Page 9 of Mr. Darcy’s Storm of Temptation (Seasons of A Steamy Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth's wedding morning passed in a blur. Her mother fluttered about, alternating between tears of joy and detailed instructions about wifely duties that made Elizabeth blush furiously.

"Now, Lizzy, when Mr. Darcy performs his husbandly duties, that is, tonight, you must remember that gentlemen have certain expectations."

"Mama, please!" Elizabeth begged.

"I am only trying to prepare you! You must keep him happy, and the marriage bed is vital to domestic harmony!"

"Mama!" Jane intervened. "Perhaps Lizzy should finish dressing."

Elizabeth escaped to her father's study while Jane distracted their mother. Mr. Bennet looked up from his book, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"My dear Lizzy," he said softly. "Are you happy?"

"Desperately happy, Papa."

"He is a good man," Mr. Bennet said. "Better than I first thought. The way he handled the situation with Lydia and Mr. Wickham shows the depth of his love for you."

"And I love him," Elizabeth said simply.

"Then I am content. Though I shall miss your wit and company terribly."

"We shall visit often," Elizabeth promised, embracing him. "Mr. Darcy has already said you are welcome at Pemberley whenever you wish."

"That is generous of him." He kissed her forehead. "Be happy, child. Be as happy as you deserve."

The morning of their wedding, when the vicar pronounced them married and Mr. Darcy kissed her, it was perfectly proper: a brief press of lips suitable for public viewing. But she felt the barely leashed passion in the tension of his body, tasted the promise of more on his lips.

"Mine," he whispered against her mouth, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "Finally, completely, eternally mine."

"Yours," she whispered back. "Always yours."

The wedding breakfast at Netherfield was elegant but torture. Mr. Darcy sat beside her, the picture of propriety above the table, but beneath the tablecloth, his hand found her thigh through her skirts. He stroked slowly, possessively, and she nearly dropped her fork.

"Are you well, Mrs. Darcy?" he asked innocently, though his eyes danced with wicked intent.

Mrs. Darcy. The name sent a thrill through her entire body. "Perfectly well, Mr. Darcy."

He rested his hand on her knee, then moved higher, and she pressed her thighs tightly, trying to trap his hand, trying to ease the ache that had intensified to an almost painful degree.

"You are shaking," he observed quietly, leaning closer under the pretense of refilling her wine glass. "Are you frightened?"

"No," she breathed. "I am anticipating."

His eyes darkened to near-black. "As am I. God, Elizabeth, if you knew what I have planned for you."

"When do we leave?" she asked, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

"Within the hour," he promised. "I told them we needed to reach London before nightfall." He gave her a wicked smile that made her core clench with need.

Mr. Bingley stood to make a toast, his face bright with happiness. "To my dearest friend and his beautiful bride. Darcy, you have been like a brother to me, and now I shall gain another sister. May your marriage be filled with all the joy you both deserve."

"Here, here!" the room chorused.

Mr. Darcy stood next. "I must thank the Bennet family for raising such an extraordinary woman. Elizabeth, you have made me the happiest of men by accepting me despite my numerous faults. I promise to spend every day of our marriage endeavoring to deserve you." He raised his glass. "To my wife."

"To Mrs. Darcy!" everyone repeated.

The farewells were tearful. Mrs. Bennet clung to Elizabeth, alternating between joy at the match and sorrow at losing her.

"Ten thousand a year!" she kept repeating. "Oh, Lizzy! And that beautiful estate! You shall be so happy!"

"I already am, Mama."

Jane's farewell was the hardest. The sisters clung to each other, both crying.

"Write to me," Jane begged. "Tell me everything about London and Pemberley."

"Everything?" Elizabeth asked with a small blush.

Jane blushed too but smiled. "Perhaps not everything."

Mr. Bennet kissed her forehead. "Go, child. Your husband grows impatient."

Indeed, Mr. Darcy stood by the carriage, tension in every line of his body. The moment the farewells were complete, he handed her up, following immediately. The door had barely closed before the carriage lurched into motion.

They were alone. Finally, blessedly alone.

Mr. Darcy pulled her onto his lap immediately, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss of desperate hunger.

"I thought that would never end," he groaned against her lips. "Sitting beside you, unable to touch you properly, knowing tonight you will finally be mine completely."

"I am already yours," she gasped as his lips found her throat. "I have been yours since the library at Pemberley."

"Not like this," he said roughly, his hands roaming her body with new freedom. "Tonight, you will truly become my wife in every way."

She quivered at the dark promise in his voice. "Show me," she whispered. "I have waited so long."

"Not here," he said with obvious effort, setting her beside him though he kept his arm around her.

"You deserve better than a carriage for your first time.

But tonight." His hand found her breast through her wedding gown, thumb brushing over her nipple, making her gasp.

"Tonight I will worship every inch of you as I have dreamed of doing for months. "

The carriage ride was sweet torture. They kissed desperately, hands roaming but never quite satisfying the building need. Elizabeth could feel his arousal pressing against her hip, hard and insistent, and instead of frightening her, it made her own need intensify.

"I love you," she said between kisses. "I love you so much it frightens me sometimes."

"Never be frightened of loving me," he said fiercely. "I will never betray that love, never take it for granted. You are my heart, Elizabeth. Without you, I am nothing."

"And you are mine," she replied, pulling him down for another kiss. "My heart, my soul, my everything."

When London's skyline finally appeared in the late afternoon sun, Elizabeth's anticipation had reached fever pitch. Her body thrummed with need, every nerve ending alive with awareness of the man beside her.

The townhouse on Grosvenor Square was elegant, but Elizabeth barely noticed. Her attention was entirely on Mr. Darcy as he dismissed the servants for the evening.

"We do not wish to be disturbed," he said firmly. "For any reason."

The butler, Stevens, bowed with a carefully neutral expression. "Of course, Mr. Darcy. May I offer congratulations to you and Mrs. Darcy?"

"Thank you, Stevens. That will be all."

The moment they were alone, Mr. Darcy swept her into his arms, carrying her toward the stairs.

"I can walk," she protested laughingly.

"I have waited too long for this moment," he said, his voice rough with need. "I will not wait another second more than necessary."

"Then hurry," she whispered against his neck, pressing kisses to his throat. "I need you, Fitzwilliam. I have needed you for so long."

He practically ran up the stairs, making her laugh despite the desire coursing through her veins. "Eager, husband?"

"Desperate, wife," he corrected, kicking open the door to their chamber.