Chapter 75
Mr. Darcy and his wife had absolutely no intention of coming down for breakfast the next morning.
Nor did they spare a second’s thought for luncheon.
It happened that their exertions were enough to raise a considerable appetite, however, and they finally rang for a tray to be brought up at mid-afternoon.
They knew what was going on in the rest of the household.
The haze of pleasure they had fallen into had not been blinding enough to make them forget their duties, at least at first. When they returned to the house the night before they had a few moments of clarity.
They had to be sure that Georgiana was well, and tell her the truth.
The younger lady stared at them while they spoke, and Elizabeth wondered what in particular was making her eyebrows raise.
Surely the most striking matter was Jane’s escape, not their appearance!
It was only when they bid Georgiana an awkward (and very early!) goodnight and locked the door of Darcy’s room that Elizabeth understood.
Humiliated and laughing, she looked at herself in the mirror.
Her dress was soaked and ruined, torn from running at the hem and loose at the neckline where Darcy had pulled it down.
Her hair was a mess and her lips were swollen.
Perhaps her sister had thought she had simply tripped in the woods. Elizabeth doubted it. Georgiana had even smirked at her, once her panic had been dispelled.
Lizzie did not have long to study her appearance. In a few minutes the ruined dress pooled by her feet, and her embarrassment was utterly forgotten.
When the tray was delivered, Elizabeth hid under the blankets. Darcy had no such shame; he took the tray from his servant at the door, wearing only a dressing robe and a relaxed smile.
“You want them to know.” Elizabeth hissed from the bed. Darcy raised an eyebrow as he brought the tray over.
“Do you remember the first time you came to my room, angel? You told me that you needed to stay for at least half an hour, to hide our true purpose.”
“Yes. You said that an hour would serve your pride better.”
“You were eager for the servants to think we were having congress then, even though it was a lie. Now it is the truth, and you would rather they think otherwise! What should we tell them, Mrs. Darcy? That we were reading poetry all night?”
“Well, I…”
“Loud poetry, madam, with the word ‘yes’ used with inelegant repetition?”
“Do not tease me!”
“Ah, but you always tease me. It is refreshing to have you on the back foot for once.”
“I suppose it must be, sir, since you have had me in so many other positions this morning.”
Darcy laughed aloud, “Now balance is restored, and I am the one being teased. I do not deserve it.”
“Not today.” Elizabeth agreed with a sweet smile. Then she sighed, “I suppose we must get up soon. Your aunt shall be here by evening, and if I do not bathe, she will think me a vagrant.”
Darcy reluctantly concurred, although he refused to accept that she looked like anything less than Aphrodite incarnate. In return, Elizabeth compared him to a fool, a diplomat and a mighty oak, and they parted most amiably.
When she rang the bell in her own room, a wave of exhaustion rushed over Elizabeth.
She had not slept; even lying still in her husband’s arms was more sensation than her sensitive body could abide.
Admittedly, they had not attempted to lie still very often.
Their passionate night had been so stimulating that Elizabeth felt as if she would never need to sleep again.
It was only when she was in her own quiet room that she realised that she could barely keep her eyes open.
A hot bath was prepared for her, and Elizabeth sank into it with a sigh.
Her maid softly told her that the rest of the house was quiet.
Her sisters were all still abed after their late night and the staff were quietly taking down the ball decorations and trying to dry out those items which had been caught in the rain.
News from the dower house was just as reassuring: Mr. Collins was suffering from a monumental hangover and a sniffle from being caught out in the rain.
Mrs. Bennet had refused to care for him, for she was overwhelmed with his constant insults towards Jane and Bingley.
The rector had been unable to pursue them without a horse to ride and had fallen unconscious before he could think of another means of pursuit.
When he recovered, Elizabeth knew, there would be a reckoning - but it sounded like her cousin would be unable to even sit upright for at least another day.
Aside from Lady Catherine’s imminent arrival the house was more peaceful than it had been in weeks.
Lizzie smiled and nestled down into the tub. The hot water slid over her like a caress, taking away all of her lingering aches and making her whole body hum with peaceful sensation.
She had indeed been thoroughly debauched.
That was what her husband had promised, and she had laughed at the thought.
Now, though, she understood. She felt debauchery in every pore of her skin.
She belatedly understood the monumental restraint which had brought iron into Darcy’s eyes from the moment she invented their delay.
Her fear had prevented her from truly embracing her desire for him, despite Darcy’s determined efforts to teach her otherwise.
Now, the fear was gone. So, too, were the iron bars of her husband’s stubborn self-control.
Her own was hanging on by a thread. She had willingly… she had agreed to… she had not hesitated when…
It was exhilarating. It was dangerous. It made her feel as if other things did not matter.
Selfish girl!
Her mind refused to settle. She groaned and sat up, shivering when icy water poured from her hair down her spine.
When had the bath grown so cold? Rubbing her eyes fitfully, Elizabeth realised that she had fallen asleep in the water.
Cursing under her breath, she hurried to her robe and rang for her maid.
The young lady smiled at her when she arrived and set out her clothes without making any of her usual small talk.
Lizzie forced herself not to be embarrassed.
Of course, the servants knew exactly what their master and mistress had been doing.
Still, her face turned brick red. She brushed her hair out with such distraction that she barely felt the snags.
Her maid who helped her dress tactfully suggested wearing a shawl to cover the marks on her neck.
If Elizabeth’s face could burn any hotter then she would have been aflame.
She clutched the fabric around herself like a woman dying of exposure.
She could not suffer another moment of this, alone and horribly self-conscious.
At least when she was with Darcy her shivers made sense.
Bracing herself for the knowing eyes of even more servants, Lizzie ventured from her room.
She told herself that she was Mrs. Darcy, the esteemed mistress of Pemberley.
It did not help. She was Lizzie, creeping sheepishly down the stairs.
The only place which made sense was Darcy’s embrace. Everything else had faded into insignificance.
But he would surely tease her for this! Even when they were tangled together after the throes of passion, he had a rather knowing, smug look upon his face.
Much of his superiority came from his extensive experience, of course - a fact which Elizabeth teased him about when he was too self-satisfied.
His inhibitions were a very pleasing revelation to her, but Lizzie knew that this version of Darcy belonged only to her.
He had proven time and again his ability to be serene in company.
She had no such skill, and was sure to be a flighty, twitchy creature beside his stoic stone wall.
Barely had she made it down the staircase when she heard her name being called.
The study door was open, and Darcy had spotted her at once.
Hurrying through and shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth discovered her husband at his desk.
From the ink stains on his hands and the untidy jumble of papers before him, she guessed that he was trying to distract himself.
“You were gone for hours.” Darcy said abruptly, “I missed you.”
“I fell asleep, sir. I did not intend to worry you.”
He pushed the papers into a messy pile at the side of the desk and gave her an arch look, “I am not so smitten that you must be always at my side, I suppose. Come here, Elizabeth.”
“What a contradiction!”
“I meant that I do not fault you for spending time alone. Now that you are here, however, I intend to take full advantage. Come here, Mrs. Darcy, and stop pretending you are too innocent to understand what I want.”
Elizabeth shivered but shook her head. It felt utterly wicked - but no more wicked than her husband propositioning her before he even said hello!
She intended to punish him for such incivility.
Or, at least, she would make the attempt.
By the way her body coiled at his commanding tone, she suspected that she would not be able to deny either of them for long.
Darcy’s expression turned thunderous with disbelief as she walked away from him towards the door. Elizabeth snapped the lock closed and then smiled to herself. Not looking back, she slowly took off her slippers and unpinned her hair. It fell down her back in long curls, still damp from her bath.
“Come here, angel.” Darcy said for the third time. There was no mistaking the raw need in his voice.
Elizabeth obeyed. Darcy lifted her onto the desk as if she was as light as a feather. She breathed in the scent of him and ran her fingers through his hair as their lips met. How many times had they kissed each other? Yet, every time, it made her feel as if she was aflame.
There was a rustling and a thud. Lizzie looked around, distracted, and bit her lip at the sight of the pile of papers falling to the floor.
“What were you doing?” she asked. Darcy looked down at the scattered papers with distaste.
“Accounts, surveys… everything I own, written down and tallied up. But this was my chief concern.”
He opened the desk drawer and took out a small envelope. The edges were soft and aged. An ornate wax seal had once bound it shut but now crumbled against his fingertips.
“What is it?”
“An agreement between my mother and my aunt, saying that I would marry my cousin Anne. I had thought to return it. Take off your dress, angel.”
Elizabeth shivered at the sudden change in his tone.
It was possessive, commanding, as if the thought of his arranged marriage had brought his love for her into shining clarity.
Her hands obeyed with difficulty, for they were starting to tremble.
Her heart thudded and her voice sounded lost, “I do not understand. Why give it back?”
“The last time I saw my aunt, she thought me her property.” Darcy ran his thumb along Elizabeth’s lower lip, his eyes black and hungry, “I do not belong to anyone but you, my angel. You own me, body and soul. And you are mine. Say it, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, yes.” she whimpered, pulling him closer, reaching for a kiss that could not come soon enough. “I am yours.”
The desk, despite being sturdily made, creaked alarmingly throughout their vigorous lovemaking.
Because of that, and the mindless haze of their shared passion, they did not hear the carriage arriving until it was almost at the door.
The clatter of gravel and the raised voices of the servants brought them back to their senses.
It was like being doused in ice water. Elizabeth sat bolt upright and nervously looked around for her dress.
“My aunt is too well-bred to look through windows.” Darcy laughed, trying to catch his breath. “But you are right. We cannot receive her like this.”
Elizabeth groaned and pushed him away. Her dress was on the ground beside his feet; she slid off the desk to pick it up.
Her fingers trembled with delicious lassitude and anxious haste.
Darcy caught her just before she slipped it over her head and kissed her.
It was a fierce, passionate kiss, and then he released her without another word.
It only took the man a moment to shrug on both his shirt and an easy air of complete indifference.
When he looked out of the window his eyes were completely flat.
Elizabeth watched the man she loved turning into another woman’s foe.
A strange thought struck her, as she tidied her hair. She had not just watched Darcy make himself aloof, she had watched him prepare himself for battle. It was a pernicious notion, for she knew that under other circumstances, a gentleman would reach for a fortifying shot of port or whisky.
Elizabeth slowly started to brush creases from her skirt. It was an unfair thought, but she could not help feeling as if Darcy had used her.
Stop pretending you are too innocent to understand what I want.
She thought that she had helped Darcy to banish his demon. Now, she started to wonder if she had replaced it.
She rubbed her hands together nervously and looked up.
He looked back at her. The transformation was immediate.
His eyes warmed, his shoulders relaxed. Darcy glowed with such love for her that Elizabeth could not bear it.
She crossed the room at once and hugged him - not passionately, but with her own endless love.
He had not used her any more than she would use him.
They were not two individuals, struggling with two wretched foes.
They were allies, two halves of the same soul, and if he needed her help then she would give it with all of her heart.