Page 25 of Saved By Mr. Darcy
“There is no duty for me to be here. I want to be here, Miss Elizabeth. I have longed for nothing more than the pleasure of your company with nobody to interrupt us.”
“Mr Darcy…”
“My tongue runs away with me. Forgive me. I am exhausted and perhaps took too much wine at dinner, but that is no excuse. A man should not behave so around a young woman such as yourself, no matter how poor his condition. Let us finish this, and end my torment.”
“I do not wish to cause you torment.”
“It is not you who torments me, Madam. It is my own cruel heart, my own mind. I cannot sleep; I have not slept more than a few tortured hours since that day I found you. I am sick…I am sick with longing for you.”
Lizzy had never known him to speak with such raw emotion; even when he had expressed his feelings for her before, he spoke as plainly as though he had been discussing the weather. She had spent many hours thinking of that afternoon, the words echoing in her head as she tried to understand him, to make sense of all that he had said. And she had felt little else but anger.
Now, she did not feel angry.
“I hope that my family are well,” she said, watching as Darcy’s hand began to move once more. “Send my love and good wishes to all of them. Always, Lizzy.”
As he wrote the final words, Darcy set the quill down. He pushed the chair away from the desk, hauling himself to his feet. He turned to her, frozen in place as he stared at her. She found herself longing to go to him, wondering how it might feel to be held in his arms.
“Mr Darcy, I…”
“Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Please, do not…I do not want you to go.”
“You would ask me to stay?”
“It would be wrong for me to do so. And yet, I cannot bear us to part on bad terms. I cannot bear us to part at all.”
“We will speak in daylight. Things shall be clearer then. Goodnight.”
With a bow, he left.
She stared at the door for some time. She felt aflame, every sense and nerve awakened. She did not understand what had happened; all that she knew for certain was that she felt his absence sorely.
An Interlude
Darcy left Miss Elizabeth’s room cursing himself. He had behaved abominably, all manners and courtesy forgotten. Who was he to speak to a woman alone in her chamber so late at night, speaking of love as though he did not desire her desperately at that very moment? As though his eyes had not roamed her body, longing to see her in even less than the night wrapper she wore?
The walk to his own chamber was a miserable one. He had never fallen so far from the standards he held himself to; had they been found, Miss Elizabeth’s reputation would be ruined, and it would be no fault of her own. She could not move, could not escape him, and she surely felt a sense of obligation to him that blurred the lines of propriety.
He had seen something in her eyes. Perhaps it was his mind playing the cruellest of jokes, a lack of sleep toying with his vision. But, for a fleeting moment, he dared to hope that he saw his own desire reflected back at him.
Her eyes were dark, fixed upon him, and it filled him with more hope in that brief second than he had felt in months.
It was all for nothing; she was a guest in his home, trusting him in her hour of greatest need. He would not lower himself to the standards of men who would take advantage of a woman in such a position.
He would not be alone with Miss Elizabeth Bennet again.
A night’s sleep would surely solve all of his problems, but sleep would not come. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as he thought over their encounter until the images in his mind became twisted, exaggerated in their passion. His eyes were tightly shut, and in the darkness he could not help but imagine what it would be like to join her in that bed. To touch her and to take what he longed for, to be given that chance to love her as he so longed to do.
He felt himself hardening, and to his shame he reached down and grasped himself through the material of his nightshirt. It was years since he had done this, the shame it caused him was not worth the momentary burst of pleasure. Now, he could not control himself. He was little better than an animal. What would she think of him, if she knew how base his desires could be? If she knew how desperately he wanted her here with him, in his bed, her hand in place of his own?
What would she say, if she knew what kind of man he really was?
She had asked him to stay. She had no idea what she was asking, he knew that. Some little part of his mind allowed him to dream of what would happen if he had…no. No, he would not think ofthat. Instead, his mind conjured an image of the two of them there in that bedroom – gold bands resting on their ring fingers. Man and wife, bound to each other in the eyes of God and man, bound to each other not by duty or obligation but by a love that was shared.
He pushed the cotton of the nightshirt away, touching his bare skin. He hissed, the sensation unfamiliar after so long a period of denial. He could not clearly recall the last time he had done this, though his mind whispered it had been at Rosings, the night before his hopes had been dashed and his heart broken. His eyes snapped closed, his back arching as he bucked up into his hand. How wonderful it would feel to have her touch on him, to feel her soft hands caress his body. And to caress her, to worship her as she deserved to be. He longed to show her how sorely she was loved, how desperately he wanted her.
Stay with me…
