Page 13 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“And I would wager you have never darkened their doorways in the years since. You have taken no mistress, and there has never been so much of a whisper of impropriety surrounding the Darcy name. The same cannot be said for that cad you grew up with.”
“I have no desire to let lust ruin my life, nor any other.”
“There shall be two blushing virgins on your wedding night, then! Have you ever even tossed yourself off, Darcy, or do you worry about the stains?”
Darcy stood up, that final vulgar remark enough. He fixed his cousin, now so drunk he could barely sit up, with a hard stare. Bingley, though not the recipient of the glare, shrank down as well – a pair of naughty schoolboys.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Richard, you are disgracing yourself in your intoxication. I shall see you in the morning, or whenever your inevitable poor condition permits you to arise.”
His cousin rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He was swaying even seated as he was, his mouth upturned in a smile. The man was the very picture of drunk, and Bingley was no better.
“Oh, come on, don’t sulk. What’s a little coarse talk between friends? We’ve all got the same thing dangling between our legs, after all.”
“I do not wish to participate in such an unsavoury discussion, nor do I think my fiancée would enjoy being spoken about in a derogatory manner.”
“Come, come. You know I hold dear Miss Elizabeth in the very highest regard. You cannot think…”
“Goodnight,” Darcy said firmly.
He walked away from the table, ignoring Fitzwilliam’s calls to come back. He stopped only to take his coat and hat and request that his carriage be ready before stepping into the cold night air. The frigid air stung, a welcome relief to the embarrassment that had his cheeks aflame. He waited for his carriage in furious silence, utterly humiliated by his cousin.
Humiliated by the truth.
There shall be two blushing virgins on your wedding night.
His carriage pulled up, interrupting his thoughts as he greeted the driver and climbed inside. He tried to close his eyes and allow the motion of the carriage to clear his mind. It served only to churn the brandy in his stomach, making him feel ill as well as disgraced.
Darcy House was a welcome sight as the carriage drew to a stop, and he ascended its stairs eagerly. He bid a good evening to his valet and dismissed him for the evening. He wished for no assistance or company this night, only for the solitude of his own thoughts.
He readied for bed, folding his clothing with meticulous care, leaving them neatly on a chair for his valet in the morning. The servants had left a basin of fresh water out for him, as well as his preferred soap. He dipped his fingers in the water, well-warmed by the fire, swirling it around idly as he watched the ripples cross its smooth surface. He dipped the cloth into the water and beganto wash the dirt of the day from his body. He closed his eyes as he ran the cloth over his travel-sore muscles. He sighed with contentment as the tension he carried began to melt away.
As was inevitable when he was alone, his thoughts drifted to Elizabeth. He felt her absence keenly. Soon, they would never be parted. He could not help but picture the bliss of their married life. In his mind, her hand replaced his, his ministrations that were so practical becoming sensual in their intent.
The water trailed in droplets down his torso, and he could not help but groan as he wiped them away from his sensitive flesh. He was a mess, inflamed by passion he did not wish to feel, and a desire that made him feel like a boy who could not control his urges.
He set down the cloth in the bowl, ignoring the water that sloshed lazily over the side.
“Pull yourself together, man,” he hissed to himself. “You bring shame upon her to think of her in such a way.”
He glanced down, the erection between his thighs evoking an unwitting noise of revulsion as he grabbed his night shirt and yanked it over his head without care. He slipped into his bed and pinned his hands to his sides, closing his eyes as he willed sleep to take him away from this lust-driven stupor.
It was no use. The blackness behind his closed eyes became a stage, images of the sweet kisses he had shared with Elizabeth dancing across his vision. It had felt so impossibly good to hold her, and better still to feel her lips upon his. He had never imagined that kissing – something that seemed entirely revolting, if he thought about it for long enough – could be so very enjoyable.
Every sensation was a torture. Even the soft cotton of his nightshirt brushed against him in a manner that did nothing totemper his arousal. The cool sheets reminded him of the autumn air that had surrounded them as Elizabeth had caressed him. God, how he wished she were here with him. He knew that she fitted perfectly in his arms, and he was certain that her body would mould to his in much the same way. They were surely designed for one another, for he felt half a man without her.
He could not help himself; his hand drifted from the mattress, curling around his stiff manhood of its own accord. He hissed, bucking up into his touch. He could resist no longer; he would never sleep in this state, hard to the point of discomfort. It was necessary, that was all. He would do it tonight, and never again.
His fingers tightened, stroking with slow, deliberate pressure, but it was not enough. His mind was elsewhere—lost in the memory of Elizabeth’s touch, the warmth of her breath against his skin, the way her lips had parted just so as she whispered his name. He bit his lip, stifling a groan, unwilling to let the empty chamber echo with his need.
The friction sent sparks of pleasure darting up his spine, but it was the thought of her—her hands upon him instead of his own—that truly undid him. He could almost feel the press of her body against his, her soft sighs mingling with his own ragged breathing. His hips lifted from the bed, seeking more, needing more.
This was madness. A single night of weakness, he had promised himself. And yet, as his pleasure built, winding tighter and tighter, he knew that this would not be the last time. Not until he had her. Not until he could claim her in truth, feel her beneath him, around him, hers as much as he was hers.
With a strangled gasp, he surrendered, his body shaking with the force of release.
His body ached with pleasure, his legs twitching as he recovered. He closed his eyes, feeling a brief euphoria before reality settled back in. He was left with nothing but emptiness – that, and a mess on his belly that repulsed him. He swiped it away with his nightshirt, standing up and discarding the soiled material at once. The room was silent but for his unsteady breaths, the weight of his solitude pressing upon him once more.
He unfolded the shirt he had worn that day and put it on, unable to sleep without being properly covered. Slipping back beneath the covers, warmed by his body, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to claim him.
