“Utterly stuffed to the brim. He has already burped and regurgitated the standard amount, so your shirt should be safe.”

He leaned over to take the baby and paused to cup Lizzy’s cheek with his palm, concern in his voice and expression. “Are you well, beloved?”

Lizzy pressed his hand against her face and then turned to kiss his wrist. “I am fine, dearest. Just tired mostly, but we need to talk when you return.”

“Very well. I shall be swift. Come to papa, sweetheart boy. There’s my littlest lamb. No, no, stay asleep.”

“Story first, yes, Papa?”

“I promised and have the book right over there, Alexander.” He pointed. “Grab it on the way out. We will use your Bible for the story of Moses.” He turned to his wife, smiling crookedly. “Tales of the Frog Prince and frog plagues.”

“Ah! Of course.”

Lizzy sat on the edge of the bed brushing her waist-length hair when Darcy returned. Wordlessly he sat behind her while she relinquished the beautiful walnut-handled boar bristle brush gifted to her the past Christmas by him. The mother-of-pearl inlay brush given to her on their wedding night by her new husband had lost too many bristles to be functional, but was tucked into her traveling trunk to be repaired once they reached London. Darcy had provided his wife with several fine brushes since then with no intention of halting the ritual of brushing her lustrous hair. His love for her hair was birthed on that long ago day at Netherfield when she arrived after a three-mile walk to nurse an ill Jane. Her hair had tumbled freely down her back, vivacious and wild, framing her rosy face in a way that was altogether unique. It captured his soul then and the effect brushing her hair had upon him, both arousing and soothing, had not diminished over time.

He clasped the wavy tresses in one hand and passed the stiff bristles through with the other, the sensations flowing through him. Her hair crackled with life, a few individual strands rising as if prepared to fly away while the bulk fell heavily onto his palms, all of them glistening like liquid chocolate with multiple hues of brown. The subtle fragrance of lavender reached his nostrils and he bent to inhale deeply from the mass located at the nape of her neck and bestowed a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin before resuming the task.

“Is your headache entirely gone?”

“Just a twinge in the temples. Nothing significant. It has been warm here compared to home. I think it took my body by surprise.” Her right hand caressed over the muscled thigh pressed into hers, eyes closed while he brushed and massaged her left temple with firm fingertips.

Silence descended for some minutes with neither wishing to disturb the intimate experience. Finally Darcy broke the quiet, his voice a resonant whisper. “I doubt it the sun that caused your headache. Tell me what distressed you, love. Who was the man on the horse? Wickham?”

She gasped, stiffening in surprise. “How did you…?”

“Alexander. He mentioned a man you did not like who told him he was brave. And something about ducks and eggs. Not sure about that part.” He smiled, trying desperately to internalize his anger and fear. “What did he say to trouble you so?”

Lizzy turned, took the brush from his hand, and dropped it forgotten onto the floor before grasping his warm hands within her own. “Fitzwilliam, please, I beg of you, can we talk about it later? I promise I shall tell all and I assure you it was nothing of any great significance. But right now I ache for you to just hold me and make love to me. I need to feel your protective strength and devotion surrounding me.”

She leaned in to initiate feathering kisses over the exposed surfaces of his neck and breastbone, hands seeking more flesh as she gradually peeled the linen away from his chest.

There was something indefinable in her eyes and the tone of her plea that disturbed him tremendously. He knew her thoroughly and her dismay went beyond what seemed likely from an encounter with Wickham, no matter how rude he may have been. Vulnerability or weakness was rarely seen in his strong wife, so he briefly contemplated staying her sensual assault to question her distress. However, her skilled touch was already causing his ardor to rise, and furthermore, he intuitively understood that she needed the special consoling and security that came from their bonding as one.

Gently he clasped her face, lifting away from his chest so he could gaze into her eyes, pouring his love and trust in a look. Then he bent to her mouth, kissing with the lightest of pressures over each lip surface. Tiny suckles, airy grazes with the tip of his tongue, dainty nibbles with his teeth, and minor exhales brushing over her sensitive skin designed to arouse and tranquilize.

Rapidly his alarm diminished. Allaying her anxieties was all that mattered now and he would happily assume the dominant role needed to confer the fortitude she currently lacked. He moved to her neck, applying the same tender nibbles and suckling kisses, while his competent hands roamed with firm pressure over her shoulders and arms. Her dressing gown ties were released, the supple fabrics yielding easily and falling to pool at her waist.

He withdrew to gaze upon her. She was flushed, breathing with the heaviness of beginning passion, breasts firm and rising with each inhalation, expressive brown eyes half lidded. He adored this moment in their lovemaking, when the eddy of burgeoning desire transformed her into his transcendent lover. Elizabeth Darcy, his wife, was a beautiful woman and he never tired of observing her, but the current of happiness and masculine fervor that surged through him in response to her igniting sexual excitement was beyond measure.

He pulled her gauzily draped legs over his, simultaneously reclining her onto the waiting pillows. Gracefully he shifted their bodies toward the middle of the generous Netherfield bed, burrowing deeper into the crisp cotton sheets covering the soft mattress. Propped on one elbow with fingers idly playing with the cascading tresses of her hair, he removed the pretty gown and robe and tossed them onto the floor, his hands caressing and stimulating. His burning scrutiny leisurely scanned the figure spread alongside him. Hunger shone from his eyes and he licked his lips much as a predator anticipates his hunted meal although love and protection drove his appetite. “Fitzwilliam,” she murmured, arching into his arousing touch in expectation and desire.

That was his signal, so he bent and kissed her hard.

Their lovemaking took many forms and often she was the leader while he blissfully remained passive to her pointed assault. Typically, she welcomed and yearned for his masculine virility to be at full peak and in command. He had long since relented any fears of crushing her svelte body with his athletic build, knowing she was more than capable of handling his weight pressing into her and his forceful maneuvers as they loved. His prowess so vigorously expressed drove her to heights of insane arousal, and her wanton response was a potent impetus for him.

Tonight she asked for his strength and devotion, both easy for him to give. So he held on to her lips with the penetrating kiss and rolled onto her body until his clothed form swathed her utterly. Lizzy flung her arms over his shoulders, snaking the right under his shirt with hand pressed firmly onto the ridges of his spine below the dip between his shoulder blades. The left clutched his head, fingers twined through his thick hair and holding downward pressure as she returned the feverish kiss with equal intensity.

Never ceasing the delicious attention to her mouth, he grasped her legs and drew them over his waist before traveling his hands with a steady pressure over her silky skin from hips to waist to rib cage and the soft swell of flattened breasts. Long minutes were devoted to titillating play as their passions raged and hunger for more overwhelmed, until Darcy released a guttural groan and gasped her name hotly against the tender space below her earlobe.

“Fitzwilliam, you have far too many clothes on.”

“Indeed you are correct,” he responded to her whispered words, chuckling breathily. Inhaling deeply to calm his pounding heart, he rose to kneel amid her bent knees. With a sensuous smile he released the remaining clasped button on his shirt, unfastened the cuffs, pulled the tails from his pants, and drew the garment over his head. He then flourished it over his head and pitched it into the darkness beyond the faint lamplight before removing his trousers in the same languid, seductive way.

Darcy arched one brow. “An improvement?”