Page 80 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“Bare?”
“Is that not how it is done?” Elizabeth asked with a frown. “I was under the impression that we would both be bare before one another.”
He did not say that it was not typical; though he knew little of the marriage bed of others (he certainly had no desire to know anything of the sort about his acquaintances), he had heard tales of wives raising their nightgowns just high enough for the event to occur, before shoving them hastily back down to their ankles with blushing mortification. He wanted Elizabeth bare before him, of course he did, but he did not want to scare her. His body was so…so vulgar. He had none of the softness of hers; he wasentirely muscle and sinew, the most repulsive muscle of them all lying between his legs.
“If that is what you wish,” he said stiffly. “Then of course.”
“Is it not what you expected?” she asked.
“I am not in the habit of such vulnerability,” he admitted. “It is not that I do not want to – I want to more than anything. My body is far from the thing of beauty you describe.”
“I do not see how that is possible. Come,” she rose from the bed, holding out a hand to him. “We shall do it together.”
She waited for him to rise, before gathering the fabric of her nightgown at the waist and beginning to pull it slowly upwards. He was motionless, staring as inches of her skin were revealed. Her perfect feet, her dainty little ankles, her shapely calves…
“Fitzwilliam,” she interrupted. “Are we doing this together or are you just going to stare at me?”
“Yes. Yes of course, forgive me.”
“You are nervous too, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Why? I did not think men got nervous about this sort of thing; you are experienced, as you said.”
“Do not speak of my experience,” he said. “It is shameful; I wish that I had never lain with another.”
“I understand that it is the way of the world,” Elizabeth, his wonderful, forgiving Elizabeth, said. “We will speak no more of it.”
“Thank you.”
“If you are nervous,” she said, “then I will begin.”
He watched, stunned, as she raised her nightgown further, up over her hips and over her head, until finally it was tossed carelessly somewhere behind them. He could say nothing.
She was the very vision of perfection.
Soft, inviting curves and full breasts made his fingers itch to touch her. He took an unconscious step closer, and Elizabeth reached for him, welcoming him.
“I have dreamt of you touching me, Fitzwilliam.”
“As have I.”
“It is your turn,” she whispered, pressing a single kiss to his lips. “Show me.”
He mimicked her previous motion, gathering his nightshirt in hand and hauling it over his head in one motion. If he lingered, he feared he would lose all courage. When he had divested the garment on the floor, he dared to glance at his wife.
Her gaze was fixed between his legs. Instinctively, he went to cover himself.
“I was looking,” she said. “I did not cover myself.”
“You are beautiful. This is not.”
“May I be the judge of that?”
“Elizabeth, I…”
“Uncover yourself, please.”
