It had only taken that one kiss. Darcy felt as if the storm had moved within him, taking the wild winds of the country side and trapping them in his breast. With renewed vigor, Darcy was acutely aware of how human he was. Of course he had always wanted her, there was no question of that, but this... He lay sleepless and unnerved. As the storm over Hertfordshire had calmed, he grew ever more restless. That kiss had been so gentle, so innocent, so polite and respectful, and alarmingly, it was not enough. Perhaps, because he had accepted up until his return to Hertfordshire that he would never obtain her heart, his basest desires remained subdued. There was nothing that tamed his passions now.

Her eyes, the lightest touch of her fingers, her short breath the moment before his lips touched her's - it replayed over and over. She could not know the tumult of his sensibilities, the rapid, restless thrashing of his heart, this decidedly insatiable hunger that now besot him. It was no use grasping at sleep, for it would not come - Darcy rose. He thought wryly that he might never sleep soundly again with her in his life. She affected him too much. He was quite nearly overcome just being so near her. He prided his self-discipline, for he had never been impulsive or easily swayed; but he was sure that if she asked anything of him, an entreaty from those soft, alluring lips would have him forgoing every bit of control. Come that greatly anticipated night not far into the future, he would be at her mercy as much, if not more so than she would be at his.

Did she wish to be? Did she lie helplessly awake in crippling anticipation as he did? Had he affected her enough to awaken desire within her? Oh, how he wished to please her, to learn every way in which she could be pleased. He did not feel discouraged from lack of practical experience. There was a tranquilizing satisfaction knowing they would learn together what they could be, though there was some anxiety to be accounted for. It was only natural for one so generally inexperienced, and for her, who was surely even less proficient than he was; she must be overcome with nerves at the prospect. But then again, was she anticipating that element of their union? Did she crave what he craved?

He imagined what it might be like if she did. Elizabeth, standing before him in his rooms at Pemberley with her tresses loose about her shoulders, her figure wrapped in a soft dressing gown, her arms inviting him into her embrace. She would whisper that she loved him, that she wanted him. Her hands would caress his arms, the breadth of his chest; she would twine her fingers through his hair, she would press her lips to his throat. He, in turn, would trace the sweet curve of her waist, her hips, hold her fast to him. They would share fierce kisses, each seeking to taste more of the other, and he would assure her with every touch how wholly he considered her a part of himself.

Darcy had never allowed these imaginings to venture thus far. He had always repressed the burning temptation to indulge those dreams... These thoughts, hitherto forbidden, now surfaced with a vengeance. It was unbearable, yet not so. He only felt it was after so many months of denial, that she would never be what he wished her to be. And now, she had promised to be with him. She reminded him every day that to be loved by him made her happy. He would vow to worship her, body and soul, in a mere two weeks. She would in return. It would be the declaration of their spirits, the promise kept by their flesh. Good God, I shall drive myself into madness, he thought. It was only in the smallest hours of the morning that he found rest, soon to be interrupted by the rising sun.

Perhaps he should have insisted they stay within the grounds of the house, but when Elizabeth intimated her relief that the weather had calmed and that she wished to walk in the direction of Oakham Mount, Darcy complied. He would not suspend her pleasure for anything, regardless of how guilty he felt in stealing her away all for himself. As it happened, they were limited to the immediate miles around Longbourn, for the mud forbade them going very far once they had neared the Mount; however, they were undeterred and meandered about the paths that had more or less dried.

It had become a sort of routine to ask one another how they spent their morning. Elizabeth told him of the letter she had received from her Aunt Gardiner at breakfast and relayed the lady's greetings to him. Darcy joked, albeit good-naturedly, about Mr. Bingley's sour mood for not having been able to join him in coming to Longbourn that day. Bingley was expecting his sisters and brother-in-law to arrive some time mid-day. Elizabeth chaffed that perhaps Darcy had come so early to Longbourn because he wished to be sufficiently clear of Netherfield before a certain lady arrived. Though that wasn't the reason for his early arrival, he did not deny it.

Darcy had come to Longbourn's door so early because he could not stand being still. Even being without much sleep, he could have forgone his horse and ran the two miles from Netherfield in order to expel his excess energy. He was still thinking of their moment in the library and his musings the night before. He wished to satisfy his incessant curiosity, and he likewise wished to be open with her, to speak freely about anything and everything. So engrossed in his thoughts was he that he had not said as much as a word to Elizabeth in quite some time.

"Fitzwilliam?" She suddenly halted them, breaking his reverie, and stood before him.

"Pardon?"

"I asked if you have had a letter from your cousin. You mentioned yesterday you were expecting his correspondence."

"Oh," Darcy replied noncommittally. "No, not yet." Elizabeth looked over him inquisitively.

"Are you well, Fitzwilliam? You seem somewhere far off, and you were flushed a moment ago, but now you've gone quite pale." She would not be convinced if he replied that he was perfectly well. His obvious preoccupation was clear in his features and she was not easily dissuaded.

"Forgive my inattention, Elizabeth," he said presently. "I've let my thoughts run away with me." She seemed skeptical, for he would not quite meet her gaze and she was actively attempting to catch his eye. They had resumed their walk after some moments of her scrutiny, and they had not gone far before she turned to him again.

"You're embarrassed." The certainty in her statement took Darcy by surprise.

"Embarrassed?"

"Yes, you've only looked this way after -" Elizabeth broke off abruptly, beginning again, "well, I can see that you are, though I cannot fathom why."

"I am not so much embarrassed as I am..." She was not wrong; she had found him out with little trouble. What could he say? How could he begin? He thought of that day not long after their engagement, when she had asked that very question - How can you account for having fallen in love with me? How could you begin? He would start by turning the inquiry upon her. "Elizabeth, when did you begin to feel you might love me? You have said that your feelings came on gradually after you had read my letter, but I wonder if there was a moment of realization. Can you recall the first time you thought you might be falling in love?" It was her turn to be embarrassed, flushing and immediately going pale as Darcy had. She looked as she had that night Darcy had dined at Longbourn with Bingley almost a month since.

"I had thought of you sometimes after Kent, probably more often than I would have liked or cared to admit," she said. "Then, meeting you at Pemberley, we were so easy in each other's company, much more so than we had ever been, and I was thoroughly disappointed to have left so abruptly. I thought I had no right to think we should ever see each other again, and it was not long after I returned home that I began to think you were exactly the man who would suit me. I foolishly imagined the unlikely renewal of your addresses, had I stayed one more day at Lampton, and I settled inwardly that I would have been very near accepting you. It felt as if we had started anew, that we had truly begun to understand one another, and I liked it exceedingly. I was worried for my sister, but I resented that my time in Derbyshire was cut short. i wanted -"

Elizabeth was suddenly clutching to Darcy's sleeve, stifling a yelp as her foot slipped out from underneath her in a patch of mud they had neglected to notice. Darcy reflexively seized her in his arms, nearly falling over himself as he caught her. She was laughing heartily while they regained their footing, not letting go where she had sought purchase.

"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam," she cried between stuttering breaths, trying to control her laughter. "Oh, I've gotten us both into the mud!"

He would have helped to stead her and let her put herself to rights, he would have entreated her to continued her anecdote and carry on down the path; but seeing her face lit as it was, her eyes dancing with giddiness, his recent turmoil had would him up so tightly as to make that tension snap within him the very moment he held her fiercely. Seduced by the adrenaline of the moment, his lips had descended upon her's almost instantly. His touch was a far cry from the questioning caresses of the day before. Now, his lips demanded that she respond in kind, seeking relief from this incessant need within him.

Elizabeth was still only an instant before her arms wrapped around him and she met his kiss with an eagerness he had hoped for; her laughter faded quickly away. Darcy trailed his hands roughly over her back, pulling her ever closer. Their labored breaths mingled as they sought kiss after kiss. She was his living water, reviving him, nourishing him when he had been so withered and destitute. he felt how she clung to him, how she shaped her lips naturally to his, how she had begun to stand on her toes in her avidity to match him in his ardor. It was her soft whimper that brought him to wrench himself from their kiss, pressing his cheek to her cheek.

"I would have," he murmured. "I would have renewed myself the morning you went away. I could not endure it, I could not -" She met his lips again softly, reassuring and unhurried, a promise of their agonies being left behind. "My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth..." He watched as she smiled bashfully with a sigh.

"Do you promise to always call me thus?"

"I do." Elizabeth let her hand drift from around his shoulders to rest over his heart. The way she looked up at him, her expression so open and achingly sweet, he'd promise her whatever she asked.

"I could not have thought it possible," she said, almost as soft as a whisper. "What I feel, it is constant, unrelenting. It is - it is -"

"All consuming?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically. "It is enough that I feel agitated to be separated from you, and I often chide myself for waxing dramatic." Darcy chuckled, trailing a finger delicately along her jaw.

"You are passionate, do not rebuke yourself being so. There is a selfish satisfaction in knowing that you ache as I do when we part every evening, but tell me, Lizzy; I wish to know. Do you burn for me as I burn for you?" At the last, she let out a shuddering breath.

"I believe I must. I am pulled to you as if by nature, and I cannot help but think..." They were silent once more, and they needed no more than to look into one another's eyes to know that both were enthralled by their gravity, the raw energy between them. Elizabeth continued, "We must always be open with one another, Fitzwilliam. In all matters, of course, but in this matter especially. You have said yourself that I am passionate, and I do not wish to be passive and self-denying, not with you."

"I would not wish you to be," Darcy gently assured her. She was lifting herself up, her face up-turned to his and he met her lips once more in a slow, lingering kiss.

There were many whispered tentative desires shared as they continued their walk, their heads bent toward one another. Growing accustomed to this new kind of intimacy, she shyly admitted to thinking of him when she was alone in much the same way that he thought of her. Did it surprise him, she asked, and though he had questioned just the night before how she thought of him, he found that he could have expected nothing less of her. They remained quite near each other when they returned to Longbourn that afternoon. Though conscious of their company, they allowed themselves small, tantalizing intimacies; a single touch of his fingers on her's under the table at supper, sitting close together in the drawing room as they discussed their books in hushed tones. They stole a kiss in the hall when Elizabeth saw him to the door, and she whispered reverently that she wished for nothing more than for the day of their union to arrive.

It went without saying that Darcy passed yet another sleepless night.