Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As he readied for bed, Darcy focused his mind on the reasons he had to be happy.
Her paroxysms were not fatal, and they would stop altogether.
He could nearly have wept from relief. It wounded him deeply to know Elizabeth had been so troubled by melancholy and anxiety that it made her ill.
But once removed from the sources of her agitation, and with the expectation of a life that she wanted, Elizabeth would be healthy.
She said she loved him and wanted to go home to Pemberley.
And before we leave Meryton, I shall have a few words to say to the Collinses.
He untied his cravat and gave it a sharp tug, tossing it aside. A righteous fury coursed through him at what her family’s treatment had done to Elizabeth’s health. His home would always be open to Mrs Bennet and Lydia, but he would never receive Mr and Mrs Collins at Pemberley.
Although she said she was happy, his conversations with Elizabeth had been marked by an awkwardness he could not explain.
She was not overcome by the joy he thought she would feel upon learning she was healthy and that he returned her affections.
What he felt for her had, over the course of a few months, moved from ambivalence to a quiet sense of contentment, to esteem and admiration, and finally to an ardent love.
If she wished to be separated from him now that she was expected to live, Elizabeth would have told him.
The cause of her tension did not seem to be a lack of affection for him. Elizabeth’s words and embraces demonstrated that she loved him. Her strange manner was the only thing that prevented him from being fully assured that he might feel unalloyed happiness again.
Darcy took off his shoes and stockings and left them on the floor.
He had been certain his heart would be torn asunder before she assured him that he was the life companion she wanted.
However, whatever ease that could now exist between them was not there, and Darcy suspected it was his own doing, but he did not know why.
Ought I go to her and ask what she was fretting for, or leave her alone in the hope she will confide in me when she feels ready?
Darcy fell into the chair by his bed in only his shirt with a sigh.
After what he had hidden from her, he had not yet earned the right to press Elizabeth to speak to him about anything.
There was a knock on the door, but before he could tell the servant to enter, Elizabeth walked in, shut the door, and leant her back against it.
Darcy was so surprised by her presence, and by the sight of her open dressing gown and her hair down by her shoulders, that it took him a moment to scramble to his feet to greet her.
She acknowledged him with a tight smile.
She looked resolved, but to what manner of decision he could not imagine.
The silence grew unpleasant, and he asked her if she was well.
She assured him she was, but stayed by the door.
“Then will you not sit?” He gestured to the chair, but she shook her head, looking fretful.
“You may be healthy, but you do not look happy, my dear. Is it the idea of seeing Jane and explaining who you are married to? Meeting my relations? Or perhaps you do not wish to live in Derbyshire after all?”
She now gave him a smile that reached her eyes. “I do want to meet everyone who is of importance to you and make Pemberley my home. You are likely wondering why I was so nervous and awkward earlier.”
Darcy strongly disagreed with her use of the past tense, but said only, “I hoped you would tell me when you were ready.”
Elizabeth nodded but did not seem ready to speak.
Rather than stand over her and possibly intimidate her, Darcy walked to his bed and stretched upon it with his hands clasped across his stomach and his back against the headboard, and looked on her with what he hoped was a patient gaze.
He had expected she would sit in the chair near to the bed, but instead she walked around the bed and climbed onto it to kneel next to him.
He tried not to show how elated he was that she wanted to be in his bed. Still, her mind had likely not turned to the same thoughts as did his since she worried over something. If I confess my own concerns, maybe she would return in kind.
His voice was hardly steady when he said, “When I realised that you would live after all, my worst fear was that you could never forgive me for deceiving you and would not have me.”
“And mine was that you would be disappointed that I was going to live”—she paused—“and you would leave me behind when you returned to your real home.”
“I would be lonely and unhappy without you. I love you.”
“I love you,” she said firmly while taking hold of his face in her hands and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
When he traced her warm lips with his tongue, she parted them, and he eagerly reached his tongue in to touch hers.
Elizabeth moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer, raking her nails through his hair while he wrapped her in a tight embrace.
Her dressing gown slipped from one shoulder, and when he pushed it farther down, she leant away to slowly pull one arm and then the other from the sleeves.
“Fitzwilliam, I need to ask something.” His breathing was laboured after their kisses and at the sight of her nearly stark naked, but he nodded.
She was pale and silent for a moment before the words burst from her.
“I need to know if you loved me, then why did you kiss me and then leave my room with the excuse that we keep a chaste union?”
Darcy felt his cheeks warm, and he exhaled a soft wince as he understood the cause of her confusion and self-doubt.
Have I truly done and said everything wrong?
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles before pressing it over his heart.
“Can you feel how fast my heart is beating?” Elizabeth pushed aside his open shirt to stretch a few fingers onto his bare chest before she nodded.
“I fear my heart could burst from my chest at the mere thought of you.” Her eyes flew to his.
He gave the hand on his chest a squeeze.
“I left because I was afraid an amorous congress would tax your heart.”
She dropped her hand and looked away. Darcy’s shoulders fell. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I loved you by then, and I certainly wanted to stay. You had said you did not want me to mention your illness, and it made you angry whenever I—”
“No, no, it was perfectly reasonable not to forsake my health in favour of immediate passion, and I made it impossible for you to explain your motives.” She shrugged and dropped her voice. “I would have tried to dissuade you if you had.”
“It still led to such a misunderstanding that you thought I could not love you or want you in my bed.”
“I did not even consider such a reason as my health . . .” She hung her head and gave a wry, critical laugh. “I thought I had something more of quickness than that.”
“I have always thought you are a person of remarkable intellectual endowments. Even if you did come to the wrong conclusion after you read my letters and ledgers,” he added with a breath of humour. He meant to make her smile, to tease in the way he expected her to tease him.
However, she then shifted closer, took hold of his hand, and, to his great surprise, splayed it over her own chest. “My heart is already beating quick,” she said with a seductive smile, “but I have it on good authority that no physical exertion will damage it.”
Darcy was struck silent but smiled in return, but before he could act, she added, “I think my night shift makes it impossible for you to feel how rapidly my heart is beating simply from how you are looking at me in that adoring way.”
Darcy gathered the hem of her night shift and lifted it over her head.
Elizabeth took it from him and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed it away.
He was ready to die with desire from the sight of her.
Her dark eyes were smouldering when he pulled her close to kiss her.
His tongue plunged into her mouth and his fingers ran through her hair.
When she later tore her mouth from his, they stared at each other, enthralled, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the silence of the room.
“Do you still think that spirit-stirring, passionate love can never happen?” Elizabeth asked archly as she curled her fingers under the end of his shirt, as though considering whether or not it should join her clothes on the floor.
“I never said it was impossible.” Darcy caught the tip of one earlobe between his teeth, and her breath hitched.
“I said it was rare.” He brushed aside her hair, and Elizabeth turned her head, showing him her throat.
His lips grazed her neck, and when he sucked harder, a hum of pleasure trembled against his lips.
He raised his head to return to her mouth, his breathing unsteady, when Elizabeth suddenly straddled his hips and tugged up his shirt.
She was so eager that she had not bothered to unfasten the buttons at the cuffs, and for a long moment he was trapped in a tangle of linen while Elizabeth ran her hands over his chest, laughing lightly as he struggled to free his arms from the sleeves.
“I am still waiting for you to feel for yourself how quickly my heart is beating,” Darcy heard his wife say as he finally lifted his shirt over his head to fling it away.
Instead of answering, Darcy covered her mouth with his and slid his hands up to cup her breasts.
Her fingers traced the breadth of his shoulders and down his back.
Their kisses now were an unrestrained, blood-stirring tangle of lips, tongues, and teeth.
Only after he heard her moaning against his mouth did he realise how roughly he was palming her breasts, but when he eased back, Elizabeth arched to press harder against his hands.