A Lady’s Choice Page 12

  According to her new sources, the couple had been in Gretna Green for quite some time, which caused Elizabeth some undue distress to realize that Colonel Forster had not reported Lydia’s disappearance as soon as it had been discovered, or that it had taken him an inappropriate amount of time to notice that she was gone. Elizabeth had silently cursed the invisible hand of Mrs. Forster, who was likely involved in the secrecy of the couple’s flight.

  Nearer the noon bell, Elizabeth stepped into a shop that had not seemed like one that Lydia would visit, but one that she herself was interested in. This small building, leaning almost to one side on the cobbled street carried sheaves of paper and writing instruments, sealing wax and leather satchels, and all manner of inks and blotters and other items of precious vellum and parchment in varying degrees of sheen and texture. She could have spent hours running her fingers over the blank pages and examining every brass seal and stamped finger of wax. A gift for Jane perhaps, or Mary who so loved to write her own music.

  Elizabeth as jolted from her thoughts by a shrill voice that she knew very well indeed, and her blood ran cold as she peered between the shelves towards the front of the shop.

  “I shall require two pots of your finest India ink, three sheaves of parchment in a reasonable grade, and some sealing wax!” The words were announces stridently, confidently, and without a hint of the childish humor that usually accompanied her words, but it was undoubtedly Lydia. Lydia! Elizabeth straightened, her heart thundering in her chest, determined to drag her sister back to the White Hart by the elbow.

  “Whatever she asks for, have it sent to the Milk and Thistle Inn, under Robinson.” It was the man himself! He had trimmed his hair and had begun to grow a mustache, and Elizabeth barely recognized him out of his Regimental jacket, but it was Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth smothered her gasp with her fingers as she watched her sister fawning over the man, leaning against his shoulder like a common harlot and fanning herself dramatically with a fan that had no doubt come from one of the other shops in town. The nerve... the boldness. But now she had them. She could not confront Mr. Wickham now, as he would surely run, and Lydia would be lost to them forever. But now she knew where they could be found, and that was worth everything.

  She waited at the back of the shop, secreting herself behind a high shelf laden with reams of rough parchment and newsprint until the bell of the shop door sounded and she felt safe enough to breathe again. With her items clutched against her chest, Elizabeth rushed to the window, watching as Lydia and Mr. Wickham walked away down the main street, looking for all the world as though they were a happily married couple without a care in the world enjoying the afternoon weather. But they were neither of those things. They were on the run, and they were certainly not yet married.

  Elizabeth paid for her things quickly and though she tried to find the runaway couple in the crowded streets once more, they were gone. Undeterred, Elizabeth clutched her package and made her way back to the White Hart to await the return of her uncle and Mr. Darcy. As soon as they knew where to find Lydia, their game would be up, and everything could be made right again.

  A light rain had begun to fall by the time she reached the inn, and as she waited she watched through the window, as the spattering drops became a torrential downpour. People fled the streets in search of shelter, and Elizabeth began to worry for her uncle and Mr. Darcy.

  Hours passed, and she brought paper, ink and her pens down from her room and ordered supper before writing to Jane to tell her of what had passed since they had arrived in Gretna Green. Not everything that had passed, but almost. Jane would no doubt ask her again, and the truth would come tumbling past her lips, but by then it would not matter. No one else need ever know what had happened between her and Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth ate her supper alone, her eyes on the door of the inn as the sun set and darkness began to fall. She enquired with the innkeeper as to whether her uncle had sent a note for her, and the large man produced a folded piece of paper, which she took with a certain amount of frustration. She needn’t have sat here all evening if she had known Mr. Gardiner had sent her a note.

  Dearest Lizzy,

  Darcy and I caught in the storm, spending the night at Oak Hall with an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy’s. Will see you at breakfast.

  ~ W.G

  * * *

  Elizabeth sighed inwardly. A wasted evening. She finished her supper at her leisure and went upstairs to her room. There was no sense in waiting, and she could tell her uncle what she had discovered in the morning. Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy may have already happened upon the very same information in their own travels.

  Safely in her room, Elizabeth lit the few candles that had been provided and gazed into the mirror set upon the aging dressing table. Slowly she pulled the pins out of her hair, letting the curls tumble around her shoulders artlessly.

  A light knock on the door startled her, and her eyes widened in surprise as the door opened to reveal Mr. Darcy standing there, his face full of trepidation at interrupting her. She watched as his eyes darkened at seeing her hair unpinned, and she swallowed thickly at the memory of the feel of his lips on hers.

  His gaze traveled over her as he nudged the door shut with his heel. "Miss Bennet, I must apologize for the intrusion, but I must speak with you...” He was soaked through from the rain, and Elizabeth wondered how far he had come in the dark and the cold to confront her in her chamber.

  Color touched her cheeks as she pushed her wild curls back from her shoulders. The thought of being pressed against him once more was so alluring, and yet so wrong. No one could ever know what had happened between them, especially given the reason that they were here in Gretna Green to begin with. It was unseemly, unthinkable... scandalous. But the thought of his touch turned her knees to water.

  "Mr. Darcy, I did not expect..." she began, uncertain how to express the swell of heat prickling all over her skin. Speechless, her. Those who knew her well would fall over in shock to hear such a thing.

  "Miss Bennet, please, you must listen to me. I have much to apologize for, however I cannot...” he paused as he approached her, and she was startled to see him so undone by his emotions.

  He stopped, mere inches from her and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as he reached out to touch her silky locks, but he paused just before his fingers could slide through the tempting curls. Nevertheless, the motion sent a shiver through her.

  "I confess that I am entirely overwhelmed by your beauty, Miss Bennet, I cannot chase away the thought of having you in my arms. Even though I know it to be against everything that I have said in the past, I pray that you can forget it... and look upon me differently. I am a different man, and you have made me so.”

  Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest at his words. Could he really be telling the truth? Was he so much changed by the last few months? She felt a heated blush creep up her neck, and wished that she could tear her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze, but she could not. She was drowning in the dark pools of his eyes.

  "Perhaps, Mr. Darcy, you are different... you have shown me that it is possible to regain your good opinion... even after it has been lost." She murmured the words and noticed the hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

  "Miss Bennet... Elizabeth... I cannot purge you from my mind, or indeed, my heart. Will you turn me away again if I say to you, no, if I swear to you that I am a changed man?" His voice sent ripples all through her body, and Elizabeth found herself yearning for his touch. His hand hovered so close to her face, he would need move it only a fraction to cup her cheek and caress her burning skin. She licked her lips nervously, not knowing how to respond, but wanting more than anything for his mouth to possess hers once more.

  “Mr. Darcy... I confess that I have been similarly afflicted, and that I find myself regretting the harsh words I have spoken to you in the past. I realize now how wrong I was to doubt your intentions, and the honesty of your heart...” That was all it took, and in an instant, D
arcy’s lips were pressed against hers, his kiss possessing her utterly as his hand tangled in her hair.

  Heat pooled between her thighs as she turned her face away, lest he see the open desire on her face. The very thought made her quake inside, remembering how he had touched her so intimately before. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Elizabeth could not bring herself to say yes, or no. He so easily overwhelmed her senses. It was not fair, this betrayal of her own body against her better judgments.

  He continued in a low voice, mercilessly. "I could think of nothing else except having you in my arms, and it has been torture to be away from you."

  "Oh?" she asked, looking up at him again. It was all she could say, crushed against his chest as she was. His lips found hers again, stealing away her breath and her protests, but in the back of her mind, the reality of Lydia’s shame was there. “Mr. Darcy, I cannot... what you must think of me.”

  “What I must think? Miss Bennet, I only think that which I have thought since the last moment I stood before you in all of my pride and embarrassment. My love for you has remained unchanged, and my offer--my offer of marriage is still in your hands.” Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat and this time it was she who tilted her chin to meet his lips.

  It was true; she could taste it in his kiss. The ardent hunger, the truth of his words, everything. Suddenly, the world tilted and he pulled her tight against his chest as he took her kiss as words of encouragement. And they were.

  Her hand trailed over his chest before he caught it in his own, and pressed a burning kiss in to the palm of her hand before bringing it to the front of his breeches. The heat of his arousal, even through cloth, scorched her skin and traveled straight to her already quivering stomach.

  She whimpered, the throb between her thighs growing stronger and sapping her strength everywhere else. His large hands, heavy on her shoulders, had made no move to undo the ribbons holding her dress in place. She wanted him to, desperately. The fabric was suddenly stifling, and she no longer wanted to be separated from him.

  Darcy’s mouth traveled from her jaw to neck, slow kisses with a hint of open mouth. Her hand dropped away from his breeches to tangle in his hair once more and he groaned against her neck. Her head tilted back as he sucked the sensitive skin of her neck and finally, finally began to tug at the ribbons that bound her dress.

  His fingers worked nimbly at the silk, so quickly that she had no time to prepare before the neckline of her dress was gaping open. Her hands flew up to catch it before her bare breasts were exposed. The seamstress had insisted that a waist corset beneath her dress was the only way to wear such a garment, but she had never wished for a chemise more in her life.

  Distracted by her dress, she was completely unprepared when Darcy swooped her up in his arms, Elizabeth gasped, her arms clasped around his neck. She hadn't realized how tall he was, the floor seemed alarmingly far away.

  He smiled at her gently; his eyes never leaving hers while her carried her to the bed and laid her tenderly on the soft covers.

  His hands splayed beneath her and tugged at the dress, drawing it down her body slowly, murmuring against her cheek between kisses on her neck. He untied the corset and tugged that down her body as well, palms sliding along her back and sides so often she almost didn't realize when he was removing her last bit of clothing.

  The moment he dropped her stockings to the ground she sat up again, covering her breasts with her hands.

  She was bare before him and he was still fully clothed. He touched her chin before shrugging off his jacket and throwing the fine piece of clothing unceremoniously to the floor. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her throat, and her mouth was dry, but she could not bring herself to move as he began to unbutton his shirt. As soon as his hands dropped down, she averted her eyes, her cheeks coloring hotly. She could not watch. What was she doing? Her pulse was erratic, and her thoughts were muddled, and all she could think about was the feeling of this man’s touch and the pressure of his lips on hers.

  Yet not watching him was worse. The rustles of fabric, the feel of him sitting on the bed followed by the thump of his boots hitting the ground. Still covering her chest with crossed arms, she gasped when something very soft touched her shoulder.

  Eyes flying open, she focused on a gorgeous bloom lying against her skin. The flower had round white petals, smooth as silk as it trailed along her collarbone. Darcy held the delicate green stalk in his blunt fingers, wielding as intently as an artist might.

  When the petals dipped between her breasts she closed her eyes from the sight of her bare skin. That made the sweet caresses all the brighter and intense.

  He teased the petals over one hard nipple, his mouth following in almost chaste kisses along the swell of her breast. The soft touches combined with the occasional flicker of his tongue awakened a deep yearning in her. She gripped the coverlet in her fists, forgetting all about her modesty.

  When the light strokes moved to her other breast, the feel of his hot breath on the teased one made her shudder. His mouth was hot and languorous, trailing after the soft petals down her stomach. The flower trembled against her skin as surely as hers trembled beneath it.

  "Open for me," he whispered the words, his fingers warm and firm on her knees. Caught by the spell of him, her body obeyed his request to lay utterly bare under his ministrations.

  At the light touch of petals against her folds her eyes flew open, looking to his for reassurance. Darcy moved upward to cradle her face with one hand, kissing her deeply. As their tongues met he replaced the blossom that was teasing her most intimate parts with his other hand. Cupping her warmly, he slipped his tongue in a slow rocking motion as one finger entered her.

  Her thighs pressed closed against the intrusion, though she would not have him stop for all the world. She sucked in a sharp breath and the soft friction as he pushed deeper made her cry out with need. If she did not have him soon, the want surely would consume her. For a time he only kissed her while sliding one finger in and out of her until she was keening in the back of her throat for more.

  A second finger joined the first, pushing in carefully, though her wetness aided in the entry. This time she was gripping his shoulders within seconds, trying to bring him closer, to urge him faster. When his thumb brushed against her feminine core, just above his fingers, her entire body jolted as if shocked. Breathy moans vibrated against his mouth as he pressed just so.

  "Please!" she finally cried after breaking the kiss. The torture was bliss and her body felt stretched to the limit with need.

  At her command, Darcy moved quickly, to place himself between her knees. Though his body was much larger than hers, she felt comforted by the weight and the steady beat of his heart. Whimpering, she spread her fingers at the back of his neck and arched her back. That small motion sent such a pleasurable pang through her she could have cried.

  His hips rotated and she thought surely the sweetness would drive her mad. Darcy rose up to gaze into her eyes deeply as he replaced his fingers with the thick head of his manhood, and everything inside Elizabeth seemed to give way.

  When he pushed inside of her she felt stretched further than his fingers had, but it was as good as it was breathtaking. He paused for just a moment before thrusting deeply to sheath himself fully inside of her.

  She cried out in awe as well as the sting deep inside. His hands moved to her cheeks, stroking sweetly while peppering kisses on her mouth.

  With another tender kiss, he remained still for several seconds longer. Soon the burning ache began to cease and another feeling began. He was stroking in places that had never been touched before, she never even imagined that their joining might feel as such. As the pain subsided, she began to relax, releasing the tight grip she did not realize she had on his shoulders.

  When his hips rolled sharply there was no lingering pain, only a growing ache of a different kind. Their bodies were in a most intimate connection, the steady pace of his thrusts drawing her closer to the edge of a eu
phoric precipice that she had never known. Each time he filled her to the hilt he seemed larger and more rigid.

  Elizabeth’s soft cries urged him on, and she dug her fingers into his upper arms when she tumbled over that edge into the all-consuming ecstasy. Her inner muscles tightened around him and all was white-hot intensity.

  His strokes became erratic and hard, making her twist under him as the final waves crashed around her.

  Darcy went still again, buried deep and weight heavy on her sweat-slickened skin. After long moments of heat pulsing inside of her, he kissed her tenderly before rolling to the side and pulling her into his arms. There were no words that could be spoken, none that needed to be spoken. It was as though he had proposed again, but this time she had accepted him with every part of her being. Body and soul.

  “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet...” And she loved him in return.

  The last memory she had of the night was of Darcy pulling the heavy blanket over them both. A warm smile lingered on her lips long after sleep overcame her.

  When Elizabeth woke, it was not to the rising of the sun, but to the streaming light of early afternoon. She sat up with a jolt, realizing for the first time that she was fully naked with her hair unbraided, and even more upsetting, that she was alone.

  Shame coursed through her, but with it, a delicious knowledge of what she and Mr. Darcy had done. But the sweetness did not last, as the reality of her situation dawned upon her. She was not engaged to be married; in fact, she was the very epitome of the scandal that Lydia had brought upon their family. Unmarried yet bedded, and wholly unsure of what to do next. In the night, Mr. Darcy had proposed... perhaps not with words, but with his body, and his heart, and she had accepted. Oh, what a folly it was to come here. What folly, indeed!