Chapter 1.22 #5
“Mr Darcy, I think you delight in vexing me…as my mother would say.”
“I confess I do, Miss Elizabeth. Teasing you is even more pleasurable than being teased by you. Now sleep well, dearest.
Her breath became steady a few moments later as a deep, restful sleep enveloped her, and she unconsciously nestled into his chest. Darcy remained beside her, gently stroking her hair and watching her, amazed by the tumult and infinite variety of feelings this young woman could arouse in him.
Her sleep seemed filled with dreams; he could hear her whisper his name a few times while her hands seemed to search for him, wanting to be certain he had not left her.
She was obviously feeling the effects of that difficult day.
As strong and courageous as she was, she needed his protection, and he was willing to offer it along with anything else in the world she might need from him.
Her movement caused her hair to tickle his face and his neck delightfully, and he could not help leaning his lips into it countless times.
He was certain that, even in sleep, she felt his slight touches as her lips were set in a continuous smile.
She moved again, shifting the covers from around her as though she were trying to cool herself.
As she did so, her nightgown slid down from one shoulder.
Mesmerised, his gaze was drawn to her neck and lower, widening at the beauty of a creamy breast becoming free of the fabric, deliciously moving with every breath.
Every fibre of his body was screaming at him to touch it.
He knew he could do it and that she would not oppose him; she was asleep and likely would not know whether his touch was real or merely a dream.
He could touch it, rest it in his palm; his fingers could close around it, and he knew it would fit perfectly.
His eyes remained fixed on its perfect, light-pink centre, and he licked his lips, which were aching to taste her.
Yes, he could do that too; she would allow it, and her pleasure would be even greater than his.
Why should he deny them such joy and pleasure when they could both rejoice in its delight?
He was drawn back from his luscious thoughts by her moving again, her hand encircling his waist while her head found a better place on his chest. He heard her whisper against the place where his heart was beating, “I love you, William.”
She was sleeping but also keeping him there: in her dreams, in her heart, and in her mind.
His heart melted as remorse filled him again.
How can I be so selfish and inconsiderate?
Even now, I am thinking of nothing but my own needs and desires.
I do not deserve her love. Gently, he pulled her gown back over her shoulder, covered her with the sheets, and embraced her lightly so he did not disturb her.
“Sleep well, my love.”
He smiled to himself, suddenly struck by an amusing and wonderful revelation, which he decided to share with her…as soon as they were married.
Loving Elizabeth was similar to savouring the pleasure of a book.
Every page—every moment spent with her—gave him the joy of a new discovery, which only increased his pleasure.
More than once, an exciting book with a mysterious plot had tempted him to cheat and peek at the last page.
To see the ending earlier was a great temptation, more so since he knew it was in his power to do so once the book was in his hands.
Similarly, his passion and overwhelming desire to have her tempted him to surrender to his need sooner than he should.
Moreover, he knew he could do so if he wanted.
He could see the final chapter of the first volume of the novel called Elizabeth.
Only a few minutes earlier, he had undoubtedly felt her surrendering to him and had known she would refuse him nothing in those passionate moments of incredible intimacy.
The selfish part of him could not help feeling satisfied at his power to dominate her—the power of choosing between what would satiate his desires, and what was best for her.
However, a momentary completion was nothing compared to the long-anticipated pleasure of enjoying the culmination at the right moment.
The wait and the slow journey—page by page and step by step through that exquisite book, the mysteries slowly revealed to him and the knowledge gained while carefully reading it—gave him infinitely more satisfaction than the immediate relief of passionate curiosity.
He knew with certainty that the end could be nothing but marvellous.
He was sure it would exceed his every dream and expectation.
Even more so, he was already anxious to begin reading the next volume, which would start when Elizabeth became his wife.
Darcy rose from his place next to Elizabeth only when dawn appeared tentatively through the heavy curtains.
He covered her as well as he could and, after checking on the fire, silently closed the door behind him.
They had spent their first night together.
Lady Catherine might have been content to know how helpful her visit had been.