Chapter 32
Elizabeth loved how Fitzwilliam nestled her fingers between his, their arms swaying in unison. The sun warmed her, the breeze caressed her cheeks, and Fitzwilliam’s touch kept her feet on the ground. It was as close to perfect as Elizabeth could expect, and she seized it. “I love you.”
He pulled her behind the boughs of the willow, circling his arms around her.
She gasped. “Lydia will see us!”
“Would you have me release you to spare your sister’s sensibility?”
“Hardly!” She snuggled against him, the silk of his cravat deliciously smooth against her skin.
They stood, holding each other, their problems forgotten for some time before she felt him kiss the top of her head.
“I love you, Elizabeth.” Releasing his hold, he dropped to one knee.
“These past few days have been a trial, but it has only strengthened my affection for you, and you would make me the happiest man alive if you would agree to accept my hand in marriage … again.”
She giggled. “I have already accepted.”
“That was before. I am asking you now. Today, knowing what you know, feeling what you do, would you agree to spend the rest of your days with me? Please?”
That please would have changed her mind had she not already been so firmly decided.
Tracing her fingers along his cheeks, her knees wobbling when he leaned into her palm and sighed, it occurred to Elizabeth that if she was going to shock Lydia, she might as well do a proper job of it.
Sitting on Darcy’s bent knee, she pulled him closer until her lips brushed against his.
“Yes,” she whispered against his warm skin, then pressed her lips against his, sealing her promise.
Hot kisses trailed down her cheek, nuzzling at her neck so that she arched her back and shuddered a moment.
She purred, as content as a cat stretching after a nap.
Fitzwilliam leapt to his feet, stepping away and holding her the full distance of his arms away. He gasped for breath, his cheeks flushed. “Forgive me, Elizabeth. It is not mine to take such liberties. Not yet.”
“Then I suggest we marry as soon as it can be arranged so you may take as many liberties as you wish.”
“A tempting prospect.”
She sensed he held back. Arching her eyebrow, she prompted him. “But…”
He ran his hands down the length of her arms, sending delightful shivers curling through her. “But once we wed, I intend to give you my full attention — without distraction.”
“I find no fault with your plan.” Elizabeth could think of nothing more enjoyable than being the sole recipient of her betrothed’s attention.
Fitzwilliam’s smile made her melt — his caress left her breathless and weightless and completely secure of her place in his heart.
Darcy had thought he knew happiness, but his past experiences paled in comparison to this moment with Elizabeth in his arms.
His Elizabeth.
She had not yet recovered her memories, but it no longer mattered. She loved him.
He had won her heart a second time without all the adversities and misunderstandings enkindled by his pride and her prejudice.
What was more, he had made peace with her family and her brilliant plan would, in time, promote peaceful relations with his.
He had no doubt she would eventually win over Lady Catherine when he had been fixed on cutting off all association. Far from divisive, Elizabeth united.
She was magnificent.
He pulled away before the impulse to kiss her overwhelmed him again. Contenting himself with holding her hand, he looked at the most beautiful woman and wondered how he had been so fortunate to secure her love not just once, but twice.