But his eyes betrayed him.
They lingered on her mouth when she spoke. They traced the line of her throat when she reached for her wine. They darkened when she laughed at some small remark he made. And every time their gazes met across the candles, the air grew thick with anticipation and the promise of later.
She excused herself every night at the same hour, rising with impeccable propriety so the servants would witness it.
“If you will excuse me, Mr Darcy. I find I am rather tired.”
He always stood. “Of course, Miss Bennet. Goodnight.”
The footmen saw her leave. Propriety was preserved.
That night she waited.
At one o’clock, when the house had settled into its deepest silence, she slipped from her chamber in her nightgown, barefoot on the cool corridor floor. She moved like a shadow down the route to the master’s chamber.
He was waiting.
She had barely raised her hand to knock when the door opened wide. Mr Darcy pulled her inside with one smooth motion, kicking the door shut behind her. The click of the latch sounded like surrender.
His mouth was on hers before she could draw breath.
The kiss was hungry, urgent, all the restraint finally snapping. He pressed her back against the door, one large hand cradling the back of her head while the other slid down her side, gripping her hip and pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth and he took the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue stroking hers with deliberate, devastating skill.
Elizabeth’s hands fisted in his shirt. He was in only shirtsleeves and breeches, waistcoat discarded, cravat gone. The heat of his body burned through the thin linen. She could feel how hard he was, the rigid length of him pressing insistently against her belly.
He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down her throat, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. One hand slipped between them, sliding under the hem of her nightgown. His fingers found her already slick and ready. He groaned against her neck as he stroked her, slow and firm, circling the sensitive bud at her centre until her hips jerked against his hand.
“Elizabeth...” The word was rough, almost reverent.
She made a wanton little sound, half gasp, half moan, and he rewarded her by sliding one long finger inside her, then two, curling them with devastating precision while his thumb continued its relentless rhythm.
Her head fell back against the door with a soft thud. “Please—”
He dropped his head lower.
Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, he took the peak of her breast into his mouth, sucking hard. The sharp pleasure bordered on pain, then melted into liquid heat. Shecried out, the sound raw and unguarded. He soothed the sting with his tongue, gentle laps that made her tremble, then sucked again, harder, drawing another broken moan from her throat.
His fingers never stopped their steady movements between her legs, with deep, curling strokes that drove her mad. She was panting now, hips rocking helplessly against his hand, her fingers tangled in his hair.
He switched to her other breast, sucking and licking until both peaks were tight and aching. The dual assault, his mouth on her breast, his fingers deep inside her, pushed her relentlessly towards the edge.
When her pleasure came, it was with a soft, shattered cry. Her body clenched around his fingers, waves of pleasure crashing through her so intensely her knees buckled. He held her upright against the door, murmuring praise against her skin as she trembled through every pulse.
When the last tremor faded, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I have been starving for this,” he said, voice low and rough with need.
Elizabeth laughed; breathless, incredulous, delighted. The sound was pure joy. She took his hand and led him to the great four-poster bed.
She pushed him gently until he sat on the edge. Then she knelt between his spread thighs.
His breath hitched as she unfastened his breeches with trembling fingers. When she freed him, he was hot andheavy in her hand, leaking at the tip. She looked up at him through her lashes.
“May I?”
“God, yes.”
She stroked him cautiously, experimenting. She gasped when he twitched in her hand, and he laughed. She leaned down and licked the drops from the tip of his length. It tasted salty, but not unpleasant. She took him into her mouth, her hand holding the base.