Chapter 1.27 #3
“Yet there was a time when you knew you would see me here every evening.”
“It is true, but that was more than six months ago.”
“Seven months,” he replied. Elizabeth smiled again and blushed.
Darcy knelt near the tub; his dark gaze met her eyes in a silent search of her thoughts. She shivered. He took her wet hand, wiped it with his fingers and then placed a burning kiss in her palm. She shivered again.
“Are you cold? Should I bring you some hot water?” he asked.
“The water is fine,” she replied. In fact, she did not much feel the water.
“Did you shiver because I kissed your hand?” he whispered, and she nodded, obviously uneasy.
“I am such a selfish, insensible idiot,” he confessed unexpectedly, and she burst out in a nervous laugh.
“You are neither selfish nor insensible,” she said moments later, staring at her fingers entwined with his.
“But I am an idiot, am I not?” he insisted, tipping her chin to meet his eyes. He leaned to reach her face, and his lips wiped her tears. “Please forgive me, Elizabeth.”
“There is nothing to forgive. It is I who should apologise; you were right in everything you said.”
“I was wrong and unfair, and I am surprised you are still speaking to me.”
“Well, since I am imprisoned in this bathtub, I can do little else but speak with you,” she teased him.
“That is true,” Darcy admitted. “You are my prisoner and will be so for the next four hours at least.”
“Hmm…I am afraid that will not be possible, sir. I shall have my rescue quite soon. Mary will be here any moment to help me prepare for dinner.”
“I have dismissed Mary for tonight,” he replied seriously. “As for dinner—it is prepared in my room.”
He leaned closer so his lips brushed against hers. “Are you displeased?”
She withdrew a few inches to look at him; her arms encircled his neck and warm water fell all over his robe. “Do you think I am displeased, husband?”
His lips tasted hers for a short moment. “I hope not.”
She returned the kiss, biting his lower lip—as she had not done in months.
“What should I do for you to become certain, sir? Perhaps invite you to join me in here?”
Darcy broke the kiss; his thumb brushed against her wet, red lips.
“I have long waited for such an invitation, my dearest.”
“Then you have been a fool, sir. You should have known you needed no invitation to join me whenever and wherever you please.”
“That is very dangerous encouragement, Mrs Darcy, as it gives me the right to take advantage of you. Are you aware of that?” Her right eyebrow rose as a mischievous smile twisted the corners of her mouth.
“Truly, sir? I was not aware of the danger. Thank you for enlightening me,” she replied in jest. Darcy laughed delightedly and kissed her hand.
“Let me help you out of the tub,” he said and brought her a towel and her robe. She looked at him, puzzled and slightly embarrassed by his indirect refusal of her daring invitation.
He covered her in the robe and unexpectedly took her in his arms; her arms gathered around his neck, and she cast a quick glance at him, only to meet the smile of satisfaction in his eyes.
“You are disappointed I took you out of the water, are you not?”
“No, it is just that…You said you waited so long and I thought…”
They were already at the door to his room when he stopped to whisper close to her ear. “You thought correctly, my love. However, I decided to postpone accepting your invitation because the tub is not comfortable enough for the way I planned to spend these next few hours.”
“Oh…” she whispered as he entered his bedchamber, holding her tightly.
He put her down on the settee near the fireplace.
On a small table was a silver tray with some dishes, but she paid no attention to their contents.
She felt her husband watching her closely; he sat near her and removed her robe, covered her in a dry one and then embraced her; she cuddled to his chest, and her hands took his.
“There is much more food in the dressing room…for later,” he said and she could feel the amusement in his voice, mixed with all those signs of passion she knew so well.
“I am not so very hungry,” she replied. “I am content just to stay here with you like this.” One of her hands released his and moved up his torso. “Your robe is wet too, William. You should change before you get cold.”
He gently pulled her aside. “My dear wife, if you are content just to stay near me, I am afraid you will be disappointed very soon. As for my wet robe—it is indeed uncomfortable.”
His voice had become deep and grave, and each of his words made her quiver. His voice, his glances, his movements, and even his breathing were insinuating, flirtatious, passionate—and demanding.
She swallowed with some difficulty, trying to control her trembling—but with no success.
She had not changed at all—and neither had he.
He said she was his prisoner for the next few hours, but she knew very well that she was also a prisoner of her own love and passion—imprisoned for her entire life.
“Then you should remove your robe,” she said, licking her suddenly dry lips while she struggled to hold his intense gaze. She untied his robe and pulled it from his shoulders; he wore nothing beneath it.
“I should go and get another one while we are eating.”
“Yes you should—when we eat.”
He moved closer to her and she leaned back against the settee.
“Are you not hungry, Elizabeth? When we were in the carriage, you said you were starving. I do not want to—
She cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. “You do not want what, husband, or better said—what is it that you want? Are you hungry?”
The scent of his naked skin intoxicated her; he was almost atop her now and she closed her eyes to feel his weight on her but she suddenly felt herself lifted in his arms and carried to his bed.
He placed her against the pillows, and his strong palm caressed her face, as his tongue tasted her earlobe.
“I am hungry indeed. I have been starving for you for a long time.”
“But why did you starve, my love?” She entered into his passionate game, moaning at his touches. “I have never rejected you, nor did I do anything to keep you away.”
“I was afraid—afraid it might be too soon after Will’s birth, afraid I might hurt you, afraid I might bother and tire you with my insistence—
“You should have asked me if you had any doubts; you should have told me what you wished.”
Breathing had become more difficult for her, and she was not certain whether she was still speaking coherently. Each of his caresses proved how much her skin had craved his touch.
“I shall tell you now, or perhaps I should better show you…” His lips brushed against hers one more time, and then his mouth followed his hands, travelling down to her throat, to her shoulders, resting a few moments upon her heart, and then lower, along her body, caressing, kissing, and tasting each spot of her silky skin.
“You have always been more eloquent with your gestures than with your words, husband.”