Page 36 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

His cock twitched eagerly at the thought, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

This was not who he was, a man driven by lust and desire, and yet it was who he became when he thought of his wife.

His wife – the sweetest two words he had ever thought.

It would not do to frighten her, for she had no experience.

What little experience he possessed would do no good, either.

They would learn together.

He rose from the bed, walking a step or two towards the door and turning back around, falling back down onto the bed as he twiddled with his fingers.

He could not settle, for he knew she was mere feet away.

He longed to join her, every second that passed feeling like an hour.

He opened and closed the jewellery box, listening to the rhythmic thud as he lifted and replaced the lid.

He inhaled, closing his eyes, willing himself to calm.

And then, on the wall that connected their rooms, there was a knock.

Not one knock, but five in quick succession.

He leapt to his feet, taking that as an indication that his bride was ready for him.

He held the box tightly in his hand as he opened the door so quickly he almost wrenched it from its hinges.

With a quick glance to ensure the corridor was empty, he knocked on Elizabeth’s door.

She answered immediately, standing in the doorway dressed in a pretty white nightgown. He inhaled sharply; she looked ethereal, like an angel. Her hair was tied back, much to his disappointment, with a few wild tendrils escaping and tracing the elegant line of her neck.

“Good evening,” she smiled, her eyes trailing the length of his body. “Will you come inside, Mr Darcy?”

He nodded, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

She had already moved away, walking towards the large bed that lay in the centre of the room.

A fire burned in the grate, the flames high in such a way as to suggest it had been recently stoked, and he was grateful for the warmth.

Elizabeth settled at the end of the bed, sitting down.

He noticed that her feet did not quite reach the floor as she stared at him expectantly.

“I…” he began to speak, his tongue suddenly feeling too large for his mouth. “I got you a present.”

Her smile broadened.

“You did?” she asked, leaping up. “Oh, I am terribly greedy, for you already gave me that beautiful necklace. Presents always were a weakness, I am afraid.”

He held the box out wordlessly towards her, and she plucked it from him. She did not open it as he expected, but rather turned and set it down on the bed. Then, she turned and walked over to her own dressing table and pulled open one of the drawers.

“I have got you something, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It is something I owe you, I think.”

She removed a rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and returned to him. He knew what it was without opening it, for he would know the shape and size anywhere.

“Elizabeth…”

“Open it,” she said softly. “Please.”

He unfastened the wrappings, his heart hammering as he saw a glimpse of the familiar leather. It was the diary he had always used, from Lambton.

“I wrote and asked to order the diary you prefer,” Elizabeth explained. “It is my fault that you lost your old one, and perhaps you have already replaced it, but this one can be added to your stocks.”

“I have not replaced it,” he said, discarding the last of the wrapping and letting it fall to the floor between them as he turned the book over in his hands. “I have not kept a diary since that day.”

“Why not?”

“I do not know,” he shrugged. “I felt no urge to.”

“Then it is a poor present.”

“No. I am touched that you went to such lengths for me. I think I shall save this for the very best – for all the happy days to come.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

He leant down, kissing her softly as he held the diary between them. As she pulled away, she looked up at him.

“May I open mine now?” she asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Of course.”

Her delicate fingers made quick work of the jewellery box, and he watched as her face lit up.

“How beautiful,” she sighed. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, it is so dainty! And the sapphire…I am sure it is finer than the bluest ocean. It is too much.”

“I do not believe any gift could equal what you have already given me, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.

She coloured a little, though her eyes sparkled. “And yet I cannot think of it without shame - that I intruded upon your diary. I marvel still that you did not despise me for it.”

“I was displeased,” he admitted, his voice low and deliberate. “But anger could not withstand the truth that was before me. You must know…I must tell you that my heart was already undone. If there was folly, it was only in how fiercely I wanted you to know me. In time I understood: it was love.”

“I am sorry, nevertheless,” she said earnestly. “I would not wound you for the world.”

He looked at her, all reserve gone.

“I know.”

With a mischievous smile, she continued.

“Then I solemnly vow never again to pry into whatever you may choose to set upon paper. A husband must have some private sanctuary, must he not?”

He took her hand gently, lifting it to his lips for a lingering kiss, then held it against his cheek, for her could not bear to let her go.

“Elizabeth… you are my sanctuary. The past is behind us. Let it rest there.”

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself to him. He met her embrace, and he realised that it was the first time that they had been like this. There was no frenzy; a loving, comforting embrace that stilled his mind and made him feel…Loved. Safe.

“You are so warm,” she whispered. “I dreamed that you would be.”

“You truly dreamed of me?”

“I have dreamt of you these past weeks. I wake to find you gone, and I curse my cruel imagination. But before our engagement…I had one dream that was so vivid that it haunted me. All of my hidden desires, all of my turmoiled longing that I tried to wish away, presented before me with such clarity as to seem real.”

“And now? Is there turmoil now?”

“No. Only eager anticipation,” she teased. “I am sorry if you think me wanton – I suppose I do not truly know what it is I am asking for. I know only that the answer lies with you. It is only you that you can sate this ache within me.”

It took all of his composure not to gather her in his arms and take her there and then. He had been impulsive before; harsh, demanding. Now, on this most sacred of nights, he would be gentle. God knew how he would manage it, but he would be gentle.

“Your mother told you of the wedding night?”

“Yes. And of the expectations to lie still and close my eyes until it is over. But I dare to think…that kiss we shared. That did not seem like the type of thing I would have to endure.”

“I do not want our marriage bed to be a place of endurance, Elizabeth.”

“Nor I.”

“I have little experience.”

“I have none,” she countered. “I will look to you for guidance.”

“I would start by kissing you.”

“Please.”

He leant down, capturing her chin with two fingers and tilting her face to meet his.

He had kissed a woman only once before, finding the whole thing rather unpleasant.

There was nothing unpleasant about kissing Elizabeth.

She was warm and sweet, the delicate swipe of her tongue against his lips a surprise that had him moaning against her.

She had the power to see his undoing; hell, he was already undone. He was lost.

No. He was found.

He was not sure when it happened, but they tumbled towards the bed.

Eager hands roamed even more eager bodies, and he explored Elizabeth’s curves with all the precision of a man mapping the world.

Beneath her nightgown, he felt the promise of her soft skin, the warmth coming from her welcome against his shaking palms. His hands seemed to fit perfectly into all the little inlets of her body; her waist, the juncture of shoulder and neck, the slope of her thighs.

“May I touch you?” she whispered against his lips. “I have longed to.”

“You have?”

“I have admired you; you seem to be made of stone.”

“I…”

“Your body, I mean,” she said with a little breathless giggle. “I have admired you in your riding clothes. Forgive me. The trousers that you wear for such activity are so tight, and my eyes could not help but be drawn to your thighs.”

“My thighs?” he frowned.

“They are remarkably firm. And your shoulders, so broad.”

“Elizabeth, are you teasing me?”

“There will be times I tease you, husband, for I cannot change who I am. But about this matter, I am completely serious.”

“I do not know what to say.”

“Typically, one says ‘thank you’ when they are complimented,” she teased, for there was no doubting it. “May I see you, Fitzwilliam? All of you?”

“Bare?”

“Is that not how it is done?” Elizabeth asked with a frown. “I was under the impression that we would both be bare before one another.”

He did not say that it was not typical; though he knew little of the marriage bed of others (he certainly had no desire to know anything of the sort about his acquaintances), he had heard tales of wives raising their nightgowns just high enough for the event to occur, before shoving them hastily back down to their ankles with blushing mortification.

He wanted Elizabeth bare before him, of course he did, but he did not want to scare her.

His body was so…so vulgar. He had none of the softness of hers; he was entirely muscle and sinew, the most repulsive muscle of them all lying between his legs.

“If that is what you wish,” he said stiffly. “Then of course.”

“Is it not what you expected?” she asked.

“I am not in the habit of such vulnerability,” he admitted. “It is not that I do not want to – I want to more than anything. My body is far from the thing of beauty you describe.”