What Would Mr. Darcy Do?

“I always dread being in large gatherings of people—had you not noticed?”

Elizabeth shook her head as she took his words in.

“I always thought it must be embarrassingly obvious how I feel—I speak to no one, I attempt to stay as far away as I decently can, I leave as soon as I can—I would rather be any place in the world, as long as there are fewer people there. I confess I am surprised you did not know.”

Suddenly a good number of things began to make sense for Elizabeth. “I had noticed you kept somewhat apart, but I am afraid I quite misinterpreted it.”

“Pray, how did you interpret it, then?” he asked with some amusement.

Elizabeth found she would really much rather not tell him that she had thought him exceedingly proud and disagreeable. “That is of no matter, now that I understand better.”

“No, now I am curious as to what you were thinking, my sweet Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and gave a sigh. “I fear it does not reflect well on me, although I suppose it should be no surprise that I misconstrued yet one thing more about you. Very well, I thought you felt we were all beneath your notice.”

Now it was Darcy’s turn to look surprised. He said slowly, “I suppose it is little wonder, then, that you thought me so arrogant.”

Hearing a degree of pain in his voice, she hastened to add, “But that was only when I first knew you. Your behavior at Pemberley showed me you were nothing of the sort, and I never saw any evidence of it in Kent, either, now that I think on it.”

“You never saw me in a large gathering at Rosings or Pemberley. You may feel differently when you have.” His voice was guarded.

She turned to face him. “I shall feel no differently at all,” she said, and to punctuate her statement she raised her head and brushed her lips lightly against his.

As she withdrew, he immediately placed his hand behind her neck and drew her back to him for a much deeper, more lingering kiss. As they broke off, he said somewhat ruefully, “This may be a very long two weeks.”

Elizabeth found herself with an unwontedly serious reaction to his comment. In two weeks he will be my husband, she thought. In two weeks, we will be alone together and he will not stop with kisses. She felt a peculiar lurch deep inside her at the thought of the unknown. Before Darcy could note her change in mood, she said lightly, “Patience is a virtue, Mr. Darcy.”

“One I am afraid I do not possess when it comes to you, my dearest,” he said. “But you still seem averse to calling me by my name, even when we are alone.”

Elizabeth laughed. “And do you not know why, Mr. Darcy?”

“Please enlighten me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. “As you wish, Fitzwilliam.”

A familiar light ignited in his eyes as he reached out to trace his finger across her lips and the line of her jaw. He smiled slightly as he shifted to allow her to lie in his arms. Elizabeth’s breath caught as he slowly bent his head to capture her mouth. His tantalizing kisses distracted her from her purpose, and she gave in to the temptation to taste the pleasure he offered.

After a moment, though, she laid her fingers over his lips, and smiled mischievously up at him. “Do you still wish to know why I do not use your name? I have noted it seems to have a most peculiar effect on you, much as it just did. But I promise you, when we are safely married, I shall call you by it frequently.”

He thoughtfully nibbled her fingertips, causing Elizabeth to feel a distinct loss of interest in discussing the matter any further. He noted to himself that it was true that, during the many times he had imagined her calling him by name, it was often in one very particular setting, with a particular response on his part. A slow smile came over his face. “You are a very wicked woman, Miss Bennet,” he murmured. He began placing excruciatingly light and slow kisses on the soft, uncovered skin of her shoulder, while whispering, “Very, very wicked.” By the time he had found his way to the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck, Elizabeth had given up any pretense of resistance, and allowed herself to tangle her fingers in his hair in encouragement. He continued to enjoy tantalizing her until her rapid breathing and arched body became too much for him, and their mouths met hungrily.

He lifted his face to allow her to meet his passion-darkened eyes. “Say my name, Elizabeth,” he commanded softly. Shaking her head playfully, she attempted to pull his head back to hers. “Oh, no, Miss Bennet,” he murmured. “No more kisses for you until you say it.”

She raised her eyebrow. “I am very wicked,” she said with a playful smile, and began reciting his name as rapidly as she could, with an inflection of mirth. With a mock glare, he nipped lightly at her neck, causing a squeal and fit of laughter. They smiled contentedly into one another’s eyes, enjoying the game, until without warning the lighthearted moment shifted into a more serious one of deep attraction and desire.

Darcy slid one hand to her head, allowing his fingers to caress the silky curls he had longed to touch for so long. His thumb traced circles on her temple, and his breathing became shallow as he watched her eyes darken and her lips part. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, making the syllables of her name into a caress.

“Fitzwilliam,” she responded, her voice warm with passion. “Oh, Fitzwilliam.”

It was far too close to his fantasies. He tried to assert control over his response, only to realize he had left it too long. He tasted her mouth, first lightly and then with burgeoning passion that stole away his senses. He knew that he must withdraw, but his lips would not cooperate and began to explore downward along her neck, then lower to the tender skin exposed by the neckline of her dress where he was not supposed to even allow his eyes to rest. He was even further inflamed by her gasps as this new sensation built in her to an excruciating tension.

Afterward Elizabeth would wonder what part of her had finally responded to her spiraling desire with a sense of panic that made her push him away. For a moment, Darcy looked at her uncomprehendingly as she withdrew from him, then he rose and took several rapid strides away from her. Facing away from her, he gripped one hand against a tree and stood in tense silence, staring unseeingly across the countryside.

Elizabeth also looked away, sobered by what had happened, and even more so by the realization of how far she had allowed her behavior to stray. How had it come to pass that she was allowing, nay, participating in the liberties he had taken? What was it about Darcy that tempted her to flout every rule she had ever known? She looked up to see him framed against the sunset, his unmoving form still in the attitude of painful tension. It hurt her to see him so, far more than she could explain to herself, and she realized the true question she should ask herself was how she came to love him so much that nothing else mattered.

“Mr. Darcy?” she said gently. Without turning, he held his hand up in a clear request that she desist. She bit her lip, not knowing how best to address his current distress, her own concerns forgotten in her apprehension for his. She waited briefly, then spoke his name again.

“Miss Bennet, please be so kind as to allow me to finish castigating myself before you take your turn; you may rest assured I am doing a very thorough job of it.”

Hearing the bitterness of his words, she recognized what she was witnessing was similar to Georgiana’s description of another time when he failed to meet his own strict standards. She saw this was where she would need to begin thinking like a wife, for she would certainly need the capability to handle these situations in the future. Georgiana had indicated that offering sympathy was not productive, so a different approach was required. A thought occurred to her of how to draw him out of himself. “Perhaps what I am lacking, sir, is not an opportunity to castigate, but to receive comfort,” she said.

He stiffened visibly, and for a moment Elizabeth thought her words had only served to make him blame himself yet further; then he approached her and, kneeling in front of her, took her hands in his. “Forgive me, my dearest; I was selfishly thinking only of myself, and not of you. Thank you for drawing my attention to the obvious.”

She gave a slight smile. “Thank you for listening.”

“Elizabeth, I shall always come when you ask, and no doubt more often than you would wish! Please do not distress yourself over what happened; it should not have happened, but given that it did, we can only remember that in two weeks we shall be man and wife, and none of this will matter.”

She squeezed his hands. “It has been a rather emotional day, has it not?”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “and I am sure that we are both somewhat overwrought at this point. I will not allow it to happen again.”

“For two weeks.”