This chapter contains sexual content.

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Remove the Complexities - Peter Sandberg


It was completely absurd. Had he not just been kissing her in the library? Had she not said herself that she wanted him? Perhaps not in so many words, but he had asked her, wanted to be certain this was what she wanted, and her response was unequivocal. What brought on this sudden onslaught of wavering confidence? Darcy had dismissed Morris before the poor man could finish his duties, so overcome was he with agitation. Fresh night clothes were left folded on his chair, his banyan thrown over the back and his bed turned down. Perhaps his restlessness was in part owed to being uncertain of how to present himself. He thought it natural that he should not appear fully dressed, but to what degree of undress? Should he change or remain as he was in his shirt and trousers? Would it frighten Elizabeth if he stood before her in nothing but his nightshirt and banyan? There had never been any hint of fear in her when it came to their intimacy or talk of it, but that did not mean she would not have some apprehensions now at the penultimate moment of the night. It was very possible that in the face of it all she might realize that, indeed, there was fear beginning to oppress her. It was possible she would not meet him with a smile or with eagerness, but with a frown and heightened anxiety. However, if that were the case, he knew exactly what he would do. There was no question; he would sit her near the fire, crouch before her as he cupped her cheek in his palm and assure her that if she had changed her mind then he expected nothing of her that she did not wish to give. Not on this night, not any night. Her comfort, her happiness was first in his heart before all else. If she only wished to sit together for a time then return to her own room, he would not press or protest.

It was a possibility, but his conscience beckoned him to think of the matter logically, to recall that she would not consent to anything unless she was absolutely decided and that her resolve was not so easily swayed. They were too alike in that way. She had frequently assured him of her love, that she wanted him, that she had yearned to be his both in name and in flesh. She was never to be underestimated and he felt somewhat ashamed for even thinking of the possibility that she might be missish. Perhaps these feelings arose from the knowledge that when he met her at the door that he was pacing in front of, there was no planning the rest of the evening. Everything had been planned from the moment he woke until the moment they entered the library; the wedding done by her family, the evening organized by himself. Even asking her to read to him had been something he premeditated, that promise made weeks ago. The rest of the evening was, for the most part, out of his control. That he could not guarantee her happiness from this point forward was distressing, almost beyond consolation.

There. You have now truly admitted it to yourself.

Darcy thought the apprehension had dissipated completely after the conversation he had with his cousin the night before. He tried to remember the assurance he felt when he had retired, tried to remember what he had done… He was striding to his dressing room, immediately spotting the waistcoat. Still tucked into the pocket was Elizabeth's letter. Just the sight of his name in her hand was enough to abate some of his worry. He did not know how many times he had read it since he received it, but he began again, finding solace in every word. The letter was truth, it was comfort and he shook his head at himself for being as foolish as he was only seconds before.

My thoughts are, and have been, constantly full of you.

You are what my soul demands, your mind is the only match to mine.

My spirit flies, for I am awake to something I can only call ethereal.

No other woman in this world could love another as I have come to love you.

I long for our lives together, for every moment of every day that we will be blessed to have at each other's side.

There was nothing to fear when he read those words. He was coming back to himself, his feet touching the earth and all that was sure. No, he could not predict how the evening would proceed, but there was something of serenity in knowing they would be together, that they would learn together. Again, he chastised himself, for had he not cherished that idea for weeks? He almost laughed, placing the letter on his escritoire and resumed his pacing. Now, the restlessness was the pure want of action. With all apprehensions addressed, it was the energy that had been dormant within him coming alive that provoked him. There was nothing to do but wait. And he did not wait long. He made only a handful of passes in front of the door before there was a soft but purposeful knock. In a blink, he was there and reaching for the handle.

Darcy had been wrong that morning. Utterly and completely wrong. If only he knew what he would be facing, what would be standing before him when he opened that door. To have called her beautiful then was an understatement, but it was even more so now. He could not think of any words that would do her justice; magnificent, maybe, or radiant, stunning, beguiling. But none of it would do. Elizabeth stood before him in a fresh white nightgown, a lavender grey silk dressing gown left untied over it, and her hair had been pinned back from her face, though the mass of it fell past her shoulders and down her back. He struggled to swallow, for his throat was so tight that he thought he might choke on his own breath. Gorgeous, he repeated in his thoughts over and over. If he had thought he ached before, it was nothing to what he felt in that moment. People talked of hearts breaking of sorrow and loss, but what of joy? What of the sight of beauty so great that one could feel their chest hollow out and their very bones lose all strength? He was almost afraid to meet her eye for fear of falling to his knees, but he knew he was staring and had been for far longer than he supposed without saying a single word.

Elizabeth's eyes were darker than he had ever seen. In the dim candlelight, they looked almost black, and yet there was more fire in them than ever before. He saw that there was a presence of some anxiety, but it was eclipsed with sure determination, curiosity and love. Her hands were before her and they had been active, but as she took in the sight of him and their gazes finally locked, they slowed until they stilled. She began to smile, her head tilting in that charming way. He knew he should say something, anything, but with breathing being as difficult as it was…

"Come, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, "am I not tolerable enough for you to speak?"

"Tolerable?" Darcy exclaimed incredulously. "Elizabeth, please do not tease me, not now. I… you…" Her brow rose as she waited for him to say more. She was highly amused, looking up at him with a mixture of absolute affection and compassion. When Darcy remained silent, she reached to take his hand and asked, "May I come in?" Roused from his stupor, he immediately stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. She closed the door behind her, and maintaining his hand, she stepped forward. He had not shown her this room when they had toured the house and he saw that she was taking particular care to absorb her surroundings. Her eyes alighted on his escritoire, her letter lying unfolded atop it. She must have recognized it from where they stood, for her smile grew as she turned to him.

"Were you reading my letter just now?" Darcy could only nod, feeling a smile grace his own features. He was slowly becoming sensible once more, though for how long, he knew not. He led her to the chaise lounge before the fire. "Is there a passage that you return to more than others?" She asked as they sat together.

"'My spirit flies, for I am awake to something I can only call ethereal.' Or perhaps, 'the greatest joy I have ever felt will pale in comparison to what I shall feel when you give me your name.' But then there is, 'you are what my soul demands, your mind the only match to mine.' I like all of it too well to read some parts and not others."

"I could say the same about your letter," she said, taking both his hands in hers, "but you already know I've read your words a hundred times over." They fell into silence as she began to trace the lines of his palm the way she had in the carriage. It soothed him, helped him to find steadiness in this whirlwind of a storm that was the present state of his consciousness. He watched her as she began to look around the room again. It was beginning to feel like a dream, like the haze he had been in that morning, yet she was there and it was all so real. Just the sight of her had struck him to his very core and with each passing moment, the feeling renewed itself. He wished he knew what to say, what to do next, but he could only think of her fingers running along his palm and her smile that had not faded since she entered the room.

She broke the silence first. "I must thank you for all you've done to see to my comfort here."

"Elizabeth, you must't thank me," he bade her to look at him, his hand gentle as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "This is your home as much as mine."

"But I will thank you all the same," she insisted, leaning toward him. "You are thoughtful, attentive and so generous to me. My chambers are perfect, there is nothing I would change about them. And the flowers you sent for, the nemesias, the white verbenas and carnations… friendship, honesty and humility, and the deepest love. Fitzwilliam, truly, it is all so wonderful." His heart was on the brink of breaking once more to hear her praise.

"You must know that there is nothing I would not do for you." She nodded, taking his hand and guiding it to her cheek. "You are my happiness. I wish for nothing more than to make yours." Darcy did not know how long they sat in this way. He only watched and listened to her breathe, the crackling fire and the rain against the windows. He catalogued every blink, every touch; he would not miss a single moment during this first night with her. Perhaps he should have said more, but though his words were few, he spoke his heart. How could one speak being as overcome as he was? All he could do was look… and touch. He trailed his fingers from her cheek to her neck and was surprised to feel her hammering pulse, pressing lightly against it. "Elizabeth, your heart-" She mirrored his movements, her fingers continuing down his neck until her palm rested at the center of his chest where his heart raged likewise. Her eyes were riveted to the spot, her palm splaying and the tips of her fingers grazing the exposed skin beneath his open shirt. When her eyes lifted to his again, she whispered, reverent and warm, "Your heart, too."

"Swear to me," he rasped, "that you will not hesitate to tell me if I please you, if you wish me to stop -"

"I swear it." No doubt, no unease in her promise, and it was all the invitation they both needed.

Their kiss was gentle, a sweet overture that began to swell to the passion and power that would take hold. Darcy's hand slipped to her nape, holding Elizabeth to him as he took and took from her lips. She was taking right back, matching him breath for breath, touch for touch. Her hands bunched in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer… He chased after each kiss, unwilling to break away for long. She tasted so wonderful, so heavenly. He knew he could never grow tired of these kisses, and the thought only solidified when he felt her mouth open to him. They hummed in unison as their kiss deepened, hands grasping and tracing skin. Every touch was more thrilling than the last. From the place that he had so often teetered precariously, Darcy now let himself fall into that blessed glorious oblivion. He wanted more, so much more than he ever thought himself capable of wanting. The floodgates had been opened and his passion was crashing, barreling through.

He enclosed her in his arms and in one movement, he pulled her into his lap. Her small whimper at the back of her throat inspired a surge of want through him, almost to the point of pain. He groaned with the intensity of it and felt her smile into their kiss as she threaded her fingers into his hair. His hands roamed her body, glorying in every part of her that he was now permitted to touch; her beautiful legs, her waist that his hands perfectly encompassed, and with the greatest care, her full and tender breasts. He had not expected that they would feel as if they were made for him. They just filled his palms and when he squeezed gently, her stilted whimper devolved to a contented sigh. She pressed his hands to her chest, showing him what she wanted and he was more than happy to oblige. The experimental movements of her hips were his true undoing. In the next moment, he was tugging at her dressing gown and she was just as desperate as he was to rid herself of it. It fell from her form, revealing capped sleeves and the swooping neckline of her nightgown. He broke from her lips and pressed his brow to her shoulder as if to catch his breath, but his body could not allow him to pause for long. He nipped at her neck and kissed lower, lower, until he met the barrier of linen. He looked up and met her eye as he brought his fingers to that neckline, tracing it up until he slowly pulled it off her shoulder. She encouraged him, spreading kisses from his brow to his cheeks. Darcy dared not look down until she was exposed.

The nightgown fell to pool around her hips and her hands were back in his hair, gripping harder as he took one of her nipples in his mouth. She moaned, a sublime sound the likes of which he had never heard. Oh, God, to hear her, to taste her… Each time he thought he had reached the threshold of feeling, he was humbled again and again with storming emotion that thundered and thrashed within him. She was burning as he was, her skin feverish under his hands and mouth. He wrapped his arms wholly around her and she was forced to sit astride him, his face pressed into her breasts.

"We are not evenly matched," she gasped, grasping for the hem of his shirt. There was no hesitation as he reached to help her and they pulled the garment over his head. Her hands were instantly all over him. She pushed him back, keeping him from resuming his kisses to her body. He saw her design, to look upon him and allow him to truly look upon her. Torturously taking her time with her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes mapped every inch of him. He had never paid much mind to how he looked. It was no consequence to him what his body looked like if he kept to exercise and good health. But as he watched her gaze upon him, her eyes widening with clear admiration and satisfaction and hunger, he was glad of his form. How he must look to her when she was everything soft and gentle curves. He was hard lines, firm and perhaps a bit coarse comparatively, but her appraisal told him of her esteem. Her hands ran along his shoulders before she caressed his chest, trailed along his sides, fingers tracing the muscles of his abdomen. His eyes closed, made heavy with the sensations that wreaked havoc upon him, and gripped her hips in some effort to steady himself.

His voice was rough and hoarse when he asked, "Do I please you?"

"Yes," was her vehement reply, "very much." He resumed his own exploration as he opened his eyes.

"What do you want, Elizabeth?" She sighed, pressing herself to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders to hug him close and lowering her mouth to his as she desperately moaned, "Just you." He did not break from her kiss nor did he release her as he stood. As tender and as careful as he was able, he carried her across the room to his bed. They only broke for breath when he reverently set her upon the mattress. He looked down upon her; skin flushed pink from her hairline to her chest, breasts heaving with every ragged breath, hair fanned out beneath her. She was everything he had imagined, yet he could not have dreamt this. How could he? All that she was in life had always surpassed what she was in his fantasies and this night was no exception. Transfixed by the sight of her there, he was torn between the ravenous need to touch and be touched, and the longing to drink in the picture she made from where he stood. Elizabeth made the decision for him.

She sat up, eyes steady on his, and took his hands, guiding them to the nightgown still at her waist. She nodded and he understood. Darcy delicately pulled the nightgown up until it cleared her head and she was left completely bare before him. "God above," the words slipped from his lips without thought, the sound barely audible, but he saw that she knew. The gown fell from his hands and she reclined as he moved to lay beside her, reaching for him. They were skin to skin in an embrace once more, a feeling so foreign but so ardently welcomed. He cradled her head as his fingers traced circles around her nipples, drew a line from the center of her breasts to her navel as his lips worked at her neck. He was driven by instinct and the small sounds she was making with increasing abandon. If his heart had been hammering before, it was sure to burst from his chest and he thought that perhaps it would with every pass of his hand further and further down her body. When his name broke from her lips with aching desperation, he knew he was lost to the world.

In a moment, Darcy was above her, settling himself between her parted legs. Elizabeth panted a sigh and he claimed her open mouth, stealing the breath from her. She matched his ferocity, her hands in his hair, fingers raking down his back, hips rising to meet his. Her actions wrenched from him a groan that he could not have suppressed had he tried and he bucked forward, grinding languidly into her. Her answering moan reverberated through him, the vibrations penetrating his skin down to the bone.

"May I touch you?" He pleaded. He wanted more than anything to learn to please her; it would not do to take his own pleasure with no regard to hers. She looked up at him curiously before realization dawned and her eyes fell to where their hips met. Her affirming nod was slow, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. His head ducked to trace kisses from her neck to her ear as he gently opened her legs further for his touch. He returned to the point of her pulse which pounded against his lips as his hand, with aching deliberation, then reached down and down until he met sweet warmth. Good God, she was softer than anything he had ever touched, and to his wonder, she was ready for him. He was compelled by the vague notion of what he ought to do and his instincts that had not led him astray thus far to caress her, stroking gently, exploring and testing fluid patterns of motion. When he began to apply pressure, particularly at the peak of her sex, she sucked in a sharp breath and held fast to his shoulders.

"Please," Elizabeth whimpered when he repeated the action, a shudder wracking her frame. He looked into her eyes to fulfill the raging part of him that demanded he see the result of his attentions. Her brow was contracted, mouth parted and she met his gaze with hooded eyes. The beauty he beheld then seduced him beyond belief. Again and again he slipped his fingers over that one place, large circles then small - her eyes rolled shut.

"Does this please you?" He would have her say the words, would have her give him the satisfaction of proclaiming that it was his fingers giving her the pleasure she reveled in.

"Yes." His lips curled into a smile, lowering his mouth just above hers. She craned her neck to meet him, but he remained just out of reach. Her moan of rapture with mingled frustration ignited his veins and he nearly chuckled under his breath. Darcy did not wish to tease her for too long; tonight was not meant for teasing. This was what he had scarcely allowed himself to desire until she had accepted him, so he met her lips with the same tenderness he applied with his fingers. He could feel her urgency, that she wished to take more of him and kiss him deeply, but she remained as she was, the recipient of the devout caresses of her husband.

"Have you given yourself pleasure in this way before?" Almost bashful, she nodded haltingly. Darcy brought his lips to her ear as he tried to imagine it; Elizabeth alone, one candle lit at her bedside, pulling her nightgown to her hips and her hand slowly slipping between her legs. "Often?" A small shake of her head. "Have you reached your peak since accepting me?" A strangled moan muffled behind her pressed lips - he knew her answer. His fingers were unceasing as he demanded, "Look at me, Elizabeth. Tell me what you thought of. Tell me what you imagined."

"I -" Her voice broke, one hand combing through his hair, the other clutching at the sheets. He felt her frame quivering before she began to writhe beneath him. "I th-thought - of you." And then she was crying out, her eyes going wide before they fell shut as ecstasy overcame her. Darcy groaned with triumph, swallowing her cries as he claimed kiss after kiss. He would not have settled for anything less than the pleasure she took then, holding her fast as she pressed herself to him until her body steadied and she slowly came back to earth. She broke from his kiss with a sigh, eyes blinking open. Her expression of vulnerability seized him, but when she broke into the most radiant smile she had ever graced upon him and huffed a breathless laugh, he could not help but respond in kind. He had absently began to stroke her hair away from her face and pressed delicate kisses to her brow, her nose, her cheeks. She hummed in contentment, twining her fingers at the nape of his neck.

They had not been lying long in that way before Elizabeth's hands slid down his chest and she reached for the clasps at his waistband. Darcy gazed deeply into her eyes, his chest hollow as his heart dropped. She saw the question in his eyes and nodded her answer before he could speak. As if in a trance, he reached to help her until he, too, was bare. He allowed her to survey him as he had admired her, though he could not keep away from her body for long. They pulled at the bed linens to cover themselves and there was no fear in her eyes when he settled himself once again between her legs, only unyielding affection. He smiled down at her when she framed his face in her hands. That she wanted him, that she took pleasure from him and wished to give him his own filled him with the deepest gratitude.

"You will tell me if it is too much?"

"I swear it."

He entwined their fingers, pressing her hand into the mattress as he reached down to again caress her. There was a moment of searching, another moment of fumbling and soft laughter, but then he was guiding himself in and in… He was aware of her gasp as he began, but when he felt that threshold and he was as deep as her body would allow, he struggled to hear anything else but his blood pounding in his ears, the thrum of his heart echoing like thunder. He buried his face in her neck and he struggled to keep enough sense to ask, "Are you well?"

"Yes," was her reply, and he thanked heaven above that it was the familiar whimper of her satisfaction. His hips began moving of their own accord. He instantly felt drunk with the sensations that consumed him; her body, so warm and lush and so very tight around him. The feeling building within him pushed and pulled like a tide, but the wave never crashed. It only rolled longer, grew larger. He could hardly catch his breath, but somehow he was panting her name, her scent overwhelming him on each inhale. Over the din of his mind, he heard Elizabeth's moans, felt her wrap herself wholly around him as she brokenly whispered, "Oh, Fitzwilliam…" He almost sobbed to hear it, a strangled groan ripping from his throat. It was building too quickly, the end drawing too near. He did not want it to end, was desperate for it not to end, not yet, but control was out of reach. His body forbade him to stop or even to slow his pace. Knowing he did not have long, he lifted his head to look at his beloved wife, rumpled and flushed beneath him, a most beautiful vision that brought tears to his eyes. She pressed her hand to his cheek before gripping the back of his neck and he saw her brow contract, heard her moan his name, signaling her pleasure. It was then that he felt it; careening up, up, up, until a sudden plunge and free fall. At once, heat was rushing through him, fire engulfing him from the inside out. Every place where their skin touched sparked and scorched as if his pleasure branded them both. He felt her wrap her arms around his neck and her lips were claiming his, just as he had claimed hers when she met her peak. He fell and fell, hips erratically rocking into her until he was easing into sated calmness, the fall devolving into a drift and a heavy, yet somehow gentle landing.

His chest heaved as he gulped lungfuls of air, Elizabeth's hands stroking his back and the hair at the nape of his neck. He must have cried out violently, for his throat felt hoarse and abused, though Elizabeth did not seem perturbed by anything he had done or said. Indeed, from what he could tell, she was more than satisfied and content to be pressed to the bed under his weight. The realization of how he must be crushing her stirred him to try and lift himself, but she only gently pressed him back down, burying her face in his shoulder and humming a sigh. They were happy to stay as they were; unmoving, unbothered, perfectly and completely sated. It was only once their breathing became even again that Darcy lifted his head to find Elizabeth smiling up at him. She traced his features until her attention was caught by his mouth, her fingers ghosting across his lips. He took her hand and kissed her palm as he slowly rose. Her eyes followed him, admired him, as he moved to the wash basin where he acquired a clean square of linen. Returning to the bed, he tended to her, pressing comforting kisses along her shoulder.

"Are you happy, Elizabeth?"

"Do I not seem so?" Even sated and exhausted, she was teasing. He chuckled softly.

"Indulge me the satisfaction of knowing all is right." She beckoned for him to meet her eye.

"With all my heart, I promise that all is perfectly right." The promise was made with a gentle kiss and Darcy cast the linen away. He eased himself back into bed, taking Elizabeth tenderly in his arms as he did so. They were taking turns gently stroking the other and it was not long before he felt himself slipping away, his eyes heavy and the sounds of the rain and the fire beginning to lull him into slumber. By the weakness of her touch, he knew Elizabeth was seduced by the call of sleep as well. He murmured her name, barely above a whisper.

"Hm?"

He slipped a hand into her hair and held her close as she burrowed into his chest. "I love you."

She sighed, "And I you." Only then did he succumb to sleep.