Karen Wasylowski - Darcy and Fitzwilliam - A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

Who was she trying to fool? After this night, they would be lucky to meet at all, let alone like thieves, sneaking around to steal forbidden moments. How long could he wait for her? Why would he wait for her? She ached only for what every other woman seemed to have and she could not: a home and a family. With growing melancholy, she steeled herself to the obvious. There could only be this night as a family, as a normal couple together.

Fitzwilliam looked distracted and tired after having spoken at length with Darcy. He was wearing Darcy’s borrowed night robe, brandy stains and all. He reached his hand out to Amanda. “Come on to bed now, love.” After kissing Harry’s cheek, she nodded kindly to the nursemaid who would keep watch over her son during the night, and then they walked silently into Richard’s usual room.

He closed the door and went immediately to the desk to take up a large stack of letters waiting for him, turning up the lamp light to read them. There was correspondence from the War Department, from Wellington, from his father. All demanded his immediate attention, all were questioning his whereabouts for the past month, all had their own anxieties, their own requests of him.

“Are you coming to bed soon, Richard?” Amanda sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, seeing the concern in his eyes, or the humor, or the aggravation, depending upon whose letter he was reading. Her heart calmed suddenly when she realized there was one good thing to come of all this tragedy. At least he would be safe. At least now he would not be made to sacrifice so much.

“In a moment, dear.” He pulled his chair out and sat, taking up his pen to give his response to the more urgent of the letters.

Amanda retrieved his clothes still lying where he had dropped them. She folded them and placed them neatly onto the chair. She waited and watched for her husband to come to bed, refusing to sleep this last night.

There were only a few hours until dawn when he finally pulled the covers back. Although a fire blazed, the room felt damp and cold. Amanda’s gentle fingers touched his mouth.

“I thought you were asleep already, Amanda. You were so tired. Why don’t you try to rest?”

Instead she reached for him, pulled him down, began to kiss his neck, his ear, and then began to nip at his shoulder, her hand moving slowly down his chest and stomach.

His breathing stopped. Concern fought with lust as he gathered her tightly into his embrace. “Amanda, you’re trembling.” His voice sounded rough. She had been through so much, and this boldness was very unlike her. He smoothed the hair from her face, sighing and confused. She had so many different moods, this new wife of his, with so many mercurial emotions concerning sex that they baffled him. Sometimes, when she seemed the most amorous, it was actually just a plea for comforting. Sometimes it was simply from insecurity, sometimes lust. There were preferences for how and where, preferring curtains pulled tightly and total darkness, clean sheets, a tidy room. Certain positions took a little coaxing, but with enough prior notice could be accommodated.

On the other hand, he knew that men needed absolutely no excuse for sex nor did they care a whit where or when or how. It was all to the good and very basic.

Her hand continued its achingly slow descent.

The South of France saluted.

Responding immediately, Fitzwilliam moved her body beneath his, gently drawing her long, silky legs about his waist. He grasped her bottom, and his breathing quickly turned to panting. She whispered his name over and over, reverently, like a prayer between kisses that rapidly became fierce and savage and hungry.

He rose up on his elbows to take some of his weight from her, but she urgently shook her head. “Come back,” she whispered.

“Amanda,” he said hoarsely, “I’m too big… the baby. I’ll smother you both. Let me at least support myself a little.”

She grabbed at him, clutching and pulling until his beautiful mouth was again on hers, and then he was inside her again and carefully pressing her deeply, rhythmically into the bed, but she wanted to feel covered, protected, possessed. She grabbed at him desperately, moving her hips until it rendered him helpless and unthinking, and he soon forgot his much larger size and weight, forgot her delicate condition, forgot the boy and nurse in the next room, forgot that he was a guest in his cousin’s home or that there were innocent people living in respectable homes outside their window. He growled and yelled, and his body soon trembled its release. Finally, they lay there, breathing as one.

It was several moments before he raised himself onto an elbow to gaze down in the moonlight at her, a look of stunned appreciation on his face. “Good God, woman,” he whispered. “You’ll have me burst into flames one of these days.” He smoothed some hair from her face and kissed her nose then laughed softly. “I don’t know why I am bothering to whisper, I’m certain shutters are being slammed all over Mayfair from the racket we just made.”

Her fingers caressed his face, fingers tracing each line, each crevice, while she skimmed her hand across the scar on his jaw and she smiled briefly at the memory of their lovemaking.

“Amanda, stop,” he said gently, capturing her hand. “You’re touching me like I’m going to disappear. I am not, you know.” He tried to laugh it off and kissed her forehead, beginning to remove himself from her. “I wish you would have faith in me, trust that all will be well. I won’t let anything happen to you or the boy.”

“Don’t leave me yet,” she pleaded. It would be hard for him in the shadows to see the panic in her eyes or know how fiercely it rose in her chest. This could be our last night together, my darling, for many years to come . She forced her voice to sound cheery. “It feels much better to make love properly, I mean in the dark like this, doesn’t it? Making love in the afternoon light felt rather badly behaved. I was always embarrassed to know that you could see me when I called out your name.”

He enveloped her again with his body and arms and whispered into her ear, “I believe shrieked would be more accurate.” She cuffed him affectionately on his shoulder, and they both laughed softly.

They remained in each other’s arms, talking in whispers, laughing and touching intimately. It was a while before he slowly began to feel the stirring again and once more began to kiss her mouth, her eyes, her throat… feeling the madness in them both returning.

Darcy still could not sleep and restlessly paced, his gaze falling across the broken door handle to Lizzy’s dressing room. Whenever he passed, he felt a tremendous stab of guilt strike at his stomach. Tragedy had ventured so easily into his home and had nearly taken all that was dear to him. His thoughts punished him, endlessly replaying the fight they had had and how this evening could have turned out so differently if not for Amanda.

His eye caught torn pieces of paper surrounding the dressing-table chair. Reaching down, he picked them up and patiently assembled them upon the table, finally reading Caroline’s note to Elizabeth, finally understanding what had happened.

“So this is what started the whole thing,” he sighed raggedly. “A nasty bit of revenge from a rejected woman.” He sat down heavily on the chair and reread the letter again.

I have to accept my own part in this. I kept the truth from Lizzy when I might have avoided this whole trouble by only being honest with her. I certainly was no gentleman; she was right about that . His disappointment with himself was tremendous, even greater than his anger at Caroline, but he would not lose his control again. Never. Least of all over that vain and silly trollop.