Page 5 of Mr. Darcy's Storm of Temptation

His hand lifted, hovering near her cheek, not quite touching. She could feel the heat of it, the tremor in his fingers.

"Thoughts that would ruin us both," he whispered.

Footsteps in the hall shattered the moment. Mr. Darcy stepped back so quickly he nearly stumbled, raking his hand through his hair again. Elizabeth turned back to the pianoforte, her whole body shaking.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of charged glances and careful distances. Every time their eyes met, Elizabeth felt thatpull, that inexorable draw toward him. Her body felt foreign to her: heavy, languid, aching in places she did not have names for.

When Mrs. Gardiner finally declared herself exhausted, Elizabeth both dreaded and yearned for what came next. Mr. Darcy escorted them to the stairs, and she deliberately lagged behind.

"Thank you," she said when they were momentarily alone. "For everything. Your kindness today..."

"It was not kindness." He stepped closer, backing her against the newel post. Not touching, yet trapping her between wood and his body, breathing in his scent, drowning in his proximity. "Nothing I do for you could ever be mere kindness."

"Then what?" she whispered.

He cupped her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. The touch sent lightning through her veins. She parted her lips.

"Necessity," he said roughly. "Compulsion. Madness, perhaps." His thumb moved to her lower lip, grazing it. "You have unmanned me entirely, Elizabeth. Every thought, every breath, you consume me."

Her name on his lips, not Miss Elizabeth, but Elizabeth, made her knees buckle. She gripped the banister for support, and his other hand covered hers there, his body shifting closer until she felt the heat of him all along her front.

"Mr. Darcy..."

"Fitzwilliam," he corrected, his voice raw. "Say it. Just once."

"Fitzwilliam."

His eyes closed as if in pain, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. His breath brushed her lips, a tremor running through his body.

"Elizabeth!" Mrs. Gardiner's call from above shattered the moment.

Mr. Darcy pulled back, his hand sliding from her face slowly, reluctantly. The loss of his touch left her cold, aching.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he said, her name a caress.

She climbed the stairs on legs that felt like water, gripping the banister to stay upright. At the landing, she looked back. He stood at the bottom, one hand pressed to his mouth as if he could still feel her there, watching her with eyes that burned with promise and torment in equal measure.

In her room, Elizabeth dismissed Sally quickly and stood at the window, pressing her heated forehead against the cool glass. She thrummed with unfulfilled need, with wants she did not fully understand. She pressed her thighs tightly, trying to ease the ache there, but it only intensified.

Tomorrow she would have to face him again. Tomorrow, when her defenses were already crumbling, when her body already knew his heat, his scent, the sound of her name on his lips a prayer and a curse combined.

She thought of his words: You have unmanned me entirely.

Heaven help her, he had unwomaned her just as thoroughly. And she was not sure she wanted to be saved.

3

Elizabeth woketo sunlight streaming through the Blue Room's windows, her body heavy with unfamiliar restlessness. She had dreamed of him: dark eyes burning into hers, strong hands gripping her waist, his voice rough as he called her name. Her nightgown was twisted around her thighs, her skin flushed despite the cool morning air.

"You have unmanned me entirely, Elizabeth."

The memory of his words sent heat pooling low in her belly, that strange aching pulse that had tormented her through the night. She pressed her thighs tightly, trying to ease the sensation, but it only intensified. Her hand drifted to her stomach, pressing against the unfamiliar tension there.

What was happening to her? This burning, this need. Yes, she had felt attraction before, but not to this degree. It overwhelmed her. She thought of Mr. Darcy's hands, imagined them where hers rested, and gasped at the wave of heat that followed.

But more than the physical response, her heart raced with emotional revelation. She had been fighting this feeling formonths, denying what his letter had begun. And now, she could only imagine what his bare hands would feel like on her skin. His lips pressed against hers. Her hand drifted lower, brushing her thigh, inching towards her most intimate places.

"Miss Elizabeth?" Sally's knock interrupted her shocking thoughts. "Shall I help you dress for breakfast?"