Love Calls Again Page 13

  "Please, Miss Bennet. Make up your mind," He said, his arrogant smile flickering knowingly at the corner of his mouth. He knew he had cornered her.

  Yet, Elizabeth's mind was racing, and finally an idea flashed into her thoughts. "You must avoid calling on them here," she stated triumphantly. "Perchance you can visit them in London?"

  He looked at her doubtfully. "That is certainly viable. I must refrain from calling on Bingley at Netherfield but I am allowed to see him in London. I shall miss the hunting expeditions, though."

  "Unless I am in London myself. Then you may visit Mr Bingley here."

  "I see. And how do you propose that I be informed of your whereabouts?" he asked speculatively.

  Elizabeth remained thoughtful for awhile. Then her face brightened up as an idea came upon her. "I shall correspond with Miss Darcy!" she said enthusiastically, grinning broadly at her interlocutor.

  The line of a thin, approving smile drew on Darcy's lips. "Then, that is settled. You shall let me know through my sister."

  With a triumphant air, she took her mask and tried to put it back.

  "Allow me." Timidly, Elizabeth turned slowly around and Darcy delicately did the laces of her masquerade, avoiding all contact with her skin. Nonetheless, he seized the opportunity to fill his lungs with her intoxicating scent.

  "There. Let me put on mine now and we may go." He quickly slipped his head into his mask and was ready to leave the shelter of the orangery.

  As they stepped outside a cold breeze seized their bodies and they shook with cold. Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm and she placed her small hand in its crook. Scarcely had they walked three steps back to the house when Elizabeth discerned the figure of her sister Mary walking with a gentleman, coming straight into their direction. Quick as a wink, she wheeled around, and, taking a much surprised Darcy by the hand, she turned back into the shelter of the orangery once more.

  "Elizabeth! What…"

  "Hush! 'Tis my sister! She is heading in our direction."

  "Your sister? You mean Jane?"

  "No. 'Tis Mary," she whispered.

  "What ever is Miss Mary doing rambling alone in the garden?"

  "She is not alone. She is with a gentleman," she explained.

  Darcy sent a quizzical look towards Elizabeth. She held his eyes for a second when she burst out laughing, which she immediately attempted to hold back.

  "This is too much. I should have suspected you Bennet girls are all the same."

  "What do you mean, sir?" she exclaimed piercing him with her eyes.

  "Absolutely irresistible. Even Miss Mary Bennet has her charms."

  Elizabeth was too concerned with her sister's proximity to be able to pay attention to Darcy's flattery.

  "Gracious Lord. They are coming this way!" she gasped.

  Darcy peeked through a small crack in the door. The couple were absorbed in conversation, and he suspected they would not see them even if they were to walk directly into them. Still, the situation was perfect, for he fancied holding Miss Bennet in his arms a little more, and the whole affair of hiding from Miss Mary afforded him the ideal opportunity to do so.

  "So it seems. They are coming directly to the orangery."

  "What shall we do?"

  "I do not know. Are you acquainted with the gentleman?"

  "Nay. 'Tis the first time I have seen Mary with a gentleman other than my father or Mr Collins."

  "There is always a first time for everything. I imagine the gentleman might be entertaining the idea of stepping into this place."

  "I doubt my sister will consent to such a scheme. Mary would never allow a man to…" She immediately realised she was indirectly recognising she had permitted Mr Darcy to seduce her.

  "You were saying?"

  "Mary will never permit a man to…"

  "Seduce her? Why not? Is your sister not human? Miss Eliza Bennet! You are being a little hypocritical, do you not think so?"

  "Why I… I am certain she… Aye, sir. Perhaps I am. A little."

  "I shall assume Miss Mary is as honourable a person as any of us. Well, perchance a little more. Still, she is a human being, prone to weaknesses just like you and me, Miss Bennet. There is a great probability that they might enter this place in search of some… solitude. In that case we shall have to… hmm pretend?"

  "Pretend?"

  "Indeed. We could hold each other, so in case your sister and her beau happened to choose to enter the orangery, they will simply leave when they see it is already occupied."

  "My sister will recognise me."

  "Indeed she will not. I will endeavour to prevent her from seeing you." Ever so slowly he began to encircle her with his arms. "'Tis devilishly dark in here. We will look to them just as another of the various pair of lovers around. And Miss Bennet. May I remind you, you were in my arms for no reason at all a moment before. Now here is a good reason."

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed his arms to hold her again. His face he began to rub against her neck.

  Bless Miss Mary.

  "Sir, is this necessary?"

  "Hush! They are very close now. Your sister might recognise your voice."

  Darcy took every opportunity to indulge himself in the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath he captured once again with his lips. She could not protest, and a few moments later they were lost in the sweetness of their embrace. Not a word was uttered, the silence of the orangery broken by the humming voices of Mr Forester and Mary coming from outside, and the involuntary sighing and moaning coming from Elizabeth. They continued in that manner for as long as it took the intruding couple to abandon the area. To his luck, they remained there for quite some time.

  When the voices of Mr Forester and Miss Mary finally faded away in clear indication of their exiting the premises, Elizabeth, endeavouring to catch her breath, said in a whisper. "Mr Darcy."

  No answer.

  "Mr Darcy."

  "Hmm?"

  "Mr Darcy, sir. My sister has left."

  "She has?"

  "You can release me now, sir."

  "Must I?"

  "Indeed you must, sir. The pretence is over."

  "I am not pretending, Miss Bennet. I am quite enjoying myself, I assure you." He held her tighter still and began to bestow wet tantalising kisses on the corner of her mouth.

  "Mr Darcy, you promised, remember?"

  "I did, did I not?" he breathed into her ear. "Still, you must indulge me in one little wish."

  "Sir, you have already spent your wish."

  "But you have not. I know for what you wished upon the star a moment ago."

  "How very presumptuous of you, sir! To believe I should waste a wish on your lips!"

  Unmasking his face, he nuzzled it against her neck. "Who said anything about my lips?"

  She stared at him deeply embarrassed and thereupon tried to disentangle from his arms. "Ah, ah, ah, Miss Bennet. Your own tongue has betrayed you." He, then, half seriously half teasingly, in his most seductive voice, challenged her to forget herself in the pleasure of the night. "Come, Eliza," he breathed to her ear, "I beg you. Indulge yourself. Allow me the privilege of making your wish come true. I am all yours this one night. And it will be only tonight. This crazy, blessed Twelfth Night."

  Temptation cropped up deep inside her soul as she imagined a whole night in his arms in the concealment of the greenhouse. She quickly forgot all the promises of self deprivation they had just vowed. Now it was her time to unmask both her face and soul. As she removed the white silk covering her visage for a second time, she could not help an indulgent smile from tracing across her lips. He was absolutely right. That had been a crazy, yet beautiful night. Regardless of the impropriety of his urgent plea, Elizabeth made up her mind to oblige him, and thereupon locking her arms around his neck, surrendered to him in an ardent, hungry embrace that could have lasted the rest of the night.

  Masks were the first items of clothing to be discarded.

  His cravat followed, natu
rally, to afford the lady direct access to the sensible skin that said cloth covered so zealously.

  Her shawl, soon, became obsolete, too, for her cleavage he was determined to seduce and in such endeavour, the decorated piece of cloth slipped from her shoulders unnoticibly, as the low cut of her dress gave way to his invasive hands once again.

  Thereupon, the sweet scent of the orangery enveloped the lovers in blissful lovemaking, while a distinctive scent emanated from the warmth of their bodies. Hands touching, feeling; devouring mouths, licking and sucking unrelentingly, till their lips became swollen from the intercourse. Lost in unfulfilled desire, striving, at the same time, not to forget themselves compleatly, yet finding the whole endeavour extremely difficult and aware that dawn would eventually separate them perhaps for ever. Such was the befuddlement of emotions of both Elizabeth and Darcy as they continued to indulge themselves with the luxuriating flavours of their forbidden courtship.

  Indeed, they could never satiate their hunger for each other, not against the harden edge of a wooden table, for he had cornered her against said piece of furniture, and she ended up sitting uncomfortably astride on it, his groin throbbing angrily, perfectly adjusted to the junction her thighs offered. Eventually, it was plain to him that his manhood would need a release that was not to have, at least not in the manner of Darcy's musing, so the night should come to an end. Uninviting as it was to part with his young lover, Darcy struggled fiercely with his desires, unwilling to call it a day. But it would not do. Much as it pained him to let go of her beautiful prisoner, he could not avoid the natural consequences unleashing such emotions entailed. With his cravat dangling unevenly from his neck – evidentiary witness of Elizabeth's ardent kissing – bloodshot eyes full of passion and a hoarse voice that could scare the devil, Mr Darcy finally decided he could take no more. After all he was only human. When, finally, he disentangled himself from her, his mien in compleat disarray, he found it necessary to take a good time in order to recover his wit. Still, in vain did he endeavour to compose his appearance, such was the appalling state that his attire had got into.

  An unembarrassed, though a bit disoriented Elizabeth, her décolletage in a sad state, endeavoured to robe her bosom after the riot Mr Darcy's perusal had caused. Shivering lightly, she immediately regretted the abrupt conclusion her meeting with Darcy had come to, for no sooner had she unlocked her arms from his neck, than she missed his warmth, and the enticing feeling his arousal effectively bestowed on her thighs; so much so, that once he had given up his awkward intent to tie the knot of his cravat, she sought the comfort of his closeness once more.

  Not a word.

  Reluctantly, the enamoured pair exited the orangery, to find that most of the couples they had found scattered around when having the stroll, had all gone inside. At a slow pace, like old friends enjoying a starry night, they made their way towards the house. Ever so often, they cast a dreamy glance at each other, sighing and smiling timidly. Upon reaching the house, Darcy let go of her hand, and standing facing her, caressed her swollen lips, a longing look in his eyes. Then, with a courteous bow, bid her good night.

  "Good night, Mr Darcy," she said with a broad smile.

  "Miss Bennet. I shall see you later tonight."

  "Pardon?"

  "In my dreams. I told you before. You never leave my bedchamber in the night. Good night my sweet love." Elizabeth froze at this manner of parting. She could think of no answer. Mr Darcy then whirled around and with rather staggered steps, disappeared among the guests.

  Thirteen

  —

  A Major Decision

  Phillips examined the sleeping form of the unequivocally drunken gentleman ungracefully sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in the kitchen, and shook his head in obvious repulsion. How the Master of Pemberley had ended up in the sad state of so deep an inebriation was not difficult to guess, however hard it was to believe, judging for his demeanour long before the ball had started. The manservant, used to Mr Hurst's inveterate drinking habits, wondered if all Mr Bingley's close relations would eventually take up the disgusting custom.

  With a snap of his fingers, Phillips summoned yet another servant and called for Mr Darcy's personal valet, who was, at that time, placidly sleeping in a comfortable armchair in the dressing room. The three men found it rather difficult an exertion to carry Mr Darcy's unhelpful dead bulk upstairs, yet it was achieved through a happy combination of intelligent strategy and strained effort. They carried Mr Darcy to a chair on which, although very uncomfortably, the transportation of the gentleman was carried out. Up in the great man's bedchamber yet the most repulsive job awaited them: that of disrobing the gentleman from his much abused clothes. Naturally, Mr Darcy had no idea of such manoeuvres, for the degree of his intoxication deprived him of every intelligence presently around him.

  On disrobing his master, Darcy's personal valet noticed quite unfamiliar blotches on his pants. His neck, however, presented the most striking evidence of Mr Darcy's last night's exertions. He immediately recognised the nature of both the appalling state of his trousers and the smooching trails on the skin of his neck. This was strange to say the least, since Mrs Darcy was nowhere to be found in the area. Still, the loyal man endeavoured to keep his master from deeper embarrassment than the fact that he had been found lying unconscious at the top of the stairs. However, in seeing the state of affairs an obvious return to spirits abuse, add to this unprecedented adulterous behaviour in a member of the Darcy family – the manservant thought that, perchance, he should do something about it. He discarded the notion of talking to the Master of Netherfield. The man was an idiot, not to mention the fact that his intoxication was barely inferior to Mr Darcy's. Remembering Colonel Fitzwilliam's concern about his cousin, the poor man was tempted to ask Phillips to send a message to Matlock. But then he thought better of it, lest his master get angry when he came around.

  So, in silent complaisance, the very discreet servant endeavoured to conceal his findings from the members of the permanent staff of Netherfield Park, and proceeded to clean his unconscious master as best as he could, before slipping him into his nightshift and his bed.

  ~•~

  In the silence of his home in Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam found the peace of mind he had been searching for. For a good day he remained in his bedchamber, under the warmth of the covers, just as he used to do when he was a child. Scenes both of his youth with Darcy and their adventurous deals roamed his mind. Having recently acquired the wisdom from his young fiancée's philosophy, he lingered only on those which gave him pleasure: Darcy in his first riding breeches falling from his horse and into the lake at Pemberley, and the consequent round of laughter the episode had caused; the first and last time he had taken him to carouse in London, Darcy's first dealings with ladies (a complete failure), the first ball and the first dance.

  Come to think of it, he had always been the one to witness the momentous in his cousin's life. It was only natural, of course. After Lady Anne's early passing away, Fitzwilliam's mother had taken to her nephew and niece with a devotion unbeknown to her family. The Fitzwilliams had always been scarce in their shows of affection, yet the Earl's wife was not a Fitzwilliam in blood but in name only. So, Darcy and Georgie became commonplace in the summer seasons in Matlock, and Richard, scarcely three years his cousin's senior, became Darcy's playmate.

  But life seemed to have smiled on Darcy much more than on him. Darcy was to become heir of his father's possessions, namely an immense estate and fortune. He would lead the life of a gentleman in London and that of a happy wealthy country squire when at Pemberley. The only cloud over his future had been his impending marriage to his sickly cousin, Anne De Bourgh. Darcy could have refused to oblige his family's wishes, yet he had accepted his portion with an uncharacteristically tame disposition.

  To his chagrin, Fitzwilliam had just realised that the source of his cousin's readiness to his sad matrimony with Anne had been nothing better than resignation. Resignation that h
ad been born in the certainty that love had skipped his path, when Elizabeth Bennet had rejected his hand in matrimony. The part Fitzwilliam had taken in her rejection was too grand for him to pass unnoticed. Now it was hanging over his head like a huge Damocles' sword.

  His cousin was in a terrible condition. He would have wagered his horse Darcy's taking to drinking was nothing to worry about until the scene he had witnessed before Christmas. Had he had the power to undo his past actions, he would have happily gone back to their short visit to Kent a year before and abandoned his mischievous scheme to steal the lady's heart from Darcy.

  His thoughts now turned to her. Elizabeth was now a complete riddle for him. She had not seen it necessary for him to be apprised of Darcy's proposal to her. That was strange to say the least. She should have known the importance such pursuit would have in his own relationship with Darcy. The reason for her silence, he could not surmise, yet his intuition told him that most probably she would talk about it to no one, to spare Darcy the embarrassment. Though, evidently, she had enlightened her father, her reasons to confide in him were compleatly just and understandable.

  On reflection upon the old man's words on the occasion of their conversation over the engagement, he recalled his talking about Elizabeth having suffered from a broken heart. Taking into account the brief period betwixt Darcy's proposal and his, there was no doubt that her suffering stemmed from the first one. There were scarcely any probabilities that Elizabeth had been involved in a third amorous affair in such a short period. He inferred, therefore, that he had sadly interfered between what could have been two people deeply in love.

  What puzzled him were Elizabeth's feelings for himself. Mr Bennet had pronounced her incapable of deceit. Perchance she had not meant to deceive him, but was deceived herself. It was veritably possible that she had imagined herself in love with him after his flattering and flirting upon their meeting in London. But what would happen in the face of an encounter with Darcy? Would the old flame bear sparks?

  He rang for his manservant and asked for a tray to be served in his bedchamber. There was nobody else in the house, and he felt inclined to doze a little more in bed. He was beginning to relax, when his manservant presented him with the post. A letter addressed to him had arrived from the military quarters. Notwithstanding he knew the content well enough, still the answer to it was yet to be weighed, so he hesitated to read it. Upon opening it, confirmation to his suspicions did not delay. He was being summoned to serve on the continent, his regiment leaving London the first week of February. A fortnight before he would have not doubted to reject his commission. Yet so many things had changed since his departure from London, he was now unsure what path to take.