“Say what again, Fitzwilliam?” she asked as she proceeded to kiss his jaw, her hands leaving a delightful path of fire across his shoulders.

He closed his eyes briefly as he reached out his hands to still the movement of hers. “You called me your love, Elizabeth,” he said with a hitch in his voice. “I have dreamed of hearing those words fall from your lips for so very long. I have prayed every day to be granted the privilege of knowing such sweetness as it flows from your beloved mouth. Elizabeth, I beg of you, please tell me this is not merely another dream from which I will again awaken to disappointment.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “after all we have shared, after all that has passed between us, how could you doubt it? How could you not feel it? Indeed, I love you with all my heart.” After all she had allowed him, the idea that Darcy might need verbal confirmation of her love seemed incredible.

He reached for her, and she wrapped him tightly in her arms. Breathing deeply, Darcy buried his face against the curve of her neck and murmured, “I have loved you for what seems to me an eternity, Elizabeth. Indeed, I have long been in need of you, even before I came to know of your existence. You can have no idea how much it means to me, after months of despair and weeks of uncertainty, to hear you say you love me. You have made me so happy. Indeed, I could wish for nothing more, nothing more except…” The words died on his lips as he realized it was probably too soon to broach the subject of marriage once again.

“Except for what, my love?” she entreated, her voice soft and filled with tenderness.

Darcy raised his head, brushing her cheek with his. Their eyes met and then closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “More than anything, you know I wish to have you for my wife, yet I dare not ask again for fear of your rejection.”

Elizabeth stroked his cheek as she feathered her lips against his. Darcy inhaled sharply when he heard her whisper, “I assure you, Fitzwilliam, your fears are entirely unfounded.”

A burning hope suddenly flowed unchecked through Darcy’s veins. He forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths before saying, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears of love and emotion burned in her eyes as she drew her head just far enough away to look into his eyes once more. He loved her almost beyond reason, and only now did she truly understand what it was to be able to return such a love. “Fitzwilliam, I love you now so very dearly. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you for my husband. I am only sorry it has taken me so long to commit myself to you. You are truly the best man I have ever known. It will be an honor for me to become your wife.”

*   *   *

The remainder of the day passed without further incident, aside from Darcy’s joyful application to Mr. Bennet for Elizabeth’s hand, which he was not denied. The happy couple spent the last hour or so of the waning afternoon pleasantly with Bingley and Jane, much to the consternation of Mr. Collins, who had stubbornly declined an invitation to dine with Charlotte at Lucas Lodge. After witnessing Darcy’s denial of familial duty to Miss de Bourgh, the clergyman was convinced, more than ever, that the master of Pemberley had been infamously drawn in.

Chagrined by his cousin’s unwarranted accusation toward his future son-in-law, and his own recently inflicted injustice in the same quarter, Mr. Bennet was resolved to give the lovers one more day of peace by delaying the announcement of Elizabeth’s engagement until the following evening, thus insulating Darcy against further insult from having to bear witness to the endless raptures of his future mother-in-law.

Just before dinner, in an effort to defuse some of his mounting anger toward Mr. Collins’s persistent and offensive scrutiny, Darcy asked Elizabeth to take a turn with him in the garden. The night was clear, the moon was full, and stars twinkled in the heavens. As they made their way toward a little copse on the far side of the garden, Elizabeth shivered from the chill of the night air.

The spot was a pleasant one and had become a favorite of theirs, as it afforded them some degree of privacy from several sets of prying eyes that might be observing them surreptitiously from the house. Settling himself upon an intricately carved bench, Darcy pulled the woman he loved into an embrace upon his lap.

“How I have longed these past hours to kiss those tempting lips of yours, my lovely Elizabeth!” His voice was soft and filled with urgency, and before she could respond, Darcy had captured her mouth with his in a gentle yet thorough kiss that bespoke all the emotion of the day. When his lips finally released hers, both lovers were breathless.

Darcy gazed with love upon the woman before him. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, to know every inch of her, and impatiently tugged his gloves from his hands so he could delight in the softness of her skin. With a contented sigh, Elizabeth leaned into his caress and, tilting her head, placed her lips slowly and firmly upon his warm palm.

Darcy was mesmerized as she cradled his hand in her own and proceeded to dust kisses from the tips of his fingers to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. Her eyes were closed, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His own breath was beginning to come faster, and he hardly knew how he had willed himself to remain so still when such a lovely sight was before him, tantalizing him with her sweet lips.

No longer able to remain passive, Darcy nuzzled her neck, then feathered his lips slowly, seductively along the contour of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, and back again to reclaim her mouth in an ardent kiss.

To Elizabeth, his ministrations were heavenly, and this time, when his hands wandered ever so sensuously past her waist to caress her hips, she arched herself against him in an unspoken invitation.

With measured deliberation, Darcy dared his hands to move upward to her full breasts, where he stroked her with his fingertips, eliciting from Elizabeth a soft moan. It was almost more than he could stand, and he pulled his head just far enough away to look upon her beauty illuminated by the moonlight.

“My love, does this please you?” he asked, still caressing her through the velvety fabric of her spencer.

Elizabeth was almost beyond herself with desire. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, her breathing ragged as she leaned into his touch.

“Good.” Darcy worked several buttons on her spencer free and slipped his hand inside. Her body was warm, welcoming, and unbelievably responsive as his fingers grazed the flesh at the neckline of her gown, his thumb applying the slightest circular pressure to her nipple through the soft fabric. Again, Elizabeth moaned as though with delighted ecstasy, and with a surge of burning desire, Darcy parted her lips and drank from her mouth.

Elizabeth was lost to everything around her except Darcy and the exquisite heat his caresses ignited deep within her body. She could feel the tension of the morning melting further away with every teasing stroke of his fingers and every embrace from his lips. She was desirous of more; every fiber of her being cried out for him.

It was Darcy who, through the haze of his own passion, finally realized the danger of their situation. Her passionate responsiveness to him, her unprecedented generosity in permitting him such liberties with her body, her obvious desire, all brought an acute pang of warning that finally forced him to rein in his passion. Gradually, he lightened his kisses and withdrew his hands, which shook as he refastened the buttons of Elizabeth’s spencer. He drew her head down to rest upon his shoulder, unbuttoning his greatcoat and wrapping it around them to further warm her trembling body with the heat of his own.

There they sat in the middle of her father’s garden, in the dark and most likely facing an engagement of at least three or four months. Their actions were more than unwise—they were dangerous. How on earth am I ever to survive months of this blissful torture before I can make her truly mine in every way?

Elizabeth’s thoughts, unsurprisingly, were very much along the same lines.

They remained thus for a long while, holding one another in the crisp silence of the evening, lost to all else. Then there was a sound just behind them—the snapping of a twig beneath stumbling feet—and Darcy stiffened. Elizabeth raised her head and, scanning the darkness, suggested they return to the house. It was just as well, as they espied, not half a minute later, the meddling Mr. Collins, who, judging by the appalled look upon his portly face, had very likely observed Darcy brushing Elizabeth’s lips with a lingering kiss as she secured the last several buttons on his greatcoat, her fingers dancing over his chest while he proceeded to pull on his discarded gloves.

*   *   *

Dinner that night at Longbourn was an interesting, strained affair, to say the least. Elizabeth was mortified and angry that Mr. Collins had witnessed the intimate exchange between her and Darcy. Darcy was furious that his aunt’s insufferable clergyman had the audacity to forget himself so far as to dare to meddle in his personal affairs. Mr. Collins was absolutely indignant on behalf of himself and her ladyship for the unscrupulous and scandalous behavior of Darcy and his Cousin Elizabeth.

Jane felt for Elizabeth; Bingley felt for Darcy; Mary felt for Mr. Collins and busied herself by wracking her memory for a few appropriate words of reflection from Fordyce’s Sermons; Kitty and Lydia bickered for the duration of the first course; and Mrs. Bennet could be heard above it all, talking away in her shrill voice about trousseaux, new carriages, and frippery for Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Mr. Bennet observed them all with amusement.