Page 75 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“You undo me,” he murmured, the admission a confession, a curse, a vow…every emotion he had ever held towards her, spoken all at once.
“Then we are even,” she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke.
Her whisper still lingered between them when he kissed her again, harder, his control fraying at the edges. The movement of his hands was no longer measured - one swept down the curve of her back, anchoring her firmly against him, the other cupping her jaw with a reverence that made the heat between them all the more dangerous.
She must have surely felt the solid press of his body, the undeniable proof of his desire, and instead of retreating, she yielded - just slightly, enough for him to feel her answering need. His breath caught at the contact, a sharp sound that thrilled through her.
“Elizabeth…” Her name was half plea, half warning, as though he were speaking to keep himself from going further - and yet his lips trailed from hers to the curve of her jaw, to the hollow just beneath her ear. She felt the scrape of his teeth, the warmth of his breath, and her knees weakened.
Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging lightly until he lifted his head to look at her. She gazed up at him, though he could scarcely see her in the dim half-light that came from the fire dying in the grate. She was so beautiful; not only because her features, which were undeniably handsome, but her spirit. She had intoxicated him with her wit, her strength and her spirit.
“Say you are mine,” he said, his voice a low demand.
He expected to be pushed away.
“I am yours,” she breathed.
Something inside him broke at that. He lowered his mouth to the soft skin at the base of her throat, kissing there in a way that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. His hand slid to herhip, thumb stroking just above the swell of her skirts, his touch dangerously close to propriety’s edge.
The pounding in her ears was no longer from the distant music but from her own blood rushing. She should stop him - she knew she should - but when his mouth returned to hers, hot and insistent, all such thoughts scattered.
It was the faint sound of laughter in the hall that saved them - or doomed them - for it made him break away, both of them breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching as they recovered their senses.
“Another moment,” he said, voice still rough, “and I would not have let you go.”
“Then we must be grateful for the interruption,” she replied.
He stepped back with considerable effort, straightening his coat, every inch the gentleman once more - save for the way his gaze lingered on her mouth as if already longing for the next stolen moment.
“Will you think on it, Elizabeth?”
“On what?”
“Marry me. Please. I wish for nothing more than to have you by my side.”
“We are not a natural pairing,” she said softly. “We have bickered more than we have agreed.”
“Yes.”
“You have found many faults in me and my family that I ought not to forgive.”
“You are right.”
“And yet…I find myself lost in you, Mr Darcy. May I call you Fitzwilliam?”
“You may call me whatever you wish.”
She moved forward, placing her hand on his face. His eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled deeply, the scent of her filling his senses. He felt as though he could weep as her thumb gently caressed his jaw, as tender a caress as he had ever known.
“Fitzwilliam. My Fitzwilliam.”
Any other words were lost in another, blissful embrace.
Epilogue
Darcy
My dear nephew,
