Chapter 3 Invigorating Interaction #3
His expression had not changed one iota. Releasing held breath, Lizzy bobbed a curtsy. “It would be my pleasure to relieve you of this duty, Mr. Travers. Just this once.”
“One knock,” he instructed, transferring the tray carefully into her hands, “then wait for his permission to enter. Mr. Darcy prefers to serve himself, although in this case, he may make an exception to that rule.”
She swore he winked as he turned away. What a nice man. I believe we shall get on fine. As for Mrs. Smyth, I am not so sure.
Leaving musings of future servant relationships aside, she concentrated on the heavy tray and approached the door. Pausing to take a deep breath, she knocked one hard rap.
“Enter,” came his voice, muffled through the solid wood.
The stout door swung open easily on well-oiled hinges, Lizzy crossing the threshold with words of welcome tingling her lips.
“Sit it on my desk, Mr. Travers. I will manage myself. That will be all.”
Mr. Darcy sat beside his desk, the tall back of the leather-and-wood chair ending exactly along the line of his shoulders so that all she could easily see was the back of his head.
One hand waved over his shoulder, vaguely in the direction of the desk, and his tone was distracted more than harsh, but the dismissal was obvious.
Whatever sunny greeting she might have extended was forgotten, and for several seconds Lizzy stood frozen in the doorway. The weight of the tray restored enough clarity for her to gingerly enter the room, each step closer to the sleek surface of his desk bizarrely mixing her emotions.
Darcy’s head was bent slightly, and Lizzy suspected he was listening to the murmuring voices of Jane and Georgiana drifting through the open window he faced.
Fleetingly wondering if he listened for her voice, she soon realized all his focus was on a thick book propped in his lap.
It was a ledger of some kind, and he traced one finger down a line of sums written in penmanship Lizzy knew not to be his.
He had removed his jacket—a glance noted it on a coat rack in the corner—loosened his cravat, and sat with booted feet propped onto a large ottoman.
It was the most relaxed pose she had ever seen him in, despite the fact he was attending to business.
Abruptly, all traces of enthusiasm for her surprise interruption vanished.
The sense of imposition compounded. For a panicked moment, she almost dashed from the room, tea tray still in her clutches.
Mastering the impulse, she placed the tray quietly on the corner of his desk—praying he did not choose that instant to turn around—and took one step backward before freezing once again.
Mr. Darcy had blindly reached with his free hand to nudge a sovereign-sized wooden ball on his desk.
The ball rolled across the flat surface some four inches, smacked into the base of the unlit lamp, ricocheted, and rolled back into his waiting hand.
Never glancing away from the ledger in his lap, he repeated the maneuver several times in rapid succession.
It was astounding! Lizzy stood mesmerized for six or seven precision rolls before the realization that she was engaged in active voyeurism woke her out of the daydream.
A decision was required. Her options were to either slink out the cracked open door or speak up.
The urge to do the former remained, yet felt a cowardly move now that she had mastered her initial panic.
Elizabeth Bennet was rarely intimidated.
After all, she had boldly accosted Mr. Travers with the intent to enter her fiancé’s sanctuary unbidden.
If she backed away now, how would she explain it to Miss Darcy and Jane?
Or Mr. Travers? The butler was unlikely to inquire directly, but if he saw her scurry away, then he would assume the future Mrs. Darcy was a milksop. That was unacceptable!
The speaking-up option would, of course, prove that she had been spying on him.
Being a private, reserved man, Lizzy was honestly unsure how he would react to such an intrusion, even from her.
At the end of the mere seconds it took for these thoughts to race through her mind, she observed him in unguarded repose, and it was the returned yearning to be alone with him that impelled her to action.
Dwelling on the possible outcomes no longer, she slipped behind him, squeezed both shoulders, and whispered close to his left ear, “Any guess who this is?”
Perhaps she should have given the matter a tad more thought, she later confessed.
Mr. Darcy jerked violently, the book tumbling to the carpeted floor with a dull thunk and the wooden ball shooting off the desk. She was fairly sure he swore too, but the precise curse was lost amid her instant laughter and gasping attempts to apologize.
Adding to the ridiculousness, he precipitously swiveled around.
Lizzy emitted a squeal along with the gasping giggles, caught utterly off guard by a chair that moved.
Still in a bent posture, her jolt of surprise pitched her forward until their noses bumped together, falling into his lap prevented when she locked her elbows and splayed her hands on his chest.
A dozen exclamations, curious questions, and justifications for her behavior skipped across her tongue. None of them were uttered or involved what she impulsively did instead.
She kissed him. Hard.
As her eyes slid shut, she saw his flare wide open.
Caught up in the throes of an unexplainable impulse, Lizzy grabbed ahold of the slim lapels on his waistcoat and tugged with astonishing vigor.
As insistent and strong as she was, Lizzy could not have propelled a man Darcy’s size out of his chair alone, however.
His compliance to her entreaty to rise was voluntary, but he lurched upward unsteadily. Off balance, and locked at the lips, he clasped onto her waist with both hands in, perhaps, a vain attempt to gain control.
Lizzy’s back contacted the firm surface—the edge of a picture frame digging into her left shoulder blade—and her front collided with his solid torso when he stumbled and squashed her against the wall.
Air whooshed from both their lungs, but their mouths miraculously stayed connected in a kiss that was growing remarkably tender considering the circumstances.
Darcy pressed his palms into the wall on either side of Lizzy’s waist, restoring stability, and then eased his weight off her body.
She rather missed the feel of his muscled chest but did appreciate the ability to breathe freely, especially when he took advantage of the space to part her lips with his tongue.
Sighing, she slipped her arms over his shoulders and welcomed him in.
Within seconds Lizzy sensed an incredible difference in this kiss compared to the others they had shared.
Darcy’s mouth was relaxed, his lips nuzzling hers with soft, sweet pressure. The tip of his tongue teased, gentle touches applied playfully. There was a purpose, control, and no hesitation. He was clearly enjoying himself and willing to do so without fear of overstepping a line or distressing her.
Liberation was the word that popped into her head, and seconds later she knew it an accurate term when he withdrew a scant hairbreadth and spoke in a steady whisper.
“I believe you frightened a year of life out of me.”
Lizzy smiled but did not open her eyes or move. “I do apologize.”
“There is no need to apologize. This makes up for it. Trust me.”
“Does it make up for disturbing your work and bending the pages of your ledger?”
“Bent pages can be unbent,” he murmured between featherlight kisses across her jaw. “The work will wait. It was not a vital task anyway,” he assured from the slope of her neck.
“My distraction has kept you from your tea. It is now probably cooled.”
“Cooled tea is easier to drink. Besides, after the quantity of coffee I consumed today, and more importantly the current alternative, I am not interested in tea.”
Lizzy could think of nothing more to say—she could barely think period.
Darcy’s kisses had reached her right shoulder and were beginning a lazy descent along the lacy edge of her décolletage.
Her dress was modestly designed but the bodice dipped low enough for each stroke of his lips to spread fire through her bosom.
Every shallow pant lifted the swell of flesh closer to his mouth, her back reflexively arching as if to force the desired contact.
And then there was the startling hardening of her nipples and the exquisite pleasure when he inadvertently rubbed against them.
She truly wondered if it was possible to faint from nothing more than scattered kisses.
Perhaps he wondered the same because he completed his circuit, engaged her mouth in another delicate exchange, again clasped onto her waist with both hands, and in a smooth maneuver unlike the tottering steps that got them to the wall, drew her against his body and walked backward toward a nearby sofa.
The graceful, calculated relocation to the comfortable, solidly supportive sofa probably would have ended with them sitting on the cushions with finesse—if either of them had done something similar before.
Instead, the edge connected with Darcy’s legs sooner than his desire-hazed brain expected, and Lizzy missed his tactile cue to rotate her body to sit down beside him.
The result was Darcy dropping onto the sofa rather abruptly, with Lizzy falling into an odd straddle over his lap, skirts bunched and legs bent awkwardly.
The absurd humor of the situation overcame any embarrassment, both laughing helplessly.