necklace. Darcy was beaming, hands turning her back to face the mirror.
“Alas, this is the final present. Or rather the last present designated for your birthday. I make no promises to desist lavishing you, my wife.”
The necklace was dainty, as both Darcy and Lizzy preferred: a single strand of small diamonds and amber linked, the teardrop pendant of translucent amber hanging precisely at the top of her cleavage. It was elegant and flawless, obviously of superior craftsmanship. Additionally, it blended fluidly with her gold-trimmed beige gown.
“Marguerite knew about this, did she not?” Lizzy smiled at her husband's reflection as he nodded. “She suggested this gown. You are a sneak, William.” He shrugged, kissing the nape of her neck.
“Amber accents your fine, chocolate eyes, dearest. The dress accents your luscious body. I win on both counts.”
“Gifts and excessive flattery. My, my, you surely do deserve abundant expressions of my gratitude, lover.”
“I shall wait with bated breath.”
The townhouse of Lord and Lady Matlock was located in the heart of St. James's Place, just north of Piccadilly. Lizzy had dined with the Earl and his wife once during her engagement, upon the occasion of her introduction to them. This dinner would naturally be quite different, as Lizzy was now family and Darcy's uncle and aunt were very dear to her. Once they were in the carriage and on their way, Lizzy discovered her previous wish to stay home fading under the anticipated pleasure of seeing the Matlocks again. They had left Derbyshire for London shortly after Elizabeth's recovery and the duel, so Lizzy did miss them.
They were greeted by the butler, who informed them that the Earl and Countess of Matlock were awaiting them in the parlor. He led the way, Lizzy holding the arm of her husband. The butler had spoken the truth. The Fitzwilliams were in the parlor, standing in the exact middle of the room to be precise. Additionally, to Lizzy's stunned astonishment, they were surrounded by a crowd.
Georgiana stood beside them, smiling and nearly hopping in delight, with Colonel Fitzwilliam grinning behind her. Mary and Kitty stood between Edward and Violet Gardiner and Charles and Jane Bingley. Caroline Bingley stood slightly apart with a faint smile gracing her pinched features. Also present were Stephen and Amelia Lathrop, Gerald and Harriet Vernor with his parents Henry and Mary Vernor, George and Alison Fitzherbert, Rory and Julia Sitwell, Clifton and Chloe Drury, as well as Albert and Marilyn Hughes. Even Richard's older brother Jonathan and his wife Priscilla were in attendance.
Virtually in unison they wished Lizzy a happy birthday. Darcy was grinning broadly, remarkably proud for executing the final crescendo to what was undeniably a momentous day of surprises. Lizzy was immediately surrounded, Darcy retreating a safe distance to contentedly observe his wife's glowing face. The press of visitors would prevent them exchanging more than a few words all evening, Lizzy only able to express her gratitude and abounding joy via glancing eye contact.
The evening consisted of a marvelous dinner with lively conversation succeeded by segregated male and female socializing. Amelia was well into her sixth month of pregnancy, with humorous tales to share in her blunt manner. Lizzy was thrilled to be able to officially announce her own expectant state, of which most in the company was ignorant. The female squeals of delight were readily heard down the hall in the game room where the men sipped their drinks, sedately congratulating Darcy with imported cigars and claps on the back.
The cap of the night was combined entertainment reminiscent of the Darcy's Christmas concert. Guests took turns at the pianoforte, while Richard played on the cello, Lady Matlock dazzled them all on the standing harp, voices from every musical range lifted, and Darcy blushingly added his violin talents for five songs. Humor was high and the gathering was carefree; and although it was a late night, Lizzy was rather amazed at her total lack of fatigue. She frequently sensed Darcy's scrutiny and was quick to meet his questioning gaze with a glorious smile.
Neither Lizzy nor Darcy was overly tired when they returned home to Darcy House. Perhaps it was in part a result of the sustained energy from the sprightly amusement of the evening, but in large portion, it was a renewed inclination to make love to each other. The girls were ushered off to their rooms, stumbling with weariness. Without preamble, Lizzy grasped her husband's hand and lead him into their room. Once there, door securely latched, she faced him and, with hands resting lightly on his chest, she kissed him affectionately.
“Fitzwilliam, my beloved, my heart,” she purred. “All day I have been blissfully at your mercy, the recipient of your love and caring and adoration. Now, lover mine, you shall be at my mercy as I explicitly communicate my love, adoration, and thankfulness.”
Darcy was smiling with breathless anticipation as his wife slowly doffed his jacket and waistcoat, sliding hands over him lingeringly as she went. The cravat easily joined the rest over a chair back, after which she directed him to a comfortable seat. Kneeling, she divested him of his boots and stockings, gently massaging his feet and calves. Darcy was already enjoying himself, the simple touch of his wife's hands on his body enough to arouse him tremendously, yet Lizzy was far from finished.
She stroked along his thighs while positioning herself between his legs, hands traveling with sluggish slowness up his body and eventually to his neck. She leaned close, brushing his parted lips with hers, whispering, “Relax and observe.”
She rose, stepped back a pace, and began unpinning her hair. Tress by silky tress tumbled in waves over her shoulders to mid-back. Once unencumbered, she raked her fingers through the curls, shaking her head with seductive swaying causing her hair to swing wildly. Engaging his darkening eyes, she reached dainty fingers to the clasps of her gown, loosening them and peeling the fabric from her shoulders with agonizing patience. Equally as leisurely, the petticoat was untied and joined the gown in a puddle at her feet.
Darcy licked his lips, arousal evident now at the sight of his beautiful wife. She released the laces of her corset, tossing it aside, at last facing her adoring spouse in naught but her short, thin chemise, shoes, and stockings. The soft slippers stripped off with ease. Lizzy paused, standing still as the excitement of Darcy's smoldering gaze raking up and down her body sent shivers of desire racing through her. The powerful and mutual passion they incited with mere glances never ceased to astound.
Taking a step toward the chair, Lizzy lifted a leg, placing her foot on the edge precisely at Darcy's groin. He groaned, shifting against her wiggling toes. Lizzy smiled smugly, leaning over slightly—enough to expose the round top of her bosom—as she delicately and with supreme deliberation untied the ribbons to her stocking.
Darcy was mesmerized, mouth open and nearly drooling. She had never stripped for him in quite this leisurely and seductive a fashion. Both of her precious hands slipped under a silk edge, caressing her velvety skin from thigh to toe as she exposed a shapely leg and pulled the stocking away. Darcy moaned, closing his eyes in intense pleasure and impulsively reaching to caress her thigh. She batted his hand away gently, shifting the other leg to the chair and repeating the entire process.
Remaining within his knees, she finally bared herself completely, the chemise discarded as slowly as the rest, with purposeful caressing over her flesh as he avidly watched, nearly incoherent with the hunger to touch her.
Standing nude, she remained still for several heartbeats, noting his intensity and tense urgency.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Lord. You are so beautiful.”
Smiling, she grasped his clenched hands, drawing him up. “Do not touch me,” she softly commanded, and he whimpered as if in true pain. She started at the top of his head, running unhurried fingers through his hair to scratch lightly along his scalp, to ears, along a chiseled jaw, and onward over each inch of him. Laggardly, tenderly, lovingly, she traveled over his flushed skin, fire trailing in her wake. The shirt was lifted and tossed as her palms and fingertips aroused him to a mania of lust. An inordinate amount of time was spent teasing his chest and abdomen, fondling and squeezing in circles over shoulders and arms to strong hands. Clasped in her own, she brought them to her mouth, devoting minutes to licking, sucking, and kissing each palm and refined finger.
Darcy was faint. His heart raced, breath in punctuated gasps, knees weak and trembling. “Lizzy, please,” he begged, his voice rasping and nearly inaudible.
“You wish to touch me, lover?”
“Yes! God, yes.”
“You wish to love me?”
Darcy groaned. “Need you ask!”
“Hmmm… I thought you a patient man with extraordinary self control, Mr. Darcy.” She teased, but her own desire for him threatened to overwhelm her own careful regulation. Releasing his hands, which he immediately
