Chapter Eight #3
“Ye could not have known. Ye were not aware that ye needed to ask. Remember, my lord, we are virtual strangers to each other.”
“I know.”
She gripped his hands and held fast. “Let me make a vow to ye that I did not make yesterday. I am an open book, sir. If ye need know anything of me, pray ask. All I require in return is the same courtesy.”
He had so much to hide from her, but he made the vow regardless, and all the while, he was hoping against hope that her questions about his involvement in George's downfall would never come to pass.
With as warm a smile he could muster, he offered her a hand.
His wife took it, and they returned to the horses.
Once they had mounted, they exchanged a careful, respectful look, then continued their trip, arriving at their destination another hour later.
“High Lord Darcy, how glad I am you could make such a journey. I apologize for not attending your wedding, but you must be well aware of the circumstances that kept me at this point.”
Darcy huffed. He was tired from the journey and tired of this bickering. All he wanted was to be alone with his new wife. “Foster, I have not the time for your incessant grovelling. Where is Hargrove?”
“He is in the hall.”
“Many thanks, Foster.”
Darcy, who had insisted that Elizabeth be surrounded yet again for her safety, strode into the hall of Nanningbrook Manor and stepped towards the front of the room where a large chair had been centred on a dais.
He frowned for a moment, motioned to one of Foster's waiting servants, and whispered in his ear. Suddenly, another chair appeared next to Darcy’s, and he returned to the group of men.
“Foster, Hargrove, may I present High Lady Darcy, Princess Elizabeth.”
Immediately, Foster, ever the sycophant, dropped to one knee as Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the dais. The High Lord handed his wife into her makeshift throne and faced the squabbling men. Foster’s head was still bowed; Hargrove did not hide his look of disgust.
“Hargrove, have you a problem with High Lady Darcy?”
“She is a woman in breeches!”
“Yes, she is,” Darcy replied as if it was the most common attire in the world.
“It is not right! Why should she be allowed here in any case?”
Darcy leaned forward in his seat. “You, Hargrove, are walking on dangerously thin ice for a man in your position. Continue to insult my wife and see how fair the outcome of this hearing is.”
“Sir, if I may interject?” asked Elizabeth.
* * *
Every person in the room stared at her. Foster stood and moved to the side, as if he searched for safety.
Hargrove, practically bubbling over, turned red and began to sweat as if boiling from the inside out.
Elizabeth stood and met her critic, offering her hand to him.
He did not bow, nor did he kiss her hand, a direct insult.
Darcy flew out of his chair, but Elizabeth held up her hand, stilling her furious husband.
“Pray, Mr. Hargrove, why do ye not care for a woman in breeches?”
“It is not right!” he said once again as if that would help his case. “A woman's place is where her husband demands her to be, and she should be clothed in a gown as is proper.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and eyed the man. “Are ye married, sir?”
“Aye.”
“'Tis a wonder thy wife has not cracked thy skull with a pot, but it is not my place to judge. Have ye ever ridden a long distance on a horse, sir?”
“Aye, of course I have.”
“And were ye wearing a gown when ye took this ride?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“The kind of question that, if ye do not answer, will ensure a place in the stocks.”
“No! Of course, I have not ridden in a gown!”
“Then ye would not know how impossible it is to manage a long ride, side-saddle, in the cold, in a gown. Until ye have ridden a mile in such a state, kind sir, do not presume to understand.”
With that, Elizabeth returned to the dais, smiling broadly at Darcy. His face did not change, but she caught the smallest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He was proud of her and, somehow, it meant a great deal to her.
“You brought your Southern wife to bad mouth your people! You are a traitor to your territory, my lord.” Hargrove spat out his retort.
“I think it is safe to assume Hargrove will not be swearing his allegiance to the Princess any time soon,” Darcy said to his nearest guard. “As a punishment for his traitorous ways, we shall confiscate his lands and divide them amongst the Foster and Burris clans.”
“You cannot do this!”
Darcy approached Hargrove as the guards took hold of him. “I just did. You have been a thorn in my side for entirely too long, Edgar, and I am finished. I warned you last time I was called in to settle your ridiculous claims that I would not be so understanding if they were brought up again.
“Take him to the stocks.”
“You have betrayed your own people, Lord Darcy! You will not get away with this!”
The guards dragged him away, his screams echoing. The High Lord returned to the dais and accepted Foster's allegiance to the Princess and his congratulations on their marriage.
“My lord, pray feel free to bed here tonight. It is far too late to return to Pemberley this evening.”
“Thank you, Foster. If you would be so kind as to have a servant take us to our rooms, I would be most appreciative. And also have them send up a light supper in an hour or so, if you please.”
Once they were ensconced in their chamber, Darcy lying upon the bed and Elizabeth curled up in a chair by the fire, the questions began. She had apparently taken to heart the vow she had made to him earlier.
“Were ye really so very angry with Mr. Hargrove?”
“Aye. The man is an utter bastard. I have never had an opportunity to dispatch him before. When he refused to acknowledge you, I saw my chance.”
“Are ye truly taking his lands from him?”
“I shall leave him his house and the land around it, perhaps a few tenants, but the rest will be divided amongst the two other landholding clans in the area.”
“Ye could have taken them for thyself.”
“No, that would have been a tricky prospect.
You heard him. He was very angry about you coming from the South Country, despite the fact that Richard governs the entire Country from there.
Others exist who are just like him, and if you attack one, you attack all.
I shall have enough to deal with by breaking up his property.
“You were amazing down there today, though.”
The compliment warmed her because it came from him. “I was simply being logical.”
“You were simply being brilliant.” He beamed.
“I was not quite so brilliant. I was irritated that he had the gall to pretend I am less than he because I am a woman.”
Darcy slid off the bed like a snake preparing to strike a blow and stood in front of her chair.
Her eyes travelled up his body slowly, remembering the pleasure he had brought her the night before and her stomach tightened with anticipation.
He offered his hand and in moments she was caught up in his powerful embrace.
“I have come to understand only recently,” he began, punctuating each word with a kiss along her jaw to her neck, “that you are less than nobody.”
“That is kind of ye to say,” she replied, breathless. How much longer could she hold on to her dislike for him when he made her feel like this? Once again, the past was forgotten as he plucked her from the ground and carried her to the bed.
“I do not think I had the pleasure of undressing you last night, my sweet. I must say I am glad for the delay. I have never divested a woman of her breeches before.”
“A first? And here I was certain I would present a deviant such as thee with no new challenges.”
“I have a feeling, my sweet, beautiful wife, that you will challenge me in ways even I have not yet imagined.” He pulled the hem of her linen shirt from beneath her trousers, lifting the fabric away to lay kisses to her smooth, white belly.
Shockwaves rippled through her body at the contact and her fingers twisted through his hair, pulling it free from its leather binding. His mane was soft and thick and heavy. It fell over his shoulders and tickled her abdomen. She giggled.
“Do you like that?” he asked, drawing his tongue over her skin.
She nodded silently, then the stubble on his chin rubbed her roughly.
He disregarded her stomach, sliding up her body, half-lying on her, and pressed his mouth slowly against hers, his long hair shielding them both from the world beyond the edges of their bed.
Their tongues met to taste each other in a languid dance.
Everything slowed down: hands touched and dragged, kisses seemed to last forever, pressure took its time to build, and they were both still clothed.
* * *
Finally, he pulled her up and brought the shirt over her head, revealing her completely.
She had not even bothered with a corset, and discovering that merely a layer of linen had separated her from the world all day made his body ache.
He circled her nipple with his tongue while he cupped her other breast and massaged it ever so softly.
A moan rolled from her and erupted into the air, stoking the fire inside him.
He pressed her body into the bed and stared at her for a long moment, committing her angles to memory.
He let his index finger start at her shoulder and trace its way at a snail’s pace down her arm, up her side, and back down to the fastenings of her breeches.
As he fingered the leather, Darcy was engaged in watching her eyes, looking for a clue to what she was feeling.
Her eyes were heavy, and she was biting her lip.
“He could not make you feel this way, you know,” he said softly, unhooking the trousers. He dropped a kiss on her skin as he parted her fly. “He could not.”
“We shall never know, shall we?” she asked. “It is ye who is here. Why cause thyself pain thinking on it?”