CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE #2
He could not fathom the purpose of her hypothetical but suspected she intended to persuade him from his stance.
While he wrestled with the proper course of action, she untied her cloak and let it fall to the ground.
She wore a light summer muslin that conformed to her body most agreeably.
The gown’s wide neckline allowed her feminine assets to be presented with great advantage.
Despite his dismay, he might yet succumb to her charms. He remembered how, all too easily, that had occurred before.
Stepping away from her once more, he replied, “Such speculation is of no consequence. My situation has changed as well.”
She pulled one long glove off an arm, then the other, before closing the distance between them. “Indeed?”
He took another step back and came upon the door behind him. “I am in love. Madly, desperately in love. As such, I cannot continue in my capacity as mentor.”
He wished she could have said the same with regards her position, but he kept this bitter thought to himself.
She stopped and now looked down upon the floor.
“I am sorry to have disappointed you,” he said drily.
Her gaze flew to him. “You have not disappointed—not in the least! You have, as ever, proven to be a man of superior character. I only pray that I have not disappointed you.”
He did not know what to make of her words and watched in bewilderment as she sank to her knees before him.
“Forgive me for having doubted your constancy,” she said with moisture in her eyes.
Unable to bear seeing his love before him in such a manner, he, too, knelt.
“Forgive me for not having come forward before,” she continued. “Perhaps one day we shall laugh at our comedy of errors. Oh! I hope it will be so and soon!”
She tore her mask asunder. His heart leapt upon seeing her lovely countenance, her eyes shimmering with pained relief. He wanted nothing but to clasp her to his bosom but was slightly paralyzed by his own nascent realizations.
“I have been your student all this time,” she said.
“I ought to have confessed it earlier, only fear of how you should then perceive me, fear of losing your love made me a coward. And then jealousy—I had never thought I could fall victim to that ugly emotion—it compelled me to fix upon this final lesson to test—oh! I am almost too ashamed to admit it—”
“This was your contrivance? Not Abby’s?”
She nodded. “Abby played no part. The arrangement was mine, though I ought not have. I see now the foolishness of it all.”
She looked down at her clasped hands. He began to understand the odd questions she had leveled at him. Carefully, he removed his hat and then his mask. When she looked up, there were no signs of shock.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Since Pemberley. Rather, I began to suspect and attempted to corroborate my suspicions at the Lilac Cottage.”
His mind reeled with the information. He had never been discovered before.
“It was your handkerchief,” she supplied. “And that of your sister’s. Identical handkerchiefs, both embroidered by your mother.”
He could not have predicted such a small article would lead to his unmasking, but a more important revelation commanded his attention.
“And you pursued this lesson because you thought I had an attachment to you—a student of mine?”
“Is it not silly beyond belief? I was jealous of—myself! I ought to have believed your professions of love and saved myself much pain! Only…I know not why I entertained these doubts that you might have been partial to another woman—your student—though it was me. The events of this year have certainly humbled me and made my flaws plain. I hardly know myself.”
She looked once more at her hands. His relief complete, he grasped her hands between his and brought them to his lips.
“Darling Lizzy! You must never doubt my love or devotion. Ours is a comedy of errors indeed. Your jealousy is not unfounded. I was, as you suspected, partial to my student—exceedingly partial. And here you have bested me with the truth when it is I who ought to have confessed, for I have known your identity longer than you knew mine. I had every intention to make a clean breast of it all and feared you might not wish me for a husband when you knew my role. Then I was made an idiot by jealousy, for it seemed you were partial to the man who was your mentor.”
She was stunned. “We were each of us jealous of ourselves? What delightful nonsense! And I had thought we were two of the more intelligent samples from our species!”
He did not share in her humor on the situation, but he enjoyed her smile.
“But how did you know who I was?” she asked.
“I knew shortly after our first encounter at Trenwith House. You, the student, nursed a cold that first lesson. The following day I called at Hunsford Parsonage and discovered Miss Elizabeth Bennet to possess the very same cold.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I confronted Abby, but she refused to confirm my suspicions, even after she discerned I was in love with you. During our second lesson, I was convinced of my belief and resolved not to continue in the capacity of your mentor.
But Nicholas Trenwith had made it impossible for me to leave you. My resolve subsequently fell to pieces at your hands.”
She seemed to blush, murmuring, “Yes, well, that has been another discovery for me this year. I am quite the wanton, Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled and kissed her fingers. “I would not have it otherwise.”
Turning up her palm, he kissed her wrist. He could kiss this lovely wrist a hundred times without tiring.
But the wrist was an insufficient recipient for the passion that overcame him.
He pulled her to him and sought her lips.
She quivered a little but returned his kiss with equal ardor.
His earlier jealousy had aggravated him into an excited state, and he now poured this energy into the kiss.
A trace of anger remained, though it was directed more at himself than at her.
She should not have doubted the depths of what he felt for her.
He tightened his embrace. He wanted to take her, consume her, overwhelm her with the fervor of his love and desire so that she might never doubt him again.
* * * * *
Lizzy could barely keep apace with the fury of his kiss.
His lips had never been so demanding, so forceful and arousing.
She felt its effects deep in her womanhood.
The ache between her legs flourished as the kiss deepened.
She wanted this man, wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.
And she wanted to demonstrate this élan to him, body and soul.
Wrapping her arms about the back of his neck, she pulled herself closer to him.
He tasted divine. He smelled divine. He felt divine. No aphrodisiac would ever be required.
He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Though she wanted more of him, more of his body, she was not ready to relinquish his lips yet.
He was compelled to lay atop her as she pushed her tongue deep into his mouth.
At times the ardency would soften into sweetness, slowing the waltz between their mouths, but desire continued to build.
His erection was hard as flint against her, and she ground her pelvis at him.
He took the wordless encouragement and pushed himself off her to strip his coat.
She sat up to assist him with his neckcloth.
Unable to be parted from her long, he reclaimed her mouth.
He tore his waistcoat open, sending the buttons clattering to the floor.
She pulled off the garment and, together, they made quick work of his shirt.
She gazed upon his bared chest with hunger, then applied her lips to its planes, kissing and tugging a nipple, her hands roaming his flesh.
With a groan, he unpinned her bodice and slipped it down her arms and off her body. Her skirts soon followed.
“Lie back,” he said, pushing her back into the pillows.
Pushing her shift up to her hips, he settled his upper body between her legs.
She gasped when he flicked his tongue at the sensitive nub between her thighs.
What had been a nightmare months before had turned into a dream, a beautiful erotic dream come to life.
She allowed his tongue to turn her into a mass of quivering, aching desire.
She moaned her satisfaction. They quickened soon into grunts and gasps as lust concentrated in her abdomen, between her legs, threatening to explode.
He eased himself back and attended to his riding boots.
“Why did you stop?” she huffed. She would have preferred to be bereft of drink and food.
“One of the advanced lessons is delayed gratification,” he responded.
She was not entirely disappointed, for she would have preferred his cock to his tongue, but she knew from past experience, that a woman could have both.
“Am I being punished?” she asked.
“On the contrary, though it may seem like it at first.”
She eyed him suspiciously, for she believed his lust to be as great as hers. “Is this lesson for the benefit of the student or the mentor?”
“Both.”
He turned her over and began unlacing her stays. She suppressed a pout as the moisture at her quim dripped down a thigh. Was he truly in such command of his own urges that he could apply this ‘delayed gratification?’
“What would have happened if I attempted to seduce you?” she asked. “Would you have acquiesced to the lesson?”
“It was not my intention.”
“But I could have prevailed upon you?” She enjoyed the thought of her own prowess.
He reached between her legs and stroked her, showing her that she would have easily surrendered to him. He was the maestro, her body his instrument.
“I thought you did not mentor married of engaged women?” she murmured.
“I have decided to make an exception,” he answered as he kissed her between her shoulders, then trailed his mouth along her spine.
“A happy decision for me.”