“You are suddenly very quiet, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

He gave her a look that assured her of the content of his thoughts. “Sometimes, Miss Bennet, it is best to admire without comment.”

His reaction had surprised her; she had hardly expected after his earlier forwardness that he would suddenly revert to being the perfect gentleman, and it left her feeling somehow frustrated that he could stimulate such feelings of abandon in her, and then withdraw. She gave him an unconsciously seductive glance, and noted with satisfaction his heightened color. “I hope I have not done anything to offend you.”

“Hardly, Miss Bennet; you are merely testing my self-control, and I believe it wisest to keep my hands to myself at the moment, lest I succumb to overwhelming temptation.” He glanced at her, noting that her amused look verged on repressed laughter. “Are you so heartless as to laugh at my predicament, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes, indeed; why should I not? After all, if I am both ‘heartless’ and an ‘overwhelming temptation,’ you have no one to blame but yourself for starting it,” she teased. Her laughter served to break the tension, and he reached to take her hand. “Oh, no, sir, you must keep your hands to yourself!” she said sportively.

Willing to play her game, he placed his hands on the ground, and leaned over to kiss her, but at the last moment she pulled away. “I refuse to be a temptation, Mr. Darcy!” She looked at him expectantly, wondering how he would respond to her teasing refusals.

“Let me see, then,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes mischievous. “No hands, no kisses; what does that leave me?” Before she could protest, he shifted his position to allow him to rest his head in her lap. He smiled up at her engagingly, causing a delightful ripple of laughter from her. She found this playful, relaxed and flirtatious Darcy quite appealing, if difficult to fit together with the proper and reserved public man. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, then smoothed it away from his face. He closed his eyes in order to better enjoy her ministrations. He looked younger and somehow more vulnerable, and she felt a rush of affection for him.

She held back a sigh, thinking how very confusing her feelings about him were. Which was the real Darcy—was it the man with the perpetually serious mien, or the one who delighted in verbal jousting? Proud and reserved, or shy? Always careful, never violating the proprieties, or lighthearted and forward? Sometimes it seemed that the only thing she could be certain of was what he wanted from her, and sometimes even that seemed to shift. She wondered if he would be content with her eventual acceptance, or whether he would continue to demand more and more of her private self. At times like this, it seemed that all he needed was someone to care about him for himself, not for what he could offer in terms of support or protection. Apart from his cousin, she could think of no one who treated him with affection and as an equal. He had been taking care of other people for so long. Who did he turn to when he needed support? He seemed so independent, needing nothing and no one—except you, a voice inside her said.

A smile curved her lips as she considered the hubris it would require to take on the responsibility of taking care of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Continuing to stroke his hair, she let her eyes trace the lines of his face, wondering at her sanity in allowing herself to love this complex and often difficult man—as if she had allowed herself to love him; the truth was closer to what she had said of him at Hunsford, that she loved him against her will, against her reason, and even against her character. It was certainly poetic justice.

He opened his eyes at that moment, catching the unguarded look of affection on her face. Well, if he was unsure before this how I feel about him, I have just betrayed myself, she thought uneasily. Retreating behind a mask of humor, she said, “I was beginning to wonder if you were asleep, sir, you appeared so comfortable.”

Answering her in kind, he retorted, “And if I had, it would merely be because thoughts of you keep me awake at night.”

She raised her eyebrows. “It seems I have many sins to answer for in your mind!”

“And many more I hope you will commit, as well,” he said softly, wishing that he could see that caring look in her eyes again. Sitting up, he took her face between his hands and kissed her slowly and deeply, and slid his hands gradually back into the depths of her hair, allowing himself to be enveloped in complete sensation. He continued to kiss her until he deemed her ardor the equal of his, then pulled back to look at her. The warmth of desire in her eyes amidst the becoming dishevelment of her appearance left him both aroused and gratified by his ability to give her pleasure.

“You look very pleased with yourself,” Elizabeth teased.

“Oh, I am,” he murmured enticingly. “Almost as pleased as I am with you.” Wrapping his hand in a lock of her hair, he pulled her toward him in such a way that she ended up in his embrace when their lips met again.

The exquisite sensations of delight that coursed through her in response to his touch seemed more than she could bear, and she knew in the deepest fibers of her being just how much she wanted him. His lips began to roam freely, and she gasped in shock and unforeseen pleasure as his hand rose to cup her breast. She could feel the touch of his hand through her entire body, and as she found herself seeking more of it by arching her body against his fingers, she realized how near she was to the point of allowing him anything. Somehow she forced herself to say, “My family will be wondering what has become of me.”

Gently caressing her breast as he let his lips drift downward to the neckline of her gown, he whispered, “Tell them that I was making love to you in a secluded glen.”

In the instant before reality intervened, all she could think of was how much she wished she could allow him to do just that, and it was only her fear of how vulnerable her feelings were to him already that permitted her to remember the reasons why she must not. Even as she was responding to and reciprocating his demands, she said, “Please, sir, I cannot make you stop, but I beg you to do so anyway.”

“It will be weeks before I see you alone again,” he pleaded, hardly knowing what he was saying. She moaned as his thumb drifted across her breast with an intimacy she had never imagined, her need for him growing by the minute.

“Even so,” she whispered, her lips meeting his again and again, until he pulled back and, with an obvious effort to control himself, ran his hands over his face.

It was several minutes until he had the self-possession to speak calmly. “My love, you are a delightful menace to my peace of mind.” He wondered how on earth he could allow her to leave with her aunt and uncle. Standing, he held out a hand to her. “I think that it is past time for us to leave here.” His resolve would fail if they remained there, and his body was demanding with every fiber to discover what further intimacies she would allow him.

“Yes,” she said, smiling lest he think her angered with him. She was grateful for his hand, uncertain of her own strength at that moment. As in the past, she felt oddly weak when he called her ‘my love,’ and this time she was in no position to take exception to his familiarity. “But you will need to give me a moment, sir, or we shall certainly cause talk.” She gathered her hair and twisted it into a more presentable form. He fetched her bonnet as she restored the hairpins to their proper position. She reached her hand out for it, but instead he settled it on her himself, his fingers to lingering on her neck as he tied it in place.

On the return journey they attempted to distract themselves with a lively debate on the relative merits of Coleridge and the newly published Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage of the scandalous Lord Byron, leading Darcy to contemplate the interesting reading material that Mr. Bennet thought fit for a young woman, until they reached the point where they would go their separate ways. Darcy was unsure how far he could trust himself, and limited himself to touching her cheek. “Miss Bennet…”

“Yes?”

He was about to speak when he recalled his promise not to rush her, and he shook his head with an expression of regret. “No, not yet,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “I will see you tomorrow, then, at Longbourn.”

She tried to speak to his uncertainty with her eyes. Surely he must know after today that he has won, she thought. “I shall look forward to it, sir.”

“For the sake of my sanity, I hope that you persuade your aunt and uncle to come to Pemberley.”

“Only time will tell on that,” she said.

“Just remember, Miss Bennet, that I know where the Lambton Inn is, and you already know I am not above kidnapping when it suits my purposes.”

She laughed. “I shall keep that in mind. Until tomorrow, then.”

He kissed her hand lingeringly. “Until then.” He watched as she walked toward Longbourn, not moving from his position until she was long out of sight.

*   *   *

Bingley appeared in the door of the billiard room, where Darcy had retreated after dinner for some much-needed peace and an opportunity to reflect on the events of the day. “Bingley!” his friend exclaimed. “This is the earliest I’ve seen you back from Longbourn in days. Would you care for a game?”

“How could you?” his friend said in a low voice.

“How could I what?” Darcy began to rack the balls.

“I seem to have played the fool here. When you did not want to talk about your interest in Lizzy, I assumed it was because you were not yet sure of your feelings. It never occurred to me, not once, that your motives could be less than honorable,” Bingley said, his voice full of anger and hurt. “She is going to be my sister soon, for God’s sake, Darcy!”