Page 1 of Desired By Mr Darcy
Chapter One
Elizabeth
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood before her, dressed not in the stiff formality of society, but in an open-necked shirt and breeches, his dark curls tousled and sweat glistening on his brow as though from extensive exertion. His eyes, always so intense, held something even deeper now - a look of longing, of unguarded tenderness.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, stepping closer.
The sound of her name on his lips sent a thrill through her. She knew she should speak, should offer some witty retort, but the words would not come. He reached for her, his hand warm as it cradled her cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, reverent path down her jaw. She felt fire trail in his wake, her need heightening.
“Say you are mine,” he whispered.
She shivered, though the night was warm.
“Have I not already said it?”
His lips quirked in a half-smile, but there was something desperate in his gaze.
“Say it again.”
She swallowed, her heart pounding.
“I am yours,” she whispered.
A sharp exhale, as though he had been holding his breath, and then his lips were on hers. Slow at first, searching, savouring. She melted into him, her hands slipping into his hair as he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her as if he would never let go. His hands began to move, caressing her body. His wide palm splayed over her breast, squeezing gently as she gasped against him.
The world around them faded - the garden, the flowers, the very air - until there was only the feel of him, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.
She had never felt so cherished, so wholly his.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured against her lips. “My Elizabeth.”
The world around them began to shift, slipping like sand through her fingers. His touch faded, the warmth receding, and she tried to hold onto it, tried to stay with him just a moment longer.
With a soft gasp, her eyes fluttered open, her heart still racing. She looked around; she was not in the magical garden of her dream, but her childhood bedroom at Longbourn. Jane slept peacefully beside her, but Lizzy knew she could sleep no longer. The room was filled with the strange half-light of the early autumn morning. It was not dark, and yet it was not light – Lizzy knew before even opening the curtains that the sun would be shrouded by thick cloud, as was so common as winter neared.
Lizzy moved carefully, not wishing to disturb Jane. As Lizzy left the bed, Jane murmured softly in her sleep but did not stir. She tied her wrapper securely around her waist and tiptoed tothe window, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath her steps. Drawing aside the curtain, she peered out at the early morning.
Her breath fogged the glass as she pressed her fingers to the cold pane. It was a scene she had admired countless times before, yet this morning, it felt different. The trees, the hedgerows, even the distant chimneys of Longbourn seemed to belong to a different life, one that she was soon to leave behind. The thought brought both a thrill and a pang of sadness. This was her home, and she loved it fiercely. But now, she was to have another home, a new life, and a future that held endless possibilities.
Slipping out of the room, Lizzy made her way down the quiet hall. The house was still, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the parlour and the soft creaks that came with every step she took. She found herself in the kitchen, its hearth still warm from the embers of the previous night. Taking a seat by the fire, she wrapped her arms around her knees and allowed herself a moment of solitude.
Her thoughts inevitably turned to Mr Darcy – Fitzwilliam, as she called him when they were alone, determined not to be one of those women who referred to their husbands as though they were a stranger. To think that she had once considered him the very last man in the world she could ever marry! His pride, his reserve - how they had infuriated her. But now, she understood the depth beneath that exterior, the kindness and loyalty that had slowly, inexorably, won her heart.
She thought of his letter, his words still etched into her memory. She thought of his gaze, steady and unwavering, as he had asked for her hand the second time. No trace of arrogance, only love and quiet hope. How could she have resisted him?
She got up from her perch, wishing for fresh air. It was Sunday, so she did not have to worry about being seen by the servants,as they received every other Sunday off. She opened the back door, stepping out into the chilly morning air. The crisp cold bit at her cheeks, and the frost crunched beneath her slippers. She wrapped her robe tighter and lifted her face to the sky. It was a frivolous thing, she knew, to walk outside in such a state of undress. Her mother would scold her terribly, claiming that she would contract all manner of illnesses. The world was still asleep, the garden a private sanctuary.
She was alive with joy, and the world felt alive with her. Today was the day the final Banns would be read, and in two short weeks they would be married. It seemed a waste to wait for so long; if she could, she would insist upon marrying Fitzwilliam tomorrow, and they would run away to Pemberley where they would be able to share a moment alone without her mother hovering over them, as had become her infuriating habit.
Her mother, frustratingly, was a dutiful chaperone. Lizzy had expected a certain amount of discretion on her mother’s behalf once the betrothal had been announced, but it was not to be. As it was, the couple had not been allowed a moment without her keen eye watching over them. She accompanied them on walks, complaining loudly, or to tea or – well, everywhere. Lizzy had never seen her mother be so meticulous in her observation.
Elizabeth pulled the robe tighter to her; it was of no use, for the fabric did little to keep the autumn chill from her body. She shivered, staring out ahead. The sound of footsteps made her startle, and she squinted in the half-light. It felt like a dream, but Fitzwilliam was walking towards her.
“Fitzwilliam!”
“I came to see if I might escort you to church this morning, but I can see that you are not ready.”
She looked down at her wrapper; it was more decent than a mere nightgown, but not fit for company.
