After a long kiss he whispered huskily, “You are so demanding and impetuous, love. A trait I much admire although in this instance a modicum of restraint would have allotted me the chance to remove my clothing and join you
“I’ll release you long enough for that task, but try not to injure yourself further.”
With a speed and precision at odds with his earlier clumsiness, he lit the bedside candles, disrobed, and was under the blankets nestled against her bare skin in record time. The faint glow of the rising sun mixed with the light from the candles, igniting the fiery red strands of her hair as he buried his fingers into the mass spilling over the pillow. He inhaled her scent and kissed the soft bend of her neck repeatedly.
“Happy Christmas, Alexander,” she murmured into his ear.
“I love you, Fiona,” he responded, burrowing deeper beneath the covers and preparing to establish their own Christmas tradition.
Far on the other side of the upper floor of the enormous manor house, the master’s chambers were silent. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Master of Pemberley, was soundly asleep and dreaming.
Christmas was one of his favorite seasons of the entire year and this one promised to be particularly spectacular and joyous for a number of special reasons. This indisputable awareness was why a sliver of his unconscious mind recognized how odd it was that his dreams were troubled. As the unsettling dream escalated to a true nightmare, that sliver of consciousness began to exert more force, sending signals to his twitching muscles and pounding heart, urging him to wake up.
However, it would not be his own will that ended his sleep and shattered the disturbing images.
“Hmmm… You’re moving finally. Are you waking up, William? It is dawn and I tire of waiting for your touch and kisses.”
Even his distressed, sleep-fogged brain dimly perceived the moist, full lips raining kisses over his bare shoulder and up his neck while a small, firmly caressing hand traveled over his chest. The jumble of negative dream sensations and visions collided with the pleasant impression of a woman possessively touching his skin with the utmost tenderness.
“Elizabeth? Is that you?” His rough voice cracked, one hand grabbing the tiny fingers winding a determined path down his chest. With the other he scrubbed at his gummed eyes, turning toward the face that was now floating above him and laughing.
“After three and twenty years you expected someone else? For that, I should leave in a huff and make you suffer.” But she only laughed harder and brushed a kiss over his slack mouth. “I shall forgive you, my dearest husband, as I know what a deep sleeper you are. Unless, of course, you confess to dreams of another woman in
She was still smiling, an impish quirk to her brows as she stared into his gradually clearing eyes. She was not the slightest bit concerned about his dreams involving another woman, knowing with full certainty that even in his sleeping state, only she appeared.
He exhaled in a gush, blinked, and pressed two fingertips tightly against the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. He then brought the slim hand he yet held to his lips, kissing her wrist and palm, and finally opening his eyes to focus on her face. His naturally sapphire-blue eyes were dark in the shadows, but they were lucid, piercing her with his familiar intensity.
Now that he was fully awake he snorted at her teasing and draped his free arm around her shoulders until his fingers were entwined in the hair at the nape of her neck, the rest spilling over his arm. “Never,” he answered decisively. “Rather I was enduring a nightmare where you were not a part of my life. I was old and wrinkled, grayer than my uncle, shuffling my body arthritically through the empty corridors of Pemberley, depressed and lonely. It was horrible.”
“I am sorry for your nightmare, love,” she said with true sincerity. “You should not suffer unpleasant dreams of that sort. I am your wife now and always.” She played with his thick, brown hair, trailing her fingertips over his features as her rich voice caressed and soothed. “We are all here as we have been and will be for a long while to come.”
She paused for a long interlude of tender kisses, withdrawing to continue reassuring, only with a playful lilt to her voice. “And you, my darling, are as robust and healthy as the day I married you. I only see three or four grey hairs—”
“Each placed there by Michael, I am sure.”
“—and tiny laugh crimps at the corners of your eyes are the only wrinkles on your perfect body. Fifty-one is far from old and considering how active your uncle still is, I doubt your virility will be an issue for many years to come, if ever.”
“Well, when you clarify it in those terms, the nightmare fades into oblivion.” He pulled until she lay completely atop him with limbs entangled.
“Since it is Christmas morning, we have a tradition to uphold,” she reminded him.
“Breakfast with the family?”
“Before that.”
“Waking the children before they pound upon our door?”
She giggled. “You know they will head directly to the ballroom and the tree sparing no thought of their parents. Try again.”
He continued the teasing questions. “Bathing together so your back will be adequately cleaned?”
“Now that is a fine idea! What say we squeeze that in between dressing in our Christmas finest and attending to our customary private celebration?”
She wiggled her brows, Darcy erupting in laughter and flipping her onto her back. “You are insatiable. I love you, Elizabeth.”
“And I love you, Fitzwilliam. Now how about
“As you wish.”
It was over three hours and one extended bath later when a whistling Darcy exited his dressing room. Hair trimmed, face shaved and splashed with cologne, and garbed in an impeccable, fashionable suit of dark blue wool, he exuded dignity and refinement. The jaunty spring in his steps as he headed toward the staircase flowed naturally and did not mar the aura of authority he wore. At the bottom of the stairs he paused, a wide grin spreading over his face before he quickly dashed to hide around the corner.
“Stop! Would you two listen to me? When I catch you there will be hell to pay! Are you listening to me?”
Darcy held his chuckle inside. His sister’s unheeded commands mixed with high-pitched peals of laughter and the stomp of small, running feet. The sounds grew louder by the second until two bodies barreled around the corner. Darcy shouted and leapt into their pathway. They shrieked in unison, but smoothly veered to either side of his legs, their wild rush not slowed in the slightest as they raced by. “Happy Christmas, Uncle William!” floated on the air behind them as they plunged down the corridor, still laughing.
Georgiana rounded the corner seconds later, pulling up short before crashing into her brother’s much larger body. “You didn’t stop them?”
“I tried, but…”
“Never mind! Oh thank God. Richard! Harry! Grab those two ruffians please.”
Yells and laughter rang out as the two men jumped into the fray, making a grand procedure out of capturing the two five-year olds. With a kicking and squirming boy tucked securely under an arm, Richard and Harry walked toward Georgiana and Darcy.
“What is the penalty, Aunt Giana? Twenty lashes? The rack?”
“Mr. Burr was talking about a huge ant hill he discovered,” Richard offered with a wink not seen by the twins, who were now limp and quiet. “I hear that is an ideal form of torture.”
“Mama! We promise to be good!”
“We just want to see the tree!”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Everything is ‘the tree this’ and ‘the tree that.’ Whose idea was it to have a tree?” It was a rhetorical question, as the three men knew, and they all laughed. “Just take them to the dining room if you don’t mind.”
