countenance. She realised, with a blush, that he was commenting on the lateness of their rising – and no doubt the cause of it. She sat down at the table, unable to meet her new cousin’s gaze.

“Mrs Darcy, how are you?” he asked. “Marriage suits you very well. She is simply glowing, is she not, Darcy?”

She flushed; her maid had struggled to brush her hair this morning, and it rather resembled a bird’s nest.

“Thank you, Colonel. I am quite well. I am most eager to depart to Pemberley.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said brightly. “Ah, here come the other newlyweds! Congratulations to you all!”

Bingley and Jane entered the dining room arm in arm, a pleasantly distracted gaze

“Thank you,” Bingley said with a smile.

Lizzy looked to her sister, who could not quite meet her gaze.

Lizzy’s brows lifted ever so slightly as she observed Jane’s downcast eyes and the delicate flush on her cheeks. It was most unlike her sister to appear unsettled, even in moments of great emotion.

Once breakfast was concluded, Lizzy proposed that she and her sister take a turn about the gardens before the Darcys’ departure. Jane hesitated, glancing toward Bingley, who was now engaged in conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. With a small nod, she consented to join her sister.

Once they were alone, Lizzy gave her sister an expectant look, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Jane, dear, you are blushing quite fiercely. I take it all went well?”

Jane’s blush deepened.

“Lizzy!” she chided in a whisper, glancing quickly over her shoulder to ensure they were not overheard. “I cannot speak of such things!”

Lizzy merely smiled.

“Of course you can. I am your sister. If there is anyone with whom you may confide, it is me.”

Jane let out a soft sigh, her expression turning wistful.

“It was… everything I could have hoped for,” she admitted. “Charles is so gentle, so attentive. I was terribly nervous, but he put me at ease.”

Lizzy squeezed her sister’s hand.

“I am truly glad to hear it. If ever there was a man to cherish his wife, it is your Mr Bingley.”

Jane bit her lip, then ventured,

“And you, Lizzy?”

Lizzy’s heart warmed at the thought of the night before. She thought of Darcy’s reverent touch, his quiet words of devotion, the way he had held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She met Jane’s gaze and smiled.

“I am very happy,” she said simply.

Jane returned her smile, the moment of shyness passing between them replaced by shared joy. They strolled on happily, discussing yesterday’s celebrations, when Lizzy heard her voice called across the garden.

“Mrs Darcy?” Darcy’s voice, steady and deep, carried as he walked towards them. He was beside them in a few long strides. “It is time to go, Elizabeth.”

She exchanged a final look with Jane before stepping forward, slipping her hand into Darcy’s offered one.

Goodbyes were never easy, but this departure from Netherfield felt like the closing of a chapter in a most intriguing book. The estate, once a place of uncertainty and longing, had fulfilled its purpose - Jane, now Mrs Bingley and the mistress of Netherfield, stood on the grand steps, her face radiant with joy as she waved them off. There was no sadness in her expression, only contentment, as if all had fallen into place exactly as it was meant to.

Elizabeth sat beside Mr Darcy, the rhythmic motion of the carriage soothing as they passed through the familiar, sun-dappled countryside. She turned to him, this man who had once unsettled her so completely, who had stirred in her emotions she had not wished to acknowledge. He had been, at different times, her greatest vexation and her deepest yearning, the one who had divided her heart and thoughts. And now, he was simply hers - her husband, her love, her future.

He must have sensed her gaze, for he looked at her then, his dark eyes soft with understanding. A slight smile played at the corners of his lips.

“Are you happy, my love?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, a small but certain gesture of devotion.

“I am,” she replied with quiet certainty. “I have never been happier.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers before holding them against his chest. Outside, the world stretched wide before them, green fields rolling toward the horizon, the road leading them to the home they would share.

Their future awaited.