Page 42 of Desired By Mr Darcy
Elizabeth swallowed, sitting up, the cool air prickling her skin.
“Yes, thank you.”
Hetty moved efficiently, wrapping her in a warmed towel before helping her into the delicate white nightgown she had chosen earlier. The fabric skimmed over her skin like the lightest whisper, and she smoothed nervous hands down the fine lace.
“Will that be all, ma’am?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, Hetty. Thank you.”
The maid curtsied and slipped from the room, leaving Elizabeth standing alone, her heart pounding.
For a moment, she simply breathed, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been left loose, falling in dark waves over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her eyes bright.
Would he think her beautiful?
Slipping from the dressing room, Elizabeth paced the floor of her bed chamber until a firm knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.
Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward and opened it.
Her husband stood just beyond the threshold, still dressed in the remnants of his wedding clothes. His cravat was loosened, his waistcoat discarded and his feet bare. He looked beautiful, theslight shadow of evening stubble on his chin as he came to her, unguarded and gentle. His gaze swept over her, and something in his expression changed - his breath caught, his jaw tightened. She watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured.
Her name had never sounded like this before - weighted with reverence, with longing. Her name was poetry on his tongue, the finest music she had ever heard.
She held out a hand to him, beckoning him closer.
“Fitzwilliam.”
He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. For a moment, he only looked at her, as if he could scarcely believe she was real. Then, slowly, he reached for her, his fingers brushing against hers, warm and steady.
“You are Mrs Darcy,” he said softly, testing her new title slowly. “Mrs Elizabeth Darcy.”
She laced her fingers through his, tilting her face up to his.
“So I am, Mr Darcy.”
His breath was unsteady as he cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. She was breathless at his touch, the burn between her thighs growing even at this slight caress. She yearned for his touch everywhere, for his unhindered exploration of her body. There would be time; they had eternity, after all.
“I have dreamed of this night,” his voice was low as his fingers drifted down her neck, his touch eliciting a shiver as she yielded to him.
“So have I.”
And then, with exquisite tenderness, he kissed her.
Chapter Fourteen
Darcy
As they parted, Darcy was certain he had never beheld a sight more exquisite than Elizabeth Darcy.
Her dark curls, unbound at last, tumbled in wild abandon over her shoulders and down her back, just as he had so often imagined. She was a vision in white, the delicate fabric of her nightgown clinging to her curves in a way that made his fingers ache to touch her, his body tighten with longing.
A primal need surged within him, raw and unrestrained, urging him to sweep her into his arms, to claim her completely. The careful restraint that had governed him all his life was slipping away, replaced by something far more elemental.
She wanted him too - he could see it in the way her chest rose and fell, in the dark hunger in her gaze. And knowing that, knowing she desired him just as fiercely, was his undoing. What he had been so hesitant about suddenly seemed natural, as it had that night in the library. Their bodies made for this act, his heart and hers perfectly in time.
“It has been agony,” Elizabeth whispered, her fingers threading through his hair. “I have thought of nothing but you. Tell me, did you think of me?”
