Page 74 of Penned By Mr Darcy
She moved through the hallways with practiced ease, offering smiles and polite words to those who greeted her warmly. The air was thick with laughter, the shimmer of candlelight catching on jewels and silks, the hum of merriment wrapping itself around her. Nearly an hour passed in such pleasantries, the noise and heat of the ballroom never far from her senses.
She was making her way back toward the dancing when a sudden, firm tug closed around her wrist.
She spun around in her surprise and caught only a glimpse of a broad shoulder, a dark coat, the unmistakable set of Mr Darcy’s frame retreating into the throng. He did not look back.
Her pulse leapt.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her no one was watching. Without allowing herself time to think (for thinking would introduce rational decision making) Elizabeth followed.
He moved with long, purposeful strides, and she kept pace, her skirts whispering around her ankles. The crush of bodies thinned, voices fading until only the muffled echoes of music remained.
When they reached the library door, he opened it without hesitation and stepped inside. She crossed the threshold after him, closing the door with a quiet click.
She had barely turned before he was upon her—his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so urgent, so unrestrained, that it stole the breath from her lungs. His lean frame pressed her back intothe panelled wood, the heat of him searing through the fine fabric of her gown.
She made a sound—half gasp, half protest—but her hands betrayed her, rising to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His lips moved against hers with fierce precision, the scrape of his jaw thrilling in its roughness.
When he broke apart from her, his breath was harsh against her cheek, his voice low and ragged.
“Tell me it is not true,” he demanded.
Her head spun.
“What is not true?”
“That you are engaged to Mr Collins.”
Chapter Twenty One
Darcy
Elizabeth, sweet, lovely, cruel Elizabeth, laughed, the sound low and warm between them. She did not flinch, nor seek to free herself; their bodies remained deliciously aligned, chest to chest, as though the panelled wall behind her had been built to hold them there.
“Of course I am not!”
“Your mother said…”
Elizabeth cut him off with another laugh, shaking her head. He watched as her curls, restrained and adorned with pretty glittering decoration, bounced. He recalled the times he had seen them loose, surrounding her like an angel. He swallowed, trying to concentrate on her words rather than thoughts of threading his fingers through those wild, rebellious strands.
“Pay no mind to my mother; she speaks what she might wish to be true, but I have no intention of marrying Mr Collins.”
“You would do well to tell her to watch her tongue.”
“I have little power over my mother; I am sorry you find her distasteful,” she replied, her voice quickening, edged with heat.“I myself am horrified to hear that she made such a report to anyone who would care to listen. You must have misheard, or misunderstood. She wishes for a marriage between us, but…”
A sound broke from him, raw, unguarded, almost a growl. His hands tightened at her waist, drawing her into the firm line of his body until she felt the solid heat of him through every layer of silk and muslin.
“You are mine, Elizabeth,” he said, the words rough with possession. “If you would consent to being so. I would treasure you as you deserve, love you as you deserve. I am not worthy, but I am a man in love.”
“Kiss me.”
He obeyed at once, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that seemed to burn through the very air around them. One hand splayed against the small of her back, urging her impossibly closer, while the other slid upward, fingers brushing the line of her neck, tangling in the dark silk of her hair.
Her lips parted beneath his, and he deepened the kiss with a low, satisfied hum that vibrated against her mouth. She rose into him without thinking, her hands clutching at the fine wool of his coat, feeling the tension in the muscles beneath.
Everywhere they touched was heat. His thigh brushing hers, the solid breadth of his chest rising and falling against her, his breath mingling with her own until she could no longer tell which belonged to whom.
When at last he pulled back, it was only far enough to let his gaze search hers, his thumb stroking a slow line along her cheek.
