Chapter 28
WHERE, DESPITE THE LATENESS OF THE HOUR, MR DARCY CANNOT SLEEP.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Darcy found he could not sleep.
Even now, as dawn was about to break over London, sleep eluded him.
He rose from the upholstered chair in his bedchamber and walked to the hearth, stirred the coals, and fed several logs to the dying fire, sending bright bursts of sparks up the chimney.
His bed had been turned down by his maid hours ago but remained otherwise undisturbed.
Yesterday had been a trying day—an emotional day—and Darcy could not bring himself to lay upon it, not when he burned for Elizabeth.
He ran a hand across his eyes as he recalled her responsiveness to him with startling clarity.
Not only had she permitted his bold ministrations but had eagerly reciprocated his passion with her own.
She had allowed him liberties a gentlewoman would only ever allow her husband, and the memory of her warm, willing body embracing his own enflamed his ardour to an absurd degree.
Agitated, Darcy strode to the window, pushed aside the drapes, and leaned his forehead against the glass.
While the sharp chill of the frost-covered pane soothed his fevered countenance, it brought no ease to his troubled conscience.
Having Elizabeth in his house with only Mrs Lawrence for a chaperon, while wonderful, had been a mistake.
He had only intended to steal a few kisses during the day; but after the shock of seeing Elizabeth in his bedchamber that afternoon and their chance meeting late that night, Darcy was overcome with desire, emotional as well as physical.
Had he not been able to stop himself, Darcy felt certain Elizabeth would likely have surrendered herself to him completely.
As it was, he had claimed a good portion of her innocence last night.
The thought distressed him, though apparently not enough to regret all they had done with as much vehemence as he should.
One thing was certain: he could not allow such a degree of impropriety to happen again before Elizabeth became his wife.
Her father, her uncle, and Bingley trusted him to do right by her.
All had consigned her unto Darcy’s care, and Darcy had no doubt the liberties he had claimed would shock, infuriate, and disgust them.
Though he was utterly devoted to her in all ways, his conscience knew Elizabeth deserved better, far better than being seduced in the music room in the dead of night by a gentleman who claimed to love her.
Lifting his head from the window, Darcy glanced at the clock upon the mantel.
It was nearly time to rise, but he had yet to retire.
Exhaling heavily, he moved towards the comfort of his bed.
With its beautifully carved mahogany posts and tall, stately canopy, it was an imposing piece of furniture, though no less elegant for its sheer size.
He extended his hand and smoothed a crease in the pristine, white sheets.
The silk felt cool to his touch, and his mind drifted again to Elizabeth, whose affectionate glances and honest, intelligent conversation had become as necessary as the air he breathed.
Her beauty as she stood in his bedchamber yesterday was undeniable, but last night wearing a simple shift and robe, with her lush, chestnut curls tumbling down around her shoulders and her swollen lips, she looked exquisite.
Darcy shut his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. His arousal was almost painful. It was no use. There was no sleeping in such a state. He rang for his valet and ordered his bath.
An hour later, he was dressed for the day and seated at the desk in his study sipping a steaming cup of coffee.
Before him were the settlement papers for his wedding, presently unsigned.
Darcy sighed, rubbed his forehead, and ignored the dull throb of a headache as he reviewed them for what seemed the thousandth time.
Unfortunately, travelling to Longbourn to gain Mr Bennet’s signature would have to wait until another day as the London streets appeared to be little more than ice-laden ruts after last night’s storm.
There would be no travel today beyond Mayfair if at all.
Hertfordshire was out of the question, but for Elizabeth’s sake he hoped Park Street was not.
Though the last thing he wished was to part with her, Darcy knew another night like the last would be torturous at best—his undoing at worst.
Suddenly, waiting until Christmas to marry seemed an insurmountable task.
It was the second of December and already Darcy had ceded too much of his staunch self-control to his baser self.
He wondered absently if he could convince Elizabeth to marry him within a week, and whether Mr Gardiner would be willing to act in Mr Bennet’s stead regarding the settlement.
If so, then perhaps Darcy could also obtain his consent for an expedient wedding.
He had gone to Doctors’ Commons and obtained a licence, then sent a letter to Longbourn stating his and Elizabeth’s wish to marry at Pemberley before Christmas but had yet to receive Mr Bennet’s reply.
After their passionate interlude, Darcy could not imagine waiting nearly a month to take Elizabeth as his wife.
He had waited more than a year already, and where three more weeks should seem like nothing in comparison, after having her in his home responding to his ardour with equal fervour, it was painful to have to give her back.
As though thinking of her had summoned her to his side, Darcy looked up from his paperwork to see Elizabeth being ushered into his study by a footman, who bowed dutifully and promptly shut the door.
Her lips lifted with a sheepish smile as she approached him. “Forgive my intrusion. My intent was to find your library, but I encountered one of your footmen, who kindly brought me here instead.”
He was on his feet at once, his gaze steady and warm.
They had parted mere hours ago, but Darcy was immensely pleased to see her.
As had been the case the night before, he felt a powerful inclination to take her in his arms but feared doing so would lead to kissing her, which would in turn lead to other pleasant, though far more forbidden, activities.
No, Darcy would remain where he was for the moment—behind his desk with his hands neatly folded behind his back.
“Good morning, my dearest. I hope you slept well.”
Elizabeth regarded him from beneath her lashes. “While the room was certainly lovely, and the bed very comfortable, I found it difficult to find repose. My mind was hardly quiet after we parted.”
“Nor was mine,” he replied as he held her gaze with his own. “I confess I did not sleep at all. I thought only of you.”
A lovely blush appeared upon her countenance as she tucked her hands behind her back and cast her eyes about the room. “I hope I am not interrupting your work.”
Darcy cleared his throat, wishing he could read her better.
She was wonderfully receptive last night, alluring and warm a moment ago, but now she seemed almost reserved.
Or was she merely embarrassed by his allusion to their intimacy?
Darcy shook his head and offered her an encouraging smile.
“You are very welcome here, Elizabeth. In fact, I was reviewing the settlement papers. Would you care to see them? Your father has yet to offer his stamp of approval.”
“I would be honoured.”
Rather than gesture for her to sit in one of the chairs before his desk, he gathered the papers together, extended his hand, and escorted her to the couch.
It was early yet, and the fire in the grate had only recently been lit, so the room was not yet as warm as it might have been had the hour been later.
Once Elizabeth was settled, Darcy surrendered the documents, observing her closely as she proceeded to read through the neatly formed handwriting that covered the entirety of several sheets.
He did not trust himself to sit beside her just yet, and so remained standing.
She looked as lovely as ever, her face freshly scrubbed and her dark hair piled upon her head in a simple, but elegant style.
A few rebellious curls brushed her cheek and the nape of her neck, and the faint scent of rosewater sweetened the air.
Darcy found himself leaning towards her, even as she seemingly ignored him, and straightened.
Memories of their passionate interlude were vivid in his mind and the compulsion he felt to kiss her—to drag his tongue along the column of her throat, to remove each delicate pin that held her hair in place and lose himself utterly in the pleasures of her mouth—increased.
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed, and she raised her head. “This is very generous of you, Fitzwilliam, but entirely too much. I cannot possibly accept this amount you have settled upon me. It is far too exorbitant.”
It took a moment for her words to penetrate the fog of Darcy’s desire, but he quickly recollected himself.
“I beg to differ. It is an appropriate sum for my wife.
You will have many obligations throughout the Season that will require a certain style and quality of dress and our position in society will demand that you uphold that standard.