His hand slid under her skirts, pushing them up her thighs. She was already wet when his fingers found her, slick and hot. He stroked her slowly at first, circling the sensitive bud at her centre, then dipped lower, sliding one finger inside her. She moaned, her hips rocking against his hand. He added a second finger, curling them just right, his thumb pressing rhythmically against her swollen bud while his mouth continued its assault on her breasts.
Elizabeth was writhing on the desk now, one hand braced behind her, the other clutching his shoulder. The sounds she made, the soft gasps turning into broken moans, all drove him wild. He pressed his hips forward, letting her feel how hard he was through his breeches. They rocked together in a frantic rhythm like desperate adolescents, the friction of fabric against flesh only heightening the need.
He sucked harder on her nipple, his fingers moving faster inside her, his thumb relentless. Elizabeth’s thighs began to tremble. Her head fell back, a sharp cry escaping her as pleasure crashed over her. Her pleasure slicked his fingers, her inner walls clenching, her entire body shuddering with release.
Darcy kept moving through it, gentling his touch only when the tremors began to subside. He did not spend. The ache of his arousal was almost painful, but he held back, his breathing ragged.
Elizabeth slumped against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder, still panting. Even after her climax she looked unsatisfied, her eyes hazed with lingering want. She shifted against him, pressing closer, clearly craving more.
“When is the wedding?” she asked, her voice husky and direct, the implication unmistakable.
Darcy pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own still glazed with need. He brushed a damp curl from her forehead with trembling fingers.
“I already have the special licence,” he said quietly. “It has been ready for months. We can do it whenever you want. We can do it today. I will go wake the vicar right now if you say the word.”
“Before we wake up the vicar,” Elizabeth whispered, still breathless and flushed on the edge of his desk, “it would be wise to inform your daughter, do you not think?”
Darcy rested his forehead against hers, trying to calm his breathing. His hands were still on her hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over the fabric of her gown. The ache in his body had not eased, but her words cut through his madness with their practicality. She was right, of course. Anne had to hear it from them first, not from servants’ whispers or startled exclamations in the morning.
“Yes,” he murmured, pressing one last soft kiss to her lips. “You are right. We should wait until morning before waking anyone. Let them sleep.”
Elizabeth smiled, a small, tender curve of her mouth that made his chest tighten all over again. She straightened her gown while he helped her down from the desk. They lingered a moment longer in the study, stealing one more kiss, slower this time, full of promise rather than frenzy, before she slipped out into the corridor and back to her chamber.
Darcy stood alone for a long time after the door closed, his heart still racing, his body still humming with unspent need. He touched the spot on his jaw where she had bitten him and smiled.
The next morning dawned bright and clear over Pemberley. Darcy rose early, dressed with more care than usual, and made his way to the nursery just as the sun shone brightly through the tall windows. The door stood slightly ajar. He paused on the threshold, taking in the scene before him.
Elizabeth sat at the small table with Anne, who was still in her nightgown, her hair tousled from sleep, rubbing her eyes with one fist while clutching Muffin in the other. A simple breakfast had been laid out; warm toast, butter, jam, and a pot of tea. Elizabeth was speaking softly to the child, her voice warm and patient as always.
Darcy stepped inside. Elizabeth looked up and their eyes met. A private smile passed between them, full of last night’s secrets and this morning’s anticipation. Without a word, she reached for another slice of toast, buttered it generously,exactly the way he liked, and set it on a plate for him. The small, domestic gesture made him settle with contentment.
“Good morning, Papa,” Anne said around a mouthful of toast, her voice still thick with sleep. “Miss Bennet says the sun is shining especially bright today. Do you think the butterflies will come out?”
Darcy sat down beside them, folding his long legs awkwardly, and accepted the buttered toast with a nod of thanks to Elizabeth. “I think they might, sweetheart. But first, we have something important to tell you.”
Anne tilted her head, suddenly alert despite her sleepiness. She set Muffin carefully on the table as though he, too, needed to hear this. “Is it about the new kittens in the stable? Because I have already named three of them.”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. She gave him an encouraging nod, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the table near his. He reached out and took it, lacing their fingers together in plain view. Anne’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Anne,” he said gently, “Miss Bennet has agreed to marry me. She will become my wife, and your mother.”
The child was silent, her blue eyes moving slowly from their joined hands to Elizabeth’s face and back again. Her small brow furrowed in concentration as she processed the words.
“Does this mean Miss Bennet will never leave me?” she asked at last.
Elizabeth leaned forward, her free hand reaching out to brush a curl from Anne’s forehead. Her voice was warm, absolute, ringing with a certainty that left no room for doubt.
“Never,” she said firmly. “I will be your mamma from now on. Do you agree?”
Anne’s face transformed. The serious frown melted away into a radiant smile that lit her entire expression. She launched herself across the table, throwing her arms around both of them at once. Toast crumbs scattered and Muffin nearly toppled. Darcy caught her easily, pulling her into his lap while Elizabeth wrapped her arms around them both.
“Yes!” Anne cried, her voice muffled against Darcy’s shoulder. “Yes, I agree! You will be my mamma and you will never leave and we can read stories every single night and you can help Papa carve new horses and we can have picnics by the pond and—and Muffin says he is very happy too!”
She pulled back just enough to look at Elizabeth, her eyes shining with pure delight. “Will you really be my mamma? Not just pretending?”
“Really and truly,” Elizabeth promised, pressing a kiss to the top of Anne’s head. “I love you very much, little one. And I love your Papa. We are going to be a family.”
Anne wriggled happily between them, one arm still looped around Darcy’s neck and the other reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. She squeezed their joined fingers tightly, as though sealing the promise. “Then I am the luckiest girl in Derbyshire. Even luckier than the princess in the tower, because my mamma came down all by herself and she is the best governess in the world and now she will stay forever.”