Love Calls Again Page 11

  The masks, the spirit of the festivity and the abundant spirited drinks, undoubtedly, were very much responsible for Elizabeth's careless display. Oblivious to the perils to their reputations, they continued in the same manner, laughing and flirting as though each was a potential match for the other. To their chagrin, they were interrupted by Bingley and Jane, who had approached the refreshment table to help themselves to some punch. Mr Bingley asked Elizabeth for the next dance, and Mr Darcy saw the necessity of asking the same from Jane.

  Hence they danced the next two with their new partners, occasionally facing each other during the dance, a moment when they would desperately cling to look in each other's eyes. When the dance was over, Bingley claimed his wife's hand from his friend, leaving his sister in Mr Hurst's company, who politely had offered to dance the next two with her.

  Darcy assumed his customary position near a window and dauntlessly surveyed her dancing with Mr Hurst from there.

  "Good evening, Mr Darcy."

  Darcy turned around to find an unmasked face, fairly familiar to him.

  "Mr Bennet. How do you do sir?"

  "May I congratulate you on your recent marriage?" Mr Bennet said casually.

  "I thank you, sir. I trust Mrs Bennet is in good health."

  "She is, she is. Fortunately, she insisted in wearing a mask, so I have no idea of her whereabouts whatsoever."

  Notwithstanding Darcy's amusement at the man's remark, he reckoned the old man would not approach him for nothing. Yes. He knew Mr Bennet was a sly sort of person. Hence, he sorted out to say something nice about Mrs Bennet before his wittiness turned against him. He thought for a while before retorting the following: "I understand Mrs Bennet enjoys this sort of festivity quite a lot."

  "As much as you, sir." was Mr Bennet's quick retaliation. "I confess I was surprised to see you so frequently on the dance floor. I was of the intelligence that you considered dancing somewhat savage and unpolished."

  Darcy chuckled. "A good memory is unpardonable, sir. Indeed, when I said that I was merely jesting. Sir William should have taken my words with a grain of salt."

  "And do you often partner only one lady at a ball, regardless of her connection to you?"

  Darcy had expected something like that the minute he had seen Mr Bennet by him. But Darcy was not a lamb to be carried to slaughter without a word. He had already made up his mind to keep Miss Elizabeth's company regardless of the dictates of propriety. Mr Bennet would not stop him.

  "Indeed I do. I never dance with strangers," he said defensively, "only with well reputed ladies that have been in my acquaintance for a long time. I must apologise, Mr Bennet. Did you find my partnering your daughter offensive?"

  "Sir, I must confess it was not a surprise to see my daughter singled out by a gentleman. What really causes my concern is that you, sir, are a married man. Therefore my daughter should not be the object of your attention. Do I make myself clear?"

  Mr Darcy answered only with a slight bow and abandoned Mr Bennet's company.

  Elizabeth, meanwhile had been dancing with Mr Hurst. When the music finished, Mr Hurst accompanied his rather flushed partner to the refreshment table again. She lingered around a bit, declined several invitations to dance and finally, headed for a corridor. A bit disappointed at Mr Darcy's disappearance, she tried to recollect herself in solitude. Yet, Darcy had seen her exiting the ball room. He had not taken his eyes off of her for the shortest moment. Abandoning his position, he darted towards her.

  Albeit she had not seen him approaching her, she received him with delight.

  "Miss Bennet. May I beg you your forgiveness? I fear I cannot help it. I must ask you now."

  "What is it, sir?"

  He eyed her shamelessly and leaning to her ear he breathed the question while his hand brushed her arm.

  "Oh!"

  Eleven

  —

  Twelfth-Night Spirit Takes Over

  "Mary, dear. Have you not seen your sister?" Mr Bennet asked to his plainest daughter, who had been sitting alone in her usual manner, watching the merriment of the couples dancing in the hall.

  "Aye, papa. She's dancing, as usual," she answered nonchalantly.

  "With whom is she dancing?" was his further inquiry.

  "An officer, of course. Who else could call Kitty's attention?" Mary explained. Had he ever seen Kitty rest her eyes on anything but a red coat?

  "I do not mean Kitty. I mean Lizzy. Have you seen her?"

  Mary frowned in a puzzled gesture. "Nay, sir. I saw her dancing with a tall gentleman a few moments ago, but then she seems to have disappeared."

  "Indeed. Pray, will you assist me in seeking her? There is something of consequence I must discuss with her."

  "Aye, papa. Where do you think she can be?"

  "I have no idea, Mary. Pray do not apprise anyone we are in her quest, will you? Least of all your mama. Just look for her."

  "Is anything wrong, papa?"

  "I hope not, dear. I hope not."

  Mary discerned a stern look of concern in her father's eyes. What could Lizzy be at to have affected her father in that manner? What could he positively have to discuss with Lizzy in the middle of Twelfth Night ball? Her sister Lizzy would be the last on her list of possible cause of anxiety to her parents. Yet the sudden sadness in her father's countenance was telling her that something was amiss.

  Mary paced the ball room, her head tilted, surveying the crowd with concealed alertness. The mask she was wearing was definitely not useful for the enterprise because it blocked her vision. Nay, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. It was unfortunate she could not apprise anyone else of her quest, for she could have raised some help to seek for Elizabeth. She went over the refreshment table, the ball floor, the French parlour and still no trace of her.

  Just when she was about to ramble the corridor to further her quest, she was approached by a nice young gentleman, not outstandingly good looking yet not dreadful to behold. At least the part of his face the mask did not conceal was not.

  "I am sorry to importune you. I have noticed you are looking for someone. May I be of assistance?"

  "I thank you, I…" Such was her surprise at the manner of his address that Mary had not time to think for a proper answer with which to dismiss him. It was too evident that she was looking for someone. Reflecting upon the offer of assistance she considered it would be most desirable to accept it, due to the fact that the gentleman was a complete stranger, therefore possibly unaffected as to what was taking her to be in quest of her sister.

  "You must excuse my rudeness, ma'am. Edward Forester at your service."

  "Mary Bennet, sir."

  "Well then, Miss Mary. How can I be of service?"

  "I am looking for my sister, sir."

  "I see. May I be so bold as to ask to be apprised of her appearance?"

  "She is very much like me, sir. She is wearing a white dress but her hair is prettier done."

  "I doubt that, ma'am."

  "Pardon?"

  "I say I doubt a lady in this ballroom has her hair prettier done than yours. Such modesty in hairdos is rarely found these days among young ladies. I must confess modesty is one characteristic I particularly appreciate in a lady."

  "I thank you sir. I fear I am undeserving of your praise."

  "Your words are saying exactly the opposite, ma'am. Your virtue is on display not only in the manner of your adornment but also in the manner of your addresses."

  "Sir, I… You must excuse me, I… have to…"

  "Oh, of course. I have forgotten. Your sister, is she very young?"

  "She is my elder, sir. She is wearing a silk mask with golden rims. "Well then. Let us go for her, shall we?"

  ~•~

  "I must speak to you. Would you afford me the last moments of the evening before the ball finishes?" Darcy whispered to Elizabeth's ear. He was standing at her back, his groins in alertness, his gaze caressing her pert bottom, his body gently leaning against the frame of the wind
ow. As he spoke the words he came dangerously closer to her from behind.

  "Oh,"

  "How would you like a short turn outside?" he whispered ever so invitingly while his hand brushed the sensitive skin of her arm under the concealment of her dress.

  "It must be freezing outside," she said turning around her flushed face, in the process coming perilously close to his profile.

  "I believe the gardeners had cleared the snow in the path towards the orangery. We can always find shelter there." His spicy breath tickled on the back of her neck.

  "Would it be appropriate for us to go there, sir?" she teased him lowering her face.

  "Hardly."

  "Oh."

  "Should I take that as a refusal to my invitation?" he said, looking up at her with inquisitive eyes.

  "Not at all. Yet, I find the whole endeavour a little unusual."

  "If you do not trust me, Miss Bennet, we can always ramble in one of the corridors." He protested. "Let us only peek through the window, instead. Of course, that would hardly make up for the stroll outside. I am sure there is going to be a full moon tonight."

  "Indeed! In that case I can hardly refuse. I would never suspend any pleasures of yours. Only let it be for the shortest while. Let me get my shawl."

  He smiled broadly at her recollection of his own speech. "Of course. I would never pardon myself if you caught your death in the cold due to my own fancy for a walk in a winter night."

  Several other guests had had the same idea, the shadowy gardens offering convenient shelter for those couples who, unaware of the cold weather, wished to carry the spirit of the Twelfth Night to its maximum expression. It was a beautiful night and the stars twinkled joyfully while a magnificent moon spied on them.

  "Oh, what a glorious night!" she said whilst staring at the starry sky.

  "Indeed, I do not recollect any one more beautiful." He was looking intently at her while saying this.

  "Mr Darcy, you will force me to abandon your company if you insist upon this tone of conversation," she retorted playfully.

  "Do you object to my agreement of the beauty of the night?"

  "You know very well what I mean, sir." she said reproachfully.

  "Very well. And what do you propose we should talk about?"

  "Sir, I assumed it was you who wanted to speak to me. Have you forgotten?"

  "You have dismissed my favourite topic," he said in frank admission.

  She could not help smile at this. Understanding his trick, she endeavoured to find a safer topic. "What about Miss Darcy? How is she faring?"

  "Georgiana is very well, I thank you. She is much recovered, though I think she will find it very difficult to overcome her shyness. I had expected you… I mean… she would have profited tremendously from your lively companionship." Elizabeth did not know what to make of this statement. She wondered whether Mr Darcy would remember what he was saying the next day. He had been clearly sending her the same message the whole evening: He still loved her and regretted not being married to her. Yet, there was nothing they could do about it. It was pointless to further an intimacy they would not be able to take to its end. Even so, she loathed hurting his feelings any further. She had done that enough in the past and now she had her own odyssey with the strange impulse that shamelessly pulled her to him which she was not able to fight.

  "I would love to write to her if you think it can be of any help," said she.

  "I would be most obliged if you could do so."

  "It will be my pleasure. I am confident we could further our acquaintance in the future. I shall visit her next time she and I coincide in London."

  "I am certain she will love that."

  "Then I shall. Next winter," they continued their promenade in silence for a few moments, neither of them feeling uncomfortable. Darcy, trying desperately to ensure a meeting in the future, attempted to extract her plans for the winter.

  "So, you do not think you will be in London sometime this winter?"

  "I do not think so. I plan to remain in Longbourn until… is that a shooting star?"

  "I am sorry, I did not see it!" he lifted his head heavenwards.

  "But it was!"

  "Then you should make a wish." A meek smile drew in her girlish features and, closing her eyes, she paused for a moment, as if in deep concentration. He regarded her in bewildered delight, forcing himself to refrain from the wild impulse to kiss her whilst he had the opportunity. She muttered her wish, and Darcy almost drowned in her lips. Upon opening her eyes, she was confronted with his tender look and his breath smelling strongly of brandy. Elizabeth quivered lightly.

  "What did you wish for?" he asked her while his vision clung to her bosom.

  "That I cannot tell you, lest my wish not come true." Was he looking at my breasts?

  "I believe I can guess what you wished for," he said mischievously raising his eyes to her lips.

  "Are you a reader of the mind?" What is he meaning with this? Is he trying to kiss me?

  "I am not. Yet I believe I have come to know you well enough to see through you betimes."

  "Well then. What do you suppose I wished for?"

  "I refuse to endanger the fulfilment of your wish."

  "In other words, you have no idea," she said while containing her laughter.

  He halted and stared at her, his serious regard piercing her heart.

  "In other words, I dare not say what you have just prevailed upon me to avoid saying."

  They had come to a small turn where the sight of the house was concealed by means of some wilderness. There was no one around, and Darcy took both her hands in his.

  "Your hands are cold." He boldly put them inside his coat, her hands resting on the warmth of his body. For an instant she lingered, immensely enjoying the bliss of the moment. Seconds later she recovered composure.

  "We should return to the house," she said, blushing profusely.

  Reluctantly, he let go of her hands and turned around to head for the house.

  "So, I hope you meant it when you said you would correspond with Georgiana."

  "You can count upon it, sir."

  "I am happy to hear that."

  "It will be my pleasure to correspond with her. She is a charming young lady."

  Their rambling took them, somehow unconsciously, to the path heading towards the orangery. He halted in front of the entrance and looked intently into her eyes. Losing all sense of decorum, he opened the door and placed his hand on the small of her back, lightly pushing, encouraging her to step into the shelter.

  He had taken her by surprise, or she would have resisted such forwardness. Yet, when she felt his hand upon the small of her back, an irresistible sensation took hold of her. Her body simply refused to hear her mind's desperate warnings to avoid such a meeting. Upon entering the quarters, the pungent scent of the flowers in the enclosure filled their nostrils, making Elizabeth slightly dizzy. Or was it his presence? Darcy stopped and looked her in the eye in a decidedly shameless manner.

  "Miss Bennet, you must allow me to make a confession to you."

  "What is it, sir?"

  "My wish."

  "Your wish?"

  "Yes, my Christmas wish. To be able to see myself reflected in your eyes, just once in my life. I have nothing to lose now that I have lost you for ever."

  He removed his mask. Taking her cold hands to his lips, he kissed her frozen fingers.

  "May I?" he gestured his desire to unmask her. Ever so slowly, he removed the silky cloth that camouflaged her features. Elizabeth was caught up in some illusory state that prevented her from reacting like a proper lady. Her eyes locked with his and her waist was quickly wound around by his pouncing arms.

  So much for gentlemanly behaviour.

  "Sir, you are married," she reminded him stupidly, yet lack of conviction caused her voice to falter and the inviting demeanour of her body told him she momentarily did not mind said circumstance in the least.

  "Please, Miss Bennet. I am h
umbly at your feet. It is only for this one time you must allow me to hold you. I promise I shall not importune you any further." Darcy's heart-beat was dangerously rising until he was certain Elizabeth would be aware of its thuds. He was holding her in his arms and she was not rejecting him, still he was unsure what to do with her.

  "Sir, I am already in your arms."

  "Indeed you are. I grant you I would never do anything to harm you," he assured her. "Yet I cannot help the urge to kiss you," he confessed while lowering his head in an endeavour to comply with his wish.

  "Mr Darcy, I cannot allow you to kiss me, as you well know," she said with the least attempt to free herself from his embrace.

  "Then I shall seek your permission no longer." With that he dipped into her mouth and, crushing her lips, he devoured them. Pushing ravenously, he strove to accommodate his aching pride on the hardness under her navel. In such pursuit, she ended up with her back against a wall, legs slightly parted and toes in the air. He kissed her and at the same time he breathed a muffled confession.

  "I love you, Elizabeth. I love you."

  His hip moved rhythmically against her, pinning her to the wall. His hands had abandoned her waist and were travelling the depth of her curves, bestowing the most delicious vibrations to her young anatomy.

  On hearing him avowing his pent-up feelings, Elizabeth absolutely abandoned herself to his passion, responding to his caresses in the most wanton manner ever imagined. Twelfth Night had unleashed the sensuality that was necessary for her to acknowledge her own hunger for his touch. She longed for more and, though quite unaware why she did so, she instinctively pushed even harder against the bulk she felt betwixt her legs. She sighed and even moaned and let her own hands ramble over his chest until they rested on his broad shoulders.