Mr. Darcy Proves His Love by Maria Dashwood

Author:Maria Dashwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pemberley Playground Press

Chapter 8

After Mr. Darcy sent the squirrel on its way, he returned to bed and Elizabeth enjoyed a second delicious experience of spending the night in her husband’s arms. She had wanted to marry for love but had not known the delights of married life, what pleasures the flesh offered.

Now, she was less an innocent and grateful for it. Grateful to her soon-to-be husband for taking her to unimaginable heights of pleasure.

As sunlight slipped through the cracks in their lodging’s stone walls, Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open.

A noise?

Elizabeth held her breath, but she only heard Mr. Darcy’s even breathing. He held her protectively, keeping her close, warm. It was nice feeling, being almost married, of laying with a man who would do anything for her, who wanted to start a family, who wanted them to grow old together.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She was sore, which her aunt had explained was to be expected, and her bladder ached. Also expected. Elizabeth carefully unwound herself from his sleeping form and got out of the bed to find a place to relieve herself, a chill running from her feet up her back and through her body.

“Come back to bed, love.” Mr. Darcy called out, rolling towards her and holding his hand out. “We can sleep a little longer. We were up most of the night. I am certain nobody followed us.”

At the reminder of what they were fleeing, Elizabeth tensed, heart beating faster. The bandits still pursued them.

What had roused her? What if they were here, searching? Would Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy need to run, to fight, both? She shivered at the thought, and Mr. Darcy got out of the bed and wrapped his arms around her.

“Come back to bed.”

A branch crunched outside, the distinctive sound of a footfall.

Mr. Darcy tensed. He put a finger to her lips and whispered the softest, “Down,” in her ear.

Elizabeth nodded and dropped to her knees, crawling away from the door. Sometime in the night, Darcy had put on his breeches. He strode to the fireplace and grabbed up a stout log they had not burned. Log in hand, he stood by the door, prepared to brain any who might force their way inside.

Elizabeth wished she had some weapon or way to help. Mr. Darcy had cut free her bonds with a knife? Where was it?

From outside, a man shouted, “Whoever is in there, come out! Now!”

At the man’s voice, Mr. Darcy relaxed, lowering the log. He grinned.

“Richard!” Mr. Darcy shouted through the closed door. “Is that you?”

Elizabeth started to stand, but Mr. Darcy waved for her to stay down.

“Darcy?”

Mr. Darcy leaned the log against the wall. “It is my cousin, the colonel.”

Elizabeth smiled and ran to the pallet to grab up one of the duvets to wrap around herself. She could do nothing about her hair beyond tying it at a loose knot at her neck as Mr. Darcy found his jacket and coat.

When they stepped out, Colonel Fitzwilliam was tying his horse. Behind the Colonel was a thin, copper-brown man with dark eyes and straight black hair.

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