His Uncle's Favorite (38 page)

Another long moment of silence followed. She looked around; sunbeams were playing through the leaves, and the silence was broken only by the gentle breeze.

“I need to intervene because Lady Sinclair and Miss Bingley’s rudeness is mostly caused by me. It is my fault and I cannot—”

“Oh, that is quite a vain statement, sir. You mean to imply that I have no personal qualities that might make Lady Sinclair and Miss Bingley hate me? That is unkind!”

“I did not mean to imply that… I…” He looked so embarrassed that she started to laugh.

“Sir, I was joking. I know you are the main reason for their rudeness,” she laughed, blushing. “But there must be other reasons, too. Miss Bingley has been rude to me almost from the beginning of our acquaintance, long before you had any particular interest…”

She looked at him and expected him to smile, but he looked even more uneasy.

“That is…not entirely correct,” he replied, hesitantly

“What do you mean?” He stopped and made her do the same; he gently turned her, so they faced each other before he continued.

“Do you remember one evening at Sir William’s when he suggested I should dance with you? When I asked you to dance and you refused me?”

Her eyes laughed and sparkled as she replied. “I remember. I know I had offended and upset you, but I was truly not inclined to dance.”

“You did not offend me and surely did not upset me—not in the way you believe. But that evening, Miss Bingley noticed our interaction, and she asked where my thoughts tended. I said I was thinking of your beautiful, sparkling eyes,” he concluded as she stared at him in disbelief, certain there must be some mistake.

“But… That happened so long ago…even before I attended Jane at Netherfield.”

“Yes… I imagine that was one of the reasons for her continued rudeness.”

“But…how is it possible? I never imagined that… I would never believe that… I noticed you often looked at me, but I was certain it was only to uncover my faults.”

He found nothing to say, as she looked very troubled. He knew he should find a way to calm her, but he could think of nothing proper. She was as surprised as he had been when he discovered his own error in his estimation of her feelings.

It was Elizabeth who continued to speak.

“It appears Miss Bingley is much more perceptive than I,” she confessed. “As was Charlotte—she told me many times that you might have a special interest in me.”

“Mrs. Collins is a very wise woman.” Darcy smiled. “Miss Bingley—much less so.”

“Well, I cannot possibly speak of others’ wisdom since I am humbled by my own…”

“You must not judge yourself so harshly. I am ashamed to admit that, for a long time, I tried valiantly to conceal my interest in you. It appears that I was quite successful.”

They reached the top of the hill, and he stopped. He gently put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to look down at the view. She gasped then sighed deeply at the beauty spread at their feet. Her heart was filled with joy while her mind was in turmoil.

His palms continued to rest on her shoulders, and he was only a few inches behind her. She barely dared to breathe when he leaned and whispered to her, “I have always admired this view, but it has never seemed as beautiful as today.”

“Thank you,” she said a few moments later. “Thank you for bringing me here and showing me this beauty. I know you did it most willingly, but I still want to thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” He smiled. “I must thank you for joining me here. I did not dare hope you would really come. Do you want to sit for a few minutes?”

Elizabeth agreed, instantly feeling the loss of his touch and closeness. He moved to Thunder, took a small blanket from the saddlebag, and spread it on the grass. She was pleasantly surprised and smiled, blushing: he just said he dared not hope she would come, but he was prepared anyway—prepared for her.

She sat on a corner, allowing him space near her; he hesitated until she specifically asked him to join her. Then each of them turned to look straight ahead at the valley, both embarrassed by the solitude and intimacy.

“You have been successful, indeed,” she resumed their previous conversation. “I did not at all suspect that you might have a particular interest in me…”

He was surprised but seemed relieved that she decided to continue their delicate discussion. He stared at her another moment, then he averted his eyes towards the view in front of them, and she did the same as suddenly it was too hard to bear the other’s eyes.

“Not even when we met in London in January? Not even at the ball?”

“There were some indications that made me wonder, but I could not possibly be certain, and I did not dare presume… But may I ask—why did you try to conceal your interest? I mean—you did not hide it from Miss Bingley, after all…”

“I did not want to raise expectations. I was certain you were aware of my feelings and shared them…and at that time, I never considered I could marry someone outside my own circle… So I thought it would be only fair to keep a reasonable distance from you. What do you think of my vanity now? I was equally stupid and conceited.”

His voice became lower and more hesitant as though he were ashamed of his faults.

“Perhaps it was my fault, too. I must have done something to make you believe I sought your attentions.”

“No, it was not your fault at all,” he hurried to assure her. “It was my pride and my selfishness that made me believe what was most convenient for me. You are not to blame.”

“And…what made you change your mind?” she dared to inquire. “About marriage, I mean… Less than two months later you proposed…”

“I cannot say what changed my mind—what gesture or word or smile defeated my resistance. I just awoke one morning and realised my life would not be complete without you…and that it was my choice how my life would be. By that time, I was even more certain that you expected and would welcome my addresses, but I was wrong again—not about my wishes but about yours,” he said sadly.

“No…you were not wrong…not completely wrong. I cannot deny that my feelings changed after we met in London. It is true that I did not expect a proposal—and not of that kind… And I was still upset and angry with you because I suspected that you convinced Mr. Bingley to leave my sister, but you were not completely wrong…perhaps just a little hasty.”

“Are you still angry…or upset with me?” he whispered, casting a quick glance at her.

“No…no, I am not…” She felt his gaze but could not bear to meet it yet.

“And I shall not be hasty any more…but I must know… and you are too generous to trifle with me… Would you please tell me—are your feelings as they were in Hertfordshire…or as they were in London? My feelings and wishes never changed, but yours…?” he asked tentatively, his voice slightly trembling.

She was certain her heart would stop, and she wondered whether it ever would beat again as her chest clenched. How could she even speak?

“My feelings…my feelings are…different than they were in Hertfordshire and…different than they were in London,” she whispered breathlessly.

She slowly turned her head to him, and his eyes were there, waiting for her. The expression of heartfelt delight on his face lit his eyes. She smiled—shy and nervous—and he smiled back—joyful and relieved—as they finally faced each other and remained still, stealing happiness from each other’s eyes.

Then he edged even closer and removed his gloves then took her hands and removed hers. He placed a gentle, warm kiss in each palm then held her hands in his, never releasing her gaze. She licked her lips, and his eyes lowered to her mouth. She struggled to swallow as he slowly released her hand, untied her bonnet and put it down then daringly placed a soft kiss on her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth. His lips rested there, close to hers, burning her skin and making her wish for more. She even turned her head a little, but he slowly pulled back; she kept her eyes closed as he put back her bonnet.

“We should leave; it is quite late,” he said unexpectedly, and she sighed with disappointment. She could not hear his words perfectly well, so she did not move. He took her hand and made her rise while he placed another soft kiss on the back of her hand.

As he arranged the saddle and she tried to find support for her weak knees, he took her hands again. “We shall be home in no time if we ride rather than walk. Do you trust me?”

She nodded in acceptance, unable to think what he truly meant, but she did trust him. He lifted her in his arms and put her on the saddle; then he climbed up behind her.

The saddle was too small for two people, so she felt herself crushed against him as he tried to arrange her as comfortably as possible. She was seated in his lap, her legs hanging over his left side. His arms embraced her while his hands took the reins, his left hand against her thigh and his right hand against her hip.

He leaned near her ear and whispered, his lips touching her skin. “Are you comfortable?”

“No, I am not. But I do trust you,” she replied, her hands clinging to his arms while Thunder stepped proudly down the path.

The view before them was splendid, but the ride down the hill was frightening; her heart was filled with overwhelming happiness while her body was tormented by a storm of fire and ice at his touch: every move that brushed them against each other and every whisper that caressed her ear. Seated between his inner thighs, she could feel his warmth and his strength. He was a skilful rider as he was accustomed to order and control. She did not feel comfortable, but she felt safe and protected. Their hands found each other and their fingers entwined. She was so close to him that she could hardly breathe, but she barely needed breath.

Matlock Manor suddenly came in sight, and he stopped the horse; she turned to him, surprised, and he watched from mere inches away. Their faces were so close that they could feel each other. He leaned even closer.

“You shall decide when and what you want me to say, as well as when and what you want me to do. I shall not rush you, but please remember—I am impatient.” He smiled.

His eyes seemed on fire as she had never seen them before. His voice, however, was tender and caring, and his countenance serene.

“I will remember,” she said.

Her lips were dry again, and she could hardly speak; her eyes closed, and she leaned forward until his lips finally dared to meet hers, touching, caressing and tasting them in a soft, gentle kiss that ended too soon, leaving her breathless and him regretful for his promise not to be hasty. He had strong doubts that he would be able to keep it.

In the small grove just beside Matlock’s front garden, Mr. Darcy dismounted and helped Elizabeth down. By the time they entered the house, the servants were about, a clear sign that the other guests had awakened. Even more, Lady Selina and Mrs. Gardiner appeared from the living room and called Elizabeth, asking where she had been.

She did not dare turn her head again, but she could feel Darcy’s eyes on her back while her body still held the warmth of his embrace and her lips still carried his taste.

Chapter 16

Darcy closed the door behind him and lay back in the large armchair by the window. Alone in his apartment, he found it difficult to credit that the morning walk was real.

Had all the nights of struggle, disappointment, anger and self-reproach finally come to an end—and so easily? Had he only to be honest and openly display his feelings for her to make a choice in his favour? And did she truly choose so readily?

For some time she had led him to understand that her feelings for him had changed and she was not opposed to accepting his attentions. However, her expressions, her reception of his confession, her acceptance of his kiss—all so exceeded his hopes that he still feared their reality.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be overcome by the feelings he tried so long to deny. When he could gather himself enough to think rationally, he realised they had not actually come to an understanding, but how could there be a more complete understanding than the way they spoke to each other? They confessed their past faults and mistakes, their present feelings and desires, and their future hopes.

‘I trust you,’
she had said, and that statement was all he needed and desired. He did not actually propose to her again, but he allowed her the complete freedom of her wishes.

He had kissed her on her cheek cautiously, careful not to upset her; he knew he should not take that liberty so soon, but he was not strong enough to fight the temptation. She was not upset, however—surprised, nervous, and shy but surely not upset. He smiled to himself as he remembered that his lips stopped near hers—almost touching them—and she had timidly moved her head towards him. If he had turned that kiss into a real one, she would not have rejected him, of that he was certain. They had been alone with their newly discovered and shared feelings, and the temptation to allow his love and passion to conquer her was overwhelming and difficult to control.

However, it was not quite as difficult as it was to bear the sweet torture of their shared journey home. She did not hesitate a moment when he asked her to ride with him; she said she trusted him, and she proved it. He could feel her tension and perhaps even fear—especially when Thunder clambered down the hill—but he knew she had entwined her fingers with his from more than mere fright. She enjoyed the caress of their hands as much as he did; he was certain of that, but he was also certain that their nearness affected her less than it did him. He whispered to her a few times, and her scent as well as the silky warmth of her skin made him dizzy. Each of the stallion’s steps brought her closer and brushed her against him such that every fibre of his body was painfully aware. As he felt her relax in his firm embrace, with every passing moment, he became tense, nervous—and angry with himself for behaving like a schoolboy.