Page 9 of Winter of Passion (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“Very well, we shall proceed as you wish. As I told you more than a year ago, I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, Miss Bennet,” he teased, making her blush and laugh.
“How generous of you, Mr Darcy. Your kindness is greatly appreciated.”
“It is certainly not generosity nor kindness, Miss Bennet. In all honesty, I am rather upset, purely for selfish reasons. I hoped to be able to openly court you, to make plans for the wedding, to purchase a licence so we could marry as soon as you wish.”
“I imagine you must feel uncomfortable. I remember very well that disguise of every sort is your abhorrence. That is one more reason for me to try to repay you,” she teased him.
“You must not repay me, only be aware of the torture you are making me suffer, Miss Bennet.”
“When did it begin?” she asked, cuddling close to his chest. “At the beginning of our acquaintance, you were unmoved by my beauty, as we both remember too well.”
“I cannot name a day, a moment, or a place when you stole my heart. In truth, I was in the middle of it before I realised it was happening. At first, I considered it a weakness, a mere infatuation. I left and I was certain it would pass, but my feelings only grew painfully stronger. And then, when we met in Kent…we both remember too well what happened,” he said.
“Those events I would certainly wish to forget,” Elizabeth answered.
“So would I. I am ashamed of myself when I remember the manner of my declaration and proposal. I am afraid to ask what you thought of my letter, which I am not proud of either.”
“You cannot be more ashamed of your proposal than I am of my response. As for your letter, it surprised me, it angered me, and I hurriedly rejected its content on my first reading. And then, it forced me to admit my own folly and silliness. It showed me how arrogant I was in my assumptions and how ridiculous in my beliefs.”
They were facing each other, their eyes locked, offering some comfort for the painful confessions.
“I imagine you were hurt. I know Wickham is quite proficient in making people like him.”
“I did like Mr Wickham but not enough to be hurt on his behalf. What pained me the most was your cold admission of separating Jane and Bingley. That was difficult to forgive and forget,” Elizabeth admitted.
“I have neither forgotten nor forgiven myself for that,” Darcy confessed. “The guilt, the blame is intense, especially when I witness their present happiness, which I could have destroyed due to my arrogance and pride.”
“You are proficient at assuming more blame than belongs to you and at rejecting well-deserved gratitude,” Elizabeth said.
She turned to him, their faces now so close that each could feel the other’s warm breathing.
Her lips felt dry, and she licked them. He leant his head towards her, and his tongue mirrored her gesture, moistening and tasting her lips.
Then his mouth trapped hers in a kiss that quickly deepened.
He turned her onto her back, and his body pressed over hers, leaving her breathless.
His weight crushing her breasts was delightfully painful, and she moaned, her hands clasped around his neck.
“Elizabeth, I must leave now. There is nothing I want more than to stay, so I must leave,” he said breathlessly.
She nodded, but neither of them moved from their improper position; their eyes were lost in each other’s, their faces inches away, his fingers stroking her cheek.
“I cannot believe we are engaged,” he repeated.
“Then perhaps you should stay a little bit longer…just to be sure…”
He suddenly turned onto his back, pulling her atop him. She let out a little cry of surprise and joy. He gently caressed her back, her neck, her throat, each stroke sending countless thrills through her body.
“I might reconsider my agreement to keep the engagement secret,” he said. “If I purchase a licence, we may be married in a week.”
She pressed against his chest, her face lowering to his.
“You are too generous to put your wishes above Jane and Charles’s comfort,” she whispered. “But I do not oppose marrying you within a week of making the announcement. I would rather marry soon before you disapprove of my wanton, improper behaviour.”
She was teasing him, but her embarrassment was as real as the pleasure she felt in his nearness and her despair in letting him go.
“Where there is ardent love, no behaviour which proves it may be called wanton or improper, my darling Elizabeth. That is why I must leave now before I forget the meaning of properly utterly and completely.”
“I wish you to stay, so you may leave,” she admitted. Then she pulled his head closer, and, this time, her lips claimed his.
His movements became somehow feverish, and she felt his hands touching her breasts through her gown. She moaned at the delicious sensation, and he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, pressing her against his bare chest.
Her thin nightgown was not much of a barrier, and she felt the heat of his skin and the brush of his chest hair.
The pleasure she felt made her quiver, and another moan escaped from her lips.
She slid her hand between their bodies to touch his chest, and this time he moaned, deepening the kiss and increasing his caresses.
Then suddenly, he pulled away. “I absolutely must leave. Now.”
He got up hurriedly, placed another kiss on her swollen lips, unlocked the door, and left.
Elizabeth remained on the bed; she pulled the sheets around her, wiping her tears while her soul was laughing. She still wondered whether she was dreaming as the happiness that she felt and was stirring all her senses did not seem real.
Two days ago, she had still been pining after him, hoping to see him and fearing it would not happen.
And now here she was, betrothed to him, wearing his love in her heart, his taste on her lips, and traces of his caresses on her skin.
And it was only the first day — the first night — of their engagement.