Chapter 8 Festive Commemoration #3
As if one of his nighttime dreams were invading his waking mind, Darcy could see himself loving her right there in the carriage.
More than that, he could feel it. Vividly.
He had never conceived of doing such a thing, yet his mind’s eye effortlessly provided step-by-step, full-color, moving illustrations!
He’d start by running his hands up her legs while lifting her skirts until her lower body was bared.
Then, he’d pull her onto his lap so that her lean, silky legs straddled his thighs.
A simple twist to the buttons on his breeches, as he’d done thousands of times, would free his swollen member.
Clasping his hands onto her firm, rounded buttocks, all it would take is a hoist upward followed by a smooth thrust to be buried deep inside of her.
Ah! To be joined as one with the woman he loved—exquisite bliss transcending all imagination!
Shuddering, he withdrew from her lips with a gasping groan and dropped his head onto her shoulder. Inhaling slow and deep, he blocked the visions and willed the seething sensations to subside.
“What is it, William? Is something wrong?”
There was some consolation in hearing her husky tone and breathlessness. He wasn’t the only one physically affected by an impassioned kiss.
“Nothing is wrong,” he finally managed to hiss through a clenched jaw. “Except, perhaps, for the timing.”
She said nothing for a minute at least, holding still as if in thought while Darcy collected his scattered wits.
What was intended to be a playful, temperate interlude of kisses and maybe one or two borderline-indecent tactile inspections, had gone wildly astray within five minutes, leaving him quite rattled.
Then, when he was almost entirely in control, it was Elizabeth who moved first.
Removing her hands from where they lay on his right thigh under the blankets, she encircled his neck and laced her fingers into his hair. Tugging gently, she drew him up until able to look into his eyes.
“I am not sure what you mean by that, although I have my suspicions. What I do know is that we must soon leave for lunch at Netherfield. As I see it, the timing is perfect for what we can safely do right now. I do not intend to waste a single second.” She paused only long enough to smile, vibrant and confident, and then took the initiative.
Darcy wondered if those occasional bouts of acute lust were critical in the long run.
It wasn’t the release he desperately needed and wanted, not by a long shot, but letting loose his pent-up sexual energy in small measures aided in preserving his sanity and maintaining restraint over the remaining days until they married.
Today, as had happened before, once past the violent, spontaneous reaction, he was able to calm—comparatively, that is—and enjoy the sweet pleasure of tender kisses and caresses.
Following her lead, he returned the kiss, and both regulated themselves as they explored with tongues and lips.
With a tug, he untied the laces of her brocade cape, eased the fabric aside, and slid his hands into the warm pocket surrounding her upper body.
She wore a collared spencer of thick woolen flannel over a high-bodice gown, understandable with the colder weather, so unless he went as far as partially undressing her—a tempting but ill-advisable action—over-the-clothing fondling would have to satisfy his need to touch her.
Elizabeth apparently came to the same conclusion. With a surprising degree of deftness, she unbuttoned his overcoat and jacket and, after briefly toying with one waistcoat button, contented herself with leaving two layers of garments under her exploring palms.
The game was rather humorous. In those scant occasions when they had managed to be alone long enough to touch each other, it was as if they strictly delineated their bodies into safe zones and taboo territory.
The permissible areas were from head to naval—except for Elizabeth’s breasts—and the stretch from knee to mid-thigh was harmless.
Darcy freely admitted riskily trespassing into forbidden regions more often than wise or proper, mainly by cupping her buttocks and pressing her body against his throbbing hardness.
Once, completely on accident, he had brushed over her breast, searing into his brain the titillating sensations of round, soft flesh and pebble-hard nipples.
Yet every kiss and caress increased their comfort with each other, deepened their connection, and furthered their mutual trust. Darcy was convinced that these periods of intimacy would benefit them on their wedding night particularly, and in their relationship as a whole.
Everything was as Elizabeth had forcefully proclaimed a mere two weeks ago in his mother’s bedchamber.
Heeding her advice, he had surrendered to his passionate nature and freely expressed his love—within reason, of course, which is why the body boundaries and the unstated but bilateral agreement to pull away after a delightful fifteen minutes.
Breathing a bit too heavily and heart rates significantly faster than normal, they cuddled close and passed the remaining time staring out at the landscape.
Whether either of them actually saw the scenery is doubtful.
* * *
With the carriage interlude foremost in his mind and conflicting mightily with competently driving the phaeton, Darcy suspected absolutely nothing when they arrived at Netherfield.
He could barely keep his eyes off Elizabeth’s glowing mien to pay attention to the footman who was attempting to assist him with doffing his overcoat, gloves, and hat.
Then his beloved linked her arm with his, and the duo following behind Bingley and Jane automatically.
Not an inkling of aroused suspicion, even when he noted bypassing the dining room.
Bingley’s cheery assurance that they were to dine in the second parlor, that one smaller and facing the rear of the house so not as often used, was shrugged off as well.
It wasn’t until the door was shoved open with a bit too much vigor and Bingley danced aside, so that Darcy, still paying minimal attention, walked over the threshold first, that he finally recognized the truth.
Two steps into the room, Darcy was struck dumb. He could not believe his eyes.
The parlor had been converted to a ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall party suite.
Ribbons in a rainbow of hues draped over the windows, the twisted yards of fabric pinned to the ceiling crisscrossing the whole expanse with numerous streamers dangling and swaying in the air.
Covering the opposite wall was an enormous banner, upon which were painted in bright colors the words: “Joyous Birth Day!”
In the middle of the room were two tables.
One was elaborately set for four diners with a single chair, presumably for the guest of honor as it was decorated with a massive red ribbon tied into a bow.
A smaller table practically sagged from the weight of presents and a huge cake the likes of which Darcy had never seen before.
Round and frosted white, it was adorned with real flowers and leaves, and in the center was a tall, thick, flaming candle.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist, lifting on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Are you pleased, my love?”
Bingley and Jane walked into the room, pausing only to smile and extend their wishes. Turning his attention back to Elizabeth, he noted the mixture of pleasure and anxiety in her expression.
“I am quite speechless, to be honest. You planned all of this?”
“With the help of Jane and Mr. Bingley, of course.”
“Who gave me away?”
“Georgiana told me weeks ago. I know you are not fond of surprises, William, especially for your birthday, but I had to do something. I do pray you are not too upset over the fuss. Are you pleased, at least a little?”
“Yes! Yes, I am!” Embracing Elizabeth and squeezing her tight, he bestowed a tender kiss. “Rather shockingly pleased, I have to say. To be honest, I kept forgetting myself. When I did remember, I hoped you had no idea of the date although I figured you probably did.”
“I suppose you feared an outrageously ostentatious fete with all of Hertfordshire in attendance.”
Laughing, he nodded. “You know me remarkably well, don’t you?”
“More each day. This is a simple celebration with just us. I didn’t tell anyone else. Goodness knows what my mother might have done with the information!”
“I owe you for that kindness,” he remarked earnestly. “And, truly, this is wonderful. Thank you, Elizabeth. I love you for remembering me.”
“I wanted to surprise you. It is more fun that way. But I was worried you might feel hurt that I had said nothing or asked outright when you were born, as you did my date of birth. I am sorry if you thought I did not care.”
The sadness in her voice broke his heart.
“My dearest Elizabeth, never could I doubt how much you care for me.” He kissed her again, a bit deeper, and caressed feathering fingertips over her cheek.
“As for my birthday, I haven’t honestly cared about it since my youth.
This is quite unexpected, but pleasantly so. ”
“Excellent! We do have all sorts of festivities on the agenda. However, another thing I know about you, Mr. Darcy, is that about now you are starving, so we shall begin with luncheon. Come!”
If Darcy had been forced at pistol point to plan his own birthday party, that afternoon’s entertainment would have been unchanged. The day was perfect from the start to the finish, many hours later.