Chapter 6 Love is Smoke made with the Fumes of Sighs
Elizabeth was standing in the middle of the chamber in their rented cottage at Margate.
One might think it strange to take a bridal trip to the seaside when the early spring weather was so difficult to predict, but that was exactly why her husband had chosen the location; he was not of a mind to be disturbed by random acquaintances, and neither was she.
The long trip had postponed their wedding night one day because Darcy refused to consummate their marriage in a busy roadside hostelry.
Which was why she was still a maiden on her second day of marriage.
Her husband stepped closer and ran his fingers through the strands of hair surrounding her face.
“All you need to do is surrender to the sensations you experience, and I promise to protect your most precious gift with everything that I am.”
He kissed the contours of her face before his lips glided down her neck.
“I want you to shiver when I touch you,” he whispered seductively in her ear in that voice that heightened all her senses, and she quivered in reply.
His fingers grazed her breast, and an echo of sensation sounded within her.
“Together we shall build the Darcy family in faith and love.” Darcy left her neck and rose to his full height whilst staring deeply into her eyes.
The darkened pools were deep enough to drown an inexperienced country maiden.
She was saved by his embrace, enveloping her securely in his arms, with her cheek pressed against his chest and his chin resting atop her head.
“Prepare for a deluge of admiration,” he whispered whilst his heart pounded wildly against her ear. “I am completely devoted to you and your happiness.”
His hands roamed her body, leaving a trail of gooseskin.
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, with a please do on the tip of her tongue.
Her eyes dipped to his lips that curved upwards at her reply, and she watched them move closer, inch by inch, until the faint warmth of his breath brushed her mouth.
Darcy’s eyes closed as he drew a tremulous breath, still hovering half an inch away.
When their lips finally touched, the aching pleasure of it travelled to her stomach and caught there. She mimicked his movements; with a groan he tightened the embrace.
Threading her fingers through the short hair at his nape provoked a shiver to run through his body.
A surge of pleasure exhilarated her. To affect him as he affected her was like a drug.
When their tongues touched, sparks flew, and a wave of need descended like a crashing wave.
He tasted warm—of mint with a hint of coffee.
On his neck, beneath her fingers, his rapid pulse beat steadily.
Her body tingled, and her cheeks were on fire as she pulled back an inch.
His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded pools of barely leashed passion.
“Elizabeth…” Darcy’s voice was rough as if unused, though they had only kissed but a minute. Then he pressed soft, barely there, kisses down her neck.
#
“You need not be afraid,” Darcy promised, knowing full well she would leap indignantly to deny it.
Her head snapped up. “I am not!”
“Yes, you are, and so am I, but that is to be expected.”
Her skin was pale in the dim light, and so soft.
A fleeting terror knotted his lungs’ ability to draw breath.
He was, of course, outrageously selfish and recovered much sooner than he deserved.
Sensuous as a cat, Elizabeth tipped her head back in a demand of sorts.
He obliged, threading his fingers through her soft tresses simply for the pleasure of it, and drew a leisurely path of kisses to her ear.
This was seduction, and his wife writhed beneath him, unaware of his hand making its own path down her body.
Not until his thumb stroked her satiny, hot, and wet core.
He nearly left his body.
A guttural groan, a sound of visceral pleasure, made him struggle to breathe. That was not me, he thought, blinded by pride.
“Ah, a lovely song, dearest. May I have another verse?”
He stroked her again; she gasped and he continued his ministrations.
“I…stop…oh, Darcy!”
Dear God! She did not mean he should stop? Inexorably torn between control and annihilation, he combed his fingers up her thigh then slipped them beneath her buttocks.
“Do not dare to stop!”
Darcy quashed the chuckle rising in his throat; Elizabeth would not relish his laughter at this inopportune moment.
The mirth subsided as his erection curved upwards, thick and ready.
He lifted her to press her against him. She drew tattered, staccato breaths and began to rub herself against him, hissing syllables of raw pleasure and his name.
She clawed at his back, and the pleasure and pain compelled him to lower her shivering body onto the bed.
Her back arched off the mattress, tilting her lovely breasts upwards and brushing his straining arousal.
Darcy could have sworn his blood stopped in his veins, and it took all his mettle not to plunge into her.
Instead, he lowered himself on trembling arms and nipped at a nipple.
At the jump of her rib cage, he brushed a whiskered chin against the silky roundness of her breast and felt the drumming of her heart against his cheek.
The torturous seconds it took to remove the bunched muslin of her shift enflamed his anticipation, scraping his ardour like a knife.
He was stretched to his limit, certain he would wither and die if left unsatisfied.
Elizabeth’s porcelain stomach, slender legs, and triangle of curls were perfection. He knelt between her widening legs, and as he did, her hands slid across his chest, searching and demanding, sending quivering frissons through his body.
When he brushed his aching erection against her damp curls, she rose to meet him, and he was one shallow breath away from losing consciousness.
He wanted to plunder like a beast, but with the last thread of reason, he acknowledged that his wife’s first coupling should not be a frenzied affair of merciless pounding.
In that regard, her impatient writhing did nothing to help him.
Her body told him that she wanted it as much as he did, even though she did not possess the words to express her desire.
He propped himself up on one arm as he needed his second hand to ease his hardness into the divine.
As he buried himself, fastidiously slowly, he watched her twinkling green eyes for signs of discomfort, her bosom for an even rise and fall.
Soon she would feel every inch of him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she bit her bottom lip, compelling him to halt every movement.
He dared not even breathe lest it hurt her.
It was with a rush of contained air he observed her mouth curve upwards, though her eyes remained closed.
He withdrew gently, shifting his hips a fraction for his next thrust to rub against her swollenness, and was rewarded when her head thrashed back.
Sweat trickled down his spine, but as the slow pace rendered him more time indulging in the clinging heat of paradise, he persevered.
He stroked slowly, again and again, until Elizabeth’s seductive moans broke his rhythm.
Then he counted to a hundred and fifty in a desperate attempt to delay his release.
He lost count before he reached twenty and tried to force images of ugly wenches and intimidating relatives into his mind before he succumbed to the inescapable apogee.
In the end, it was worth the punishing restraint he had put upon himself.
As if from a distance, the bed creaked and the linens rustled as their bodies met with increasing swiftness.
Then her head whipped back and her body arched.
He pounded until pleasure exploded, turning every nerve into a spectacle.
His own gasp rang loudly in his ears, reducing him to a humble heap of useless limbs, and then it was done.
Darcy hoisted himself up on shaking arms, hovering over his languid wife. Then her hands began stroking his sides whilst she mumbled something unintelligible. Still gently sheathed, spent, and utterly satisfied, he whispered in awe, “Oh God, how I love you,” and fell instantly asleep.
#
“Are you happy?”
Elizabeth turned to look at her husband of three days and studied the dishevelled man in the morning light. Who would have thought that beneath the solemn and proper gentleman lurked a tender and considerate lover who could dissolve into passionate, wild abandonment?
“Happy does not even begin to describe the joy I feel.” Her affirmation made the corner of his mouth twitch whilst he tried valiantly to maintain the image of a staid gentleman.
“We have already promised to love each other for better or for worse. I say it should have been for better or deliriously happy,” Elizabeth quipped.
“Do you regret not going to the Lakes?”
Mr Bingley had rented a cottage near Lake Windermere for a month before their journey continued to visit his relations in Scarborough. They would then travel on to Scotland to visit the Bennet seat and would return in the middle of July.
“No. It would not be fair to Miss Darcy to be away for so long. She must be eager to return to her own home after such a long visit with the Matlocks.”
“You do not mind sharing our home with Georgiana?”
“Of course not! Besides, I could hardly do less for your sister when you are showing such benevolence to mine…”
“Mary and Georgiana have similar interests, and I predict they will enjoy each other’s company.”
“Mary needs a friend, and if I have understood you correctly, so does Miss Darcy.”
Darcy nodded, and a lock of his hair fell upon his forehead. Elizabeth brushed it away, delighted that she was allowed to do so. These small services that were her prerogative to perform pleased her far more than they should, but the intimacy was new and thrilling.