Page 48 of He Taught Me to Hope (Darcy and the Young Knight’s Quest #1)
Young Ben offered over his mother’s hand to his best friend—the only father he would ever know—as he loudly proclaimed, “I do. ”
Minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy emerged from the chapel to a throng of well-wishers and a sense of merriment, joy, and celebration that lasted for hours, long after the Darcys took their leave of Pemberley.
Once they were well beyond the sight of Pemberley, Darcy attempted to distract Elizabeth, whose countenance bore a mixture of delightful anticipation with subtle traces of forlornness.
“I know you will miss Ben terribly, my love. I shall miss him, as well,” Darcy said as he gently laid his hand atop hers and caressed it. “Even if it is not with the same depth of your emotions, I have some sense of what you are suffering.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, almost apologetically.
Darcy continued, “We need this time together. Should Richard or Georgiana report the slightest bit of malaise on Ben’s part, I shall invite them to join us at the Lakes, if that is your desire.”
“No, I would not expect such a change in plans,” Elizabeth responded. “I shall be fine, and so will Ben. You are correct, Mr. Darcy. We need this time.”
Darcy leaned forward and kissed her lips. “There will be no more of that, least not when you and I are alone.”
“No more of what?” Elizabeth responded in earnest.
“Never call me Mr. Darcy when we are alone; otherwise, I shall consider you are displeased with me.”
Elizabeth raised a quizzical brow. “Then what shall I call you—King Arthur, perhaps?”
“King Arthur and his queen, Guinevere, together at last. I like that very much,” he murmured. A sudden jolt landed Elizabeth into Darcy’s arm. Not one to let such an opportunity as this go wasted, Darcy adjusted his position to afford his wife a more comfortable seating arrangement.
Conspiring to keep her there, he traced a soft, gentle pattern along her bare shoulders and the length of her arms. An occasional remark on seemingly insignificant matters, which could only be meaningful to two young people violently in love, was soon interspersed with teasing, enticing kisses over her décolletage—slowly and deliberately, at first, along her slender neckline, up and down her throat and back again.
His deft fingers worked magic of their own—caressing, stroking, and bestowing similar pleasures to other parts of her body crying out for his touch.
The mounting evidence of his desire encouraged Elizabeth to draw the shades, move purposely to his lap, and do what she might to elicit deep moans of pleasure from her husband.
At length, Darcy gently eased his satiated bride onto the carriage seat.
“I can hardly wait to make you mine,” he murmured bestowing a light kiss on her temple.
He opened the shades so they might enjoy the passing Derbyshire countryside, and she leaned back in the circle of his arms, rested her head on his broad chest, and enjoyed the view.
Darcy and Elizabeth arrived to find everything in the honeymoon cottage to their liking. Members of Pemberley’s household staff had arrived before the newlyweds and arranged things according to their master’s taste.
After a perfunctory tour of their lodgings, Darcy was impatient to release the staff for their other responsibilities.
Once they were on their own, Darcy looked at Elizabeth, as if anticipating what her greatest wish might be.
She looked at him, likewise. It was as though their thoughts sang out in unison—there would be time enough for talking later on.
They had matters of far greater consequence on their minds.
Darcy swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. With her aid, they managed to open the door. He crossed the room swiftly and placed her gently on the bed.
“I am told it is customary for the groom to allow his bride some time alone to prepare for the wedding bed,” he uttered between kisses.
“Indeed.”
“May I persuade you to forego such formalities, just this once? I need you now.”
“Patience, my King,” Elizabeth voiced, although in opposition to her body’s urgent yearning. “I insist on it. ”
“How much time must I wait?” Darcy beseeched after he tore himself away from her lips.
Thirty minutes, Darcy thought, as he closed the door separating his suite from his lovely wife’s bed. Thirty minutes! What am I to do for thirty minutes? Darcy asked himself.
Darcy then noticed his man had ordered his bath. I might as well take advantage of it. Where is Waters? In the next breath, he recalled Ben’s words on the futility of a valet. Did he really need Waters to help him prepare for his bath? He nearly laughed aloud.
Moments later, Darcy relaxed in the steamy, hot water. He shifted about from side to side and considered the tub’s size. Next time, I shall invite my lovely bride to join me.
One such thought led to another of all the exciting prospects that awaited him in that very room over the days to come.
Time passed so quickly that before he knew it, thirty minutes had come and gone.
Darcy jumped out of the tub in a flash and walked across the room, dripping wet, to retrieve a towel.
He had not bothered to secure one earlier.
Now, there was none to be found. Soaking wet, he pulled the light bed-cover from his bed, draped it around his waist, and made his way back to his wife’s room.
The sight of her husband’s torso, glistening wet, delighted Elizabeth. “Had I known you were enjoying a long, warm bath, I might have joined you,” she teased.
“I shall make a note of your declaration,” Darcy responded as he held fast to his cloth, wrapped securely around his waist, as if in protection of his modesty.
It was no use. Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to the ever-increasing tell-tale sign of his desire.
She boldly approached him and tore away his cover.
Before the bed-cover landed on the floor, Elizabeth found herself nestled against his firm body. His longing, hard and sharp, was immensely evident as he held her captive in his loving embrace.
Having surrendered herself to his passionate kisses, Elizabeth was enthralled as Darcy lifted her and carried her to bed, where he suspended his adoring onslaught long enough to reveal all of her.
He took his time whilst his fingers traced a path to their long-awaited destiny.
He was pleased to learn his beautiful bride was ready.
Darcy’s own excitement increased more than he had imagined as even possible.
He relished the moment as long as he could bear, and wishing the night would never end, he made her his wife.
Pleased, joyful, and utterly satisfied, Darcy and Elizabeth slept.
Hours later, betwixt quiet whispers of love, Darcy made slow, reverent love to his wife once again, this time until the wee hours of the morning.
In the early dawn, Elizabeth lay spooned in her husband’s loving embrace, both in quiet reflection. Each supposed the other was asleep.
Elizabeth thought back to a moment in time she was sure she would never forget—the first glimpse of him walking through the crowded Meryton assembly.
She recalled feeling as though she had peered into the eyes of her soul mate.
With tears she sought not to hold back, silently streaming from her eyes, she knew at long last she had found a place in her life she had always been searching for.
She thought she had known love before. It hardly compared with this.
She wondered whether she would ever get enough of this beautiful man.
At the same time, Darcy thought with certainty, this is what I have waited for my entire life. I love Elizabeth above all else. I shall never get enough of her—my wife, my lover, my goddess divine