Chapter 16 #3
Darcy’s gaze followed Cassandra for a few moments, deep in thought.
Until the morning light entered through the heavy curtains, he stayed by Elizabeth, watching her, caressing her hair with infinite care not to awaken her, his heart filled with gratitude and love.
He would not waste his chance at happiness—of that, he was certain!
∞∞∞
Cassandra did not go to her room. She did not want to dream, as she knew her dreams would haunt and terrify her after such a night. She was tired of nightmares and did not want to be alone in the coldness of her bed.
Unconsciously, her steps directed her to the library; the room still held the tension of their earlier arguments. The nerve of those Markhams! The young one was out of his mind, obviously, but his father? Had he lost his common sense, too?
She entered and poured herself a glass of wine.
She was thirsty; the Markhams made her thirsty as Mr Bennet said.
Cassandra smiled, remembering the gentleman—she had really come to admire and even feel affection for Mr Bennet.
And that very evening, when he so decidedly had refused the earl’s offer for Elizabeth…
The earl likely had never been mocked that way.
Yes, she truly liked Mr Bennet, as did Darcy.
He and Mr Bennet seemed quite close. Darcy was fortunate—he was correct—in being accepted by Elizabeth.
She would be perfect for him and for Georgiana too, and there would likely be plenty of little Darcys at Pemberley.
She smiled with tender affection at that thought, then sadness and emptiness cut sharply at her heart; there would be no room for her in their felicity.
She would only disturb them. She had always brought pain and disorder to the people around her.
That was why she was alone—and always would be.
She gulped her wine with a greedy swallow and then filled the glass again.
She found a place on the settee near the fireplace, but the fire had already died.
Only then, staring at the ashes, did she notice how cold the room was.
That chill was negligible, however; her soul and her life were much colder.
Everything was frozen around her—frozen and empty.
She felt herself lifted by strong arms, and she was startled, fighting against the intruder.
As soon as she regained her senses, even before opening her eyes, she knew it was David; their eyes met, and the tenderness in his gaze seemed the perfect nourishment for the emptiness in her soul.
He seemed the perfect solution to her loneliness.
Her hands encircled his neck and her head rested against his shoulder.
“I shall help you to your room; you look exhausted.” She only nodded in agreement.
What was happening was not right; she knew that.
It was not right for David to carry her up the stairs to her room in the secluded guest wing.
It was not right, but it felt so right! She knew she should end this instantly, yet she was too tired, too powerless, and too afraid of remaining alone again to do what she ought.
His warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt, his arms holding her tightly, his breath, a little vein pulsing wildly in his neck, the sensation of being so close to him, to actually hearing his heart beating—she could not let these things go so soon.
She needed him just a little longer; she wanted him a little longer.
They reached the door of her room, and he stopped, but she did not move; so, after a momentary hesitation, he entered and stepped forward, tentatively, until he reached her bed.
He put her down then, and as her hands remained locked around his neck, for a moment their faces almost touched; the room was dark and silent, so silent they could hear the fire.
Her hands pulled him closer, and her lips brushed against his.
They both startled and withdrew instantly, and then their lips met again, first tentatively but gradually more daring, more passionate, more demanding.
Neither of them could think or breathe, and neither could stop.
David found the strength to put a few inches between them before finally speaking, his eyes fixed on hers. “Cassandra, this is not right…I should leave you now. You are exhausted; you ought to sleep…I have to leave, I must,” he whispered with a determination that struggled to defeat his desire.
Without thinking and against every reason, even against her will, she whispered back. “Please, do not leave…Please, stay with me…”
He frowned as their eyes met. “Cassandra…I am afraid to ask and dare not presume what you mean. What do you want?”
“I want you to stay…I do not want to be alone,” she repeated, her eyes more pleading than her voice.
“I want to stay, more than I ever wanted anything in my life. But…are you certain? I cannot bear the thought that you are asking me to stay only because you feel lonely or that you will wake tomorrow believing you made a mistake and that I took advantage of you in a weak moment.”
“I know my wishes, David…and I will still know them tomorrow morning.”
He lowered his body upon hers. “Cassandra, tell me…Why do you want me to stay? Please tell me…”
She looked at him so intently that he was certain her eyes became tearful. She seemed unable to find the answer; finally, her barely audible voice broke the silence. “I…David, there is no other man in the world whom I would ask to be here with me…That is all I can tell you.”
“And that is all I need to hear,” he replied.
For long, torturous moments he made no gesture—only stared at her silently, intently with a mixed expression of wonder and desire; his face displayed the torment of such a storm of feelings that Cassandra could hardly bear it.
She tried to move, to touch him, to make him do something—but he half leaned upon her, and his weight kept her prisoner.
“David,” she whispered, her hands gingerly touching his face. Suddenly her moves turned shy and uncertain, and her voice was trembling.
“Cassandra, if only I could tell you how much I love you…I cannot believe that—
“David, please, please do not speak…please…” Her voice sounded so painfully pleading that for a moment he was certain she was crying.
But he had no time to look at her eyes as she pulled him toward her, and her lips pressed against his.
He still had so many things to tell her—but they could all wait!
If she wanted no words, so be it. The only thing that truly mattered to him was that she finally accepted him, despite everything she had said before. She would finally be his.
Her lips were softer and sweeter than he could ever imagine.
He was kissing her, tasting her, savouring her flavour impatiently as his hunger grew, and her skin was the only food he needed.
His mouth desperately wanted more of her, all of her, but for the time being, it simply could not leave her beautiful face.
Countless kisses covered her cheeks, her eyes, her earlobes, until his greedy lips returned passionately, possessively to capture hers again and again.
He could feel her fingers entwined in his hair and her mouth allowing, returning, and seeking his kisses; but beyond that, his senses were hardly aware of anything except her warmth, her scent, the movement of her body beneath his, and her soft moans. She was finally his.
Yes, every fibre of his body, his boiling blood, an urge he could not control, a passion whose violence frightened even himself—everything was desperately screaming to make her truly his that very moment, to bind her to him forever before she could change her mind and before anything could interfere to stop him.
Strangely, the storm of feelings brought him back from the abyss of his desires, and his heart ached with worry for her—for her feelings and desires.
David suddenly stopped and withdrew from Cassandra, his gaze searching her face.
Her head was resting against the pillow, her eyes closed, her lips red and swollen, her chest rising rhythmically as she obviously struggled to breathe.
In shock, he saw her nightgown ripped apart—the result of his violent explorations—and her creamy, smooth skin was exposed to his avid scrutiny.
His right palm was still rounded upon her left breast and he could feel her heart racing wildly.
Gently, with infinite care, his lips brushed against her eyelashes; her green eyes met his, and what he saw there cut his soul like a knife. There was sadness—a deep, powerful sadness that he thought he could understand.
“My love, I am so sorry! Please forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you. I know I have behaved like a savage. I had better stop; I do not want to hurt you—
“No, no,” she interrupted him, forcing a smile. “You did not frighten me.” Her voice trembled and her eyes locked with his as she spoke with no little difficulty. “You must not worry for me. It is not the first time…” Her eyelashes fluttered as she waited for his reply.
“It is the first time for us together. That is all that matters,” he answered, returning her smile.
Their lips found their way to another kiss—a caring, patient kiss; tender caresses replaced their initial urges; the hunger of possession turned into the certainty of lovemaking.