him, so, undisturbed, he reached the staircase. Once upstairs, he counted the doors, trying to guess which one belonged to Elizabeth’s room.
To his relief, his estimation proved to be correct, and when he knocked lightly at the white, wooden surface, her sweet voice was heard. “Enter.”
As he had expected, she was seated on the cushioned window seat ledge, her small, stocking clad feet resting neatly in front of her.
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, her eyes widening at the sight. “What are you doing here?”
He closed the door. God, she was lovely. Her hair was only partially pinned up, and the cascade of rich chocolate curls was falling gracefully down her shoulders and back. Never before had he seen her so domestic, so intimate in her appearance.
With grace, she lifted herself from her place, her feet looking for pale green house slippers abandoned nearby.
He could not stop himself. He had to put his hands on her as he walked closer.
“I did not expect you today, sir,” she said, as he toyed with a lock of her hair.
He stared at her mouth, distracted.“You did not.”
She shook her head. “You did not go to Herefordshire?”
“I did. I talked with your father yesterday afternoon.”
“You returned so soon?”
He smiled down at her. “I told you that I wanted to be back with you as soon as possible.”
She allowed their eyes to meet at last, only to cast them down again. “Let us go downstairs,” she tried to walk past him but he caught her hand, stopping her.
He shook his head.
“You should not be here, sir,” she said nervously, her colour high.“Let us go to the parlour. We shall have some tea with Charlotte.”
“No, please. Let us stay here.” He pulled her to him, draping an arm around her back “Nobody saw me coming here. I want some privacy.”
She stiffened and her eyes widened. Was she afraid of him? “It is not proper for you to be here, in my room,” she said.
“Come,” he whispered.
He sat in the only armchair present in the small room and, without a word of warning, pulled her onto his lap.
“Mr. Darcy!”she gasped, trying to lift herself.
“Do you have to be so formal with me, Elizabeth?” he tightened his embrace around her, ignoring her struggles to free herself. “Could you call me by my given name?”
When she did not do what he asked for immediately, he prompted. “It is Fitzwilliam.”
She glared at him, slightly offended. “I do remember. It’s a rather unusual first name, I dare say, being your cousin’s surname.”
“Yes, it was my mother’s idea, I guess. She always shortened it, however, and called me ‘William.’”
He noticed that as she slowly relaxed in his arms, she was less tense and allowed her back to rest against his chest.
He took one wisp of dark hair, straightened it and then let it curl naturally around his finger. His gaze rested on the simple garnet cross placed in the dip of her throat, then lowered to the swell of her bosom, uncovered by the rather daring cut of her dress. She had a small dark mole on the left breast, visible just above the lace of her bodice. He swallowed and his manhood hardened. How would he able to survive those long months of courtship without even a small gratification.
She was affected, too, by their proximity, he realised. Her breasts started to heave, her lovely face flushed pink. It was so easy to reach for her lips, kiss and caress her. But he had promised her that he would try to restrain himself. He needed to control his urges. She deserved better.
He took her small hand and lifted it to his lips. “You did not want to know what your father said?” he asked as he nudged her off his lap and stood up.
She nodded. “I do. Of course, I do.”
Darcy walked away from her, raking his hand through his hair. “He agreed to a courtship only. He wants to speak with you first before giving his consent to the marriage.”
“I see.”
“Perhaps you could try to convince him that the
To his relief, his estimation proved to be correct, and when he knocked lightly at the white, wooden surface, her sweet voice was heard. “Enter.”
As he had expected, she was seated on the cushioned window seat ledge, her small, stocking clad feet resting neatly in front of her.
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, her eyes widening at the sight. “What are you doing here?”
He closed the door. God, she was lovely. Her hair was only partially pinned up, and the cascade of rich chocolate curls was falling gracefully down her shoulders and back. Never before had he seen her so domestic, so intimate in her appearance.
With grace, she lifted herself from her place, her feet looking for pale green house slippers abandoned nearby.
He could not stop himself. He had to put his hands on her as he walked closer.
“I did not expect you today, sir,” she said, as he toyed with a lock of her hair.
He stared at her mouth, distracted.“You did not.”
She shook her head. “You did not go to Herefordshire?”
“I did. I talked with your father yesterday afternoon.”
“You returned so soon?”
He smiled down at her. “I told you that I wanted to be back with you as soon as possible.”
She allowed their eyes to meet at last, only to cast them down again. “Let us go downstairs,” she tried to walk past him but he caught her hand, stopping her.
He shook his head.
“You should not be here, sir,” she said nervously, her colour high.“Let us go to the parlour. We shall have some tea with Charlotte.”
“No, please. Let us stay here.” He pulled her to him, draping an arm around her back “Nobody saw me coming here. I want some privacy.”
She stiffened and her eyes widened. Was she afraid of him? “It is not proper for you to be here, in my room,” she said.
“Come,” he whispered.
He sat in the only armchair present in the small room and, without a word of warning, pulled her onto his lap.
“Mr. Darcy!”she gasped, trying to lift herself.
“Do you have to be so formal with me, Elizabeth?” he tightened his embrace around her, ignoring her struggles to free herself. “Could you call me by my given name?”
When she did not do what he asked for immediately, he prompted. “It is Fitzwilliam.”
She glared at him, slightly offended. “I do remember. It’s a rather unusual first name, I dare say, being your cousin’s surname.”
“Yes, it was my mother’s idea, I guess. She always shortened it, however, and called me ‘William.’”
He noticed that as she slowly relaxed in his arms, she was less tense and allowed her back to rest against his chest.
He took one wisp of dark hair, straightened it and then let it curl naturally around his finger. His gaze rested on the simple garnet cross placed in the dip of her throat, then lowered to the swell of her bosom, uncovered by the rather daring cut of her dress. She had a small dark mole on the left breast, visible just above the lace of her bodice. He swallowed and his manhood hardened. How would he able to survive those long months of courtship without even a small gratification.
She was affected, too, by their proximity, he realised. Her breasts started to heave, her lovely face flushed pink. It was so easy to reach for her lips, kiss and caress her. But he had promised her that he would try to restrain himself. He needed to control his urges. She deserved better.
He took her small hand and lifted it to his lips. “You did not want to know what your father said?” he asked as he nudged her off his lap and stood up.
She nodded. “I do. Of course, I do.”
Darcy walked away from her, raking his hand through his hair. “He agreed to a courtship only. He wants to speak with you first before giving his consent to the marriage.”
“I see.”
“Perhaps you could try to convince him that the
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