Page 14 of Desired By Mr Darcy
His sleep was not kind; thoughts of Elizabeth that he managed to push away when awake ran wild and free in his unconscious mind. He awoke with the same problem as the previous night, harder and more insistent.
He was in no mood for indulgence, rising from the bed and crossing to the bowl of water. He had woken before the fire had been set, the room frigid and damp. He reached into the bowl of water, the water near-freezing beneath his fingertips.
“You are not an animal,” he muttered. “Restraint, man.”
Wringing out the cloth, he ran the punishingly cold water over his body, stubbornly ignoring that part of himself which begged for attention. When he had finished, his passion had cooled entirely, along with the rest of him. He rang the bell for his valet, and tried to put the whole sorry business from his mind.
∞∞∞
Fitzwilliam did not show his face until near two in the afternoon. He stumbled into the small ante room that Darcy kept as a study,dressed but looking distinctly rough around the edges as he flopped down onto the green settee opposite the fireplace. This room was Darcy’s sanctuary; he did not often keep company in here, relishing the quiet, and his cousin had certainly not been invited in.
“Good afternoon,” Darcy greeted him coldly. “I am surprised you have risen at all.”
Fitzwilliam groaned, though the noise was closer to that of a wounded animal than a grown man with a hangover.
“Don’t start, cousin. I feel wretched enough without your judgement.”
“Good.”
“Oh, don’t be like that!” he groaned. “I will apologise profusely for whatever may have offended you when I have had some coffee.”
“I am glad Georgiana is out at her lessons,” he said, “for I would not have her witness her beloved cousin in such a poor condition.”
“I did not realise you could make me feel worse than I already do. It is quite a talent of yours, I think. Go on then, what did I do?”
“You do not recall?”
“Do I seem as though I recall?” he moaned. “Go on, out with it, man.”
“You were unspeakably crude.”
“Oh?”
“You made comments about…my marriage bed.”
“Is that it?!” Fitzwilliam laughed. “I do recall our conversation, but I thought your reaction a consequence of your own cups.”
“Are you in a habit of speaking about woman in such a manner?”
“Oh, come, I said nothing offensive! Miss Elizabeth is a fine young woman; you know I think the world of her!”
“And yet you showed her blatant disrespect to speak of private matters with such disregard for decency.”
Fitzwilliam raised his head, looking at him carefully.
“You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”
The word was not intended as an insult, as it had been the night before, but Fitzwilliam’s casual use of the term prickled at him all the same. He was reminded, entirely against his will for he never wished to recall his friendship with the man, of how often Wickham used his virtue as an insult during their time at university. It was an embarrassment then, and an embarrassment now.
“Stop it.”
Fitzwilliam’s face softened, his bravado vanishing.
“It is alright to have reservations, you know. Perhaps I can assist you.”
“I do not wish for anyassistanceyou may have to offer. It is a private matter, and it will remain so.”
“A woman such as the future Mrs Darcy will require satisfaction, I can assure you.”
