Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife by Linda Berdoll

guilelessly, for they still had not kissed. It is just as unlikely that she did not understand that his sense of honour would not allow him to take the initiative of seduction with an innocent, even if she was his wife-to-be. Hence, she assumed the reins of her own chastity, threw off the quilt and kissed him upon the mouth.
    That might have startled him, it might not have. Regardless, the gesture was understood compleatly and was hardly spurned. And from her knees upon the edge of the bed, the stratagem of bodies and lips was at an optimum. Still, each anchored the other with a firm grasp of hair and kissed repeatedly, each one deeper than the last.
    When he had explored her body that day against the oak, there was the considerable hindrance of corset and petticoats. Hence, even though his search was diligent and had not been without reward, it remained ultimately futile. Her night-gown, however, offered no such impediment; any pleasure he received when he slid his hands across the fabric was exceeded only by her own. All of which demanded their wrestling about escalate into a feverish near-frenzy.
    The only obstacle of costume was his, for, although he had doffed his coat before he sought her room, his waistcoat and tie were still in place. The tie was no true impediment to sate her desire for his body, but his waistcoat was. Had his hands not been so diligently employed, he might have ridded himself of it. But since they were, Elizabeth’s took upon that task, barely executing the violation of his buttons before their bodies toppled back onto the bed.
    In all the candour and impertinence of truly united desire, he climbed atop her, his hands searching for the hem of her night-dress. That found, thus were her calves, knees, and backs of her thighs. And each was stroked to quivering, unadulterated surrender.
    Now, into this fray, arrived a little argued presumption. When very nearly embarked in flagrante delicto, it is postulated that the female of the species’ attention is less, shall we say, monopolised. And in this specific instance, that truism was validated. For Elizabeth was the one who heard the knock upon her door and Jane’s voice.
    “Lizzy? Lizzy? I cannot sleep. May we talk?”
    Elizabeth stiffened, then lay still. Her quitting the embrace alerted him to outside intrusion. It was testimony to his determination to have her full participation whilst he luxuriated in her embrace that bade him cease his quest to possess her as well.
    Jane repeated insistently, “Lizzy!”
    They looked at each other, chests heaving. “If I do not answer, she will believe me ill and awaken the house,” Elizabeth whispered.
    He dropped his head to her shoulder in frustrated acknowledgement, then advised her, “I will not hide under the bed, Elizabeth.”
    “I would not marry a man who would,” she answered matter-of-factly. He kissed her for that, very nearly rekindling their passion.
    Then he rolled away, sat up and said quietly, “Can you give me a moment to…collect myself?”
    The reason he needed that restoration had been fully apparent, and Elizabeth, having no knowledge of such matters, wondered how long it would take for him to become…presentable. Even with Jane rapping at the door once more, she granted him whatever time he needed to…settle his ardour.
    Elizabeth called out, “Coming, Jane.”
    She rose slowly, followed by Darcy whose arousal had subsided, but who was fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat. When they reached the door, neither had compleatly collected themselves, but they were intact. Elizabeth opened the door boldly. Jane looked apprehensively at Elizabeth, then her gaze over-swept her sister’s shoulder and stopped. Her eyes widened at the startling sight of Mr. Darcy, who loomed quite large behind Elizabeth in the doorway. He bowed to Jane curtly, revealing a head of thoroughly mussed hair, and spoke quite formally.
    “Good evening.”
    Thereupon, with as much dignity as one could muster