The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (16 page)

Movement from the chair again diverted him, pleasantly so as Lizzy transferred Michael to the right breast and apparently forgot to cover the left. She glanced up at her husband, the expression of contented innocence belied by a twinkle in her eyes. Darcy smiled in return, certain that his eyes were glowing even though he avoided directly gazing at the abundant display.

He pulled a blank parchment from the pile, dipped the pen as a prelude to writing while his thoughts veered not to wayward sister, but to his beautifully sensuous wife. A fresh wave of joy and relief washed over him, borne not from what he was certain would evolve into a delightful night of pleasure, but from the peace that now ruled after what had been several months of difficulty.

He shook his head, willed the unpleasant memory aside, and concentrated on his letter, unaware when Lizzy exited to the next-door nursery to place Michael into his cradle.

Lizzy brushed over the wispy hair on Michael’s head and tucked the blanket tightly around his plump body. She knew she would tell Darcy about Wickham, just not tonight. It was not cowardice—well, not completely—but rather because she wanted and needed this time to focus solely on her husband.

Lizzy was indeed fully conscious of her actions while nursing Michael. Last night’s lovemaking was wonderful as always, but somewhat perfunctory after days of forced abstinence due to preparations for their departure from Pemberley and residing at an inn while traveling. Tonight’s seduction was designed to evoke a response!

The memories surrounding Netherfield were numerous, as she had said upon their arrival earlier yesterday. They dated to the beginning of their relationship and involved dozens of strange and incredible moments. She paused in her caress over Michael’s skin, smiling as she recalled one particularly erotic encounter that sparked her plans for tonight. She crossed to their chambers, halting only for a last minute pinch to her cheeks, to fluff her flowing waist-length hair, and to loosen the ties to her gossamer robe.

“Are you almost finished with your letter?”

Darcy jumped, not hearing her sneak behind him, and grasped the hand running inside the opening in his shirt. “Nearly. Give me a few minutes, please.”

“Hmmm… In a few minutes I may be asleep. Then what would you do, Mr. Darcy?”

“Wake you.”

“How ungentlemanly! I am appalled.” She escaped his grasp, resuming her exploration of his chest, and poked the tip of her tongue into his ear.

Darcy groaned, grabbed the searching hand tighter, and bent his head away from her lips. “Patently unfair! Seriously, love, please give me a few minutes. I really want to send this at first light.”

“You do worry too much, dearest. Georgie will be here. She has probably decided to surprise you.” She stood, running her fingers through his hair and massaging his temples. “Richard will play the wounded soldier for you having so little faith in his capacity as protector, and the rest of us will have to endure his dramatics. Have you no mercy?”

He laughed, clasping one hand and kissing her palm. “I am certain Richard will have far too many delightful stories to tell for overt dramatics. Now, leave me be for a bit and I promise I shall make it up to you.”

“Very well.” She kissed the top of his head. “I shall be in there, alone, trying to stay awake.” She glided toward the bedchamber doorway, diaphanous robe billowing, and paused halfway to glance seductively over her shoulder. Darcy watched her, pen poised over the parchment. She held his gaze and proceeded to peel the robe off her shoulders, revealing one of Madame du Loire’s skimpy concoctions.

“Ah, Lizzy! You vixen!”

She laughed and sauntered into the bedroom with a toss of her hair.

Less than fifteen minutes later he was there, warm hands stroking over her arms and moist lips nuzzling the bend of her neck. She stood by the window, gazing at the familiar landscape bathed in faint moonlight.

“You are still awake.”

“Waiting for my obsessive husband.”

He chuckled, arms clasping hers around her slender waist and drawing fast onto the solid surface of his body. “Yes, indeed I am obsessive. Obsessively in love with and desirous of you. I abhor traveling if for no other reason than it is difficult to relax with you in an inn with our sons upset.”

“Oh, you seemed comfortable enough with Michael asleep on your chest and Alexander curled between us.”

“As much as I adore our babies I concede I would rather you be on my chest.” He ran two fingers under her strap, knuckles grazing over a fragile collarbone and then down to a swelling breast.

Lizzy melted further onto his body. “I do believe, husband mine, that it was on my agenda to seduce
you
tonight.”

“Hmmm… Is that so?” His mouth was now at the nape of her neck, the other hand stroking over a thigh. “How did you intend to go about your seduction? It really does not take all that much, you know.”

“This is true, but I have discovered that driving you a wee bit insane does heighten the experience.”

“I cannot argue that fact. Merely picturing you in this slip of satin”—his fingertips smoothed over the fabric covering her belly—“has kept me pleasantly distracted while attempting to compose a brotherly correspondence.”

She sighed, loudly and theatrically. “Unfortunately, I have had to wait for so long that I think I am no longer in the mood.” She twisted from his embrace and strolled with a sway of her hips to the middle of the room.

Darcy grinned, leaning against the wall with arms and feet crossed in a picture of blasé attitude. “What a pity. Is there anything I can do to restore your interest?”

She tapped a finger against her lower lip as she studied him contemplatively. Then she shrugged, arms waving as if bored by the question although she managed to sweep through her hair and push her chest out. “Oh bother! I suppose you could remove your shirt. That may spark my enthusiasm. If you do it properly.”

He lifted a brow. “Are there varying methods to removing a shirt?”

“Oh, indeed, yes! I daresay if one performs adequately it can be quite stimulating. Have you not discovered this to be true, lover?”

She leered—there was no other way to put it—and Darcy flushed. The truth is that even after three years of marriage and numerous seductive stripping dances on her part, always observed with tremendous enthusiasm, he still did not grasp that she experienced the same titillation from observing him disrobing. He had lost track of the number of times she joined him in his dressing room with that singular expression indicating passionate arousal. Samuel still blanched and scurried from the room. And how often she had lingered over each button and tie, unveiling him as she kissed and caressed until she was wild with need.

That she esteemed his figure was obvious, and highly appreciated, but his humble nature shied from taking it to the next level. As she grew bolder in her attire and the flirtatious exposing of her flesh to his eyes, he quailed at the idea of such exhibitionism. However, the brightness in her eyes and lascivious smirk were encouraging, so he decided to do his best to please her.

He started with the buttons, the top two already undone, feeling utterly ridiculous as she avidly watched.

“Now, slowly pull the ends from your waistband.”

His eyes widened in surprise at her command, realizing that she intended to talk him through it! He blushed deeper, but also felt a scorching surge of lust, especially as her gaze was no longer on his face, but clearly inventorying his person with rising ardor.

“Take it off, Fitzwilliam, unhastily, while turning in a circle.”

His face was scarlet but only partially from embarrassment. Heat was flowing through him, her vibrant voice and covetous stare enlivening.

“Hmmm… I love the way your muscles flex as you move,” she whispered with a reflexive moan.

She kept up the train of admiration and instruction, the removal of breeches never taking so long in his life. It was awkward, and he felt a bit the fool, but it was obvious by her deepened voice, panting breaths, and visible shivers that she was profusely pleased by his performance. By the time every bit of clothing was removed, he too was intensely aroused, much to his surprise.

Then she floated toward him, hands lifting to airily brush over the hairs on his chest, and he thought he would burst into flames. She touched him everywhere, murmuring appreciatively over each feature, finally leaning into his back. With lips pressed between his shoulder blades, the level most comfortable for her to reach, and hands stroking intimately, she asked, “Are you adequately seduced, my love?”

He growled in response and stilled her stimulating hands. “Are you adequately in the mood, sweet love?”

“Come to bed and we shall see.”

Quite some time later, the bed tousled and their bodies entangled and lying diagonally, Lizzy rose on one elbow to gaze at her gasping spouse. She kissed his chin, fingertips dipping into his navel. “You performed stupendously, my love.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a smug leer, “I sense you are pleased.”

Lizzy rubbed over the fingertip-sized pressure marks across his posterior shoulder blades. “Indeed I am satisfied, but I was not primarily referring to your prowess and ability to send me to the moon. I was talking about your impressive disrobing. I was not sure if you were up to the task. But considering the last time we were here and my excellent lesson in the art of seductive undressing, I trusted you had learned capably.”

“Ah! Indeed I remember quite vividly. So that was your impetus, was it?”

“I was praying for an adequate, perhaps somewhat neophytic, performance, but you wildly exceeded my expectations.”

Darcy grinned, snatching her teasing hand and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. He drew her body closer, encircling her with both arms and delivering a long, lazy kiss.

“Mmmm… I forgot to ask if you remembered to lock the door.”

He nodded as he swept the snarled hair from her face. “That lesson has been indelibly etched into my brain! Yes, the door is locked. But now that you have touched upon the subject, I am going to ease my mind of their welfare ere I fall asleep in your arms. I shall return momentarily.” And after another kiss, he left.

Lizzy stretched and sighed happily, belatedly recalling the foul news of Wickham.
Tomorrow is soon enough
, she thought, nestling deeper into the linens warmed by their love and yielding to drowsiness.

***

The tentative knock that roused the Darcys on their second morning in Hertfordshire brought instant wakefulness to Lizzy but only a rumbled groan from Darcy. She leapt from the bed and grabbed her robe, while Darcy turned onto his stomach and burrowed deeper into the mattress. No bell was installed to alert of a hungry infant, but the morning routine was ingrained.

A half hour later Lizzy returned. Darcy had not budged and was breathing regularly, but instead of snuggling gratefully into his welcoming warmth, Lizzy stirred the fire and curled up in the chair. She gazed into the flames as her racing mind drifted to matters both pleasant and distressing.

It was always a joy to visit with family and friends after the long winter sequestered in Derbyshire. This year was extra thrilling due to the wedding and new lives born in the intervening months. Letters passed over the miles at a regular pace, but there was only so much information that could be inscribed onto parchment. Long hours of fellowship were required to catch up on all the news.

Lizzy sighed and drew her legs against her chest. She knew it was imperative that she inform her husband of Wickham’s appearance before he heard of it from a less understanding source, like her mother.

Oddly, she did not know how Darcy would respond to meeting George Wickham after all these years. He certainly would not be thrilled by the idea, but she was unsure how deeply his animosity yet ran.

It was nearly two years since the information reached them of Wickham’s discharge from the army and his subsequent relocation to Devon. Letters to Lizzy from her flighty sister were nonexistent, but Mrs. Bennet received sporadic updates. They were always vague, no one sure what the full details of their living conditions or Wickham’s employment were. Knowing how irresponsible her sister was, it never crossed Lizzy’s mind to consider the mystery a sinister one.

Darcy relinquished his guilt over Lydia’s situation, recognizing that they were a married couple who were responsible for their own lives. The dearth of explicit information with only Lydia’s giddy ramblings to discern from together with the great distance to Devon meant that it was not a topic often broached. Darcy, like Lizzy, simply did not think of the Wickhams.

Now they were to be here for Kitty’s wedding. Why? It was baffling and she feared Darcy would interpret it as an ominous sign. She hated to see her husband or Georgiana discomfited and she fretted over Kitty’s wedding being disturbed, her own thoughts dark as she stared into the flames.

Darcy roused, groggily noted the emptiness of his arms, and groped for where his wife’s luscious body should lay. While his sleepy mind decided she was probably nursing Michael, his eyes slit open and noted with surprise that she sat by the fire. After a few seconds of sluggish mental assimilation, his gravely morning voice broke the calm, “Beloved? Are you well?”