Page 6 of Fitzwilliam Darcy Undone
He ended his tour under her window and reached out to her mind. She was dreaming of him. With her hair pinned up in a simple bun, wearing the lovely dress she had on earlier in the evening, Darcy knew immediately she was reliving that night’s assembly. He saw himself, standing stiff along the edges of the ball room, watching her with hooded eyes. So, that was how she saw him, dark and brooding. Dream Darcy approached her and asked her for a dance. Something he regretted not doing in real life.
“I thought I was not tolerable enough for you Mr. Darcy.”
Another thing he regretted, most heartily. It was time to adjust her view of him.
With a whispered word, he replaced the ‘dream’ Darcy with himself and replied, “I was a fool, Miss Elizabeth. You are the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.”
Her eyes widened and she laughed. Without another word, he took her hand and drew her to the dance floor, willing the orchestra to play the scandalous waltz and gathered her close. Her figure was light and pleasing, her scent a now familiar mixture of lavender and honeysuckle. The crowd dissipated and soon it was only he and Elizabeth swirling around the empty room. She tilted back her head and laughed again, exposing the long line of her neck.
Without thought, he brushed his mouth over the sensitive area behind her ear, drawing the tender skin into his mouth and softly sucked. She turned her head, which gave him better access and he feathered kisses down her neck to the small pulse which hammered against his lips. One hand slid around her waist, the other cupped her breast. Urgency thundered through his body and he clamored to possess her, yet knew he could not. To take that which she did not want to give willingly, was wrong.
He lifted his head and gazed down at her. Within his arms, her face was achingly close, her eyes wide and questioning. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, her lips ripe and plump, ready for the picking. Her flawless skin shimmered in the candlelight and he soaked in all the details, committing them to memory Dear God in heaven, he needed to be with her. Alone. For hours on end in order to slake this thirst. He planned on exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth.
“Mr. Darcy?”
Her whisper held a hint of confusion. With one thought, Elizabeth could leave the dream. That she stayed within the circle of his arms told him she was not afraid and nothing kept her there, save her own desires. It also told him that she trusted him.
She trusted him.
His arms fell to his side and she stepped back.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss Elizabeth.”
He gave her a polite half bow and released the dream back to her. Before he left for Netherfield, he shimmered into the sister’s bedroom and stood at the foot of their bed. Jane, a soft smile on her face, slumbered peacefully. Elizabeth showed signs of waking, so he whispered a few words, waved his hand in an intricate movement and left their chamber.
~~oo0oo~~
Lizzy’s eyes snapped open.
She was not in the empty Assembly room, but in her own bed chamber next to sweet, sweet Jane. Shades of orange streaked the sky, proclaiming the start of a new morning, burst through the windowpane. Far too soon to arise for the day. Her brow furrowed. She was positive she’d closed the curtains before coming to bed, knowing they would all sleep late after the assembly. However, she had been flustered by the tall man from Derbyshire and may have forgotten.
She drew a shaky breath at the thought of Mr. Darcy. Had her gift now veered to vivid dreams? All because she imagined he’d staked ownership of her. She stood and padded behind the dressing screen to take care of an urgent need and give her face a quick wash. She turned, caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.
Were those... bruises?
Near her collarbone, small marks had appeared from being suckled by...
No. Not possible.
She leaned toward the mirror, confirming they were real and not smudges of dirt. She sat down on the small chair with a thump.
It had been a dream. That’s all it was.
She groaned and leaned forward, placing her forehead in the palms of her hands. Papa always told her she had an overactive imagination. There had to be an obvious reason for all this. Maybe in her sleep, she’d pinched herself to create the illusion of a lover. That must be it. A man like Mr. Darcy would never deign to make love to someone who was barely tolerable. The hairs on her arm rose when she recalled the Mr. Darcy from her dream saying she was handsome and then promptly whisked her away in his arms to dance the waltz, and other things. Heat filled her body and the memory of him touching her most intimately.
She stood and scowled at her reflection.
“You never danced a waltz with Mr. Darcy and you most definitely did not,” – she floundered for words to explain the heady euphoria she’d experienced when he cupped her breast. How her bosom had taken on a life of its own and swelled to his touch. How her nipples had chaffed against the soft material of her chemise, tightening into hard little buds that ached for him to claim ownership with his teeth and tongue. How her blood had turned to molten heat and pooled low in her body, leaving her with a yearning she did not know how to satisfy.
A tiny voice in her head, which wouldn’t be silenced with logic, kept asking,where did the music for the waltz come from? You’ve never heard it before. There was no answer and a strange shiver cascaded over her at the memory of her dream. She crawled in beside Jane and lay there, staring at the ceiling, aching for things she didn’t know she could ache for. Rolling over, she punched her pillow into a different shape and closed her eyes, willing herself to settle. A long half-hour elapsed before sleep claimed her again.
Chapter Three
The next day the ladies of Longbourn attended Lucas Lodge. They were greeted by Lady Lucas, Charlotte and her younger sister Maria, who was not out in society yet and had missed the Assembly. Once all were congregated in the front parlor Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas scuttled into a corner to gossip about the gentlemen who had danced with their daughters and the daughters dispersed into their own friendship circles to also discuss the previous evening.
“I still can’t believe he said that to you,” Jane said in a low tone. “His friend is far more amiable. He is everything a gentleman ought to be.”
Elizabeth twisted her fingers tight in her lap. She wished with all her heart to never speak of a certain gentleman from Derbyshire. The dream had been too vivid, too real for her to feel comfortable within her skin. The things they’d done... she corrected herself again with unaccustomed hardness... what she’d done, was sinful. She’d behaved as a woman unhinged, totally wanton in the abandonment of everything she held sacred. Even though it was but a dream, she’d allowed a man to touch her intimately and kiss her in a way most scandalous. Who else could she blame for the nightmare she now relived, minute by minute? As it was, she had to wear a lacy fichu because of self-inflicted marks.
