Chapter 20
On a clear, cold autumn evening, as sunset turned the sky to hues of orange and gold, Lizzy and her new husband entered Darcy House in London.
The housekeeper and butler welcomed them warmly, introducing their mistress to the staff.
Wanting to make a good first impression, Lizzy greeted her employees with eager kindness, hoping she’d remember their names.
In truth, she was so giddy, she doubted she’d remember anything.
During the ceremony, she had held in her emotions. It had all seemed so unreal, so impossible, as if they were enacting a play. But in the carriage on the way to the wedding breakfast, when her husband had called her Mrs. Darcy, her tears had flowed.
After a harrowing ordeal, they were finally together.
The housekeeper led them to the dining room, where a light repast had been set out for them. Lizzy was grateful. The food at the wedding breakfast had been abundant, but she had been too busy and excited to do more than nibble. She’d had too many people to greet and thank.
“Oh, this looks beautiful.” She hoped her tone communicated her sincerity to the housekeeper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. If you need anything, let Jem know.” She nodded towards the footman, then withdrew.
As Jem poured the wine, Darcy filled Lizzy’s plate from the platters on the table: cold ham, crusty bread, white Stilton, and apple slices.
“You look dazed.” Darcy squeezed her hand.
“I am. Is that not strange? Even after the ride here from Meryton…”
“You slept most of the way,” he reminded her.
“True enough.” Her stomach fluttered, and she gave him a happy smile. “I was too excited last night to sleep much.”
“I felt the same.” His expression turned boyish. “Now that we’re here, with no calls to make for the next week at least—you can get as much rest as you like.”
She spoke in low tones so the footman couldn’t hear. “I could happily spend the entire next week in bed.”
Darcy’s eyes darkened at the suggestion. “That’s a fine idea.”
The food was delicious—the bread light and crusty, the cheese sharp and sweet, the apples tart and juicy—but Lizzy was restless. Before long, she said, “Do you think…”
Darcy responded with a searching look. “What, my love?”
“Could we perhaps take the food on a tray to the master suite?”
He smiled and rose. Offering her his hand as she stood, he conveyed a word of instruction to Jem.
Darcy led her up the curving stairs, the wood a dark cherry. They took a few steps along the corridor before he stopped.
“This is your room.” Darcy showed her inside.
She drew in a breath, astonished by the size and beauty.
It was elegant and cheerful, light from the blazing fire dancing on cream-colored walls.
The drapes and linens were a pale cornflower blue, while the French provincial furniture was a natural blond wood.
“Through here is a sitting room.” Darcy opened a door, and she followed him. The décor matched her bedroom. A couch faced the fireplace, with catty-corner chairs on either side. Three Delft Blue pots of white narcissus sat on a sofa table, perfuming the air.
“This is lovely.” Lizzy smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. So far, she’d seen nothing she wanted to change. “I can’t believe I live here.”
“I’m grateful you do.” He stepped close and softly kissed her.
The brush of his lips was slow and careful. Warmth bloomed beneath her ribs and spread outward like sunshine through her veins. Her pulse quickened as he cradled her like his greatest treasure.
The taste of wine lingered between them. She leant into him, her fingertips tingling where they pressed against his silk waistcoat. His heart thrummed in a steady rhythm beneath her palms.
He deepened the kiss with the sweet urgency of new love. A delicious dizziness overtook her, the ground shifting beneath her feet—leaving only him, only this moment, only the exquisite rightness of being held so tenderly by the man she loved.
Overwhelmed by emotion, she drew back from the kiss to catch her breath. Darcy clutched her close to him, resting his cheek on her temple.
“My wife,” he murmured, the word the sweetest sound in her ear. She truly belonged to him.
Reluctantly, she said, “I should call my maid to help me out of these travelling clothes.”
Darcy’s eyes danced. “Allow me?”
The suggestion made her smile. She never wanted to leave his arms. “Yes, please.”
He beamed. “The footman will bring the food into this room. Shall we go to my chamber or yours?”
She pondered the question. “I want to see your room.”
He took her inside. The colours matched the other rooms, but the furniture was heavier. The lace and silk were replaced by dark, rich velvet. She filled her lungs with the faint scent of his sandalwood soap.
“Yes,” she said.
He grinned at her reaction. “Yes, what?”
“I can sense your presence in this room.”
He arched his brows. “That’s because I’m standing right here.”
She tickled him. “You know what I mean. This room feels like you.”
“You can feel as much of me as you like.” He kissed her ear.
She ignored his jest and focused on the sensation of his lips as they explored the arc of her neck. The soft slide of his tongue sent tingles through her flesh. “Oh, Darcy…” Her voice was hoarse and took on a sultry sound. “Right there. That’s…”
She had no words for what that was. Her brain turned to jelly, her flesh to liquid.
Her body responded of its own accord—a subtle arch towards him, a soft sigh that escaped unbidden.
The reality of this passionate exploration was more intoxicating than anything she had imagined.
Every nerve seemed alive with anticipation, as if her skin had become sensitised to his touch, craving more of this delicious torment.
Her mind told her they should stop—but this was their wedding night. At last, they could indulge their desires. The thought filled her with joy and excitement.
The fire snapped and hissed as his hand cupped her face. A low heat kindled within her, deeper and more urgent than anything she had felt before. With gentle pressure, he possessed her mouth, igniting something primitive and yearning, a sweet ache that pooled between her legs.
While he kissed, his hands worked the laces of her gown. It fell to the floor, and she stepped out of it, relieved to be free. Darcy eyed her in her undergarments, and his expression turned feral.
She helped him tug out of his jacket, tailored perfectly to his body. Then, she untied his cravat, fingers clumsy with eagerness, kissing his throat as she uncovered the skin there and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
With increasing frenzy, they undressed each other until she was down to her shift and he to his breeches.
Her stomach flipped as they stared at each other in wonder and the faintest hint of awkwardness.
Admiring the hard planes of his chest, the thick muscles of his arms, she was eager to explore every inch of him.
He reached for the tie at the neck of her chemise, pausing and lifting his gaze to hers for permission. Desire overwhelmed her embarrassment, and she nodded. Cool air grazed her skin as the linen slid down her body and pooled on the floor. With her foot, she brushed the garment aside.
Darcy growled and drew her against him. His mouth explored hers, passion growing to a frenzy. The sweet taste of apples and hot man occupied her senses. The feel of their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, was a pleasure like nothing she had known before.
He took a single step back, as though to memorise the sight of her. She repressed the urge to cover herself and let him look his fill.
Then, she opened his falls with deliberate slowness, watching his eyes darken with lust. In a moment of courage, she tugged his breeches down over his hips. They both gasped as the hard length of him sprang free and swelled against her belly.
Her intimate muscles clenched with want as he stepped out of his breeches. She had never imagined a man could look so finely wrought. The marble statues had not exaggerated.
His mouth returned to its study of her throat. He found a place that made her gasp, following the line to the tender hollow at her shoulder, then lower, his breath a promise against her skin.
He danced her to the bed—she a willing partner—and they slid under the warm blankets. He pressed her hands to his chest, letting her feel the rhythm of his heart.
“It beats for you.” His voice was rough. “Always.”
“My sweet Darcy.” She curved an arm around his waist and slid her calf against his. She longed for this closeness and the greater intimacies it would lead to.
His teasing touches filled her with anticipation. She had little idea of what to expect, given her mother’s dithering explanations. But a blushing Jane had reassured Lizzy that the marriage bed was nothing to fear.
His eager fingers moved down her back, and he filled his palms with her round bottom. She pressed her pelvis against him, helpless to resist the heat that unfurled in her belly.
He explored her with his hands and mouth—discovered all the places where her breath hitched, where her laughter trembled with pleasure, where her sigh turned to pleas. When he lingered, she curled her fingers in his hair, guiding him, unashamed.
And she, in turn, mapped every inch of him—following the elegant lines of his back, the strength in his shoulders, the way his breath hitched when she kissed the dimple behind his ear. As she whispered his name, the corner of his mouth softened to a smile, and she pressed her lips there.
He slid his palm along her thigh and she opened for him with perfect trust. His composure faltered. “Lizzy,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, as if the name itself undid him. “Tell me if I go too fast.”
Her breath became a plea. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed down her body, his lips tantalising the tender flesh of her breasts. She quivered at the new sensations, at the enchanting feel of his tongue. His warm mouth captured an aching nipple, and she gasped. “Darcy!”