Thanks to Gayle for her invaluable BETA-ing of my work!

Chapter 29

By the time Darcy had carried Elizabeth above stairs to her chamber, with Mrs Reynolds following in his wake, she had woken.

"Shall I call for the doctor, Sir?" the concerned housekeeper asked, as she looked in concern at the pale mistress.

"Yes, please do, Mrs Reynolds, and then have Elizabeth's maid prepare her a bath." Mrs Reynolds curtsied and left the room in order to carry out her master's instructions.

When they were alone, Darcy looked down upon his wife's face, only to find her staring up at his own. "Anne is evil, Fitzwilliam. Are you hurt?" she whispered, her lower lip quivering in distress. Her fingers reached up to tenderly trace the deep scratch marks on his neck.

"Oh that?" Darcy spoke, his tone dismissive. "It is nothing, Elizabeth. I am only concerned for you. How are you feeling? I fear that all of this has exhausted you. Mrs Reynolds will have Doctor Winters here as soon as possible."

"I do not need the doctor, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth sparked up. "I have had enough of doctors to last me a lifetime." Darcy gently settled her on the edge of the bed, and rose to stand in front of her, his expression stern.

"Nevertheless, Doctor Winters will be examining you; I will take no chances with your health, Elizabeth." Darcy smiled as Elizabeth sullenly puffed out a breath, causing the loose hair surrounding her face to blow upwards. Her pout was adorable; how he had missed seeing it. "What in heaven's name caused you to act so rashly as to put yourself in harm's way?" His tone reproached, the fear for his beloved's safety forcing the harsh words. "You knew that Anne wanted to harm you, yet you stepped out from my protection and placed yourself in danger; you could have been seriously injured." Darcy repented the reproof as soon as he saw the sad tears fill Elizabeth's eyes; her mouth opened to speak, yet no sound emerged.

"Oh Lizzie, I must apologise. I did not mean to be harsh, but you must understand my concern for you." He knelt in front of her and took both of her hands in his, covering them in kisses.

"She hurt you..." Elizabeth breathed the words out, as her tears dripped slowly onto their joined hands. She removed her hands from his and traced a finger gently over his neck, then bent her head to kiss the wounds. "How could I stand back and watch her harm my husband?" She said in a small trembling voice that demonstrated her vulnerability.

Darcy groaned as he wrapped strong arms around Elizabeth's waist and rested his head against her chest. Elizabeth shuddered, sobbing as her arms clutched his head, and tucked her face into his neck. "I do not mean to cry..." she said between desperate gasps for breath. "I just... this morning... there was so much cause to grieve... but now... you are here with me... I am in your arms..." Her fingers clutched at his hair and Darcy held her even more firmly, each attempting to come as close to their beloved as was possible.

"You love me... none of what went before matters... we can be together... I love you..." Elizabeth spoke quickly, her words almost rushing together in her attempt to express all the emotional upheaval that she was feeling.

"I love you with a passion that I cannot even put into words, Lizzie." Darcy's words muffled against Elizabeth's chest. "You know not how I have wished that I had never made you cry, had never acted so foolishly as to not confide in you. How can I ever make amends?" The gaze that he fixed on Elizabeth, sent a stabbing pain through her heart. Her husband was so tormented, his brown eyes like transparent pools, a depth reflected within that told her that he would not forgive himself readily for his actions.

"Hush, my darling... there is nothing left to apologize for. You must know that I..." Her words caught in her throat as the exquisite feeling of Darcy's lips on her hand washed over her, and Elizabeth felt the heat of a deep blush suffuse her delicate throat. Like a whisper the sweeping touches of his mouth explored her fingers, a strong slow pulse filled her body as her eyes closed, and her lips opened on a deep sigh. The moisture of his tongue seemed to scald Elizabeth's skin as Darcy gently suckled the tip of each elegant finger.

"What you do to me..." she breathed unsteadily, as her fingers began to tremble under his passionate attentions.

Darcy glanced up as if surprised that Elizabeth had spoken, as if surprised that he had let his desires overwhelm his reason. So caught up was he in his rapt attentions to his wife's delectable skin, the feel of her trembling passion, the sight of her pale skin laced with the deep blue rivers of her veins, and the taste of her sweetness, that he had heard her adoring words and forgotten himself.

Refusing to relinquish the hold of Elizabeth's hand, Darcy grasped it between his own, and his gaze met hers, both anguish and passion struggling within him to reign supreme over his actions. He knew that he had to tell her how he was feeling – he had to try to make her understand why he was guilty, even though the angelic Elizabeth had so far refused to attribute the blame to him.

"I put that which was most dear to me in danger. I put an innocent child in danger. I was not there when those scoundrels beat you – I could not even comfort you in your distress." His shoulders visibly drooped as Darcy stood from his position in front of his wife, dejection oozing from every pore.

"I failed you as a husband and a protector Elizabeth. I am not worthy of you."

Elizabeth rose from the bed, every inch the avenging goddess, the colour rising in her cheeks as she admonished Darcy, "Do not..." her voice emerged, and she flinched at the volume. She closed her eyes briefly as she tempered her tone, then stepped towards the retreating back of her husband, the very image of dejection.

"Do not ever..." her hands trembled as she placed them onto his shoulders, "say that again. You are more than worthy of me, the best man I know. You cannot be responsible for the reprehensible acts of my brother and your cousin."

Darcy raised his head slightly, the gentle and forgiving words soothing and filling him with some comfort – at least his beautiful wife still believed in him. God knows, I have done nothing to deserve it, he thought.

"How can you be so forgiving, Lizzie? You truly must be an angel," his voice struggled out, every inch of his being grateful for the love of such a woman.

The sound of her laughter suddenly filled the room, a sound all but forgotten by the halls of Pemberley for such long weeks, and those who heard it now rejoiced in the happy sound. Darcy felt his eyes close and a deep happiness swirl through his soul at the discovery that Elizabeth still had such joy in her that she could laugh – a sound he so very much desired to hear every moment for the rest of his life.

"An angel... surely you jest, sir? Mayhap you speak of my sister Jane. Should I fetch her for you?" Elizabeth slowly slid her hands down the back of Darcy's shoulders, feeling his muscles tense with her touch, and then encircled his waist. Her face pressed against his strong back, and she tightened her hold on her husband.

"Do not move, woman," Darcy groaned as his hands came up to cover Elizabeth's. "I did not mean that your sister was an angel, though I believe Bingley imagines it is so. You, my dear, are my angel. I believe that you will save me."

"You do not need saving," Elizabeth whispered, reaching up to stand on the tips of her toes so that she could place a kiss on the clothed shoulder blade, her lips remaining there as a silent show of her love and support for her husband. Darcy groaned in pleasure at the contact – the feeling of his wife's breasts pressed securely against his back, the sweet scent of her drifting around him, her loose curls tickling his neck – proving to be too much. All Darcy wanted right now was to turn around, take Elizabeth in his arms, and set about rediscovering their love and passion for each other that had been too long absent from their lives.

But he could not! He must not! For even now Elizabeth trembled against him, her body and soul worn from the trying events of the day. He could feel the gentle tremor in her hands beneath his that she was trying too hard to hide. And not an hour earlier, Elizabeth had fainted in his arms. Darcy's mind flew back to the moment when he had found her out in the mist, the way she had fought him with every ounce of strength that she possessed – so distraught, so angry, so lovely. He thanked heaven that Elizabeth had listened to him, had believed him with a faith that took him unawares – after everything he had put her through, such faith surely was undeserved.

Doctor Winters, accompanied by Mrs. Reynolds, chose this point to knock discreetly on the door to Elizabeth's chamber. The sight before him was heartening, the love between husband and wife burning throughout the room. He was almost sorry to intrude on the private moment. Mr and Mrs Darcy quickly looked up and started, moving quickly away from one another. A deep crimson coloured Elizabeth's cheeks as she collected herself, her eyes unfocussed and glassy from the recent intimate contact with her husband.

Darcy strode forward to greet the doctor, unable to keep at bay the slight smile that played around his lips. The memory of Elizabeth's arms surrounding him would cause any man to smile, he excused himself.

"What seems to be the problem?" Doctor Winters asked pointedly, after greeting the couple. Darcy explained what had occurred that day, ending with Elizabeth's faint, his concern for his wife's health palpable in the confines of the room.

"You also appear to have been maimed," Doctor Winters spoke, his gaze moving to Darcy's neck, the angry scratches covered with dried blood. "That is nothing. It is my wife that prompts my concern," Darcy dismissed.

"I will treat your wounds, and then I will examine Mrs Darcy," Doctor Winters insisted. Elizabeth smiled smugly at Darcy from across the room. If she had to suffer a doctor's examination, then it was only fair for him to also share in the discomfort.


After Doctor Winters had departed, with his reassurances that Elizabeth was not ill, merely exhausted and in dire need of rest and relaxation, Darcy and Elizabeth were alone. In the outer chamber, the maids, under the strict instruction of Mrs Reynolds, were busy preparing the mistress's bath, their quiet movements and the slow ticking of the mantle clock, the only sounds apart from the heavy breathing of the occupants within.

From across the room, eyes met, liquid pools of tenderness, as husband and wife stood apart. The tension was thick, as everything else melted away, an invisible cord coiling between them. No words were spoken as finally Darcy held open his arms, willing Elizabeth to come to him, and in no more than a few seconds, she was there, completely engulfed within her husband's large frame.

Darcy felt Elizabeth's small body tremble in his arms, clothed merely in her chemise after the doctor's examination. His lips found her hair and placed endless kisses there, his arms holding her upright as he felt her deep sigh of exhaustion against his chest. "I thank God that it is all over, my Lizzie. I thank God that you are here in my arms. If you had died, Lizzie..." Darcy stopped, unable to continue for the pain that shot through him at the thought.

"Hush," Elizabeth whispered, cold fingers pressing against his lips to stop any further admonishments. "Just hold me." If it even were possible, Darcy's arms tightened further, and Elizabeth nestled closer into his embrace. They remained as one being, never speaking, their hearts slowing and beating the same cadence, as finally the couple could exist together in quiet appreciation of all they had reclaimed.


"I have dismissed your maids, Elizabeth. I will attend to your bath this night," Darcy murmured. He stopped in front of her and took both her hands within his, leading her to the outer room where her bath was waiting.

"Fitzwilliam... you do not need to..." Elizabeth breathed, her eyes fixed on him, as she moved compliantly, willing to follow him anywhere he should care to lead. Her chemise, almost translucent in the firelight, billowed around her with every step she took, and Darcy could not force himself to look away.

This time, his fingers covered her rosebud lips to stop them. He wanted to hear none of her protests. "I will not have it any other way." He smiled and turned Elizabeth to face the bath, standing closely behind her, hands atop her shoulders. "My lady, your bath awaits."

Nimble fingers made quick work of Elizabeth's chemise and in a short moment, she stood before him, naked, as Darcy gallantly offered his hand to assist her into the hot bath. Elizabeth smiled shyly, her emotions tremulous, as her husband valiantly tried not to stare at her unclothed body.

When she sat in the soothing water, Elizabeth could do nothing but sigh in appreciation of the relaxation that she had already begun to feel. Her eyes closed as she rested her head on a folded cloth placed against the end of the bath. For precious seconds the only sound was the rippling of the water as it settled around her, and her limbs were languid as she calmed, the trials of the day momentarily forgotten. Her eyes popped open at the feeling of Darcy's hands in her long hair, as he sought the wayward pins that had done little to keep the heavy length confined. The quiet sound of the pins hitting the floor was just audible above Elizabeth's breathing.

"Your hair is beautiful, Lizzie..." Darcy buried his face into the unrestrained tresses of her thick, dark hair, taking a long breath, as if to memorize her scent. This night was one which he wanted to have imprinted into his memory for all the years of his life – the night when a new understanding was reached – a new depth of love attained. He wished never to lose the vision of his sparkling, beautiful Elizabeth luxuriating in a warm bath, as he attended her.

With a shaky breath, Darcy lifted the soapy sponge, scented with roses and apples – the scent of her. His voice sounded deeply and huskily as he bade her sit forward, and his fingers trembled as he pushed her hair over her bandaged shoulder and ran the sponge over Elizabeth's back, the perfect line of her spine, the curve of her waist – her skin like satin. A lone curl fell across her long neck as her head lolled forward in exquisite contentment. Darcy leaned into her, his breath falling gently on the delicate skin of her nape, before pressing a light kiss there, lingering too long, threatening his control.

To distract himself from the sheer sensuality of his task, Darcy took the end of the bandage that supported Elizabeth's injured shoulder and unwrapped it. He gasped slightly as he saw the remaining bruise that marred her perfect skin, dragging his eyes away from it to continue his task.

Elizabeth found her trembling beginning anew at the sensations that Darcy was provoking. The sponge moved to her waist, then lower, dipping into her belly button, before beginning a journey back up her body to the soft rise of her breasts. The languor that she had been feeling was replaced by desire, as the sponge lingered too long – as if it were Darcy's warm, capable hands covering her skin – she trembled in the imagining of it.

Darcy could not help but allow just one finger to run alongside the sponge, the temptation of all her womanly curves too much for him to resist. His breathing was laboured as Elizabeth's body awoke to his provocation. And he found himself humbled that she could still desire him. Remembering himself, and his resolution to ensure that Elizabeth was fully recovered from her exhaustion before making her again his, Darcy reluctantly removed his hands from her body and handed her the sponge. "I think you should finish this..." he whispered against her ear and was rewarded by the gentle tremor that ran through her at his words.

Elizabeth turned glassy eyes on Darcy, and gazed at him, her love bathing him in her radiance. Her full lips were rosy and parted as he leaned down to cover them with his own. Elizabeth exhaled on a soft sigh of contentment – finally she was where she belonged. Their joined lips moved as one, both igniting and revering – the act sacred to the couple, even the more due to their recent estrangement.

Had not a quiet knock at the door broken them apart that very moment, Darcy was not sure that he could have stopped himself from lifting Elizabeth out of the bath and carrying her to bed. But the arrival of the fresh water for her hair brought him to his senses – senses that had been bewitched by the loveliness of his wife. So instead of doing what he so desired – had desired – for so many weeks, Darcy gently placed his hands into Elizabeth's hair and washed it, massaging her scalp with sure, strong hands, and finishing by carefully rinsing the soapy remnants from her.

"That feels wonderful," her murmured words danced in the air between them, and Elizabeth wished that the sweet torment would never end. Yet all too soon, Darcy was lifting her from the bath, the water gushing and running like rivulets over her naked skin. With a soft towel, he dried every inch of her skin, assisted her to don her nightgown, and then led her willing body towards the fire, where the maids had laid out a tray of fruit.

Darcy encouraged Elizabeth to eat, although her languorous body protested, wanting nothing more than to curl up in front of the fire, like a contented kitten, and sleep. Darcy placed a fresh towel to Elizabeth's hair and began the arduous task of drying the ample length, his eyes fixed lovingly on her sleepy figure. He watched delightedly as she partook of the food, and could not remove his eyes from the molten depths of hers.

No longer heated, their gazes were the picture of devotion, the crackling of the fire, the soft ticking of the clock, adding to the ambience of the secluded outer chamber. Elizabeth belatedly realised that her shoulder was heavy and pained her – the events of the day already had become hazy in her unfocused mind – unconsciously she cradled it with her right arm. Through what seemed a dense mist, Elizabeth thought that Darcy spoke to her, his face urgent, but she could not make sense of it. Instead of struggling to force her mind to concentrate, Elizabeth merely shook her head and placed it against his chest, sighing as her hands came up to clutch the thin fabric of his shirt.

She felt the world tilt as Darcy lifted her into his arms, and then came the awareness of the softness of her mattress beneath her fatigued body. Still she clutched his shirt, unwilling to let Darcy go, though at this moment, uncertain why she felt such an urgent need for him to stay.

"Do not leave me..." Elizabeth murmured, turning tear-filled brown eyes upon her retreating husband. His hands covered hers in an attempt to unclasp them from his person.

"Fitzwilliam, please... I want you to stay." Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, her thoughts so confused.

Darcy smiled down at Elizabeth, bending to kiss her forehead and then her lips. "My love, I am not going anywhere. I just need to close the door and remove my boots."

She released him then, but reached an arm out as he walked quickly to the door, needing to stay as close as possible. And by the time the mattress beside her dipped to the weight of her husband, Elizabeth had fallen into a much-needed slumber.

Darcy pulled the sleeping body of his wife into his arms and watched her as her head nestled into his chest, offering a prayer of thanks as he cherished the sensation of having his beloved with him again.

TBC...

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