Elizabeth’s face turned bright red, thinking back to their two nights together, but she would not allow him to win the argument so easily. “You are determined to keep my articles of clothing as souvenirs? Tell me, how many turns are there before we get out of this bothersome maze? And how would I know you do not detour on purpose? I do not have all that many articles of clothing upon me, today. No, I think we need to discuss another form of reward, lest we scandalise the whole of Pemberley.”
Darcy swallowed, thinking about stripping her of all of the items that she wore, one by one. He remembered her gorgeous, naked bosom. How he wished the weather were warmer, and that they were alone in some secluded Eden. But he conceded the reality of their present situation, and so his thoughts whirled until he came up with another, equally satisfying bargain to present to his beloved.
“Well, it is tiring to carry you around. I deserve to be handsomely rewarded for sustaining such a heavy task. How about … a kiss for every turn of the maze?”
“Me, heavy! Never!” Elizabeth smacked him lightly on the shoulder. Then she looked at him bravely and said, “But how difficult can a kiss be? Hmmm? I believe, Sir, that we have struck a bargain.”
He lowered his mouth immediately, ready to reap his reward, but he did not kiss her mouth. Instead, he licked and bit her neck, just where it met her shoulder.
She gasped and protested, “You said a kiss, sir!”
Darcy grinned. “I did not specify your lips alone. There are many places on your body which I wish and dare to kiss. And I plan to teach you where each and every one of them is, during the coming days and years we will have together, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.' His intense declaration caused Elizabeth’s body to flush with heat. He carried her in his arms and walked purposely along the next track before turning right, then stopped, ready to claim his second kiss. “Uhm, where shall I kiss you, this time?”
Elizabeth’s body trembled with anticipation. “My eyes, sir?”
“Oh, a kiss for two locations? It bodes well that you are so generous, my love.”
He lowered his head but, rather than bestowing kisses upon her eyes, he kissed each of her breasts, through the fabric of the thick spencer.
Elizabeth felt as if her heart were jumping out of her chest. She could feel the warmth from his mouth stimulating her nipples, promising future pleasures. Then, after what seemed like endless minutes, he raised his head and walked on. Only then did she object breathlessly, “You are not doing what you said!”
“When did I say I would kiss your eyes?”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, you delight in vexing me!”
“You are starting to talk like your mother already. I was hoping you would not do that until you reached the grand old age of fifty.”
“Those are the most unkind words you have uttered in our acquaintance! Heartless man, to compare me with Mama.”
They bantered and exchanged hot, sensual kisses until they emerged from the maze. Engrossed in one another, the happy couple entered the house via the side entrance, never once stopping to wonder whether their intimate moments were being observed by a pair of disapproving eyes.
Chapter Six
Mr. Darcy took a soothing sip of port, then rested his head on the settee in his bedroom.
This, he thought with satisfaction, was a tremendously important day. His second proposal had met with success. Finally, he had won the heart of his beloved. He felt wonderful, not feel tired at all, and he wanted to savor every remaining moment of the day.
The return of Mr. Darcy with his new fiancée in his arm to the house had been met with an array of raised eyebrows and loud exclamations. After explaining about Elizabeth’s injured ankle, the couple had retired to their separate bedchambers for some rest.
It transpired that Elizabeth’s ankle was not seriously hurt, and she was able to walk almost normally soon afterwards after being tended to by the doctor. They spent the afternoon and dinner in a pleasant manner. He was not a man of many words in front of people. His thoughts were focused on the scorching kisses that he and Elizabeth had shared in the maze. His eyes were filled with phantom visions of Elizabeth, bedecked in simple, elegant dresses, gracing the rooms of Pemberley. In the present moment, he was quite content to simply rest his gaze upon Elizabeth, thinking all manner of pleasant thoughts about her and about their future together.
The only sour turn of the day was the unexpected intrusion, before dinner, of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. The travellers said they were on their way to visit friends in the next county, but that their carriage had broken down not far from Pemberley. Mr. Darcy had no decent choice but to offer to host them for a day or two, until their carriage could be repaired.
Miss Bingley was exceptionally polite to his invited guests, which he thought a bit strange, as she had previously been most uncivil to Elizabeth. He was also suspicious of their arrival. It was too much of a coincidence. But he would not allow them to distract him from his pleasure.
He had even taken the time, before preparing to retire, to visit the connecting bedroom. He unlocked all the doors, drew aside the curtain and looked around the mistress’s room. He opened the cupboards and drawers, and imagined visiting Elizabeth there when she was finally his wife. It was a happy thought indeed.
Now, as the day drew to a close, Mr. Darcy took another sip of the port and turned his mind to their future, then started, his eyes widening with surprise, as he saw the connecting door to the mistress’ bedchamber begin to open.
She had bent her wits to listening to the servants and questioning Miss Darcy in the most cunning way, both before and after dinner, determined to carry out her plan: she wanted Mr. Darcy to be hers tonight, not a moment later.
Having obtained the necessary intelligence about his routine, she found it rather easy to find her way, and was relieved not to have to go to him via the servant’s entrance, for she found that the door of the mistress’s room was not locked. The curtain was drawn aside, granting her a glimpse of the interior. A dreamy smile spread on her face. Walking to the connecting door, she turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door, where Mr. Darcy looked gratifyingly astonished by her visit.
“Elizabeth! What are you doing here?” He sat up quickly, nearly spilling the port from his glass Elizabeth locked the door behind her and stopped there, gazing at him. She was wearing a simple day dress in yellow, but the décolleté was daring. Her breathing was quick and shallow, from the adventure of seeking him out, and from seeing him without his coat and cravat. His shirt gapped open, allowing her a glimpse of his virile chest. He was still in his tight breeches, resting comfortably on the settee by the fire, with legs apart. She could not help but stall a glance at his bulge, although she diverted her gaze away immediately from the impressive sight.
Softly, she whispered, “Fitzwilliam, make me yours.”
She saw him frown, as if he had not heard – or did not understand – what she had just said. The room was nearly silent for a moment, with only the crackle of the fire as counterpoint to their heavy breathing.
Mr. Darcy put the glass down, then stood, and walked slowly over to her. Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, he asked softly, “Elizabeth, have you thought clearly about this?”
She shivered from the potent contact of his touch. He was too tall, too big. Shaken, she took his hand and led him back to the settee, pushing him to sit down again. Standing in front of him, she took a deep breath and said, “I have been thinking about this for months. One can be so full of life and laughter one minute…and then, unexpectedly, one be gone, in the blink of an eye. Fitzwilliam, I love you. I want to be with you. Even if you had not proposed to me, this morning. Even if you had not offered me any position in your life. I have been determined about this for quite a long time. I want to be yours. Now.”
Mr. Darcy inhaled, breathing in her sweet lavender scent, then closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. He could scarcely believe what he had just heard.
“Fitzwilliam? Are you unwell? Did you…? Do you not want me?”
