Darcy dealt with all the legal issues regarding the surviving bandits and the two dead ones. It was a routine process involving numerous questions but little else, the case being clear cut. Darcy flatly refused to allow Lizzy to be questioned and there was no need. The Darcy name alone was enough for the magistrate to inquire minimally and render harsh judgment, but the added testimony of Mr. Anders and Phillips left no doubt.

Faced with the doctor's proscription, Darcy was unable to make love to his wife until they returned to Pemberley, a decision Lizzy was none too happy about. She could not argue the logic in being cautious, but she was not pleased. Darcy feared her fragile emotional state far more than curbing his own desires. As in April, the thought of harming his wife or their unborn child was so horrendous that his personal lust was easily cooled. However, remembering Lizzy's verbalized assumption that he would be repulsed by her after Victor's disgusting caresses, he desperately longed to show her how wholly unfounded her apprehension. The balance allotted him the ability to embrace her, caress her body tenderly, kiss possessively, and whisper words of adoration without becoming unduly aroused. In the end, these minor liberties probably allayed any residual horrors from her ordeal more proficiently than actually making love. Darcy's ceaseless fondling and devotion without physical gratification on his part was entirely selfless and effectively erased all residual memory of the thief's touch.

They were greeted on Pemberley's long avenue with a line of horse wagons, Duke Grafton's breeding mares having arrived an hour prior. Darcy hastily kissed Lizzy's cheek, abdicating her care into the steady competence of Mrs.

Reynolds, and disappeared to the stables. Lizzy would not see him until dinner that evening.

The warm familiarity and comfort of Pemberley surrounded and penetrated her very essence. They had only been gone a little over a week and Lizzy had not realized how much she missed the house. All afternoon, she simply walked from room to room, garden to garden, pausing for frequent respites at all her favorite places: Darcy's enormous leather chair in the library, the conservatory, the rose garden, the lily pond, Darcy's study, the terrace corner where they met almost a year ago and where he loved to kiss her as he said he should have done then, the nursery, and finally their bedchamber. She stood gazing out the window at the mountains, tranquility settling into her being, and she finally felt completely cleansed. All she needed now was for her husband to make love to her and all would be right.

Lizzy waited for Darcy in the parlor. She had bathed in jasmine, dressed in a new gown created by Madame Millicent which spectacularly accented her newly acquired curves while hiding her pregnancy. Her hair was lavishly coiffed and bejeweled, and she purposefully stood by the large window with the soft rays of sunset illuminating. The effect was as she anticipated. A freshly washed and elegantly dressed Darcy entered and stopped dead on the threshold, mouth dropping in awe and evidence of desire instantly apparent.

“Elizabeth,” he croaked, “my God, you are stunning!” He crossed in quick strides, enfolding her outstretched hands and unabashedly admiring. He shook his head slowly, raising his gaze with difficulty to her beaming face. “You cannot truthfully expect me to calmly consume a full course meal with you sitting next to me like this?”

Lizzy laughed, stepping closer until brushing lightly against his chest. “I seem to recall wise words uttered that anticipation is sweet. Sound familiar, lover mine?”

Darcy groaned, feathering fingers over the generously displayed tops of her breasts. “This may well be my undoing, Elizabeth. I so want you!” His eyes were pleading.

“I have cut the courses in half, William. No dessert, as that shall be served in our chamber. I want you as much, beloved, as you shall see. All night long.” She kissed him lightly, Darcy bending to prolong the enjoyment but she pulled away. “Come, my heart. I am starved and I know you have not eaten all day. You will need your strength,” she finished with an impish grin.

It was a struggle for them both. Lizzy distracted her husband by inquiring as to the horses, and Darcy finally wrenched his gaze from her bosom to his plate as he spoke animatedly about the mares. Gradually, they calmed enough to dine, both of them quite hungry—Darcy especially, who ate a massive quantity as he talked. The meal passed pleasantly, passion quenched for a time in the joy of companionship and fine cuisine. Lizzy finished well before her husband, sitting back as she sipped her wine and observed him in happy serenity.

She was captivated by his face. She knew now why he presented to the world such a severe, regulated countenance. It was because without that rigid control, every thought and emotion was communicated on his face as clearly as a lighthouse beacon on a cloudless night. His eyes sparkled and flashed, lips lifted and twisted revealingly with each word spoken, brows arched and knitted affectively, and his skin glowed. Even his voice betrayed his sentiments. Lizzy had been amazed to discover the range of tones to his voice, how the timbre of his speech altered within the naturally resonant and dulcet tonality.

He laid the utensils aside, picking up his wine glass and relaxing into the chair as he drank, and turned his gaze upon his smiling wife. “You seem amused by something, Mrs. Darcy. Have I entertained you in some manner?”

“Your presence entertains me, my love. I find tremendous pleasure in merely staring at you.”

Darcy held her gaze, smiling salaciously as he curtly ordered the lurking servants to leave. Reaching, he captured her hand, bringing the palm to his lips for a soft kiss. Never looking away from her eyes, he lightly licked her inner wrist, traveling leisurely over the creases to each fingertip for gentle sucks. Lizzy already felt dizzy, swaying as he rose and simultaneously pulled her onto her feet.

“Fitzwilliam,” she began, but he shushed her with a fingertip to her lips, gliding airily over the ruddy fullness to her chin then down her neck, throat, breastbone, until dipping into her cleavage, smoldering eyes trailing. Dark, impassioned eyes briefly encountering her equally feverish ones, Darcy smiled then lowered his head to her bosom, moist mouth pressing firmly onto the crevice created by the swell of each mound. He moaned faintly, as did Lizzy, abruptly sweeping her into his arms and marching from the room.

His strides were powerful and hasty down what seemed like endless hallways and up the extensive flight of stairs, both of them restrained until the third floor landing whereupon Lizzy began working the knots of his cravat while licking his ear, and fingers of her other hand entwining in his hair. Darcy stopped suddenly, eyes closed and breathing deeply but not from exertion, the burden of his wife minimal.

“Lord, Elizabeth! Please desist or I will walk us into a wall!”

“Only if you hurry, William. I cannot resist for long.” He looked at her blazing eyes, leaning his head down with a groan to kiss her ardently. Seconds later, they were stretched onto their bed, fully clothed with hands frantically reaching to remove encumbering fabric. Mere seconds more and they were merged, entangled, and propelling with pent up passion, but also with the necessity on both their parts to blot out the final remnants of the horrible recent events and ensure their possessive bond.

“I love you, Elizabeth! Sweet, beautiful wife, how I love you!” It was sheer rapture, unifying and cleansing. They lay for a spell, breathing heavily as they recovered, stroking and kissing. Endless minutes of studied devotion and placid communion followed. No words; only eyes locked with silent messages speaking volumes.

Lizzy rose first, fingering over his face and leaning for a brushing kiss. “I absolutely must feel all your skin, my heart, and feast on your flesh. I will not be utterly satisfied until I have seduced you several more times at the least.” Darcy chuckled lowly, offering no argument. Instead, he reached to twine a loose tress of hair around his finger while Lizzy completely removed his cravat, promptly leaning for a lingering kiss to the pulsing hollow of his throat.

She sat, discarding their shoes and stockings, and then pulled him to his feet, Darcy happy to follow her lead. The process of undressing each other was a familiar one, but it never failed to arouse them both profoundly. He liked to tease her about the multiple layers of women's clothing, but the truth was he relished the joy of incrementally peeling each garment off her alabaster skin. The delight of slowly revealing the other's body to hungry eyes while stimulating tactile nerves was tremendously exciting. The layers covering his flesh were as numerous as hers, and she too savored the revelation as he disrobed.

Never, ever would Lizzy tire of seeing her husband's body. Lean and muscular, fair skin with scattered freckles across the shoulders, hard with rigid planes, round and tight on the rear, all of him so incredibly male. She fluttered and became astoundingly inflamed simply by the appearance of him. Of course, her arousal was heightened by the touch of his warm, firm hands all over her body. Nor would she ever not thrill to the obvious incitement he felt to her ministrations. The relaxed Darcy was a man transparent with his emotions. Not only in his face, as noted earlier, but in all ways. He gasped and shivered every time her hands encountered his skin. Running her hands up his bare chest, feathering over puckered nipples, around to shoulder blades, and then down the spine to taut buttocks; all this was met with moans, wheezing respirations, and quivers of rushing desire. It was the one place—the only place—where Darcy lost all restraint.