Page 16 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“Quite possibly,” Fitzwilliam sighed miserably. “I may just close my eyes.”
“Your eyes are already closed. May I have your word that you will be on your best behaviour when Miss Elizabeth arrives?”
At that, his cousin opened his eyes and sat up keenly.
“How splendid! You did not mention that she was coming. Yes, yes, of course. Best behaviour absolutely. How long is she to stay?”
“A few days, I suppose. She will be accompanied by Mrs and Miss Bennet.”
“Her mother? I have yet to have the pleasure. Is she as charming as her daughter?”
“No.”
“Darcy, you must have more tact than that!” Fitzwilliam laughed. “She is to be your mother-in-law, and she will make your life as easy or as difficult as she wishes!”
Darcy said nothing, the book still weighing heavily in his hands. He could not help but wonder what could be inside.
“Go and put that thing in your bedroom before Georgiana gets home,” Fitzwilliam said. “You may burn it if you wish. I certainly do not want it back.”
Darcy turned from the room without another word, walking up the stairs towards his room. Once there, he opened the door and threw the book inside, closing the door firmly as he turned away.
The rest of the afternoon was mercifully quiet; by the time Darcy returned to the drawing room, Fitzwilliam had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. Darcy, disapproving as he was, could not help but chuckle at his cousin’s poor condition. Whatever had gotten into him the night before to make him such a rogue had clearly taken its toll; the sooner he slept it off, the sooner his level-headed cousin would be returned to him.
When the time came to retire for the night, Darcy met his valet. Entering the room, he noticed the book was no longer on the floor.
“Where is the book that I placed here earlier?”
“My sincerest apologies, sir. The book had fallen onto the floor, so I placed it by your bed. I will remind the maids to take more care in future.”
“The fault was my own, I assure you,” Darcy said. “You did not…”
“I did not note the title of the book, sir, nor did I look at the contents.”
His effusive denial made Darcy’s cheeks redden, for it was obvious even to him that the unfortunate fellow knew exactly what lay in the book.
“Thank you,” Darcy said weakly. “I will see to myself for this evening.”
“As you wish. The housekeeper wishes you to know that she has arranged Miss Elizabeth’s modiste appointments, as requested.”
“Thank you.”
“Good evening, sir.”
His valet left the room, and Darcy sat down heavily on the bed. He was a mess, utterly unlike himself. Is this what lust did? Could desire change a man so much? He would not succumb to the indignity of it. He would not be reduced to little better than an animal as he had seen others be.
Still, he could not help but think of what Fitzwilliam had said. Could Elizabeth truly be a woman whoneededsuch passionate attentions? Were there wives who saw their husbands as equals, rather than burdens, and could he possibly hope to be counted amongst their ranks?
His mind was a whirl; he had been tortured by thoughts of Elizabeth for months, but he had long given up hope of his affections and desires being returned. He was surely not so lucky as to be given a chance of happiness after so long living in agony. If that was what Elizabeth wanted, then he would spend his life in the endeavour of her happiness.
He sat down on the bed, reaching for the dreaded book which now rested on his bedside table. It was a small thing, and it made no sense that his heart was hammering as it was. He turned it over in his hands. The binding was black, the cover wordless. He grasped the corner between two fingers, hesitating beforefinally flipping the cover open. The front page was, like its cover, wordless and gave no indication of the contents. He turned the first page, and almost slammed the book closed again when he did not see words, as he had expected, but a vulgar drawing of a man and woman engaged in…
Well, he was not entirely sure what they weredoing.
The couple on the page – a man whose face he could not see, and a spectacularly busty woman – were in a position that looked most impractical indeed. He turned the page sideways, then upside down, squinting to try and make sense of it. It seemed that the man had his face buried between the woman’s thighs, whilst at the same time, the woman took the man in her mouth. How could such a practice be hygienic?
He hurriedly turned the page, but the next image did little to ease his discomfort. It was more familiar, at the very least. A man and woman – the same man and woman from the page before, he supposed, who certainly seemed very satisfied by the endeavours – rutting like beasts as the man took her from behind. Such a position was undignified, at best.
And still, as he looked at these crude illustrations, he could not help the image that was conjured in his mind. The vulgar couple in the book were replaced by himself and Elizabeth, his darling Elizabeth. He was lost to his imagination as he sank down against the pillows, turning the pages as he hurriedly tore at the fastenings of his trousers with one hand. Each position drawn in ink felt more forbidden than the last.
