Page 3 of Mr. Darcy’s Storm of Temptation (Seasons of A Steamy Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth woke to 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 for months, 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?"

Elizabeth snatched her hand away, her face hot. "Yes, thank you. One moment."

She rose on shaking legs, her body still humming with that delicious ache. As Sally helped her dress, Elizabeth could barely stand still. Every brush of fabric against her sensitive skin made her breath catch. The stays seemed unusually restrictive, making her too aware of her own body.

"Are you well, miss?" Sally asked with concern. "You seem flushed."

"Quite well," Elizabeth managed. "Just warm from sleep."

The morning gown of soft yellow muslin should have been modest, proper, but Elizabeth felt exposed in it. Could others see this change in her? Could they tell from looking at her that she had become someone different, someone who burned with improper thoughts?

The breakfast room was bathed in sunlight, and Mr. Darcy was already there, standing by the window with a cup of coffee. He turned at her entrance, and their eyes met with devastating impact.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth." His formal tone after last night's intimacy, after he had called her simply Elizabeth, after she had called him Fitzwilliam, made her chest tighten. "I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Darcy." The lie came smoothly, though her cheeks heated when his gaze lingered on her face, no doubt noting the shadows beneath her eyes that matched his own.

She took her seat carefully, intensely aware of every movement. When she shifted in her chair, she caught Mr. Darcy watching her, his eyes dark and questioning. She forced herself to stillness, though the ache between her thighs persisted.

When she smiled at something Mrs. Gardiner said, she caught his eyes dropping to her lips, lingering there. The knowledge that he watched her mouth sent a pulse of heat through her. She found herself licking her lips to catch a drop of tea, and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath.

"The weather has cleared beautifully," Mr. Gardiner observed. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens?"

"An excellent notion," Mr. Darcy agreed immediately. "I would be honored to serve as a guide."

"That sounds delightful," Mrs. Gardiner said, rising. "The fresh air will do us all good after yesterday's ordeal."

Twenty minutes later, they walked through Pemberley's magnificent gardens.

The Gardiners had fallen into their own conversation some yards behind, admiring the plantings and discussing Mr. Gardiner's interest in landscape design, while Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked ahead.

They maintained a proper distance between them, yet Elizabeth felt him with every fiber of her being: his heat, his presence, the way he shortened his stride to match hers.

They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes, the Gardiners admiring a fountain some distance behind them. Elizabeth noticed Mr. Darcy pause at a newly planted grove of young trees, his expression softening.

"My father and I planted the original grove here when I was eight," he said quietly. "A terrible storm destroyed it last winter. Every ancient oak, gone in a single night."

"How heartbreaking," Elizabeth said softly. "To lose something with such memories."

"I thought so too, at first." He touched one of the saplings gently. "But Georgiana insisted we replant. She said..." He paused, a small smile playing at his lips. "She said that holding onto dead things too tightly prevents new growth. That sometimes storms clear the way for something better."

Elizabeth's breath caught. "She is wise beyond her years."

"She has had to be." His voice carried old pain. "After our father died, I tried to preserve everything exactly as it was. Every tradition, every rule, every expectation. I thought that was how to honor him."

"And now?"

He turned to her fully, his eyes vulnerable in a way that made her heart ache. "Now I understand that blind adherence to the past can be its own kind of pride. That sometimes the most honorable thing is to admit when change is needed."

"Is that why you helped the Johnsons?" she asked, remembering something the housekeeper had mentioned. "Mrs. Reynolds said you forgave their debt and helped them start over after Mr. Johnson's injury."

Color rose in his cheeks. "Mrs. Reynolds talks too much."

"She esteems you greatly. As do all your tenants, it seems." Elizabeth studied his face. "You have changed their lives, given them hope."

"My father would have demanded the debt be paid," he admitted. "The old Darcy would have too. But watching you in Hertfordshire, seeing how you treated everyone with equal kindness regardless of station... it made me reconsider many things."

"Me?" She could not hide her amazement.

"Always you," he said simply.

They had continued walking, the path gradually narrowing until hedges pressed close on both sides. They walked nearer now, arms almost brushing.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, feeling something settle within her. Desire for this gentleman simmered beneath her skin, but she knew it was more than that. She saw his kindness. He was not only a handsome man, not only an intelligent man, but a good one. "For helping me know you better."

He glanced behind them where the Gardiners had stopped to examine an ornamental shrub, Mrs. Gardiner pointing out something to her husband. They were well out of earshot but still visible through gaps in the hedging.

"I want you to know everything," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Every fault, every virtue, every thought. I want no more misunderstandings between us, Elizabeth."

Her name on his lips made her breath catch. "And do you feel I know you now?" His voice had dropped to that intimate register that seemed to resonate in her bones.

"I am beginning to." She glanced up at him. "Though sometimes I think the more I learn, the less I understand."

"What do you not understand?"

How you make me feel. Why my body aches so when you look at me...

"Last night," she said softly. "The things you said..."

"I should not have spoken so freely." His hand lifted as if to touch her, then fell. "I had no right."

"You had every right." The words rushed out. "And I was glad to hear them."

He made a low sound in his throat. They had reached a small overlook with a stone bench, secluded from view. The isolation felt dangerous, charged. Through the hedge opening behind them, she could just make out the Gardiners' forms in the distance, now studying the fountain.

"Miss Elizabeth." Her name emerged rough. "You cannot know what you do to me."

"Tell me." She turned to face him fully, tilting her head back to meet his eyes.

"Every moment in your presence is both heaven and torment." He stepped closer, close enough that she felt his breath on her face. "Because I cannot touch you as I wish to. Because propriety demands distance when every instinct screams for closeness."

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips.

"Mr. Darcy!" Mr. Gardiner's voice carried from the path below. "I say, Mr. Darcy, what is that magnificent structure across the lake? Is that the original folly?"

They sprang apart, Mr. Darcy's hand dropping to his side as he stepped back to a proper distance. Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her heated cheeks, trying to compose herself.

"It is indeed, Mr. Gardiner," Mr. Darcy called back, his voice admirably steady though she could see his jaw clenched with frustration. "Built in 1743. If you follow the path around, you will have a better view."

They could hear Mr. Gardiner's footsteps approaching on the gravel path, Mrs. Gardiner's lighter tread beside him.

The rest of the afternoon brought different torments.

During the pianoforte duet with Georgiana, Mr. Darcy stood behind them to turn pages.

Elizabeth could feel his gaze on her hands, her neck.

When he leaned forward to turn a page, his breath stirred the curls at her nape, making her fingers stumble on the keys.

"Your hands are so graceful," Georgiana said innocently. "Brother, do you not think Miss Elizabeth has elegant hands?"

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy replied, his voice rough. "Most accomplished."

At dinner, Elizabeth found herself shifting constantly, that persistent ache making her restless. When Mr. Darcy passed her the salt, their fingers brushed, and the contact sent sparks through her entire body.

After Georgiana retired and the Gardiners fell into their own conversation, Mr. Darcy moved closer to Elizabeth by the fireplace.

"You have been restless all day," he observed quietly. "Have I done something to distress you?"

"Not distress," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "But you have affected me. In ways I do not understand."

His pupils widened. "Elizabeth..."

"Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner called. "You must settle our debate about the new canal proposals."

He went, but his eyes lingered on Elizabeth, dark with promise and frustration.