Next Chapter! Enjoy :)
Chapter 11
After Fitzwilliam had released and the shock of Elizabeth's own passions eased enough for her to breathe, she noted a change in her husband. He had seemed aware. A moment of stark terror overcame her, and all of her muscles clenched as her heart pounded. "Fitz?"
He sighed against her skin.
"It is just a dream," Elizabeth reassured herself and him. "Come, let us return to bed."
Fitzwilliam allowed her to right his drawers and slip her hand around his waist. The moment of awareness had thankfully passed. Perhaps he had awakened for a moment and then fallen back into slumber. She led, and Fitzwilliam followed, stumbling once and then righting himself.
If Fitzwilliam had awakened, would he not have spoken to her? Elizabeth gently pushed him onto his bed, kissing his forehead and his lips before she pulled the cover to his chest. His eyes shut.
Asleep.
Thank heaven.
Elizabeth recognized the "dreams" they shared were neither proper nor virtuous. Since viewing the French postcards her father study, the act of copulation had become more intriguing than terrifying. The passion in those illustrations between a man and woman was not that of horses or sheep.
...
Dampening a cloth, Elizabeth wiped away the evidence of their union and drifted to sleep.
When Elizabeth woke, a joyful energy hummed through her, excitement mingled with the bone deep satisfaction. Tonight, when Fitzwilliam came to her bed, she would... But for now, bright sunlight filtered through the window, and Elizabeth yearned to turn her face to the sun and let it kiss her skin through the early spring breeze.
There was a joy to pleasure and pain mixed, something she wished to explore further if her husband, and his waking hours, was as amenable to debauchery as when he slept. Avoiding the breakfast nook for fear of an awkward meal with her husband, Elizabeth went to the kitchens to pick up a basket she'd asked a servant to have prepared.
But when she arrived in the kitchen, her husband was there, chatting with the cook.
"Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth asked in pure shock. He would join her sometimes for her morning walks, but never from the kitchens. Usually, he found her outside, often on horseback, and he would dismount and walk beside her, sometimes stealing a chaste kiss on the lips before taking her arm, careful to keep a modest distance between them though they were husband and wife.
"Fitzwilliam?"
"Mrs. Darcy," he said, smiling. He showed no sign of fatigue at their late-night dalliance, further evidence he had been asleep the entire time. Elizabeth ought to have felt relief, but instead came a stab of disappointment. He held a basket, larger than the one she'd requested.
"For our walk," he responded to her questioning glance. "Bread, apples, cheese, and some wine." On his arm hung a quilt. "I thought we might picnic near the folly, if you like."
"It is chilly for a picnic, is it not?" Elizabeth asked, but she smiled.
Darcy said, "We shall find ways to warm each other, will we not?"
The cook averted her gaze as a young maid handed Fitzwilliam a sack for his quilt.
Elizabeth said. "I suppose, if we must." Her face warmed. Foolish for her to act the blushing virgin, considering her actions the night before. But he did not know what had happened between them. He saw his wife, not a wanton.
Another stab of disappointment.
Elizabeth and her husband left together, arm in arm.
Even in the chill of early spring, the grounds mesmerized Elizabeth. Short, coniferous bushes added a splash of green to the monochrome palette of stone with ice glinting along the fountain's floors. Though most trees were bare, silvery bark mingled with brown, fingers spread, some had begun to bud. How slowly nature seem to move, and then, in one sunburst, life flourished again.
Perhaps it was the chill breeze, ruffling the tied strings of Elizabeth's bonnet and buffeting her cheeks, or perhaps it was her husband's scent, but her face flushed as they walked. Had he washed last night from his skin, or did it linger?
"Beautiful morning," Elizabeth remarked.
Every morning had a different character. One could say the same of her marriage. The contours were the same, but each day held new mysteries to unravel. New things to learn about her husband and herself. And, soon by the grace of God, she would have a child. A son or a daughter with his long bones, dark hair and heart stuttering smile, the one he shared only with those he loved.
Fitzwilliam let her towards one of the bare, silvery trees, turning her so her back was pressed against it.
Memories of the previous evening heated Elizabeth's cheeks, and she was grateful for the wind. She ran her tongue between her lips.
Fitzwilliam asked, "How would you like me to kiss you?"
Elizabeth shivered, not with cold but anticipation. "However you wish," she said, looking up at him through her lashes.
...
But memories of the last two nights sharpened her desire, and she could not care about the spring chill. She wanted to unbutton her coat and feel his cool fingers beneath her bodice. She wanted him to lift her skirt as though she was a maid and he, a footman, taking their pleasure where they hoped no one would see.
Fitzwilliam pressed his lips to hers, lips closed. Proper.
Of course. Fitzwilliam did not remember. But then he kissed her again, harder, his lips parting and tongue teasing hers. Perhaps his mind did not remember, but his body did. Elizabeth parted her lips, welcoming him, slipping her hands about his waist and pulling him closer...
Perhaps she could coax his body?
Fitzwilliam feathered kisses over her cheek, to her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and teasing it...
They were in plain view of the house, though at enough distance they would appear the size of two dolls to anyone watching.
Blast the thick coat and heavy clothes! She wanted him, skin to skin.
Fitzwilliam breathed in sharply and took a step back. "Come along." He held out his arm, and Elizabeth, flustered and wanting him, linked hers with his and they walked again.
Fitzwilliam pointed at a small, grayish brown bird twittering in the tree had of them. Elizabeth nodded, but she could not comprehend a word he had said. Waking, Fitzwilliam had kissed her with the same desperation of his sleeping desire. But why had he pulled away? Was he disgusted with her passion?
Elizabeth breathed the cool spring air.
Fitzwilliam pulled her closer, leaning in and murmuring in her ear, "You look flushed. Are you well?"
Elizabeth's face flamed. She said, "Very well, thank you."
"I remember when I first witnessed you flushed from exercise. You had come to see to your sister Jane. Your hems were soggy, and the wind had disturbed your curls, but it was your skin, flush with emotion and activity that drew me. That in your eyes. Dark with secrets. Have you any secret wishes?"
Elizabeth glanced over at him, but he looked away, towards the budding trees. She forced a smile. "If I shared them, they would no longer be secret, would they?"
"I suppose not."
They walked together a while longer, him murmuring things against her ear. He unlinked his arm from hers to slip it around her hips.
...
When they arrived the folly, Fitzwilliam spread the blanket and placed the basket at the edge. They sat. The air had warmed, not enough for either to shed their coats but enough for Elizabeth to pull her hands free of her gloves. Her husband did the same, and their fingers twined about each other.
...
Elizabeth reached into the basket and took out an apple. She handed one to her husband and ate the other herself. Darcy took a bite, chewed, and placed the apple on the edge of the blanket. He lay back, and loosening his cravat, shut his eyes.
Elizabeth waited for his breath to even before laying down beside him. When she was certain she slept, she rolled over, placing her arm over him.
Did Fitzwilliam sleepwalk in the day? If so, perhaps they might engage in some debauchery?
Elizabeth berated herself. She was a wanton, seeking to molest her husband in broad daylight. The thought made her heart race. She curled up around him, telling herself the day was chilly and he would appreciate her warmth.
"Lizzie," he murmured.
Elizabeth said, "Fitz, you are dreaming."
...
They kissed, tongue on tongue, Elizabeth's breasts crushed in her stays and against him. Though the breeze was cold, she did not care because the heat inside of her burned...
No matter. They could do it properly tonight. For now, she wished she wished to have him improperly. She wished him unfettered by expectations. And herself the same.
...
"Darling, lay back. She pushed on his shoulder, and he rolled onto his back... Elizabeth wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through the thick fur of his chest. She wanted to taste him and rub herself on every part of his body.
What if Fitzwilliam woke with her atop him? What if someone saw them?
Both fears should have discouraged her wantonness, but her desire grew. He was her husband and she his wife. She need only fear ruination in his eyes. And she knew, from tonight's experience, that he did not wake easily from his slumber. It was why he was so well rested and she so tired.
...
Fitzwilliam's eyes opened wide.
Elizabeth gasped as she sheathed herself again. "It is just a dream," she said.
But Fitzwilliam, his syllables clipped and powerful, said, "No, my wife, this is not."
Thank you for reading!
You'll note I've moved to the ... for the redactions in this chapter. I thought it would be easier to read. You can read the full, unredacted draft form on my website: VioletKingAuthor DOT com.
Best,
V