Page 24 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“That’s what friends are for,” Bingley said brightly, standing and smoothing his waistcoat. “Now, get some rest. It would not do to stand at the alter with those dreadful shadows under your eyes.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Darcy. And remember - sometimes chaos is just another word for passion.”
With that, Bingley departed, leaving Darcy alone in the drawing room. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across the walls as Darcy stood in thoughtful silence. He took little comfort in his friend’s words, for he was certain Bingley did not understand the depth of his confusion, nor the terrible lust that had consumed him.
He stood alone in the parlour, gazing at the dwindling fire burning in the grate. After some time, there was a gentle knock at the door. He did not answer, but the door opened all the same. Elizabeth stood there, a soft smile on her face.
“There you are!” she said, crossing the room and standing beside him. “I wondered where you had got to. The rest of the party has retired for the night, and Mr Bingley has returned home. I wanted to make sure you were still willing to marry me after spending so long with my mother.”
“I was thinking, that was all.”
“Oh?”
“I am afraid that I am not a passionate man, Elizabeth. I may not give you what you require of me.”
“Require of you? I don’t understand.”
“There are things a husband must be, and I worry I will not be enough.”
“What has started all this?” she asked, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face towards her. “I must confess, the kiss you gave me in the woods felt as though you were a passionate man. I have not stopped thinking of it.”
“I should not have taken such a liberty.”
“It is no liberty; I am yours, Fitzwilliam. I would make no apologies for our love, no matter what my mother says.”
“What has your mother said?”
Elizabeth hesitated, and he knew the tightening of her jaw and furious flash of her eyes well. Her mother had caused her true offence beyond her usual irritation, and he felt his own jaw tighten in response.
“She stated that we were so closely chaperoned because – and I still cannot understand this – of the way we look at each other.”
“The way that we look at each other?”
“It is absurd! Oh, I cannot repeat what my mother said to me! It is dreadful.”
“You may tell me anything, dear Elizabeth. There is nothing that you must hide from me.”
“She accused me of encouraging impropriety. She said no man wants a wife who behaves like a harlot.”
He inhaled sharply.
“I am sorry she said such a thing to you. It is an unforgivable slight of your character.”
“My mother slights my character as easily as other people breathe, it is usually of no consequence to me. I must admit, I am unsettled by her words. Is it wrong, Fitzwilliam, to love you as I do?”
“No.”
“And is it wrong that I dream of your lips against mine?” she whispered. “Oh, I have dreamt of more than that. Forgive me, but sometimes I feel like I will die when I wake from those dreams. My body aches for you.”
Darcy took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking until he could feel the faint warmth of her body. His hand moved tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips lingering against her temple.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “you speak of dreams. Do you not see? I live in torment, for my waking thoughts are no different.”
Her lips parted, her breath catching as she looked up at him.
“Torment?”
