CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
Her heart thumped wildly. A change in circumstances.
Could he possibly mean his feelings for her?
Might he still hold her in affection? She felt torn.
She had not come with any intention of pursuing a fourth lesson but to confirm the identity of her mentor.
She was more certain but lacked proof still of his being Mr. Darcy.
If he was ending his stint as a Trenwith instructor, this might be her last opportunity for a lesson.
Abby would no doubt find her a replacement if requested, but Lizzy had no toleration to continue with anyone else.
What if Mr. Darcy, despite his altered behaviour to her, had no intention of renewing his hand?
Suddenly, she desired the fourth lesson beyond anything.
“I remember the safety word,” she blurted.
“Pardon?”
“Montreal.”
He simply stared at her. Had he forgotten it?
“The safety word,” she reminded him.
“Yes, of course.”
But he remained immobile.
“I have but an hour to spare, I think,” she said. “I had revealed the location of my meeting so that it should not sound too mysterious to my aunt, and she had expressed a desire to meet Mrs. Trenwith.”
“Are you certain you wish to proceed?”
“No—I mean, yes. Yes.”
He seemed to hesitate.
“I wish to proceed with my, er, education,” she stated more firmly.
After another pause, he approached her. Her back was to the fire, the main source of lighting, and her countenance in shadow, but his was more illuminated.
She recognized the squareness of the chin, the mature jawline.
He was Mr. Darcy! The thought sent a rush through her body.
Her nerves crackled and she worried his touch might cause them to spark like lightning.
He cupped her face with both hands, tilting it up toward him, and she had to close her eyes against the electricity reverberating within her.
“Montreal,” he reiterated.
“Montreal,” she echoed in whisper.
When she sensed no movement, she opened her eyes a little. He was studying her as if admiring a gem or other precious object. Her heart skipped a beat. Abby had taught him well.
Slowly, he lowered his head and lightly pressed his mouth to hers, as if to give her a chance to escape. Her senses were ignited. There was no turning back.
She placed her hands at his wrists. He took the indication and intensified the pressure of his lips upon hers.
His mouth covered hers whole. Tenderly, he kissed her, paying homage to her lips with his.
The simple caress wrought havoc upon her.
Her newfound feelings cast the experience in altered light.
Her affection—yes, affection and attraction—was fuel to her desire.
She wanted to be close to him in every way possible.
And something seemed to come over him as well.
Perhaps it was lust, amplified by the finality of the lesson, but he moved his lips over hers with a force similar to her experience in the Temple of Bastet.
She returned his kiss with equal fervor, which excited him till he seemed to devour her mouth like a starved man.
The area about her lips blushed with his attentions, and her tongue could barely keep apace with his probing.
Not wanting him to break away, she shifted her hands to his head.
It was no easy matter to thread her fingers through the pomade in the wig.
Sensing her difficulty, he tore the damn thing off his head.
Greedily, her fingers entwined in his locks.
Heat and moisture had already begun to form between her legs, the pressure there growing as lips and tongues danced and dueled.
He cupped the back of her head with one hand, the other encircled her waist and crushed her to him.
Desire surged in her groin, and she triumphed at feeling his cock, long and hard against her.
He continued to assault her with kisses.
When she required a breath, he skipped his mouth across her temple and down the side of her face before landing once more upon her mouth.
She felt drunk with desire, giddy with the knowledge that she was making love to him.
She ground her hips a little at him. The motion made him groan.
He swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed.
After laying her down, he covered her with kisses about her neck, her collar, and the tops of her breasts.
She put her hands to his chest, wanting to feel the solidness of him.
He took one hand and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist; the tenderness of it made her heart leap into her throat.
Abby’s warning rang in her head. She ought not mistake the lovemaking skills of her mentor as suggestive of true affection, but, oh, how she wished it were so!
She tugged at his cravat. He helped her loosen it, then shrugged out of his coat. He leaned in to kiss her, but she stayed him.
“I think it inequitable that you have always seen me sans clothing, but I have not had a similar privilege,” she said, her heart beating rapidly at her own forwardness.
He seemed surprised but acquiesced by shedding his waistcoat. “I should not wish to be unfair.”
She slipped her hands under his shirt and felt the ridges of his ribs.
Her heart hammered. She had her hands upon Mr. Darcy, upon his bare skin.
His breath, too, seemed to catch in his throat.
Slowly, she moved her hands up to his chest. How different a man felt—all hardness and thickness.
Her hands grazed his nipples. With a groan, he lowered himself over her and took her mouth once more.
Locking her fingers around the back of his neck, she did her best to reflect all that she knew of kissing from what he had shown her.
His hands roamed her body, cradling the back, caressing the arms, and grasping the midsection.
He grabbed her buttock and fitted her closer to him.
Instinctively she wrapped a leg about his thigh and pressed herself to him.
She tugged at his shirt, which he pulled overhead, rewarding her with a view of his bare chest. She inhaled sharply.
She knew the look of a nude man from statues and paintings, but a living, breathing naked man before her was altogether different.
With her hands she caressed the planes of his pectorals.
“Do you recall the safety word?” he asked, though he seemed in danger of requiring it as much as she.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the tenets?” he asked as he drew the pins from behind her gown.
Her heart thumped against its confines. She was submitting to Mr. Darcy of all people. Mere days ago, she would have thought such a thing impossible.
“To do as you bid,” she answered.
“And in particular?”
Having removed the pins, he drew the bodice of her gown down her arms. Her breathing became all manner of erratic.
“And…” she repeated, drawing time.
With his hand, he gently brushed the back of his knuckles over the swell of her bosom.
“Does not doing as you bid not encompass all?” she tried.