Page 4 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“Look, Fitzwilliam. It is as though the trees themselves are aflame. There is such beauty in nature.”
He stopped alongside her, tipping his head back to briefly to glance up at the trees.
“Yes.”
“May we pause here for a time?” Elizabeth asked. “I used to spend hours in these little woods. Mother would never think to look for me, or at least she did not care to, and the little ones could not find me. Even Jane knew not to disturb me here.”
“You would share a private place with me?”
“I would share everything with you,” she said softly. “Surely you must know that.”
“I…”
“Sit with me.”
She slipped off her coat and set it gently on the woodland floor. Before she could sit, he had already shed his own, replacing hers with his. With a swift motion, he brushed her coat clean and returned it to her.
“It is cold,” he told her, “you will catch a chill.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “But so will you. I am wearing more clothing than you; a woman’s dress is made up of several interminable layers. You have only your shirtsleeves and waistcoat to keep you warm. I shall be quite alright sitting on the ground.
He did not wish to think about the layers of clothing she had on, for such a thought lead only to the image of what it would be like to remove each of those layers until…
“I run rather hot,” he told her, his voice rather higher than usual, “I will be fine. Please, sit.”
She sank to the floor, tucking her legs beneath her. He stared at her a moment, enraptured by her beauty. This was a new side to her that he had yet to see; the Elizabeth that emerged when they were alone. Her hands rose to untie the ribbons of her bonnet, and she slipped it off and placed it gently to the floor beside her. Her hair tumbled free in a wild mess of curls, shining in the light that seeped through the trees. Her gloves soon followed, set neatly upon her pile of discarded clothing.
“You are beautiful,” he heard himself say, the words bursting from him before he could snatch them back.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and her perfect lips curling into a smile.
“Sit with me, please.”
Darcy lowered himself to the floor, maintaining a careful distance. His deepest longing was to hold her close and lose himself in the gentle melody of birdsong surrounding them. But he dared not; if anyone happened upon them - despite Lizzy’s assurances of the spot’s seclusion - the resulting gossip would be intolerable. The Bennet’s reputation was delicate enough after Lydia’s scandalous elopement, and he would do nothing to worsen things for the as yet unmarried daughters.
“Fitzwilliam,” Lizzy’s soft voice came, and when he looked up he realised that she had moved herself next to him. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you behaving as though I am diseased?”
“We are not yet married; such intimacy is improper.”
“Then I am improper,” she whispered, “for I find myself longing to be close to you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam. I think of little else. Sometimes, I feel as though I scarcely know you, and somehow…somehow you are the piece of my soul I have been missing.”
Darcy’s breath hitched, her words sending a shiver through him.
“Lizzy,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. He dared a glance into her eyes, and the sheer honesty of her confession gleamed there, melting his restraint. “You must not say such things, unless you mean them.”
“I do,” she whispered, her voice trembling yet resolute. She inched closer, the faintest brush of her hand against his sending a shock through him. “You have changed my heart entirely, Fitzwilliam.”
Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with pent-up longing. Darcy froze for a moment; the propriety he clung to teetering on the edge of collapse. But then the world faded - birds sang somewhere in the distance, leaves rustled overhead, but all he could feel, all he could know, was Lizzy.
His arms moved almost of their own accord, encircling her and pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, any restraint they may have had melting away as they finally gave way to their passion. Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his coat and tugging him closer still. He found his hands threaded in her hair, the silken strands tangling around his fingers. She kissed him so fiercely he wondered if they would part with bruised lips. Hewould treasure any mark she gave him, but he did not wish to damage any part of her perfection.
