“Well, excellent.”

“Mr. Daniels is highly ethical and aboveboard, but thorough and skilled in his own way. He learned of Orman’s Surrey property, a modest plot of land with a tiny cottage owned by the family for a century. It has rarely been used, apparently, as Orman was never much of a hunter, and has reportedly been vacant for the past three years.”

“That is not entirely accurate.” Darcy’s brow rose at Richard’s words. “When I stumbled across this intelligence yesterday, and after reading through this report”—he again tapped the sheath of parchment—“I asked Artois to ride out there.”

“What did he discover?”

“Not enough to form any clear conclusions, but the house is not unoccupied. There was a faint light shining from a top floor window, he said, but no other signs of habitation. He did not dare investigate too thoroughly in broad daylight and he was not prepared for clandestine spying. It could easily be a squatter, but I plan to take my friends and go back tonight for a closer look, with your permission.”

“If Orman is around, this is probably where he would be. And with Wickham, if he is this Wiseman.”

Richard nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

A knock at the door interrupted, Darcy giving the command to enter. It was Mr. Travers with the day’s post. Richard used the intermission to pour another cup of coffee, sipping quietly while Darcy cut the strings securing a small package. He watched him withdraw a tissue wrapped miniature frame, oval and fancily gilded. The intense loathing marring his cousin’s handsome face was marked and his naturally deep voice was grating and thick when he spoke.

“I asked Mrs. Reynolds to send me this miniature portrait of Wickham. It was painted the year before my father died. He wanted a remembrance of his steward’s son, his godson. He was so proud of Wickham’s accomplishments at Cambridge. I could not bear to tell him the truth, and it is almost a blessing he died before discovering it himself.” Sadness and bitterness inundated his voice, eyes staring at the dimpled smiling face for another minute before roughly returning the painting to the confines of the box. He cleared his throat, the familiar serene regulation washing over his features before he lifted his controlled gaze to his cousin. “I plan to show it to the staff to see if anyone has seen him lurking about.”

Richard’s brows rose and he nodded with respect. “Very smart, Cousin. I should have thought of that myself! I am so impressed I may just let you score a point or two off me during our match.”

Darcy laughed, brightening slightly. “As if you could possibly beat me. Save your pity points as I shall trounce you fair and square.”

“We shall see.”

They both grinned, knowing that it would be a vigorously fought battle with the outcome a pleasant mystery with fencing skills that were evenly matched. That fact, of course, was why they so enjoyed competing against each other.

Richard stood. “Until later then. I will leave you to your dreary business pursuits and see you at Estad’s. I think I shall return home and see how my wife is faring. More babies.” He shook his head, momentarily assuming the mournful pose from his bachelor days. “What is happening to us, Darcy? All this domesticity is like a virus.”

“Really? I shall remember that, Cousin, and hold it over you.”

But Richard just laughed, slapping Darcy on the back as they walked to the door. “Alas, my wife knows me well and teases me relentlessly about the invisible shackles on my ankles. Luckily, she also knows I would have it no other way.”

For the Master of Pemberley and Darcy House, the morning hours after the departure of Richard Fitzwilliam elapsed in the company of Mr. Daniels and a pile of documents. A great deal was accomplished ere the solicitor left before noon. Appointments for further discussions were made, plans were set in motion, letters were dictated, and Darcy’s hand was cramped from writing. Mr. Travers assisted as secretary, his aged hands steady and possessing a legible penmanship superior even to Darcy’s firm script.

Final instructions for posting of missives and calendar bookings were being given to the butler when the second surprise interruption of Darcy’s day occurred.

Darcy positively answered the tentative knock on his study door, both he and Mr. Travers rising when the interrupter was revealed as Lizzy.

“Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Travers greeted.

She nodded his direction. “Mr. Travers. Mr. Darcy.”

“Mrs. Darcy,” her husband responded, brows furrowing at the hint of a blush that highlighted her prominent cheekbones. “Is something amiss?”

“No, no. Not at all.” Her flush deepened and eyes flittered away momentarily, Darcy frowning further. “I am so sorry to disturb, but, if it is not too inconvenient or ill timed, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment?”

Mr. Travers was already gathering the stack of papers on the desk corner before him, murmuring his intent to post the letters immediately, and not noticing the puzzled and amused expressions crossing his Master’s features. He passed Lizzy, bowing again, and closed the door firmly behind.

Darcy stood before his chair, observing his wife as she bit her lower lip and fidgeted with her wedding rings. He was content that he could read her moods well enough to ascertain that nothing alarming was causing her strange actions but was unsure of the root source. She was a bit breathless and a becoming flush spread to the tops of her bosoms, which, he noted with a jolt, were rising delightfully with her respirations and perceptible under the clinging muslin of her lightweight spring gown.

“Elizabeth, are you well?” His voice cracked feebly, his blood suddenly racing by her apparent condition.

She glanced up, eyes flashing from sultry to sheepish as she approached. “Michael is asleep and Alexander playing. I was… thinking of you and… missing you.” She nervously swept a loose strand of hair away. “I know you are busy, but wanted to see you and felt that I could not wait.”

She bit her lip again, an unconscious mannerism that never failed to make his knees weak, glancing upward into his penetrating eyes as she now stood in front of him a mere two feet away. He could feel the heat emanating from her body, the flush a ruddy glow now, and he lifted a hand to entwine with the one she extended toward his chest.

However, before their fingers met she exhaled sharply and sidestepped, moving around the chair. Before his surprise allowed him to turn toward her she had placed both hands onto his shoulders, tugging decisively until he sank into the cushioned leather of his enormous chair.

“Elizabeth, what…?”

“I was playing with our son, bouncing the ball between us, while my thoughts became diverted!” Her hands were running over his nape, jawline, and through his hair, fingertips massaging his skin in that mixed therapeutic and seductive way she possessed. Her voice was huskily vibrant but with undertones of peevishness. “How inappropriate is it to be in the company of a two-year-old and begin to feel… That is, what kind of a mother am I to abandon my children so I can seek my husband in the middle of the day? In his study no less! It is not like we haven’t… been together for days or weeks. Why, just this morning, not some six hours ago we… Aargh!”

Darcy was trying hard not to laugh. His smile was faintly lecherous, as her reminder to their morning interlude, instigated most forcefully by her, was a pleasant memory indeed.

“Dearest…”

“All I could think of as I tossed that infernal ball to our innocent baby was your body! Your hands and mouth and neck.” She was leaning into him, breasts brushing over his shoulder blades and breath tickling the exposed skin of his ear as she nibbled on a lobe. “Fitzwilliam…” she whispered, and he turned his face toward her, meeting her glazed eyes for a brief second before she pulled away.

Instantly scarlet to the tips of her ears, she withdrew, back of her hand over her full lips. “I should not have infringed upon you with my… ridiculousness.” She backed away, retreating around his chair until leaning against his desk, locked by his blue eyes glittering with gaiety. “This is pathetic, is it not? Chasing you down while you work to bother you with my humiliating impulses. I know you are to leave soon, and…”

“Are you trying to politely say that your concupiscence is high and that you have sought me out for relief?” His left brow arched playfully. He would not have thought it possible for her blush to deepen, but it did. He chuckled, speaking with humor amid the resonance. “Have I ever given you the idea that I would not welcome your attentions? Or that your passionate nature and zeal for me is not an incredible stimulant to my own ardor? Is there any doubt that I am the type of husband, and man, who gleefully encourages his wife to express her wanton urges and willingly acquiesces?”

She shook her head, smiling and not attempting to hide her desire as he rose and stepped near. He spanned her slender waist, strong hands smoothly lifting and sitting her onto the flat top of his desk. Starting at her ankles, he rubbed upward along the quivering silkiness of her legs, sliding under her skirts. Her legs parted naturally as he bent forward, his large frame dwarfing her dainty body and overwhelming her senses. Brushing his lips over her ear he whispered, “If you desire me, you need only ask. I can assure you I will never deny your fervor if at all feasible to comply.”

Lizzy released a throaty moan, her stasis broken as she seized his cravat and jerked his mouth to hers, deftly untying the knotted silk in seconds. That accomplished, she attacked his clothing and body with a direct assault that stunned him despite his invitation.