“Fitzwilliam, my beloved, my heart,” she purred. “All day I have been blissfully at your mercy, the recipient of your love and caring and adoration. Now, lover mine, you shall be at my mercy as I explicitly communicate my love, adoration, and thankfulness.”

Darcy was smiling with breathless anticipation as his wife slowly doffed his jacket and waistcoat, sliding hands over him lingeringly as she went. The cravat easily joined the rest over a chair back, after which she directed him to a comfortable seat. Kneeling, she divested him of his boots and stockings, gently massaging his feet and calves. Darcy was already enjoying himself, the simple touch of his wife's hands on his body enough to arouse him tremendously, yet Lizzy was far from finished.

She stroked along his thighs while positioning herself between his legs, hands traveling with sluggish slowness up his body and eventually to his neck. She leaned close, brushing his parted lips with hers, whispering, “Relax and observe.”

She rose, stepped back a pace, and began unpinning her hair. Tress by silky tress tumbled in waves over her shoulders to mid-back. Once unencumbered, she raked her fingers through the curls, shaking her head with seductive swaying causing her hair to swing wildly. Engaging his darkening eyes, she reached dainty fingers to the clasps of her gown, loosening them and peeling the fabric from her shoulders with agonizing patience. Equally as leisurely, the petticoat was untied and joined the gown in a puddle at her feet.

Darcy licked his lips, arousal evident now at the sight of his beautiful wife. She released the laces of her corset, tossing it aside, at last facing her adoring spouse in naught but her short, thin chemise, shoes, and stockings. The soft slippers stripped off with ease. Lizzy paused, standing still as the excitement of Darcy's smoldering gaze raking up and down her body sent shivers of desire racing through her. The powerful and mutual passion they incited with mere glances never ceased to astound.

Taking a step toward the chair, Lizzy lifted a leg, placing her foot on the edge precisely at Darcy's groin. He groaned, shifting against her wiggling toes. Lizzy smiled smugly, leaning over slightly—enough to expose the round top of her bosom—as she delicately and with supreme deliberation untied the ribbons to her stocking.

Darcy was mesmerized, mouth open and nearly drooling. She had never stripped for him in quite this leisurely and seductive a fashion. Both of her precious hands slipped under a silk edge, caressing her velvety skin from thigh to toe as she exposed a shapely leg and pulled the stocking away. Darcy moaned, closing his eyes in intense pleasure and impulsively reaching to caress her thigh. She batted his hand away gently, shifting the other leg to the chair and repeating the entire process.

Remaining within his knees, she finally bared herself completely, the chemise discarded as slowly as the rest, with purposeful caressing over her flesh as he avidly watched, nearly incoherent with the hunger to touch her.

Standing nude, she remained still for several heartbeats, noting his intensity and tense urgency.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Lord. You are so beautiful.”

Smiling, she grasped his clenched hands, drawing him up. “Do not touch me,” she softly commanded, and he whimpered as if in true pain. She started at the top of his head, running unhurried fingers through his hair to scratch lightly along his scalp, to ears, along a chiseled jaw, and onward over each inch of him. Laggardly, tenderly, lovingly, she traveled over his flushed skin, fire trailing in her wake. The shirt was lifted and tossed as her palms and fingertips aroused him to a mania of lust. An inordinate amount of time was spent teasing his chest and abdomen, fondling and squeezing in circles over shoulders and arms to strong hands. Clasped in her own, she brought them to her mouth, devoting minutes to licking, sucking, and kissing each palm and refined finger.

Darcy was faint. His heart raced, breath in punctuated gasps, knees weak and trembling. “Lizzy, please,” he begged, his voice rasping and nearly inaudible.

“You wish to touch me, lover?”

“Yes! God, yes.”

“You wish to love me?”

Darcy groaned. “Need you ask!”

“Hmmm… I thought you a patient man with extraordinary self control, Mr. Darcy.” She teased, but her own desire for him threatened to overwhelm her own careful regulation. Releasing his hands, which he immediately twined through her hair, she attacked the buttons on his breeches.

Darcy did not comprehend how he could keep upright. He trembled with raging desire, dizzy from his rushing, feverish blood and shallow respirations. Yet the sensations she was educing were transcendent. Time had no meaning. He could no longer distinguish her individual motions and caresses, all of her exquisite ministrations melded into one delirious joy. He no longer consciously thought of reciprocating with touches of his own, too lost in furious arousal and animal feeling.

Eventually, he snapped. Grasping her shoulders painfully, he pulled her up, assaulting her mouth with a hoarse cry. Lizzy was more than ready, kissing him ferociously while literally climbing up his body in an urgent need to feel all of him. Haltingly, they stumbled entwined to the bed, never ceasing to frantically touch each other.

Wildly, they made love, weariness nonexistent in the transcendent bliss of indescribable bonding. Rapture and supreme love coursed through every particle of their bodies and souls.

Darcy rolled to the side, his wife embraced firmly within trembling but sturdy arms. They stared at each other, smiling softly as they caught their breath.

He kissed her. “Elizabeth, beloved wife. How immeasurably I love you! Making love with you is…” he closed his eyes in contemplation, “heaven.” He kissed her shoulder, stroking over her hip then cupping her abdomen. “Our baby was made in such a way. In joy, rapture, and infinite love. A part of you and a part of me, created by God through our union. Forever I shall gaze upon his or her face and know this. Forever I shall be grateful, and forever, even beyond my life on this earth, I shall love you, Elizabeth Darcy.”

Tears swam in Lizzy's eyes and she could not speak. Instead, she hugged him fiercely, letting go only long enough to crawl under the blankets. As they drifted into contented sleep, entangled and touching with her head nestled onto his shoulder, she whispered, “I shall eternally love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Chapter Nine

Darcy House Affairs

The three days following Lizzy's birthday extravaganza were a whirlwind of activity. If it were not for Darcy's constant concern and vigilance over Lizzy's and the baby's health, she could well have occupied eighteen out of each twenty-four hours with a myriad of pursuits. In actuality, as Lizzy was entering her fourth month of pregnancy, the symptoms faded dramatically. Her fatigue was blessedly a phenomenon of the past. Lizzy had decided that she would gladly embrace faintness, headaches, and nausea if they replaced weakness; her temperament was quite simply unable to cope with lethargy and inaction. Fortunately, her queasiness, raging hunger, and light-headedness were also passing. Upon occasion, she would briefly experience a fleeting unsettled stomach and her appetite was mildly increased from previously, but it was controlled and in no way caused her distress.

It required another two weeks of convincing before her husband would finally accredit the truth of her state and relent to his oft-frustrating solicitude and anxiety. In the interim, Lizzy did pace herself and managed to rest as much as possible. Of course, since all her friends and family knew of her condition, not to mention Darcy's lack of humor and severity regarding his wife's welfare, Lizzy would not have been allowed to overextend if she had wished it.

Therefore, her new gowns were acquired in easy stages, interspersed with relaxing teas at the houses of her friends or Darcy House. Darcy had encouraged her to plan ahead, purchasing as many outfits as she would need to accommodate her blossoming shape. Madame Millicent, the modiste who had created her birthday gown, was extremely clever. She skillfully designed dresses that were stylish, yet sewn with unique gathers and folds specifically for the pregnant body. By the time they returned to Pemberley in July, Lizzy would have plenty of dresses, undergarments, and nightwear to clothe her well into the fall. For winter wear, when she would primarily be confined indoors, Madame du Loire would provide.

She purchased the occasional baby article, generally clothing, but discovered that she was hesitant to do so. It was fairly odd. Georgiana especially was forever gushing over some tiny item, and if she had it her way, they would require three more carriages simply to haul the items back to Pemberley! Amelia, naturally, was purchasing infant paraphernalia in abundance. At one point, she gently and privately asked Lizzy if her reluctance was due to fear of miscarriage. Lizzy was frankly amazed, not at the question, but at the fact that it had never once occurred to her that she might yet lose her baby. It certainly was not an uncommon event, sadly, yet after her accident and the weeks of subsequent incertitude, Lizzy had not once even entertained the idea.

Amelia's question generated a period of introspection. As Lizzy pondered her qualms, she finally realized that it was not that she did not wish to buy the baby's clothing and other necessaries. Rather, she did not want to buy them in London.

“You see,” she told Darcy that evening, “I know it is probably ridiculous, but I want to obtain our baby's needs from Derbyshire. Pemberley is our home and will be our children's home. Somehow it does not feel right or proper to buy things here, so far away.” She shook her head, reddening in mild embarrassment. “Anyway, silly as it is, that is how I feel about it and pregnant women are allowed to be nonsensical!”