Chapter 1.12
Elizabeth looked out of the window of her apartment like she was seeing London for the first time.
In truth, she had not seen that part of the town much, and had never been in a house in Park Lane before.
The evening was still early and, despite the cold weather, there was much activity on the streets.
A short distance away she could see Hyde Park, and she admired it absently.
She was too nervous about what was happening inside the house and inside herself to care for the world outside.
Her entire world — at least that day — was her husband, their home and the life they were about to share together.
They had arrived two hours earlier, after a journey filled with too many delicious and embarrassing moments to even be recalled.
After their brief visit to the cottage, they had continued the journey with only a quick stop at an inn, to allow the horses to rest and the newly-weds to enjoy a hot drink.
They were travelling alone, with only two servants.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley had returned in a separate carriage and Miss Darcy had gone directly to her own house.
Whilst at first she had been intrigued by the travel arrangements — as there would have been plenty of room for all of them in the large carriage — Elizabeth quickly understood her husband’s plans as soon as they left Meryton and he placed her in his lap to warm her.
The recollection of his kisses and touches — and of the maddening sensations that she had never imagined before — made her blush with embarrassment and shiver with anticipation for what was still to come.
After the introduction to the staff, a brief tour of the house and dinner — too long and too rich for their very different kind of appetite — they retired to their apartments, separated by only an adjoining door.
Darcy allowed her to prepare for the night in the company of her maid.
Hot water waited for her in the bath and her nightgown was spread out on the bed, indecently soft and elegant.
She had been ready for some time but apparently, he was not.
She heard the sound of footsteps and voices from his room but did not dare knock.
She did not believe she would be anxious about the wedding night.
After all, she knew what to expect. Or so she believed.
But she was nervous, excited, disquieted — most certainly not comfortable.
She had never been comfortable in his company because she had always felt strongly for him.
She glanced from her place at the window towards the door, then at the hearth where the fire was burning steadily. She suddenly remembered the other fire, in the cottage, and its light that had revealed his naked body to her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Darcy. May I enter?”
Darcy’s voice surprised Elizabeth and a warm wave of pleasure tantalised her skin even before she turned to look at him standing in the doorway.
He wore trousers and a shirt opened at the neck.
Unlike back in the cottage, these clothes fit him perfectly.
She swallowed thickly to remove the lump in her throat and licked her dry lips.
“Of course you may, Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you, madam,” he teased her, stepping forward.
He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips.
“You look stunning, Mrs. Darcy. Breath-taking. I have seen you looking more beautiful than this only once.”
He freed one of his hands to stroke her hair, playing with her heavy locks. “I love your hair loose,” he whispered, while her knees became weaker by the moment.
“May I ask when that one time was? At the Netherfield ball? Or earlier today, at our wedding, perhaps?” she asked weakly. “Because on other occasions I remember not being handsome enough to tempt you.”
His strong palms rested at the junction of her neck and shoulders, stroking her skin through the silky fabric. His fingers returned to play with the hair on her nape, his thumbs gently caressing her throat and the line of her jaw.
“Almost from the beginning of our acquaintance you have tempted me as no other woman ever has. But the moment I had in mind was in the cottage…when you changed into those old, dusty clothes and covered yourself in blankets, your hair falling over your shoulders.”
“You are certainly teasing me, Mr. Darcy. I was mortified by my appearance and surely I have never looked worse!”
“I strongly disagree. I was so enchanted that the desire to hold you, to warm you in my arms, to kiss you, caress you — was torture.”
“I did not feel any such things. I felt safe with you, and I was relieved knowing that you did not find me handsome or tempting.”
His lips brushed over hers and tasted them tenderly.
“That was my intention — to make you feel safe — and I am glad I succeeded. As for the nature of my true thoughts and how tempted I was, I intend to show you when we next return to the cottage, Mrs. Darcy. If you will allow me…”
They were already closely embraced, only inches away from the large bed, their bodies crushed against each other.
“I have no intention of suspending any pleasure of yours, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, her breathing becoming heavier.
“Nor I, yours, Mrs. Darcy.” His hoarse voice and his warm breath on her ear made her feel even weaker.
His eyes bored into hers until she could hardly bear his intense stare; she had felt it many times in the past, but this time, the deep darkness of his gaze seemed different. And she was not wrong.
He desperately wanted to fulfil the need, the hunger that had overwhelmed him for months, but stronger than his desire was his concern for her.
He knew she was desirous for their union, that she enjoyed their passionate interludes, that she had taken her first taste of pleasure in the carriage, during their first journey as husband and wife.
But he knew he had to be patient, that his unleashed passion could be frightening and even painful for her.
His own pleasure meant nothing without hers.
He felt her shivering and his hands brushed up and down her arms.
“Are you cold?”
“A little,” she admitted. “And a little too warm.”
He smiled and lifted her in his arms, then placed her on the bed.
“I will extinguish all but two candles. And the fire,” he said, and she nodded.
He went to blow out the rest of the candles in the room.
When he finally returned, he stood still, stunned in disbelief, bewildered and bewitched by the vision in front of him.
She was standing in front of the fireplace, wearing only her nightdress, her robe lying on the floor at her feet.
“We must be on equal ground when we become husband and wife, Mr. Darcy. I am ready to pay my debt to you. The one that you mentioned in the cottage,” she said, her voice trembling and her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. He hesitated only a moment, to become certain of her meaning.
Slowly, he stepped forward, his eyes locking with hers. His palms touched her shoulders and she shivered again, closing her eyes.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, and she nodded.
His fingers gently glided down the soft fabric and the dress fell from her body, pooling at her feet with the robe.
Her skin was softer than any silk and his desire to touch it grew maddening.
He stared at her, breathless, his blood churning, his heart pounding, his body screaming for fulfilment.
Her eyes were still closed, her lips half parted.
He quickly took off his own clothes and then embraced her forcefully.
She gasped at the feeling of his bare skin against hers and he lifted her in his arms again, lying her on the bed and pulling the sheets around them.
For a moment, he lay upon her, his weight covering her, but then he rolled onto his back and she found herself lying on top of him, body against body, their breath and hearts in harmony. Their faces were only inches apart, her breasts crushed against his torso.
His left hand played with her hair while his right slowly moved along her spine, then his strong palms returned to cup her face, and he buried his fingers in her hair. Guided by her sensations and by the expression on his face, she began to slowly move against him
“My dearest Elizabeth…I want to show you how much I love and desire you…”
“Please show me,” she whispered, closing her eyes and parting her lips for him.
Those were the last words she heard from him, then he turned them again and she found herself lying against the pillows.
He spread countless kisses from her lips to her cheeks, her eyes, the line of her jaw and back to her lips again, patiently and for her sake, while he was struggling with an urge, an overwhelming passion that he could barely control.
Her body remained uncovered and she shivered from the chill, until he wrapped her in tender caresses and kisses, slowly building a fire within her.
She tried to look at him, to catch a glimpse of his body, but his gaze burned her even stronger than his strokes. His kisses became more eager, and his yearning slowly overcame his caution. His sweet tenderness remained, but his passion added to it.