both his friend’s sisters. To his relief, Elizabeth bore it all—the crowd, as well as Miss Bingley’s odious presence— with grace and dignity, her elegance, her wit, and her impeccable manners serving as further proof of her suitability as his wife.
The ball was a crush, and Darcy, though anxious for Elizabeth’s acceptance in society, found himself growing irritated by the attention she was receiving from the other men in attendance.
Elizabeth’s dance card was soon filled with the names of unknown gentlemen eager to become acquainted with the enchanting Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.
Darcy could only watch as his wife was led through the dance by partner after partner, each of whom seemed to be captivated by her beauty and vivacity. Elizabeth was his. He did not wish to share her.
“You know, Darcy, if you are not careful, that scowl will become a permanent part of your countenance.”
Darcy only grunted in response to his cousin’s teasing remark. His gaze never wavered from Elizabeth as she danced with the handsome and accursedly agreeable Lord Abernathy, a good friend of his cousin Harold. The young man, several years Darcy’s junior, seemed to be mesmerized by her lively discourse, as well as her pleasing figure. Darcy took a sip of wine and asked dryly, “What do you think would happen if I were to call Abernathy out for making my wife smile? Am I well within my rights as a jealous husband, or should I wait until he does something a bit more untoward?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Really, Darcy, this is a switch! I believe I have never before seen you thus. Usually, it is the other way around, and you are the one to inspire feelings of jealousy, but rather in handsome young ladies. It is about time you received a taste of your own medicine.”
“A taste of my own medicine, is it? Fitzwilliam, you imply I sought such favor from all of those fortune hunters and their matchmaking mamas. I assure you, I did not, and I believe you are well acquainted with that fact,” he said stiffly.
His cousin clapped him on the back and said, “Precisely, Darcy. Is it Elizabeth’s fault so many men find her as irresistible as you do? What would you have her do? She cannot refuse to dance with them and still be able to dance with you later, though you are her husband. I am afraid this indulgence is necessary in securing your wife’s place in society, and let me just add that it is working. They seem to love her.”
“Yes, well, I will not deny that the gentlemen are certainly charmed; however, at the first sign of love, I shall be forced to remove her to Pemberley, where, I might add, I would happily remain for the rest of my days.”
“You are insufferable, Cousin! I would gladly trade my commission to gain at least a portion of the happiness you have found with Elizabeth. Indeed, you can have nothing to repine.”
Here, Darcy gave his cousin a look of warning, which only served to make the colonel laugh. “Darcy, you must face the music, old man—your wife is a highly desirable woman. It is a curse you will simply have to live with, but, apparently, it is a cross you will not have to bear alone.” He motioned then to Bingley, who was standing on the opposite side of the room, watching Jane go down the dance with the eldest son of an earl. The look of displeasure upon his face rivaled Darcy’s. Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned.
The dance ended, and Lord Abernathy escorted Mrs. Darcy back to the safekeeping of her husband, whose hand immediately went to the small of her back. “Thank you for returning my wife, Abernathy. I am most obliged to you. I daresay most of the other gentlemen in attendance this evening—if, indeed, they can be referred to as such —simply chose to keep her to themselves between sets.”
Elizabeth glanced sharply at him. Darcy’s haughty mask was firmly in place, as it had been when they had first met in Hertfordshire so many months ago, but then he focused his penetrating eyes upon her, and she could see something else—vulnerability. She was very soon reminded, however, that while she had danced every dance thus far, her husband had not, but not, Elizabeth knew, for want of willing young ladies to partner him. Indeed, whenever she had looked up from among her own attentive partners, searching for a glimpse of him, Elizabeth had not had to look far to observe Darcy’s stormy, protective gaze upon her, nor the many feminine eyes turned wistfully—and not so innocently—upon her handsome husband.
While Darcy engaged in small talk with Lord Abernathy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, his gaze all the while darting to his wife, Elizabeth formed a resolution and, when there was a pause in the conversation, intervened. “If you would excuse us, gentlemen, I would like a word with my husband before the next set is to begin.”
The two gentlemen bowed to her, and Elizabeth curtsied. She cast a meaningful look at Darcy, and they extracted themselves from the throng to search for a place where they might have a few moments of privacy. When his wife led him out of the ballroom and toward the family wing, where guests were certainly not allowed, Darcy expelled a lengthy breath.
They finally reached a small parlor—the very same parlor, he noted, where Elizabeth and Anne had met secretly at Christmas. Darcy reluctantly entered, and when he saw Elizabeth close and then lock the door behind them, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the chastisement he knew was coming. It did not, however, come. Rather than harsh words of reprimand for his display of jealousy, his ears received his wife’s soft lips as she bestowed a kiss upon his lobe. Darcy’s eyes widened.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I thought, perhaps, you might be in need of some reassurance and also a reminder of where my affections lie.” Her gaze caressed him as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Darcy’s eyes searched hers, and upon receiving confirmation of her words by way of her lips caressing his hungry mouth, a low, inarticulate sound tore from the back of his throat. In the next instant, he clutched Elizabeth almost violently, his lips hard upon hers as his hands roamed possessively over her body.
Elizabeth gasped at Darcy’s powerful reaction, her initial surprise soon replaced by a potent desire as he unfastened the top buttons at the back of her gown to free her breasts. With a groan, he took one breast in his mouth and suckled her. While one of Darcy’s hands pleasured her other breast, toying with her nipple and eliciting the most delightful sensations in Elizabeth’s body, his other hand had unfastened the buttons on the fall of his silk breeches. Not until he raised her skirts past her hips and she felt the heat of his potency against her naked flesh, did Elizabeth fully comprehend the ferocity of her husband’s need.
Darcy lifted her in his arms, his lips pressing the curve of her neck. “Elizabeth,” he gasped, “I need you—I need you desperately!” Then, with urgency, he pressed her back against the wall and drove his hard length into her with a shuddering cry. Elizabeth clung to him as he possessed her.
His fevered urgency sent a thrill through her that served only to push her own desire to new heights. Far sooner than she had anticipated, Elizabeth felt the beginning of her release. Her muscles tightened around Darcy’s arousal, and as Darcy could not stop himself from moaning words of passion and desire in her ear, she soon surrendered to the feelings of bliss that coursed through her body.
For Darcy, who had watched his Elizabeth laugh and dance with countless handsome and engaging men for half the night, whose feral need to possess her, to mark her as his and his alone was driving him mad, it was the point of no return. In the next moment, he found his completion with a violent thrust and a primal groan as he spilled his seed into her.
Darcy’s legs gave way, and he quickly maneuvered to support his wife as he sank to his knees, his breathing rapid, his heart pounding furiously within his breast. He clasped Elizabeth to him as he struggled to regulate his breathing.
After several minutes of silence, she laughed softly. “I believe, sir, it is safe to assume we have missed the Supper Dance.”
Darcy smiled and kissed her, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was not my intention to forego any of my dances with you tonight.”
She raised a hand and stroked his cheek. “I know,” she said, “but you were hardly in a frame of mind fit for dancing. Please tell me you are better now.”
Darcy kissed her again, his lips a soft caress. “I am, thank you… although, I believe I owe you an apology. I never should have treated you thus, especially in the middle of a ball given in our honor. I hope I have not hurt you in any way.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I believe I am hardly complaining, Fitzwilliam.”
“No,” he said, “however, we will very likely be missed soon, and I would not wish for the truth as to why we were absent from the Supper Dance to become generally known.”
