For Elizabeth, the evening of Lord and Lady Matlock’s ball was filled with equal parts anticipation and dread. She took extra care with her appearance, knowing full well she would be under close scrutiny from hundreds of pairs of discerning eyes, not only for her success in securing Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley for her husband, but for actually going so far as to capture his heart, as well.
Sonia was just putting the finishing touches on her mistress’s hair when Darcy entered Elizabeth’s apartment. She was seated at her dressing table and watched his reflection in the large beveled mirror as he approached. A smile graced his lips as he gazed upon her with open adoration. She returned it, beaming at him. Sonia tucked the last of Elizabeth’s curls in place and made a minor adjustment to the strands of tiny gems she had entwined in her mistress’s hair; then she stepped back so the master of Pemberley could better admire his wife.
Elizabeth turned her head from side to side and beamed. “Sonia, you have outdone yourself. I believe I have never before felt so lovely as I do tonight, not even on my wedding day. Thank you.”
Sonia bowed her head. “Thank you, ma’am. I am honored you approve.”
Darcy gave the young woman an appreciative smile. “Yes, Sonia. I daresay Mrs. Darcy is nothing short of breathtaking this evening; though, I must also point out that this is not an uncommon occurrence while in your capable hands.”
“Thank you, sir,” she answered with a blush, then, addressing her mistress, asked, “Will you require anything else, ma’am?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, that will be all, Sonia, thank you. Do not bother to wait up for me. I believe we will not be returning until very late.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Sonia replied as she curtsied and turned to leave.
The door had barely closed before Darcy had taken Elizabeth in his arms. “You look absolutely beautiful, Elizabeth,” he whispered against her ear. “Wearing the jewels in your hair is a lovely touch, but that gown—it becomes you, my love, in ways I never dared imagine. You are stunning.”
Elizabeth kissed him and rested her coiffed head upon his shoulder as she encircled his waist with her arms. “It is completely your own doing, you know,” she said, her voice carrying an impish inflection. “I have never before owned such an exquisite gown. It is beyond beautiful. Yellow is, by far, my favorite color, and I know I shall cherish such a gift for many Seasons to come. I hardly care whether or not it is deemed acceptable to be seen wearing the same gown more than once. I know London fashions change quickly, but, as the mistress of Pemberley, I believe I shall do as I like. Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”
Feathering a kiss upon the top of her head, Darcy smiled at her independent spirit and held her tighter. “I daresay you shall, and you are most welcome. I remember your sister once saying you have always wished to own such a gown—pale yellow silk the color of sunlight, a gown that would brighten the mood in even the darkest room. Tonight, Elizabeth, you will turn every head with your brilliance, and all of London will see precisely why I fell in love with you.”
Elizabeth raised her head, and their eyes met. “You are so wonderful to me. Sometimes I cannot help feeling I do not deserve you.”
Darcy fingered a rebellious curl at the nape of her neck as his other hand caressed her bare shoulder. “No,” he said, his voice serious. “You deserve a man far better than I, but I fear you are stuck with me for the remainder of our life together. You shall just have to make the most of it.”
His words and seriousness caused her to stiffen. Elizabeth placed her hand upon his cheek, and her eyes searched his. “I would never have it any other way. It is you I want. You I need. I love you. Do not ever forget that or take it lightly. You are the most important aspect of my life. You and this child I carry. I could never do without you, Fitzwilliam. Indeed, it troubles me to hear you speak so.”
Darcy closed his eyes, and just as he had done not so very long ago when they were alone together in the library at Netherfield, he turned his lips into her palm and kissed her. “I could never take your love lightly, Elizabeth. You have become more necessary to me than the air I breathe. I would be but a shell of a man without you to lighten my dark moods.”
The clock upon the mantle chimed seven times. Elizabeth stood on the tips of her slippered toes and kissed her husband’s cheek. “We had best depart if we are to be at your uncle’s on time, my dear,” she whispered as her eyes took on a mischievous gleam. “This is a joyous night, Fitzwilliam, and from what I understand, there is to be a waltz. What better way to celebrate our marriage than to dance with each other in our arms? Will that not be wonderful? It is something you have longed to do, is it not, my handsome husband?”
Darcy grinned. “Yes. I believe nothing shall give me greater pleasure tonight. Richard insists it is my uncle’s idea of a gift to us. Since he has witnessed my scandalous behavior toward you whenever my senses have become overwrought by your presence, I believe he views this as a perfect opportunity for me to appear in full company and hold you close without risking your respectability overmuch.” He smiled and caressed the length of her gloved arms. “I confess I am very much looking forward to it.”
And so he was, for when they arrived at Matlock House not a half hour later, Darcy found it difficult to stand sedately beside his wife in the receiving line—as was expected of him—to greet his aunt’s guests as they arrived. He was ever conscious of Elizabeth’s sweet fragrance and the feel of her body as he placed his hand upon the small of her back. His gaze was forever darting to and lingering upon the ample swell of her breasts, made even more enticing now that she was several months into her pregnancy. As expected, his actions did not go unnoticed by his uncle, who repeatedly cleared his throat while he attempted to hide his smile.
By the time the dancing began, Darcy was eager to lead Elizabeth to the center of the ballroom to open the festivities. He had been correct—every eye was, indeed, turned upon her, though not all in admiration, Miss Bingley’s narrowed slits included. Though Darcy’s blood still boiled whenever he thought of her ill treatment of Elizabeth, for the sake of his long-standing friendship with Bingley, he had asked his aunt to extend an invitation to both his friend’s sisters. To his relief, Elizabeth bore it all—the crowd, as well as Miss Bingley’s odious presence—with grace and dignity, her elegance, her wit, and her impeccable manners serving as further proof of her suitability as his wife.
The ball was a crush, and Darcy, though anxious for Elizabeth’s acceptance in society, found himself growing irritated by the attention she was receiving from the other men in attendance.
Elizabeth’s dance card was soon filled with the names of unknown gentlemen eager to become acquainted with the enchanting Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.
Darcy could only watch as his wife was led through the dance by partner after partner, each of whom seemed to be captivated by her beauty and vivacity. Elizabeth was his. He did not wish to share her.
“You know, Darcy, if you are not careful, that scowl will become a permanent part of your countenance.”
Darcy only grunted in response to his cousin’s teasing remark. His gaze never wavered from Elizabeth as she danced with the handsome and accursedly agreeable Lord Abernathy, a good friend of his cousin Harold. The young man, several years Darcy’s junior, seemed to be mesmerized by her lively discourse, as well as her pleasing figure. Darcy took a sip of wine and asked dryly, “What do you think would happen if I were to call Abernathy out for making my wife smile? Am I well within my rights as a jealous husband, or should I wait until he does something a bit more untoward?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Really, Darcy, this is a switch! I believe I have never before seen you thus. Usually, it is the other way around, and you are the one to inspire feelings of jealousy, but rather in handsome young ladies. It is about time you received a taste of your own medicine.”
“A taste of my own medicine, is it? Fitzwilliam, you imply I sought such favor from all of those fortune hunters and their matchmaking mamas. I assure you, I did not, and I believe you are well acquainted with that fact,” he said stiffly.
His cousin clapped him on the back and said, “Precisely, Darcy. Is it Elizabeth’s fault so many men find her as irresistible as you do? What would you have her do? She cannot refuse to dance with them and still be able to dance with you later, though you are her husband. I am afraid this indulgence is necessary in securing your wife’s place in society, and let me just add that it is working. They seem to love her.”
“Yes, well, I will not deny that the gentlemen are certainly charmed; however, at the first sign of love, I shall be forced to remove her to Pemberley, where, I might add, I would happily remain for the rest of my days.”
“You are insufferable, Cousin! I would gladly trade my commission to gain at least a portion of the happiness you have found with Elizabeth. Indeed, you can have nothing to repine.”
Here, Darcy gave his cousin a look of warning, which only served to make the colonel laugh. “Darcy, you must face the music, old man—your wife is a highly desirable woman. It is a curse you will simply have to live with, but, apparently, it is a cross you will not have to bear alone.” He motioned then to Bingley, who was standing on the opposite side of the room, watching Jane go down the dance with the eldest son of an earl. The look of displeasure upon his face rivaled Darcy’s. Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned.
The dance ended, and Lord Abernathy escorted Mrs. Darcy back to the safekeeping of her husband, whose hand immediately went to the small of her back. “Thank you for returning my wife, Abernathy. I am most obliged to you. I daresay most of the other gentlemen in attendance this evening—if, indeed, they can be referred to as such—simply chose to keep her to themselves between sets.”
Elizabeth glanced sharply at him. Darcy’s haughty mask was firmly in place, as it had been when they had first met in Hertfordshire so many months ago, but then he focused his penetrating eyes upon her, and she could see something else—vulnerability. She was very soon reminded, however, that while she had danced every dance thus far, her husband had not, but not, Elizabeth knew, for want of willing young ladies to partner him. Indeed, whenever she had looked up from among her own attentive partners, searching for a glimpse of him, Elizabeth had not had to look far to observe Darcy’s stormy, protective gaze upon her, nor the many feminine eyes turned wistfully—and not so innocently—upon her handsome husband.
While Darcy engaged in small talk with Lord Abernathy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, his gaze all the while darting to his wife, Elizabeth formed a resolution and, when there was a pause in the conversation, intervened. “If you would excuse us, gentlemen, I would like a word with my husband before the next set is to begin.”
The two gentlemen bowed to her, and Elizabeth curtsied. She cast a meaningful look at Darcy, and they extracted themselves from the throng to search for a place where they might have a few moments of privacy. When his wife led him out of the ballroom and toward the family wing, where guests were certainly not allowed, Darcy expelled a lengthy breath. Surely this cannot be a good sign, he thought grimly as he began to fidget with his signet ring. Elizabeth placed her hand over his and stilled his action. Darcy swallowed.
They finally reached a small parlor—the very same parlor, he noted, where Elizabeth and Anne had met secretly at Christmas. Darcy reluctantly entered, and when he saw Elizabeth close and then lock the door behind them, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the chastisement he knew was coming. It did not, however, come. Rather than harsh words of reprimand for his display of jealousy, his ears received his wife’s soft lips as she bestowed a kiss upon his lobe. Darcy’s eyes widened. What on earth could she be about? “Elizabeth, what—” he began, his voice hoarse. Her gloved fingers silenced his words.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I thought, perhaps, you might be in need of some reassurance and also a reminder of where my affections lie.” Her gaze caressed him as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Darcy’s eyes searched hers, and upon receiving confirmation of her words by way of her lips caressing his hungry mouth, a low, inarticulate sound tore from the back of his throat. In the next instant, he clutched Elizabeth almost violently, his lips hard upon hers as his hands roamed possessively over her body.
Elizabeth gasped at Darcy’s powerful reaction, her initial surprise soon replaced by a potent desire as he unfastened the top buttons at the back of her gown to free her breasts. With a groan, he took one breast in his mouth and suckled her. While one of Darcy’s hands pleasured her other breast, toying with her nipple and eliciting the most delightful sensations in Elizabeth’s body, his other hand had unfastened the buttons on the fall of his silk breeches. Not until he raised her skirts past her hips and she felt the heat of his potency against her naked flesh, did Elizabeth fully comprehend the ferocity of her husband’s need.
Darcy lifted her in his arms, his lips pressing the curve of her neck. “Elizabeth,” he gasped, “I need you—I need you desperately!” Then, with urgency, he pressed her back against the wall and drove his hard length into her with a shuddering cry. Elizabeth clung to him as he possessed her.
His fevered urgency sent a thrill through her that served only to push her own desire to new heights. Far sooner than she had anticipated, Elizabeth felt the beginning of her release. Her muscles tightened around Darcy’s arousal, and as Darcy could not stop himself from moaning words of passion and desire in her ear, she soon surrendered to the feelings of bliss that coursed through her body.
For Darcy, who had watched his Elizabeth laugh and dance with countless handsome and engaging men for half the night, whose feral need to possess her, to mark her as his and his alone was driving him mad, it was the point of no return. In the next moment, he found his completion with a violent thrust and a primal groan as he spilled his seed into her.
Darcy’s legs gave way, and he quickly maneuvered to support his wife as he sank to his knees, his breathing rapid, his heart pounding furiously within his breast. He clasped Elizabeth to him as he struggled to regulate his breathing.
After several minutes of silence, she laughed softly. “I believe, sir, it is safe to assume we have missed the Supper Dance.”
Darcy smiled and kissed her, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was not my intention to forego any of my dances with you tonight.”
She raised a hand and stroked his cheek. “I know,” she said, “but you were hardly in a frame of mind fit for dancing. Please tell me you are better now.”
Darcy kissed her again, his lips a soft caress. “I am, thank you… although, I believe I owe you an apology. I never should have treated you thus, especially in the middle of a ball given in our honor. I hope I have not hurt you in any way.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I believe I am hardly complaining, Fitzwilliam.”
“No,” he said, “however, we will very likely be missed soon, and I would not wish for the truth as to why we were absent from the Supper Dance to become generally known.”
“No, I would imagine not.” Elizabeth grinned and rose, straightening her gown and checking her appearance in a mirror upon the wall while Darcy made himself presentable. When he had done, he refastened the buttons on her gown, and she ran her hands through his hair, coaxing his curls back into place. “There,” she declared. “Now you look every inch the handsome gentleman once again.”
Darcy frowned and made to run his hand through his hair to dispel some of the agitation he felt at her words. Elizabeth stopped him before he could cause any damage and gave him a questioning look. “You must think me an insecure beast to take advantage of you in such a way,” he muttered.
Elizabeth caught his face between her gloved hands and forced his eyes to meet hers. “No,” she said in a gentle voice. “I think only that my husband, whom I love more than any other on this earth, must love me to distraction. Believe it or not, Fitzwilliam, though your jealousy is not something I can condone, it is something I can, and do, understand. You have nothing to fear, my love. There is nothing that could ever make me turn from you.” To emphasize her point, she kissed him with no small degree of feeling. “Come,” she finally said as she laid her hand upon her waist, now slightly thickened from pregnancy, “I am hungry, and I daresay so is this little one of ours.”
Darcy gathered her in his arms, his hand caressing her stomach. “Of course, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a small, pleased smile. “Let us find something with which to tempt you both. You must keep up your strength. I would not have you starve on my account.”
Elizabeth smiled and smoothed a curl from his forehead. “I know not of our child, Fitzwilliam, but I do believe I have quite enough to tempt me right here. I doubt I would ever starve with you to care for me.” She sighed. “I do love you so, my dearest. Never question it.”
Darcy swallowed and ran his fingers over the softness of her cheek, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “For as long as I live, Elizabeth, I never shall.”
The rest of the evening passed without incident. Other than an appraising look, a pointed cough, and a raised brow from Lord Matlock when Darcy and Elizabeth finally made an appearance at supper, their cheeks flushed and their skin glowing, no mention was made of their absence. It was generally noted, however, that Darcy’s sour demeanor seemed to have improved significantly. Rather than scowling at the many remaining gentlemen who were fortunate enough to partner his wife for the second half of the night, he focused his undivided attention upon her alone, his mouth turned up in the barest hint of a private smile whenever their eyes met as she went down the dance.
Elizabeth made sure their eyes met often.
Between sets, Lady Matlock took Elizabeth around to all of the notable dowagers and other esteemed guests in attendance. When questioned, Elizabeth spoke easily of her family and of her father’s estate in Hertfordshire, of her interest in books, philosophy, and music, and, to those who had the audacity to inquire, of her fondness for her husband. She happened to be speaking with Lady Sowersby and Lady Malcolm, both of whom had fast become her avid champions, when Jane and Bingley joined them and, shortly thereafter, the Gardiners. It was not long before their group was engaged in a lively discourse, to the very great satisfaction of Lady Matlock. It was obvious the two dowagers were equally as impressed by Jane as they had been by Elizabeth, and pleased, as well, by the intelligence and elegant manners of their Cheapside relations.
Through it all, Darcy stood beside Elizabeth with his hands clasped behind his back. He was itching to reach out and caress her, to feel the curve of her waist through the buttery yellow silk of her gown. He did not dare attempt it, not after the pointed look his uncle had given him at supper. Instead, he put forth a valiant effort and focused his attention upon the conversation at hand. He could not help but smile at his wife’s keen wit and easy manners while in the company of two such exalted persons as Lady Malcolm and Lady Sowersby. Darcy was extremely pleased to see Lady Malcolm, who was well known throughout the first circles for her biting sarcasm and discerning intellect, delighted to have found in the new Mrs. Darcy an equally discerning and witty companion.
His smile increased when the first strains of a waltz floated through the room, and as the conversation between the ladies did not wane, Darcy cleared his throat. “Pardon my interruption, but I do believe, Mrs. Darcy, you have promised this particular dance to me,” he said as he fought to conceal the grin that was threatening to overspread his features.
Lady Sowersby smiled indulgently. Lady Malcolm, however, gave him a wry look and said, “Upon my word, Fitzwilliam, I have never before seen you thus. This newfound eagerness for the dance is extraordinary, or perhaps it is your eagerness for the company of your pretty young wife that makes you so willing to partake of an act that has never before afforded you much pleasure?”
To Elizabeth’s delight, Darcy blushed as he answered, “What you say is quite true, your ladyship. I believe I had only to find the perfect partner to transform the act from an odious chore to an unrivalled pleasure.” Then, with a sly glance at Elizabeth and a rakish grin, he added, “Now, if you will be so kind as to excuse us, I have long desired to dance while holding my wife in my arms, and I am loath to pass up the opportunity to do so now.” Elizabeth colored and then laughed, her pleasure in her husband’s affection apparent to all.
Bingley, who had been standing beside his friend, coughed behind his hand. Then, upon seeing Darcy leading his wife to the center of the room, he offered his own arm to his beloved Jane. She accepted with a smile and a blush that became her. They were then joined by the Gardiners, Lord and Lady Matlock, and many other daring couples whose mornings had lately been employed in learning the art of the scandalous waltz for just such an occasion.
As Darcy guided his wife around the ballroom, one hand clasping hers while the other held fast to her waist, Elizabeth could not recall a time when she had ever enjoyed dancing more. She and Jane had practiced all week with their willing partners, and now, as Elizabeth admired her sister’s beauty as Bingley led her through the dance, a look of absolute bliss upon both their faces, the mistress of Pemberley could hardly contain her smile.
Her gaze then drifted to her own partner, whose eyes were alight with happiness. Never before had she seen him looking so pleased, so relaxed while in company—especially in a ballroom. In fact, as Darcy gazed upon her with a look of delight, Elizabeth wondered if he had quite forgotten they were being observed. He held her a little tighter and pulled her a bit closer than propriety would have allowed—even during such a dance—and Elizabeth gave him an arch smile, knowing full well it was because he found her irresistible. “If you hold me any closer, Mr. Darcy, I do believe there shall be a scandal!” she teased.
Darcy loosened his hold, but only slightly. “Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, a sheepish smile quirking the corners of his mouth, “but I find I am still feeling a bit possessive. Indeed, madam, you can have no idea how intoxicating you look at this moment, or how many other men are admiring you as I hold you in my arms.”
Elizabeth’s voice softened as she continued to smile upon him. “You are correct, Fitzwilliam, for my eyes are only for you, my handsome husband, and, as I am certain you have noticed, there are just as many sets of fine eyes fixed upon your stately figure.”
“Perhaps, but my admiration is for you alone, Elizabeth.” His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. “Do you think it is too early to make our excuses to my aunt and uncle?”
“Fitzwilliam, you are incorrigible,” she laughed, suspecting he was half serious and half in jest. “You know very well we cannot. Besides, I have not yet had my dance with your cousin Harold.”
“Hang Harold,” Darcy growled. “I am tired of sharing you. How will I be able to stand the sight of you with another man after having danced a waltz with you? Besides, my thoughts at this moment are hardly conducive to gentlemanly behavior.”
Elizabeth wisely made no reply, but when the dance ended and all the couples applauded, she allowed Darcy to lead her away to one of the balconies. The crisp air was refreshing, and as they were quite alone, Darcy took the opportunity to steal a kiss. “Are you certain I cannot convince you to retire for the night, Elizabeth?” he asked in a low voice as his fingertips lingered along the edging at her neckline.
Elizabeth slapped his hand away and smiled. “No. I am by no means tired. You forget, sir, that you made me take a nap this afternoon.”
“Yes,” he said, “and I daresay you are in need of another.” He began to drag the tip of his nose along the curve of her neck. Elizabeth closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations that coursed through her. Darcy boldly continued on, his lips moving to caress the swell of flesh just above her neckline. He dipped the tip of his tongue between her breasts, which elicited a gasp of pleasure from her.
In an effort to steady herself, Elizabeth moved her hands to Darcy’s shoulders. “Fitzwilliam,” she protested, “we cannot. Not here. Someone might see. We must stop,” she insisted, though somewhat weakly.
“Very well,” he said, his tone petulant as he gave her one last kiss and offered her his arm. “But I demand the last dance of the evening.”
Elizabeth smoothed her gown and smiled as she took his proffered arm. “I would never have it any other way, Mr. Darcy. You shall always have the last dance of the evening.”