Page 27 of London Holiday (Sweet Escapes Collection #2)

Chapter twenty-seven

E ternity would not suffice.

It had been a hellish torment, standing beside her in the seclusion of a stand of trees in the growing dusk. Even after a long day of confusion, exertion, and such reversals of circumstance as would send any lady to her retiring room after ten minutes, she still smelled like a spray of lavender after a spring rain.

And that flirtatious manner she had adopted, so sensually enticing and yet so becomingly offensive to her maidenly sensibilities! A dignified Venus, a virtuous seductress…a man was more likely to find a unicorn. He would be a liar and a blackguard to persuade himself that his imagination had not instantly leapt to fancy how she might conduct herself in the privacy of her bedroom with a husband she desired.

It was devilishly unfair.

At last, he could bear the waiting no longer, and if he were honest, he was less impatient to be off than he was violently beset by improper urges. He would behave the gentleman! It could not be so very much longer now. A crossing on the barge, a bumpy ride to Cheapside where his head would be cleared as he clung to the back of the coach—he could not endure riding inside with her!—and then they would be in her family’s home, and he would be safe.

With this laudable goal in mind, he gently took her elbow and guided her back to the main path. “We will skirt the edge of the Grove, walking just under the trees, but not near the supper boxes.”

“Near the orchestra? Will there not be a great many people? ”

“All the better for us to disappear among them. Half of them will already be intoxicated on the rack punch, and the other half well on their way to that same fate.”

In a matter of moments, they had crossed the centre of the Gardens. Here, all faces were bathed in the brilliant glow of a thousand coloured lanterns, and lavishly dressed guests preened and displayed costumes which had been specifically chosen for such lighting. Elizabeth had seemed to tighten her shoulders together in a conscious gesture of inadequacy, for she wore only her morning walking dress. If only she could see that even in her simple muslin, she was a vast deal more handsome than those promenading peacocks!

Apparently, his gaze had once more been consumed by her form, for he was late in looking ahead of them. “William,” she nudged him, “is that not one more?”

He looked where she had noted and groaned. Indeed, Paulson was standing stupidly there by the orchestra. Apparently, Johnson had overlooked him, and he was waiting on some order that was not likely to come.

Darcy checked himself—Paulson was one of the grooms from the stables, but he had no way of knowing if he might have been trusted to carry a message from Wilson, or had been recruited to join the company sent by his aunt. He decided not to risk it. Were it only himself, he would flee from none of them, but for Miss Elizabeth’s sake… no, her safety and reputation were paramount.

“Let us walk around the outer edges,” he suggested. “Over there, behind the supper boxes and toward the Cascade. There is hardly anyone between those trees and almost no lanterns, either. We can cross behind the boxes.”

It was some difficult work to make their way to the desired path, for everyone before them was caught in the throes of a lively dance. A raucous jig of some sort; perfectly distasteful in better circles, although the Vauxhall musicians were known to play almost any sort of music on any occasion, and never were they reprimanded for any of it.

To his immense relief, the music soon ended, and the crowd before them quieted just long enough for them to make their way through. Just as she had caught up with him and he had gestured for her to go on, another melody began to play, and the crowd was instantly swept up again.

Elizabeth stopped, then turned to gape at the crowd. “Is that a waltz they are playing? How perfectly scandalous! And how is it that so many know the steps?” She turned to him, her eyes wide and helpless with astonishment.

“Many young ladies of the ton learn it from their dance masters. As for the others, I can only conjecture that it is not a difficult dance to learn if one but watches it performed for a moment.”

“Would you approve of your sister learning it?”

“She has already done so,” he admitted.

“I am all astonishment!” she laughed. “You continue to surprise me, William. I would have thought you too fierce a guardian to permit something so shocking.”

“She may tour the Continent one day, and I felt it a necessary part of her preparation—though only after she and her master agreed to my conditions.”

“And those are? Pray, tell me what would set a guardian’s mind at ease over such a scandalous dance?”

Darcy grinned. The little Pharisee, what he would give to be the man to introduce her to all the seductive delights she had been taught to view askance! “That she only practices the steps with one is a trusted member of the family. Moreover, I insisted that she only dance with a male, not a female cousin or her companion.”

“Not a female?” She shook her head. “Why ever not? I would have thought you would find that the safest alternative.”

He smiled again, and caution gave way to longing. He leaned down to her ear and spoke softly, “That is because there is only one way to do it properly. May I show you? Only for a brief moment, here in the dark of the trees before we go?”

She looked carefully at his hand, then gave her own. “What is one more scandal to a day which has been rife with them?”

“What is it, indeed?”

He took her parasol from her hand and hooked it over a nearby tree limb. After he had shown her the most socially accepted posture, lightly holding one another’s elbows, he stepped toward her. “Fall back, and allow me to guide you,” he coached her. “Now, come to me… and back.”

She proved a remarkable study. Whether it was her own natural talent or some kinship which allowed her to read his intentions, her body moved gracefully with his own, and they flowed easily about the edge of their private little ballroom. She was avoiding his eyes at first, looking down at their feet and nibbling her lip as if she feared the heavens would strike her down. But she was smiling.

This was the magic, and as her body began to meld to his, he sensed that she had discovered it as well. Man’s strength and woman’s grace, a perfect harmony of opposites, each complementing the other until together, they were more than the sum of two individuals. Into her embrace, he continued to step—turning her toward himself, feeling her answer by leading him on more deeply, enticing him… good heavens, she was looking up at him now, with such an innocent, playful light in her eye, that he began to feel slightly dizzy.

Somehow, she had lured him in close, and without quite knowing when he had done so, his hands had slid down her arms to lightly cradle her shoulders, and then her waist. She was blushing, but her own fingers grazed the collar of his livery as she swayed in his arms. Oh, where was firm ground? Only she was real: vexing, exhilarating, taunting, delicious Elizabeth Bennet and her lavender scent.

He had quite forgotten in which direction the gate lay. He had intended to ease her toward it, waltzing back through the crowd of revellers and then walking away, just as though he had not laid open his heart for her small feet to dance upon. The music was over now, but instead of facing the pavilion as he had intended, he broke from his reverie and saw only the fountain through the trees. He had taken her entirely the wrong way, somehow spinning her into the very darkest walk… and was unrepentant for his error.

She twirled to a stop, laughing with the sort of guileless freedom which had so intoxicated him from the first that morning. Her eyes, flashing in the early evening moonlight, were only for him; her hands, so intimately round his shoulders, her body, so invitingly close. He paused, staring and breathless, and something passed in their look which caught at his very soul. A moment later, he was utterly lost.

Her lips were so soft, so sweet, her smooth cheek so warm upon his own! How could any man release her now? Every request, she met. Each aching need, she answered in a tender exchange—her spirit for his gravity, her warm passion for his ardent sincerity—her heart for his.

He needed her. Oh, how to look on any other woman with equanimity, after this! His hands tightened round her waist, and she pulled his head yet lower until he could feel her pulse hammering against his own chest. Good Lord, was this what he had been created for?

He deepened his kisses, asking for more than he had any right to, begging what no maiden ought to surrender, and she answered with a sigh into his own mouth and a slip of her tongue over his lower lip. She must have at last frightened herself, for she broke away, and her cheek shook against his own with each panting breath.

“I should not have done that,” she whispered between gasps.

“Probably not,” he nearly growled into the hair just below her bonnet. “But pray, do not stop on my account.”

One eyebrow arched, and those lips— his —curved softly again before meeting him once more .

Restraint was forgotten. Fear of discovery but a pittance. He pulled her up, supporting her delicious form against his body and allowing her to seek his hair, his neck, even his throat. Heaven have mercy, but he ached to devour her! And she seemed to hold no objections….

“Elizabeth,” he rasped into her ear, “there must be…” another kiss … “is there some way….”

She drew to the side, nuzzling his jaw as she caught her breath. “What?”

Oh. Her fingers had entwined in the hair at the base of his neck, and his entire being shivered. There was no help for him now. “Some way,” he repeated, his mind only half alert. “We could… I could protect you.”

She dropped to flat feet, her hands still trailing down his chest. Her head tilted. “What can you mean?”

“I… I know that the relative position of our families would render it disgraceful, but there must be some manner in which we can… perhaps something can be arranged. You would not need to wed that fool.”

Her hands fell away, and a suspicious note crept into her voice. “You are not suggesting what I think….”

He caught her hands, foolhardy bliss robbing him of rational thought. “Why should I not? We could prove the answer to one another’s difficulties, and can you think on the prospect without hope for felicity? Would it not suit ideally?”

She tugged her hands from him again. “Not such a scheme as you propose. How could you even ask such a thing? Have I then disgraced myself so thoroughly?”

He shook his head. “I do not understand. I do not speak of compromise, where your choices are taken from you, but of an arrangement to your benefit, granting you the freedom to…. I do not know precisely how to say what I wish. You understand my meaning, do you not? ”

“Perfectly.” Her tones had hardened, her arms crossed over her chest, closing him off. She turned away from him, her shoulders rounded, and he distinctly heard a sob.

“Elizabeth? Tell me, to what can you possibly object? Is it myself?”

She spun back, hurt glittering in her eyes. “You have the audacity to ask me this? After such a day as we have spent, teaching me to trust you as a friend, you allow me to shame myself to such a degree that you believe such a proposal might be received with pleasure?”

“Why should it not be? And what is so shameful? Such connections are not uncommon, though there may be talk in some quarters. I care nothing for that, and it can be no worse than what you say you have already endured. I had thought we got on remarkably well, far better than any spouses of my acquaintance, and I am certainly in no hurry to make an alliance of that kind. Are we not well suited? Will you not consider it?”

“I cannot express the obligation which you might expect in this case.” She covered her mouth—those lips which had so recently caressed his own—and her glorious eyes filled with tears.

“Elizabeth!” He drew near, searching for a handkerchief and dredging up every thought, every deed of the last minutes. How had he misrepresented himself, and how could she be made to see that they were formed for one another?

“Sir, I beg you to call me Miss Bennet. And as I saw a moment ago that my friend Mrs Jennings still occupies her supper box at the pavilions, I think it advisable that I request to join her party.”

“If you wish,” he lifted his hands in confusion, then turned to accompany her. What the devil had shifted? One moment she was kissing him as if her very life beat within his hands, and the next—

“Alone, sir.”

“What?”

She tightened her arms about herself and shivered. “I think it best if you do not follow. ”

“El—Miss Bennet, I do not understand! Have I offended you with my proposal? What have I done?”

She startled and glared up at him as if he had overturned a priceless vase and then asked why his company had become suddenly odious. “If you do not know, then you are not the gentleman I had taken you for,” she bit out. “I think we should not be seen together.”

“You are leaving me now? But why? How will you travel back alone? It is too dangerous, surely!”

“I believe I can depend on the goodness of Mrs Jennings to see me safely home. I will have it no other way, sir. Do not follow me, for I shall not speak to you if you do.”

“Is this all the answer I am to expect?”

He followed her out of the trees, back to the walk, and stood there; alone in a crowd, his arms held out in appeal, and waited for her to turn back. She did not. Nor did she walk slowly. His heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest, and he was certain that all around bore witness to the haemorrhaging.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man who had never been denied anything, watched helplessly as the only woman he had ever admired walked away.