Page 83 of Mr. Darcy's Complex Courtship

Did he crave my reassurance? His expression impelled me to assuage any lingering doubts he may have. “Yes. There is a quality unique to you, a particular magnetism that attracts me.Your presence is enough to sustain my senses, and I have never experienced this phenomenon with anyone else.”

His palm cradled my cheek, and his thumb traced my chin. “Youhave entrancedmesince the early days of our acquaintance.”

“Another point became clear to me upon my return to Longbourn. I have often felt apart from everyone else—almost as though I did not fit in with my family or my friends. But when I am with you, I belong. I am…whole.”

“Elizabeth.” He pronounced my name as though uttering a sacred word. He placed delicate kisses on and around my lips and face. His ethereal touch seared my skin, inflaming me to my core and extremities. Then his arms enclosed me, pulling me to him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” I clung to him, inhaling his beloved scent. A wondrous feeling of bliss warmed me from head to toe. How I had missed him!

“My dearest love, you will marry me, will you not?” His warm breath tantalised my earlobe and nape. “As soon as may be?”

“Yes, I will marry you, dearest Fitzwilliam.”

“My beautiful Elizabeth.” His arms tightened around me, and his fingers stroked wondrous circles along my back.

By and by, though, my father’s declaration from last night intruded into our glorious paradise and taunted me, presenting a mild yet assiduous blight upon my felicity. Would Fitzwilliam insist I give up writing? Of course, I should marry him either way, but I should miss the activity very much. In order to prepare myself, I should seek his opinion. I stirred to peek up at him. “Of late, I have been engaged in a particular enterprise, one I had never attempted before.”

He inched back and cocked his head. “What is this new project?”

“I have been composing a manuscript, a romantic novel.”

“Oh, I see.” In contrast to his words, he rubbed his temple as though perplexed. “I did not know you had an interest in the pastime.”

“Neither did I. But after what happened between us, I felt unsettled. I needed a way to express my emotions, and creating a novel proved to be the best method.”

He shook his head. “It pains me to have caused you such distress. I am glad you found the activity to be helpful. Perhaps you also sought the security a source of income could bring. Now, though, you may rest easy—you will be my wife, and I shall ensure you will never want for anything.”

My smile grew forced. His cursory dismissal of my craft as a temporary coping exercise ought not to have disappointed me; what other response should I have expected? No wealthy and prominent gentleman would choose to be married to an authoress. Still, I should correct his misinterpretation of the situation. “The possibility of earning money is irrelevant—I enjoy writing and editing. The creative process is singularly gratifying. However, I understand the realities of our society—it would not be…fitting for me to continue after we are married.”

He held my palm against his pulsating heart. “My love, if youwishto carry on writing, then you ought to continue.”

“You…are you certain?”

“By all means.”

His winsome smile weakened my knees. I had not dared to hope he would ever approve of this! Egad, I had so much to tell him! “I read part of my story to Mr. Baxter, who is a published author and a former instructor at Oxford.” Having blurted out the sentence, I paused to regulate my cadence. “He thinks my novel is worthy of publication and has given me helpful advice to improve my manuscript.”

“I am not surprised in the least—I expect you would excel at anything you set out to do.”

“Thank you.” A sliver of doubt lingered within me for Fitzwilliam’s magnanimous decision to tolerate my writing. Had he considered the ramifications? “Your friends and acquaintances may disapprove of me becoming a published authoress.”

He shrugged. “So be it. My destiny is to be surrounded by talented creators, which is to my benefit. Already, Miles has painted a captivating portrait of you that I shall treasure, and I hope to be one of the first to receive a signed copy of your book.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam, I…” Mere words could not express my sentiment. I raised up on my toes and pressed my lips to his. He groaned and tightened his hold on me until I moulded against him. Every inch of me came alive with striking clarity. How I had missed him—his touch—hiskisses. I fell into a bewitching reverie where nothing existed but us two and the torrent of exquisite sensations he wrought, from the tingles prickling my skin to the mild contractions in my belly. Still, like a famished person being given a bite of food, I yearned for more. And since he did not deepen the kiss, I took the initiative, and my tongue found its way into his mouth. He responded in kind, drawing me deeper into an intoxicative state. Then, with a sound akin to a growl, he withdrew, ending the spell and leaving me in that fulfilled yet bereft state.

“Although I very much want to continue, I think it is…unwise.” He straightened his coat. “The truth is, I am struggling to act as a gentleman.”

“Very well.” I repressed a sigh.

Fitzwilliam took an object from his waistcoat pocket and removed my glove. The twinkling emerald gem of my beloved ring glittered in the morning sunshine as he slipped the band onto my finger. “At last, this is where it belongs.”

“Thank you. I am delighted to have it back.” I extended my hand to admire the shimmering stone. “The band fits perfectly now. How did you manage this?”

“I made a fortunate guess and instructed the local jeweller to reduce it by one size.” He took me in his arms again and held me in a sober gaze. “Do you expect your father to present an obstacle for us?”

“No, he will see reason. Last night, Papa wanted to restrict me to the house because he assumed you would meet me on my morning walk. But when I objected and reminded him that he raised me to make my own decisions, he relented.”

“Do you know why he was so determined to separate us?”

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