Chapter 27 #3
“I wanted to show you I can be a gentleman, not some indecorous churl who is constantly thinking of taking advantage of you.”
Elizabeth stilled. “Do you think of taking advantage of me?” When he did not answer her, she said, “Please, talk to me. Do not hide what you are thinking or feeling from me. How will I ever know what is wrong otherwise?”
Slowly, Darcy raised his head but avoided meeting her eyes.
Instead, he exhaled harshly as his fingers fidgeted with the belt of her robe.
“I would be lying if I said I did not desire you the way a husband desires his wife, but no, I would never deliberately take advantage of you. Until now my resolve has served me well, but you have a way of testing my self-control to its fullest extent. Today has proved challenging in ways I had failed to foresee when I first brought you here to meet my aunt. Though it was not my intent, much has happened that exceeded the bounds of propriety, and I fear I am ill-prepared to face my shortcomings with any measure of composure. While I am by no means proud of my conduct, I find I cannot bring myself to repine it, not fully. Not in the way a gentleman ought to do.”
His bitter confession caused a fresh ache of longing to bloom in Elizabeth’s heart, and with it a flicker of understanding.
She recalled how Darcy had sounded that afternoon when he had discovered her standing in his bedchamber—the tightness of his voice and the curtness of his words as he told her she should not be there—and felt the missing piece of a puzzle fit into place.
“Do you think I do not desire you as much? Do you believe the idea of reciprocating such affection as your wife does not also cross my mind?”
Darcy groaned, low and guttural. “Saying such things to me—sitting here, looking as you do—you are not helping.” Nudging her from his lap, he rose and walked to the hearth, where he propped his elbows upon the mantel and rubbed his forehead with his hands.
Elizabeth watched him intently—there was no denying the depth of his discomfiture, nor his confliction.
Both emotions were apparent in the stiff, almost unyielding set of his shoulders and the harshness of his breathing.
“If you will recall, sir, my own conduct has been far from prudent today, on many levels. In truth, I am overwhelmed by the depth of my feelings for you. Is this how you felt when you discovered me in your bedchamber this afternoon? Overwhelmed?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Of course, it is how I felt. What did you think? That I was devoid of all proper feeling? That seeing you standing next to my bed was distasteful to me?”
“I did not think you devoid of feeling, but regarding your reaction to my presence in your bedchamber, yes. That is precisely what I thought.”
He turned to face her; incredulousness was etched upon his countenance. “How could you possibly think such a thing?”
“What was I supposed to think? Not only did you inform me I ought not to be there, Fitzwilliam, you left me there alone.”
“I left you there because if I did not there was a chance you would no longer be a maiden, Elizabeth! The urge to touch you was overpowering. The entire room smelled of roses—your scent. Your gown was so pale it nearly matched your flesh. It did not take much for me to envision you without it. And your blush…! You can have no idea the effect your blush has upon me! Had I stayed in that room even one moment longer I could not have been held accountable for my actions.”
“Did you not bother to consider that perhaps I would not hold you accountable for your actions?”
Darcy’s eyes, which were by nature exceptionally dark, darkened further with a look of ardency so intense Elizabeth felt her knees grow weak.
He took several purposeful steps in her direction before he appeared to recall himself, abruptly stopped, turned, and strode to the French windows on the far side of the room, where he stood as rigid as a board while his hands gripped the casement.
Elizabeth could see his anguished reflection in the glass. “You are hiding again,” she told him, folding her arms.
“I am not hiding,” he said tightly, “but I can hardly face you and retain my dignity when you insist on saying such provocative things to me. It is more than I am capable of for the moment.”
“I am sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. It is I who am sorry. If I were the gentleman I claimed to be, then—” He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “What do you expect of me?”
“What I expect is for you to be honest with me. I expect you to speak to me of whatever weighs on your conscience, not avoid me and make me feel as though I have done something wrong.”
“We have been over this. You have done nothing wrong.”
“It did not feel that way today, sir! Attempting to comprehend your motives while you battle some internal demon of which I am unaware is not an experience I wish to repeat. I thought I offended you this afternoon—that by entering your bedchamber I invaded your privacy and that you were angry with me because of it. Not only did I believe I was not welcome there, but I believed you would not wish me to join you there even after we are married. You avoided being alone with me for the rest of the afternoon and avoided speaking to me most of the night.” A lump had formed in her throat, and she struggled to swallow around it.
Her composure had waned. “I was devastated, Fitzwilliam!”
Darcy was across the room and reaching for her in a heartbeat.
“Elizabeth!” Embracing her tightly, he pressed his lips to her hair.
“Forgive me, dearest. The last thing I meant to communicate to you is that you are not welcome in my bedchamber. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It is my fervent hope that when we marry, we will spend all our nights together. Whether we sleep in your bed or in my own does not signify. I love you beyond all measure.” He pressed another kiss to her hair, and then her shoulder.
“It pains me to be without you,” he confessed. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Once we marry,” she assured him with equal emotion, “you shall never be without me again—this, I promise.”
The sound of a door handle being turned prevented Darcy from offering a proper response. They separated, albeit reluctantly, and a moment later the door opened. A lone figure bustled into the room—it was Mrs Lawrence. “There you are,” she said, adjusting her shawl as she approached the two lovers.
Elizabeth, feeling as though her cheeks were on fire, stood beside the pianoforte while Darcy positioned himself before the hearth and cleared his throat.
Bingley’s aunt chuckled. “Oh, there is no need to look so sombre and grave, my dears. Despite the lateness of the hour, I am certain you both have behaved respectably. I have every confidence in your good judgment, else I would never have left you alone.”
She patted Elizabeth’s hand and addressed Darcy. “I know I have been a bit relaxed in my duties as Miss Bennet’s chaperon, sir, but I would never be so remiss as to retire without seeing her safely to bed.
“Come along. It is late and we must be on our way.” She regarded her charge with a discerning eye. “You appear a bit flushed, my dear. I daresay you have stayed too long by the fire. Fear not, the corridor is quite cool, and you will soon be set to rights.
“You as well, Mr Darcy,” she said, casting a shrewd glance at the master of Pemberley. “Pleasant dreams, sir.”