Page 3 of Mr. Darcy's Storm of Temptation

He saw me. He saw all of this.

The thought should mortify her. Instead, it sent another pulse of heat through her core. She heard Mr. Darcy's passionatedeclaration again:"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

The way he had looked at Elizabeth in the carriage suggested those feelings had not only survived but intensified.

But as much as she wanted him, she knew the danger of allowing one's future to be ruled solely by passion. Her parents had married for passion, and now they barely tolerated each other. She felt a passionate connection to Mr. Darcy now, but how could she know for certain there was more between them, enough to build a future?

And how could she remain objective enough to learn this when her body continually betrayed her?

"Mr. Darcy has instructed that you are to have whatever you need," Sally said, holding out a silk dressing gown. "I am Sally, miss. I shall be attending you during your stay."

The dressing gown was sinfully soft against her bare skin. Elizabeth tied it with shaking fingers, intensely aware that she wore nothing but her chemise beneath, and that was still damp, clinging to her curves. She was nearly naked in Mr. Darcy's house, wearing silk he had provided, and the thought made her dizzy.

"A bath is being drawn, miss," Sally continued. "And we shall have your dress cleaned and dried, though I fear the mud stains may prove stubborn."

The bath was torture and bliss combined. Elizabeth sank into the hot water, her sensitive skin protesting and welcoming the heat simultaneously. She closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. Behind her lids, she saw Mr. Darcy's eyes, black with desire. Felt again his hand at her waist, burning through wet fabric.

Her hands moved of their own accord, one sliding up to cup her breast. She imagined it was his hand, his fingers brushing over her hardened nipple. A soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, and her eyes flew open in horror.

Merciful heavens, what kind of wanton creature have I become?

She scrubbed herself vigorously, trying to wash away these shocking impulses. But every touch of the cloth against her skin only made it worse. By the time she emerged from the bath, she felt raw, exposed, as if her very soul was visible on her skin.

The dress Sally had laid out was exquisite: dove gray silk that whispered against her skin with every movement. It was cut lower than anything she owned, revealing the swell of her breasts, the long column of her throat. Whoever she had borrowed this gown from had a slighter figure than Elizabeth. Even with the addition of a shawl, the bodice clung to her breasts and hips in a way that made Elizabeth's breath catch.

"You look lovely, miss," Sally said, arranging Elizabeth's still-damp curls. "Mr. Darcy will be pleased his sister's gown fits so well."

Mr. Darcy will be pleased.Would he be pleased with how well the gown fit? Or how well it didn't? She remembered his eyes on her in the carriage, the way he had looked at her like a starving man at a feast. Would he look at her that way tonight?

Do I want him to?

The answer that whispered through her mind terrified her with its certainty:Yes.

When she descended to the drawing room, her legs shook with each step. She paused at the doorway, suddenly unsure. But thenMr. Darcy looked up from his conversation with Mr. Gardiner, and his reaction stole her breath.

He went completely still, his glass halfway to his lips. His eyes traveled over her slowly, burning a path from her face to her décolletage to the curve of her waist. When his gaze returned to hers, the naked hunger there made her knees weak. He set down his glass with a hand that visibly shook and rose to his feet.

"Miss Elizabeth." Her name came out rough, almost guttural. He cleared his throat, tried again. "I trust you are recovered?"

"Perfectly, sir." Her voice sounded breathy, foreign to her own ears. "Thanks to your hospitality."

He moved closer, and she caught his scent: clean linen and sandalwood, the faint hint of brandy on his breath. This close, she could see his pulse jumping at his throat, matching the wild rhythm of her own heart.

"It is nothing." His eyes dropped to where the pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, lingered there. "I only regret that you suffered such distress practically at my doorstep."

"Hardly your fault, Mr. Darcy. Unless you claim dominion over the weather as well as the estate?"

She had meant it lightly, but his eyes darkened to near-black.

"If I had such power," he said, his voice dropping to an intimate register that seemed to vibrate through her bones, "I would have brought you here by far different means."

The implication in his words, in his tone, made heat flood her cheeks. She swayed subtly, and his hand came up as if to steady her, stopping just short of touching.

"Brother?"

They sprang apart at Georgiana's soft voice. Elizabeth's heart pounded so hard she was certain everyone must hear it. Mr. Darcy's jaw was clenched tight, a muscle jumping there that she found mesmerizing.

Dinner was exquisite torture. Mr. Darcy had seated her on his right, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Every time he moved, she caught his scent. Every time he spoke, his deep voice seemed to resonate in her very bones.