In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Nine Encourage Affection

“Hold still, crazy little man, or soap will fly into your eyes! He is nearly outgrowing this tub. I believe more water ends up sloshed onto the floor than left in the basin.” Darcy said as he handed his wife a soft bristled brush, returning to his seat well away from the splash zone.

Lizzy attacked Alexander’s hair with a chuckle. “Indeed. I have come to consider the wisdom of simply taking him into the tub with me, since I end up practically soaked as it is. Be still, my sweet, or you will get soap in your eyes as Papa predicted. Ah, thank you, Mrs. Hanford.”

Bathing the rambunctious infant was rapidly becoming a three-person job. Alexander loved the water, limbs thrashing in delight throughout, but more than once, Lizzy had lost her slippery grip only to have Alexander slide under the surface. Alexander did not seem to mind these mishaps and the fine castile soap was mild so he was unfazed.

The towel-covered stone tiles immediately before the nursery’s Franklin style wood stove were nearly saturated by the time Darcy stepped in with warm, dry towels.

“Was that not tremendous fun, my lamb? How clean you are! You smell sweet enough to eat even without the coconut oil slathered onto your skin.”

Afternoon playtime continued, Darcy thrilled to be a part of it. Too often he was tied up with work or entertaining, not able to leave and assist Lizzy with the bathing procedure. As with all afternoon bath times, this one ended with the babe at his mother’s breast. Darcy sat beside Lizzy, gently caressing wife and son while joyously observing a healthy appetite illustrated.

“I thought we could bring him downstairs tomorrow since it shall just be the six of us. Your father has had scant time alone with his grandson,” he said in a hushed voice.

“How thoughtful of you! He will be thrilled. I know he is saddened at the reality of their visit soon coming to an end. Of course it eases the separation, knowing that we will be traveling south next month.” She sighed, leaning her head onto Darcy’s shoulder. “I confess I am looking forward to the respite. Peace and quiet sounds blissful right about now. Even tomorrow evening is an anticipatory caesura from the hectic environment of late.”

“You are not the least bit grieved to miss the Masque?”

“No. Oh, I would adore dancing with the handsomest man at the assembly, naturally. You, you understand?” She glanced up at his face with a playful lilt to her lips, Darcy merely smiling. “Yet all matters considered, I would much rather have you all to myself here, with Alexander. Besides, all the dancing over the past several days has quite exhausted me! I judge I can happily eschew the activity until the spring.”

“What a pity,” he whispered into her hair. “I was planning to ask for your favor once Alexander completed his meal. Hopes dashed once again!”

“Do not be so hasty, sir! A properly extended dance request from a worthy gentleman is rarely refused by an interested lady, no matter how weary she may be of the pursuit.”

“So the challenge is for me to couch my appeal in flowery prose? Hmmm… Not quite sure I am up to the test.”

“My soul weeps at the discovery of your pessimism, Mr. Darcy. I thought you brave and wholly stalwart, willing and able to face a contest head on. How disappointing.”

He chuckled and then fell silent, kissing the crown of her head. Eventually Alexander was satiated, mouth slack with sticky drool inevitably staining his father’s shoulder. From that point on, it was a simple matter of nestling him onto his round abdomen and tucking the blanket.

“Here, let me take care of that so Samuel will not scold you yet again.” Lizzy approached with a wet cloth, attacking the milk spot with vigor while shaking her head. “Why do you not place the cloth over your shirt?”

“I cannot feel him as well then. It is a small price to pay for the sensation of his pliant warmth and breathing. Actually, I should just remove the shirt as I prefer his skin touching mine, but do not think it wise to appear so with Mrs. Hanford nearby.” He chuckled, as did Lizzy still busily blotting the sullied linen. “Besides, Samuel has given up scolding, merely glaring and frowning with pursed lips.”

“There. The wet spot is larger, but at least the milk is gone.”

She turned toward her dressing room, intent on returning the wet cloth, but Darcy stayed her with a firm grasp. He tossed the cloth onto the floor, hands claiming both her dainty ones and placing them securely against his chest. His mien was utterly serious, blue eyes rapt and capturing her surprised gaze. Standing a proper distance but with a slight bow nearer her mesmerized face, he spoke in resonant oratory tones.“Come live with me and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.“And we will sit upon the rocks,Seeing the shepherds feed their flocksBy shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.“And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,A cap of flowers and a kirtleEmbroidered all with leaves of myrtle;“A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;Fair-lined slippers for the cold,With buckles of the purest gold;“A belt of straw and ivy buds,With coral clasps and amber studs;And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me and be my love.“The shepherd swains shall dance and singFor thy delight each May morning;If these delights thy mind may move,Then live with me and be my love.

“Dance with me, my lovely Elizabeth?” he finished in a bare whisper.

She rose on tiptoes, kissing sweetly and murmuring against his full, moist lips, “Quoting Marlowe will never lead to a refusal. Yes, I will dance with you, my love.”

In their typical modified waltz pose, they began. Over time their amusement of private dancing had evolved, incorporating steps from numerous established dances with those created spontaneously as they swayed and glided about the room. The choreography changed from time to time, Darcy leading and Lizzy responding with flawless grace, adding her own twists and bodily gyrations as the emotions moved her. Neither pretended even for a second that the activity was anything other than an erotic precursor to astounding lovemaking. Yet, it was enjoyable in its own right, both of them being fond of dancing.

Boundaries of social decorum found in a ballroom setting were thrown aside. Caresses were intimate, bodies entwined, and kisses interspersed all while spinning, undulating, circling, weaving, and floating. They became increasingly daring, experimenting with sensual motions purely designed to arouse each other.

Today Darcy rose to her challenge, huskily whispering snippets of poetry as they danced. Usually it was Darcy who lost all restraint long before Lizzy, but today he seemed determined to drive her mad with desire. Never losing the faint humorous lilt upon his lush lips, voice especially sonorous, eyes lusty and trenchant, rhythm elegant and nimble, figure powerful and masculine, in all ways spiraling her sensibilities insanely.

Thus it was she who harshly pulled him into her where she leaned breathlessly against the bedpost. Frantic fingers attacked buttons while he loomed placidly before her. She feverishly removed impeding clothing while he feathered steady fingertips over her neck and exposed skin, mouth exhaling hotly breathed poetry onto a tingling scalp and sensitive ear. “Your smile stops the minutes And as moments they dance in candlelight.While your eyes whisper secrets, My heart with wings takes flight.In search for more of you to know, Of why and what make you so,Then mystery pleads her case And once again I found your face.There to know beauty true And gentle winds of peace and love,With eyes like jewels shining, Looking to the One above.And the moments which find life there Become the brightest stars above,Which live forever beautiful In the sky of my heart’s love.”

Lizzy paused, having managed to bare the majority of their bodies, hands now stilled at his waist as she listened to the romantic words.

“I recognized Marlowe, Shakespeare, Lord Byron, and Keats. Who wrote the last one?” She withdrew, gazing upward into his glowing visage.

“Did you like it?”

“Very much. It was beautiful.”

He smiled, bending closer and grazing along her cheek with his lips. “I wrote it for you, my heart’s love.”

“You wrote it?”

He chuckled, tickling her ear. “You sound shocked. I was once forcefully informed that only a fine, stout love is nourished by poetry. I do believe ours qualifies. Besides, Jane should not be the only Bennet daughter to have pretty verse written for her.” He nibbled tiny bites across fragile collarbones, hands airily removing her thin chemise. “Has my ideal method of encouraging affection borne fruit?”

She nodded, moaning in response to stimulating fingers. “Indeed. As has my recommendation of dancing. You appear highly affectionate.”

“Indeed,” he rasped, claiming her mouth in an impassioned kiss while pressing harshly against her, his wide palms flattened on her bottom. Unhurriedly they kissed, Darcy voracious, but in no rush to halt the pleasure found in her mouth. Until, that is, the rising appetite to taste the other delectable parts of her body overrode. Steadily moving lower, he assaulted her flesh, hands and mouth utilized effectively.

Lizzy truly thought she would faint. “Fitzwilliam!” she pleaded, not certain if she was begging for him to pause for a moment’s respite or to hurry ere she perished from the aching need for him.

“Hold on,” he commanded gruffly. Lizzy was momentarily too befuddled to understand what he meant, but clarity was provided seconds later. Lizzy gasped and reached to cling to the mahogany carved post above her head, abundantly thankful that her husband had a firm grip.

“William, please!”

Darcy rose, holding securely to her shivering body. Lizzy clutched onto his rigid muscles, hands weaving through his hair.

“Dancing and poetry,” he said, his impassioned, rough voice casting jolts along sensitized nerves. “A lethal combination. I love you so desperately, my Lizzy!”

One short step to the left and they fell together onto the blanket chest at the end of their enormous bed, Darcy never relinquishing the hold on his wife. Subsequent words either of poetry or anything remotely coherent were forgotten. The only dancing hereon was the timeless dance of passionate lovemaking.

“Please hold still, Miss Bennet. I do not wish to prick you with the needle.”

“Yes, be cautious, Kitty, or you will end up with a blood spot on your gown. Georgiana could hide such a flaw, but you may have difficulty!”

Lizzy laughed at Mary’s quip, Kitty ignoring all of them as she continued to attempt craning for a glimpse of the trailing yards of organza bustled over her bottom. Madame du Loire knelt behind Kitty, needle and thread busily cinching the gathers along the waistline.

The modiste and her assistants were attending to the final alterations to Kitty and Georgiana’s gowns, the annual Twelfth Night Masquerade Ball held by Sir Cole scheduled for that evening. Kitty had chosen an organza in pale turquoise, delicate lace edging the entire creation. Madame du Loire worked her magic, crafting a ball dress exquisite and stylish. It was far and away the most elegant gown Kitty had ever owned and her delight was uncontainable. Fortunately, the couturier was experienced in dealing with fidgety young girls, managing the minute alterations without mishap.

Georgiana, in sharp contrast, stood nearby on a chair in a pose of serene passiveness. Far more accustomed to the ofttimes time-consuming task of painstaking tailoring, Georgiana gazed composedly into the tall mirror while the seamstress adjusted the hemline. Her gown was velvet in a vibrant maroon. The sleeves to both dresses were elbow length, modest in style generally speaking, except for daring necklines that displayed maturing décolletages.

Lizzy sat on the sofa beside Mary, Alexander asleep against her chest within a swaddle of purple and yellow Indian linen, eyeballing the figure of her newest sister with tremendous amusement. Her humor arose from the visualized expression she knew would cross her husband’s face upon seeing his “baby” sister so attired. While Darcy plotted Georgiana’s official introduction into Society come spring with businesslike precision, he nonetheless persisted in thinking of her as yet a child. Lizzy teased him for this paradoxical attitude, but he always looked at her with utter incomprehension. He had not quite figured out how to deal with the contradiction that a Georgiana of marriageable eighteen and a debutante was no longer the grubby faced youngster in his mind’s eye.

“Mary dear, it is not yet too late to fashion a gown for you,” Georgiana spoke softly at the reflected Mary sitting beside Lizzy. “Please reconsider!”

Mary lifted her chin stubbornly but did smile faintly at her dear friend. “Have we not exhausted this discussion, Georgiana? Balls hold no interest to me, which is fortuitous. A solicitor and his wife will likely receive few invitations to fancy dances, a fact that is abundantly pleasing to both Mr. Daniels and me.”

Lizzy hid a smile into the top of Alexander’s curly haired head. As news regarding the upcoming Masque became a prime topic of conversation, the inevitable subject of Mary and her betrothed attending was advanced. Lizzy vividly recollected the expression of utter horror that flew over Mr. Daniels’s instantly pale face. He had snapped his eyes to Mary with such mute pleading that everyone in the room had collectively coughed to avoid laughter.

Gradually over the past weeks, the young man had relaxed his glaring discomfiture at being a guest in Mr. Darcy’s home, the extended hours with his fiancée greatly easing the embarrassment. He had even loosened enough to join the family in several entertainments, including the manly pursuits partaken of each evening. Nevertheless, the concept of dressing the part of high society and attending a formal function was beyond endurance, and privately, he prayed for the days to pass speedily, fearful that at any moment his normally sober, rational fiancée would succumb to the female twittering and change her mind.

It did not help that hours were passed in the ballroom as Darcy, Richard, Charles, and George led the ladies in waltz lessons and dancing practice. Georgiana was fairly proficient, but neither Kitty nor Jane had ever attempted the waltz. In two short years, the scandalous dance of Vienna had spread like wildfire through England, even making an appearance at Almack’s. Although generally frowned upon and denounced harshly by some commentators, it increasingly showed up at even remote village assembly halls. Per typical human nature, this antagonism only served to advance the popularity of the intimate dance. Also typical was the blind eye turned to all historical evidence regarding the acceptance and fame of far more sensational dances, such as the volta, by royalty past.

Mr. Daniels need not have worried, as Mary viewed the waltz as further indication of the steady slide into debauchery and sinfulness! She could not deny that the couples were graceful in how they glided about the room, but her cheeks flamed and lips pursed nonetheless. Georgiana and Kitty were oblivious, far too enamored with the entertainment. Jane’s natural poise ensured her ability to adapt, but Kitty was unfamiliar with the stilted formality of a grand ball. Meryton Assembly country dancing was of a different character altogether, so studious attention was paid to teaching her the propriety demanded.

It was tremendous fun and was added to the entertainments utilized to wile away the hours between Christmas and Twelfth Night. The Matlocks and Bennets even joined the lessons upon occasion. In the comfortable environment of his own ballroom and surrounded by familiars, Darcy displayed his feline grace and dancing expertise. It was an eye-opener to most in the household, even those closest to him, as such fluency was a rare spectacle. Caroline was stupefied, her past dances with Mr. Darcy leaving her with the opinion that, for all his stellar qualities, the man had no balletic facility whatsoever! Lizzy delighted in the activity. Not since their impromptu dancing on the pier at Caister-on-Sea had the lovers embraced in rhythmic twirls and steps outside of their bedchamber. All the frivolity mollified Lizzy and Darcy in their mild sadness over not being able to attend this year’s Masque.

The final session during the early afternoon of the fifth of January, the day of the Masque, was purely for enjoyment. The Matlocks, Gardiners, and Bingleys had returned to their respective homes, the remaining Pemberley inhabitants eventually breaking from the light-hearted amusement to seek rest in preparation for a late night.

Georgiana gently grasped Richard’s elbow as they exited the ballroom. “Cousin,” she whispered, cheeks flushed as she eyed the retreating bodies nervously, exhaling in relief when none noted them hanging back. “I request a moment of your time.”

Richard smiled. “Why so formal, Georgie?” He lifted her chin until meeting her gaze. “What disturbs you, little mouse?”

“Will you ever cease calling me that?”

“Probably not. What is it?”

“I… want to ask a favor of you… for tonight.” Richard nodded encouragingly. “Will you stay close to me? Ensure I do not err in any way or make a fool of myself or do anything untoward?”

Richard frowned. “Why in the world would you think this possible, my dear? You are a proper lady, graceful and beautiful, decorous, a perfect Darcy in every way.”

“That is precisely the point!” She flared, pacing away a couple of steps then turning to him with teary eyes. “I am a Darcy and as such the expectations are so high! People will be looking at me, judging, waiting for me to misstep. And if I do… I do not want to disappoint William or any of you.”

He crossed the short distance, placing tender hands onto her shoulders. “Listen to me, dearest. Firstly, I am your guardian, a position I take quite seriously, as well as your cousin and friend. Of course I will be there for you, my sweet mouse. As will your uncles, Aunt Madeline, and the Bingleys. You will be amongst friends of Derbyshire. This is an excellent introduction for you and you will perform brilliantly, I know it! Do not fret so.”

“But I do not know anyone else! I never made friends with other girls, except for Bertha Vernor and Amy Hughes. I wish I could be as frivolous as Kitty,” she finished in a rueful tone.

Richard laughed. “As much as I admire Miss Kitty, you are not so blithe and should not wish to be other than who you are. Did you not relax and enjoy yourself at the dances in Wales? Father and mother said you loved it and were fabulous. They were proud of you and I know their recommendation is what swayed your overbearing brother’s protectiveness into allowing your attendance at the Masque. You requested to attend with enthusiasm, or so I was informed.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It is a good idea. Georgiana, let me assure you that Derbyshire events, for all the outward pomp and circumstance, are not all that formalized. I have attended thousands of balls, cotillions, soirees, military receptions, and the rest. Trust me, Sir Cole’s Masquerade is a relatively carefree extravaganza. You will have a marvelous time, I promise.” He offered an arm, steering toward the door. “Besides, you will have that ridiculous mask to hide behind. Pretend you are an exotic lady of the orient, a world-traveling Princess deigning to mix with the mere mortals of this quaint Shire, imperiously granting your expert dancing capabilities to the country bumpkins with two left feet, bestowing precious smiles and prized witticisms uttered in dulcet tones to the fortunate, flirting outrageously with fluttering fan and batting eyelashes as they swoon at your feet…”

And on it went down the corridor, with Georgiana’s nervousness mostly evaporating in the face of her cousin’s nonsense.

“Are we still waiting on the ladies?” George boomed, breezing through the open parlor doors, scanning the room, and quickly noting the absence of Kitty and Georgiana.

“Did you seriously expect them to be prepared prior to you?” Darcy inquired with a laugh. “You truly are innocent of a woman’s ways.”

“Humorous, Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy sniffed. “George, you are supremely handsome in that outfit. I believe you and Richard will be competing for who is the most sought after bachelor.”

George wore a formal sherwani in emerald green with elaborate gold embroidery covering the front—far more sedate than the majority of his outfits but impeccably tailored and exotic nonetheless. Richard, of course, was in full dress uniform, resplendent in red and white. Both men cut striking, if very different, figures. The gallant bows directed Lizzy’s way in response to her compliment were identically flamboyant however, except for the crisp military heel click that Richard added compared to George’s tip of an invisible hat. Darcy groaned dramatically, shaking his head.

“I must disagree with you slightly Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet spoke with a grin from his casual stance near the fireplace. “As debonair as I am certain Dr. Darcy would be considered in most quarters, I do have it on good authority that nothing quite sets a female’s heart to racing as a man in uniform. Watch your p’s and q’s, Colonel, or you may end the evening inadvertently engaged to a plethora of ladies.”

“Thank you for the warning, Mr. Bennet. I shall be cautious.”

“Perhaps I should advance the rumor that my garment is the official uniform of the Indian army. A man my age must resort to devious means and grasp onto any advantage possible.”

“Do the Indians have an official army, Dr. Darcy?” Mr. Daniels asked in confusion.

“Only in Punjab, but do you imagine that most of the naive girls of Derbyshire know this?” He grinned lecherously.

“My uncle. Godfather to my son. I am so proud.” Darcy declared dryly, the room erupting in laughter.

Voices and giggling interrupted further banter, a sudden flurry of colorful fabrics appearing at the wide double doorway. Mrs. Bennet led the pack, breathlessly fluttering in with voice raised over the din, “Oh how I wish I were young again! So marvelous, a Masque! Mr. Bennet! Look at our little Kitty. Is she not a vision of perfection? Wealthy suitors will be falling at her feet, I am sure of it!”

Katherine Bennet, nineteen years of age, rosy dimpled cheeks and sunny smile, was indeed a vision. The chosen turquoise gown was superbly fitted to accentuate her generous bosom and each voluptuous curve. Her hair was styled with a mass of curls held in check by a thin, jewel-encrusted tiara. Of all the Bennet girls Kitty most resembled her mother in both figure and character. Not overly intelligent, but with a sunny disposition and infectious smile that easily captivated men and women alike. Kitty would never lack for friends or suitors, although the acceptability of such acquaintances may be suspect, as Kitty did not possess a discerning nature. Like her mother, she had a tendency to blurt without thinking, to avoid any activity requiring extensive reasoning, to speak and laugh boisterously, and to ignore many of the finer nuances of etiquette and propriety. With maturity and positive outside influences some of the worst of these characteristics were tempering, but it seemed unlikely that Kitty would ever attain the level of grace and elegance that high society demanded. However, unlike her mother, she was rarely somber or distressed. All was gay and delightful to her. Georgiana Darcy, eighteen years of age, tall and slender, was equally a vision. Apropos for her stature and natural regality, the gown of thick maroon velvet lent an air of heightened prestige and maturity. The alterations of the past year were glaringly obvious to all who knew her, but never as forcefully as at this moment. Georgiana stood at five foot eight inches tall, figure svelte but with a curvaceousness that Lizzy only now in her maternal state had acquired. She was well proportioned with an ample bust line, delicate waist, long limbs, and sloping neck. Eyes slightly deeper blue than her brother’s, hair golden blonde, features dainty, and skin fair combined for a vision of loveliness.

Lizzy kept her gaze directed toward her husband, transfixed by the play of emotions that crossed his face. Initially it was shock; eyes bulging mildly and mouth dropping at the notable womanly figure. This was followed by a deep flush with lips pressed tightly, eyebrow creases formed instantly, and the flash of irritation with clenched fists as she had expected. What surprised and moved her was the gradual transition from protective anger to what could only be described as mournful remembrance; vivid mental portraits of his beloved mother now manifested before his eyes in the body of his sister. Lastly was the abrupt lifted chin and proud cast to his face, as with a beaming smile he strode toward her.

Georgiana too had swung her gaze to her brother upon entering the room. As well as she knew him, the rigid control he maintained at all times outside the privacy of his innermost sanctuaries meant that even she could not always correctly interpret his thoughts. Tonight, however, the naked displays were evident and she silently responded to each expression. Embarrassment at his shocked perusal of her body; shame and fear at his anger; tears and trembling at his mute grief, knowing that she resembled her mother; and finally a feeling of relief.

He reached for her outstretched hands, enfolding warmly. Voice husky, he murmured, “Georgiana Darcy. How beautiful you are. When did you become a woman? If only Father and Mother could see you now. How proud they would be!”

“You are not displeased, Brother?”

“No, my dearest. Merely woeful that my innocent, pubescent sister has apparently disappeared. I have a terrible need to be relied upon and now it fully strikes me that this role is rapidly dissipating. My selfish heart may well suffer with the blow of losing you, baby sister.”

Georgiana giggled, a decidedly unsophisticated sound. “I am only going to a ball, William. Tomorrow I shall be back for you to boss around and brood over.”

“Where does this sharp tongue come from?” he asked with a laugh.

“Try to blame me if you must,” George interjected, “or perhaps even your wife who has a sharp intellect and independent streak a mile wide, but actually she inherits the tendency from your mother. Anne was blessed with a piquant wit and James encouraged it. Neither ascribed to the idea of women as weak-minded vessels, thank God. Georgiana, you are radiant! Red is assuredly the color for you.”

Both girls were swarmed under a barrage of gushing accolades; the men appropriately complimenting their beauty and the ladies fawning over each button and ribbon. In a scene reminiscent of last Twelfth Night, it was Darcy who assumed control and ushered the group toward the waiting carriage, well aware that the flattering could go on forever.

Darcy personally assisted Georgiana into the carriage with a farewell kiss to her fingers and proud smile. Then he turned to George and Richard waiting on the gravel drive. All humor was erased, eyes piercing as he flatly stated, “I am trusting you two to keep a diligent guard over my sisters. Do not let me down.”

Richard nodded soberly. George squeezed his nephew’s shoulder, his eyes equally serious but voice soft, “Have no fears, William. We will vigilantly protect with our lives if need be. The girls will only have joyful stories to tell, I promise.”

Darcy searched their faces for a moment more, nodding once in satisfaction before rejoining Lizzy on the steps.

Kitty had badgered Georgiana into accenting with a mask, informed by Madame du Loire that the affectation was highly in style amongst the youthful singles this year for some unknown reason. Strangely, Georgiana had embraced the idea, displaying an unusual playful side at odds with her natural shyness. Obviously, Kitty’s silliness was influencing Georgiana as much as her steadiness was influencing Kitty! No one was surprised when George whipped out a peacock mask, with authentic feathers. It was quite spectacular and worn with a panache truly breathtaking to behold.

Later that evening, the Darcys lounged in their darkened sitting room. Darcy sat furthest from the blazing fireplace with feet bare and robe gaping open to reveal unclothed legs and exposed chest, yet he actually felt sweaty. Darcy read the book propped on a small pillow while caressing Alexander, the sleeping baby’s tiny body generating heat in droves. Darcy was bestowing occasional kisses to the curly head while absorbing the printed words of Goethe, the inconvenience in personal comfort well worth the joy.

Lizzy sat in an identical chair beside her husband with only a small table separating and less than three feet away from the fireplace. She wore Darcy’s old robe belted securely and drawn taut, and burrowed her stocking clad feet between his warm soles on the ottoman.

Normally, Lizzy relaxed into these moments of domestic felicity as thoroughly as did her spouse, but not tonight. She glanced at his intently placid mien, simultaneously amazed and annoyed at his apparent lack of distraction. She too held a book in her hands, but could not focus on the words.

“What do you think the girls are doing now?” She asked suddenly, rupturing the tranquility.

Darcy looked to his wife with a raised brow, eyes glancing to the softly ticking longcase clock in the corner. “Well, let me see. It is nearly eleven, which means that dinner is completed, yet it is not time to crown the King and Queen, therefore dancing is the primary diversion. Consequently, they are most likely standing in an unobtrusive corner talking with a well selected collective of unsociable individuals, praying that the night will end as rapidly and painlessly as possible.”

He turned with a shrug, Lizzy snorting and rolling her eyes. “Somehow I rather doubt that!”

“Then why did you ask me? I can only venture a guess based on personal experience, hence my answer. You would have a far better grasp on the possible activities, which, God help me, undoubtedly include flirting and dancing with lustful adolescent boys.” He shuddered, Alexander startling faintly and releasing a gurgling sigh.

“More personal experience, Mr. Darcy?” She laughed at his flush, then also released a sigh and tossed the unread book onto the floor. “I wish I could observe them dazzling, and I am dying to hear all the details!” She slyly glanced at her smiling spouse. “And do not pretend you are not wishing you could be there as well, to intimidate those lustful boys if nothing else.”

He shrugged again. “I trust Richard and Uncle George. They know I would skin them alive if any harm came to the girls. As for the details, there is no question we will hear all about it, especially you, who will surely be sequestered most of the day in your parlor reliving each second. Thankfully, I have a hunt planned so will only suffer the synopsis.” He too put the book aside, neatly onto the table, holding Lizzy’s gaze with a tender smile. “Perhaps I should relinquish our son to his cradle and engage you in an activity that will divert your attention away from useless pondering.”

Lizzy grinned salaciously, eyes brightening, and ran one foot seductively along his bare leg to inner thigh. “Hmmm… What sort of activity, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy burst out laughing, again startling Alexander who jerked and fluttered his eyelids, wiggled and rubbed his tiny face into his father’s scratchy, hair-covered skin before capturing the first two fingers of his right hand and returning to slumber happily sucking. Darcy patted the infant’s back placatingly, attempting to croon amid the escaping chuckles.

“You, my insatiable love, have a wicked mind! I was referring to a competition over the backgammon board, as your fangs always come out with that game. However, I suppose my direction could be altered if you so desire. I intend to stay awake until Watson informs me the celebrants have returned anyway.”

Now he was grinning salaciously while Lizzy reddened slightly, but returned his smile. “Well, since we have until then I imagine we can do both. I have not properly trounced you in backgammon for weeks, so a humbling is in order.” She jumped up, leaning over husband and baby and bestowing a chaste kiss to inviting lips. “I will put him to bed while you set up the board. Say your prayers, Mr. Darcy, as I fully intend to spank you until you beg for mercy.”

Darcy grasped behind her neck, halting her mere inches away from his mouth. “Are we still talking about backgammon?”

But she did not answer, smirking instead with a lifted brow and tiny shrug.

The first three games were serious affairs. Darcy had discovered far back in his youth the horrid ill luck he possessed with dice and cards. It was a running jest for as long as he could remember and legendary amongst his peers. That is not to say he never prevailed in the rare game of chance or refused to partake altogether. Rory Sitwell, especially, was fond of gambling card games and Darcy had learned that even though he would likely eventually lose every last pence, the competition and male camaraderie could be moderately amusing. The main problem, aside from inherently being a man of financial sensibility, was that Darcy hated defeat.

Backgammon was a game that required a melding of both skill and luck at dice. Lizzy was blessed with an eerily magical talent for rolling doubles or the precise combination needed to either hit Darcy’s checker and send it to the bar or keep her checkers together. Darcy seldom rolled doubles and was forever forced to separate his checkers into lone blots on a pip just waiting for his ruthless wife to knock them back. Lizzy was a fierce competitor, which Darcy loved, as he was also. His saving grace was a patience and tactical strategy that Lizzy lacked. Her swift, impulsive moves often proved her undoing. Although in the long run Darcy lost more often than he won, the victories were enough to sustain his interest and retard utter humiliation. Plus, he simply adored any entertainment undertaken with his wife.

Darcy surprisingly won the first game, barely. Lizzy won the second by a fair margin and the third was a slaughter with Darcy passing three rolls of his dice unable to release the two checkers captured on the middle bar. Lizzy gloated while setting up the board yet again, Darcy suddenly distracted by the fact that during the intensity of the past rounds, the old, voluminous robe had loosened and was now gaping open to reveal tantalizing glimpses of a succulent bosom. He opted not to point out the fact, praying fervently that she would remain ignorant as the game commenced.

For the first time in a long while, Darcy paid not the slightest attention to plotting and maneuvering. In fact, he barely noticed the fall of the dice, absently relocating from pip to pip before returning his rapt gaze to the ever increasing view of flesh before him. Lizzy’s frown deepened as she studied the board with undisguised chagrin. Her husband was thwarting her every move, rolling the perfect combinations, and clearly on the road to annihilating her! With more than half her checkers still scattered about, Darcy rolled a shocking double six, taking his blood-deprived brain completely by surprise upon realizing that he had just won the game! He blinked several times, Lizzy releasing a snort of disgust as she fell back into her chair.

The abrupt movement and contact with the hard chair back caused her breasts to bounce delightfully above their stays, Lizzy flushing as she realized her entire front torso and one shoulder were exposed.

Darcy’s gaze was instantly riveted, the final checker falling randomly onto the board. “Stop,” he commanded when she reached to close the robe. In seconds he was beside her, Lizzy standing without thought, separating the robe completely and running warm hands around her waist toward the short corset’s ties in back. He pulled her tightly into his body and bent to administer lazy licks to her breasts; his pleased wife encircled his broad shoulders and moaning faintly. Darcy skillfully released the undergarment, never halting the delicious and highly arousing oral attention given to each breast.

“Are we finished with backgammon then?” Lizzy whispered in a voice caught between breathless excitement and teasing sauciness, fingers tightly enmeshed in his thick brown hair.

Darcy’s husky voice rose from the depths of her cleavage, words spaced as lips continued their assault, “I am now more than ready to cry for mercy while you spank or in any way choose to exert your superiority over me, Mrs. Darcy. I am utterly at your disposal and in your power.”

“Careful what you wish for, my lover. I am very clever, remember?”

She tugged his head away, meeting darkly glittering orbs of blue before pulling in for a searing kiss, running forceful hands down his robe covered back until encountering a firm derriere.

Darcy’s knees buckled slightly at her rough clench to his bottom, gasping for air as he withdrew an inch or so from her devastating lips while simultaneously crushing her lower body into his with a grinding writhe. “Lizzy! Unbelievable minx and temptress. Anything… anything you want of me and it is yours!”

She answered with a tender bite to his lower lip. “I only want you, Fitzwilliam. Take me to bed.”

Darcy was no longer stupefied by the apparently bottomless depths of amorous arousal they both elicited in the other. He never took it for granted, but had gradually come to accept it as what was obviously a natural offshoot of their tremendous love. Perhaps in some small part of his psyche he sheltered an egotistical sliver of pride at his raging virility, but he gave the credit to her. The undeniable fact was that, although virtuous upon his marriage, Darcy was a functional man and never had he attained the levels of arousal, even when in the first blooms of manhood, that he did with Elizabeth.

Lizzy suffered no shock at her wantonness and was abundantly clear about how smug she was in the power to raise her husband’s passion. She wasted no mental effort in analyzing their desire for each other, simply employing every tactic that occurred to her at any given moment to please him, which always worked and in turn massively pleased her.

Their lovemaking had assumed a life of its own, and tonight they entered a place caught blissfully between wild, animalistic fervor and playful teasing. They reached heavenly completion in unity, their bodies not once more than inches apart and hands constantly moving.

Still gasping, sight and clarity slowly restored as Lizzy stroked the rigid thigh lying alongside hers while his sweaty and shaking body adhered to her backside and crushed her into the soft mattress. Lizzy murmured into the pillow, “This is far better than dancing at a ball.”

Darcy chuckled, breath tickling her ear and hoarse voice reverberating through her back. “No regrets, my lover?”

“Lord no! Only in that I must request you move as I cannot breathe.”

He chuckled again, kissing softly to the luscious bend of her neck before complying. He rolled away from her back, but brought her with him, wide palms supporting full breasts and fingers teasing sensitive nipples. She allowed this erotic after-play for a moment and then turned in his arms.

“I love you, William.”

“I love you, Elizabeth.” He kissed her nose.

“Do you still intend to stay awake until they return? After expending this much energy, I find it difficult to believe you will manage it.” She accentuated her tease with a well placed fondle, Darcy retrieving her gentle fingers with a heavenly sigh.

“You know me well, dearest. It will not be easy at all to hold you in my arms and not surrender to gratified slumber, but I want to make sure they arrive safely. The roads are slick in places.” He embraced her tighter, nestling into the bed as they naturally assumed their customary positions with her head lying perfectly on his inner shoulder with body loosely draped over and molding to his.

She idly played with the damp hairs on his chest, sleep rapidly consuming her malleable flesh, contentment and sheer sexual gratification overflowing. “You are a good man.” She yawned, snuggling even closer. “I fear you have expertly leeched every ounce of energy from my bones so I make no promise to wait with you.”

“Do not try, love.” He kissed her head. “Alexander will have you up soon enough. Sleep, my Lizzy.”