Chapter 21
ELIZABETH
I did not lead Fitzwilliam to his chamber.
I led him to mine.
The connecting door had remained closed since our departure for London. I walked through, then threw open both panels between our apartments.
“I don't want it closed anymore,” I declared.
He stood behind me, so close his warmth reached my back.
“Never?”
“Not when we are alone at Pemberley.”
“The servants will develop quite an intimate knowledge of our habits.”
I turned around.
“You promised me you would no longer let propriety decide for us.”
“That promise I can keep.”
He kissed me before I could respond.
I knew his mouth now, but love transformed even what desire had taught me. Every caress seemed to carry meaning. When he took my face in his hands, I felt his trust. When he waited for me to part my lips, I recognized his patience. When he murmured my name, I heard the fear he had finally set down.
I began to undo his cravat.
“We are expected at dinner,” he reminded me.
“Send a message.”
“What reason should I give?”
“An urgent family matter.”
His laugh vibrated against my throat.
I removed his cravat, then unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat. He tried to help; I pushed his hands away.
“Let me.”
“I am at your disposal.”
“That's a dangerous declaration.”
I removed his coat and let it fall onto a chair. His shirt followed. The sight of his chest awakened an impatience in me that I did not try to hide.
I pressed my lips to the center of his chest.
He inhaled.
Encouraged, I traced the line of his muscles with my mouth, the warm skin above his heart, the hollow beneath his ribs. His hands remained in my hair without directing my movements.
“Elizabeth.”
“You've shown me so much. It's my turn.”
I knelt before him.
His body tensed.
“You have nothing to prove.”
“I'm not proving anything.”
I took him in my hand with new confidence, observing the reactions he could no longer hide. Then I leaned forward and tasted him.
His groan passed through me like a caress.
I let his breathing and the pressure of his fingers against my cheek guide my movements. When his control began to slip, he stopped me and raised me up.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I want to keep enough control to join you.”
“You didn’t have such scruples a week ago.”
“A week ago, I hadn’t yet heard you say you loved me. Tonight, I don’t want to miss anything you’re giving me.”
“That’s an acceptable excuse.”
He kissed me with a hunger that drove me back toward the bed.
“You are a formidable woman,” he murmured.
“You chose her knowingly the second time.”
He unfastened my dress with far less patience than on our first night. The fastenings yielded beneath his fingers. He pushed the fabric from my shoulders, turned me around, and untied the laces of my stays, then stopped.
“Too fast?”
“Not fast enough.”
His gaze blazed.
He finished undressing me. My shift fell. I stood naked before him, but I no longer tried to cover myself.
He raised his eyes to mine, and the question he no longer dared ask passed between us.
I didn’t wait for him to speak it.
“I love you.”
He leaned down and took my breast in his mouth.
I clung to his shoulders. He guided me back onto the bed, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered, and lingered between my thighs until I lost all capacity for teasing.
When he rose above me again, I pushed him gently.
“What is it?”
“I want to try something different.”
He understood from my look.
A look of delighted surprise crossed his face.
“Are you certain?”
“Will you never tire of that question?”
“Never.”
I made him lie down, then straddled his hips.
The position made me acutely aware of my body and his. His hands settled at my waist, but he let me lead.
I took his cock and guided it against me.
“Slowly,” he advised.
“Always,” I repeated.
I lowered myself.
The sensation was different, deeper, entirely under my control. I stopped when my body protested, then continued until I welcomed him completely.
Fitzwilliam had his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.
“Look at me,” I said.
His eyes opened.
I smiled.
“I very much enjoy giving orders.”
“I’d noticed.”
I began to move.
His hands followed my hips, helping me find a rhythm. Pleasure rose quickly. I could choose the angle, the depth, the speed. I understood why he had insisted on my freedom: it made surrender more intense, not less complete.
He caressed my breasts, then slipped a hand between us.
“Again?” I breathed.
“Always, if I can manage it.”
I leaned down to kiss him. My hair fell around us as it had in his room the night I’d opened the door for the first time.
“I love you,” I repeated against his mouth.
His body tensed beneath me.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
He opened his eyes and slowed abruptly, despite the visible tension in his body.
“Don’t say them only because I ask you to.”
I stopped above him.
“You doubt already?”
“I want to believe them every time.”
I took his face between my hands.
“Then look at me. I love you when you give me pleasure, but I already loved you in the carriage where you refused to sleep. I love you in this room, in your study, in the fields of Pemberley, and when my family tests your patience.”
“Even then?”
“Especially when you choose patience.”
He laughed, and the vibration of his body inside me made me shiver.
“I believe you,” he murmured.
“Good. Now stop talking.”
I resumed the movement. His hands traveled up my sides, not to direct me, but to accompany me.
Love didn’t erase desire or urgency; it gave them new depth.
I no longer sought only the pleasure he knew how to awaken.
I wanted to feel his surrender answer mine, to give him certainty through my body as much as through my words.
Each time I said it, he seemed to lose another piece of his control. His movements became more powerful. I followed, carried away by the heat building in my belly.
“Fitzwilliam…”
“I’ve got you.”
Pleasure burst through me. I arched, his name on my lips. He pulled me against him and rolled with me, continuing until he found his own release with a muffled sound against my shoulder.
We stayed entwined, breathless.
After a moment, he raised his head.
“Are you certain you want to forgo dinner?”
“Why?”
“Because I fear I shall no longer keep to any proper schedule.”
I ran my fingers through his hair.
“Pemberley is a well-run estate. It will survive.”
He laughed and kissed me.
Dinner grew cold without us.