“Do not leave!”

“Am I not crushing you?”

“No,” she assured him, grasping him even tighter with arms and legs. “I love the feel of you.” She blushed slightly, ridiculous under the circumstances, and he chuckled.

“As you command, my wife.” He kissed her, lingering over her soft warm lips. “My wife,” he whispered, “mine, all mine, and only mine. My Lizzy. Forever. I love you so. We are wholly and utterly one now, my love. I am yours, my heart, forever.”

He caressed her body lazily, delighting in her silky skin and firm muscles. His thumb brushed along the edge of one breast where it swelled from under his chest. His kisses traveled over her neck to her ear.

Lizzy tantalized him with hands and legs. She discovered the enticing spectacle of round, tight buttocks. His taut muscular legs, hairs rough against her smoothness, sent shivers up her spine. The musky smell of his familiar cologne now mixed with perspiration and their love intoxicated her. Neither dreamed of breaking the contact, their bodies fused on every plane. Satiation and bliss attained so few minutes ago only whetted their appetite for each other, heightening their senses.

They were both agreeably surprised to find themselves becoming stimulated so soon. Lizzy, having no previous experience to draw from, took it in stride, assuming it was normal. Darcy was frankly stupefied to recognize excitement resurging so soon, his desire for her so intense as to become profoundly aroused mere minutes after such an incredible, soul-unifying crescendo.

He may have been surprised, but he certainly was not disappointed! This time their coupling was altogether different. Following so quickly upon their previous gratification, Darcy was in much better control. His stamina was amplified tremendously, with mutual approval. They kissed and caressed wherever they could reach, both experimenting with altering pressures and rhythms. Gradually they attuned themselves to their partner’s sighs and moans as a gauge for what was especially pleasurable. Occasionally they spoke, but they soon found that sensations, actions, and sounds were preferable.

It seemed to continue forever. As one would near the point of bursting, the other would slow their actions, increasing the aching and craving. Time and again they came near the pinnacle only to pull back for further enjoyment. Eventually it was more than they could bear, and both were taken by acute spasms that shook them head to toe in rapture beyond the words to convey.

Quite some time later, they lay blissfully depleted and satiated, limbs entangled. Elizabeth’s head lay partly on Darcy’s shoulder and partly on a pillow so she could admire his face. They were awake but drowsy, talking softly, enjoying simply being together in such sweet harmony. Darcy played with her hair where it cascaded over his arm, while Elizabeth traced lazy circles over his chest and stomach. They spoke of silly things, small talk, more to hear each other’s voices than for any purpose.

The final acts of love had been far superior to any imaginings either of them had entertained. Darcy, never a great admirer of romantic poetry, finally understood. Each day, each moment with Elizabeth had transcended the one before. Tonight they had reached dizzying heights, and it honestly seemed impossible to love her more.

Darcy would have had to confess that he believed his heart would burst if he experienced anything beyond what he felt at this moment. He had told her, when he proposed the second time, that she had bewitched him body and soul, and it was true. Now he knew that she owned him, lived inside of him, kept his heart beating, and gave him purpose. If it had not felt so very right, it might have terrified him.

Real life intruded when Darcy’s stomach growled loudly and abruptly as if in response to Lizzy’s fingers, which had been playfully examining his navel. They both laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Hungry, darling?” Elizabeth asked. “Have your recent exertions increased your appetite?”

“I have eaten sparsely today, my love. Nerves, I suppose.” He rolled onto his side and began kissing her bare shoulder. “I was much more interested in satisfying other hungers so that I ignored my more basic needs. What is food compared to your love?”

“Very pretty. However, I am beginning to experience pangs of my own. The Hamiltons have supplied us with an abundance of food and it would be rude to ignore it,” Elizabeth said, but then grinned mischievously as she ran her hand along his inner thigh. “Besides, we must take care to restore our energies, do you not agree, beloved?”

He quickly snared her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each of her fingers lingeringly. “You minx! I do believe a tigress has been unleashed tonight!” He pulled her to him and indulged in several kisses before again being interrupted by a loud growl from his empty stomach.

“Poor Mr. Darcy!” she laughed.

“Stay warm, Elizabeth. I shall fetch your robe and stoke the fire.” With a last kiss, Darcy left the bed and retrieved his robe from where it had been unceremoniously discarded by the sofa.

Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow, the better to watch her handsome husband. Contentment flowed through her entire being as she lay so relaxed in the large bed. It had been an arduous day full of countless anxieties and abounding wonders. She was tired yet exhilarated at the same time. Happiness was a palpable entity that surrounded her and permeated her very soul. Just observing him performing the mundane task of adding logs to the fire was a pleasure beyond imagining. How is it possible to love someone this much? She asked herself. Is it normal? Probably not, but it certainly was magnificent and she would not wish it any other way.

Darcy returned from her dressing room with a thick robe and helped her into it. Or more precisely he delayed the process with numerous kisses and caresses, but Elizabeth did not mind. Finally they sat on the rug before the now raging fire with the platter of food on the floor. Darcy popped the well-chilled champagne and poured them each a glass. “To us,” he toasted, “the happiest couple on the face of the earth!”

Darcy attacked the superb provisions with relish and Elizabeth was not too far behind. They had fun with the process: feeding each other morsels, licking and sucking each other’s fingers, and kissing honey-smeared lips. Eventually even Darcy’s appetite was quenched and, with a satisfied sigh, he reclined on an enormous pillow. Elizabeth leaned against his bent knee and gazed dreamily into the fire. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. A warm blanket of peace and bliss covered them.

Darcy began to drift into sleep, warm and relaxed by the fire. Lizzy was lazily caressing the leg and knee she leaned against and the sensation was calming. As far as Darcy was concerned, life could not possibly get any better than this. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Elizabeth turned to gaze at her husband. He had a soft smile on his lips, hair in disarray, and one arm raised above his head and the other lying across his stomach. The robe was loosely tied so most of his chest was exposed. She recognized that, despite the intimacies of the last hours, she actually had not had the opportunity to examine her husband’s form closely, as she had teasingly told him she needed to do.

He was so beautiful and perfect to her eyes. She had spent the past weeks memorizing his face and intimately knew every inch of it. The small scar on his right cheek was the result of a tree branch while riding when he was fifteen, he had told her. She knew how long it took from the time he shaved until whiskers began to reappear, and that they sprouted first along his upper lip.

She had discovered that his eye color altered depending on his mood or what he wore. When he was thinking passionate thoughts of her, his lips would part slightly and eyelids would flutter. When he was annoyed or concentrating, his jaw would tighten and several small creases would appear between his brows. When he was very angry, his eyes would darken almost to black and his lips would press tightly together into a thin line. She had found that a singular expression crossed his features with thoughts of each person he loved. He had his “Georgiana face” and “Richard face” and “Mrs. Reynolds face” and “Elizabeth face.”

At times her hurtful words came back to haunt her. Your arrogance, conceit… selfish disdain for the feelings of others. Oh, how could she have thought such things! He would be angry with her if he knew she was remembering those words because they had spent hours discussing the past, their mutual errors, and had promised to learn from them and then put it all behind them. Perhaps in time it would no longer wrack her with guilt, but she continued to loathe herself for the pain she had caused him. Knowing now the depth of his emotions toward those he loves, his loyalty, the profound grief he carries for those he has lost, and his goodness, made it all the harder to forgive herself. Not for the first time she vowed to herself that she would never cause him pain again.