Chapter Ten #2
He lifted her leg and shifted her slightly to drive deeper into her than he had been.
She cried out in surprise but eagerly moved against him to welcome his invasion.
Her body tightened around him, and he flicked her nipples beneath his thumbs, confident in the knowledge that she loved when that sensitive flesh was taunted and manipulated by his skilled hands.
He filled her even as she began her climax, and then they were still. Darcy collapsed atop her shaking body.
Her breasts pillowed his head, and he kissed the plump mound closest to his lips out of gratitude.
“I am not sure how to take this, my lord.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ye display such ferocity in thy possession of me yet afterwards, ye lie about like the world has put all its troubles upon your door. The change is quite obvious: ye are not as happy as ye were mere moments ago.” Her hands ran along his back, through his hair, down his arms. “Do not hide from me. Remember the vow we made to each other.”
Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat. Yes, he remembered the vow and lived in fear of it.
If he told her the truth, he would lose her, and did not know how he would survive that.
Cupping her face, Darcy sprinkled kisses over her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, and the tip of her adorable nose.
She was his world. Then it hit him: if he lost everything, he would not care as long as she was at his side.
“I simply do not trust myself to be happy.”
“Why?”
“Because what if you are suddenly gone?” he whispered, letting himself get as close to the truth as he could.
“I am not going anywhere. We are wed, my lord.”
“And that is the only thing keeping you at my side,” he hissed, all of a sudden angry with himself, with the situation. He began to pull away from her, but she grabbed his hands and tugged harder than he had imagined she was capable.
Her blue eyes glinted like the steel of a blade. “Do not presume my situation is so vulgar, my husband. I took vows, yes, but that is not the only reason I am here.”
He was doubtful and gazed to one side.
“I have an obligation to the people of this realm, to my Papa, to my vows, but there is much more. Ye need me, High Lord Darcy. Ye need me as nobody has ever needed me before, and I would never walk away from that.”
Silently, he sat up and pulled her into his lap, skimming her neck with his lips.
“My lord, ye are my husband and the only man I have lain with. That means a great deal to me. Will ye try to understand that?” She pulled her finger along the side of his face. “I care about ye and what happens to ye.”
He gave her a weak smile and nodded before he cleared his throat. “We should get back. I am afraid I cannot help you right your hair.”
“Pay it no mind. I am quite positive the whole of the household is aware what occurred here. I hardly bothered to hide my pleasure, and we both know I have a tendency to scream.”
He laughed and chucked her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I cannot regret that I have such a vocal wife.”
“Well, keep up the offending behaviour, sir, and I may develop a severe case of laryngitis, and then where shall we be?”
Smiling, Darcy helped her dress and, after a few more kisses that threatened to divest them of their hard-won clothing once again, he pulled himself away. He accompanied her out of the room, longing to follow when she informed him she was going out to the stables.
“I shall see ye at dinner, husband,” she said in the softest, gentlest tone as she held his hand tight for a moment.
“At dinner, my sweet.”
* * *
He missed the evening meal upon learning of a missing child who turned out to be hiding in a barn.
Having gone out to search for the misplaced boy, Darcy was late in returning to Pemberley proper and when he entered his bedchamber that evening, he found Elizabeth sitting upon the window seat, sobbing hysterically.
He was at her side in a breath, his arms encircling her body as though she were a brittle glass sculpture.
She clung to him, fingers unconsciously clawing at his neck, looking for a way to anchor herself in the tumult of her misery.
“My sweet, what is the matter? What upsets you so? We found the child.”
She met his eyes for a mere moment then pushed him away and pulled her knees to her chest. Heart in his throat and full of fear, he tried to approach her again.
“No. I am not fit,” she croaked, pulling her body tighter on itself.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Ye shall hate me if I tell ye.”
He covered her cheeks with his hands, kissing her wet mouth gently, reverently. “Have you not realized yet that I could never hate you? You are my salvation.”
“I am ashamed,” she whispered, not hearing his words.
“Why, Elizabeth?”
Unable to meet his gaze or escape his firm grasp, she closed her eyes. With a long, shuddering breath, she let her watery eyes look to his, then all of a sudden, hurled her body into his arms as though she needed his assurance desperately.
“I am not with child!” she wailed. “I began my cycle this evening.”
Glad she could not see his face; he bit down on the amused grin that teased the corners of his lips. Slowly, he pulled back to brush a sweet, loving kiss over her salty lips.
“Is that all?”
“Is that all?” she cried. “I cannot give ye a child—our child—and ye merely brush it aside? Ye are the heartless rogue who forced me to marry ye!”
He let the words bounce off him, since she must no longer think such things.
“Why do you think you cannot bear a child, my sweet?”
“Because of all—” she bit off the rest of the sentence and stared out the window.
“Elizabeth, this modesty does not become you. You should be able to speak about it if you are partaking of it.”
“We have bedded many times. I do not understand how I am not with child.”
“Perhaps we are simply not ready, and nature knows such things. I would not object to keeping my beautiful wife to myself a few months longer, but if you were heavy with child, I would love you no less.”
Her head swung around, and she looked at him sharply, breath frozen in her chest at his admission.
Darcy swallowed hard and raised a sheepish eyebrow. “You know what I meant.”
“Of course,” she whispered.
“My sweet, how can you know what brings about a baby and yet not understand that your cycle does not mean you are barren?”
“I have spoken with Jane about the subject. She told me that once I am increasing, my cycle shall stop. I took it as meaning I shall never have another.”
“Not while you are increasing. It will resume after you give birth.”
“Oh.” She appeared uncomfortable again and resumed her vigil at the window.
“What is the matter now?”
“I should sleep in my old chamber this evening.”
“This is your chamber, my sweet. I do not think I can sleep if you are not with me.”
“It is not proper!”
“How so?”
“The blood—”
“I have fought in battles. I have seen blood.”
“The pain—”
“You have seen, nay, you have touched my scars. They brought me a fair amount of pain.”
“The vileness—”
“My sweet, nothing about you is vile. Your cycle is your mark of femininity, and I shall not be exiled from your company because of a little blood.”
To prove his point, he lifted her from the seat and placed her gently on the bed.
Cautiously, he began to pull the hem of her nightdress up, though her small hands batted at him.
He paused, scrutinized her impatiently, and her hands fell away.
With the nightdress pushed up around her tummy, he gave the creamy expanse of her belly a playful kiss before he retrieved the washstand.
With great care, he pulled it over, making sure it was in reach as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“We have rituals our people talk nothing about, my sweet wife.
A man takes great satisfaction in caring for his woman when the need arises.
It is not spoken of in polite company because a woman's cycle is rarely acknowledged at all, but when I was a young pup, my Papa took me to a brothel, and I was educated very well.” He gently opened her legs to remove the undergarments she was encased in.
“I was introduced to Violet, a whore not much older than I, but far more worldly. She informed of the secret ceremony that all men perform for their women.”
“Desist in talk of whores, my lord.”
“I am merely explaining,” he said with a smug look.
She huffed. “Odd. It sounds much more like gloating.”
He took the cloth from the washbasin and dipped the edge of it in the lavender-scented water.
“My lord,” she whispered. “No.”
“Just a moment, my sweet, and you shall be ready for bed. Let me care for your body in my way.”
Her knees fell open a little more, exposing her sex.
He wet the cloth again and wiped her skin gently.
When she was clean, Darcy dressed her in fresh undergarments and righted her nightdress.
Satisfied he had cleansed her as thoroughly as possible, and with the sudden intention to keep this to himself, he cleaned the washcloth as best he could and dumped the soiled water out the window.
After he returned the washbasin to its original place, Darcy climbed into bed next to his exhausted wife.
They laid side by side for a few moments before she insinuated her body into his embrace. Her lips found his, kissing him slowly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know that was repulsive.”
“It was not,” he assured her. “When will you understand that there is nothing which I would not do for you? Washing blood from your body is hardly disgusting, sweet Elizabeth. In fact, I think you might have enjoyed it.”
“I did not say I did not enjoy it. Ye were touching me. Since we married, I have found that thy touch brings me nothing but pleasure.”
“Then I shall employ my touch as much as possible for these next few days and then we shall put forth another effort to make your belly swell with child.”
“Did ye mean it earlier?”
He did not play coy; what would be the point? “When I said I loved you?”
“Yes.”