The Dignity of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Valerie Lennox

Author:Valerie Lennox [Lennox, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Violence, Compromise (D&E)
Goodreads: 212085797
Publisher: Punk Rawk Books
Published: 2024-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

MR. DARCY HAD been here at Pemberley for nearly two months now, and he had spent most of his time in two pursuits.

One, looking at his wife. He liked watching her eat. She savored her food, slowly tasting it. He liked the expressions on her face when she tasted something she liked. Surprise, then enjoyment, then excitement as she asked for a second helping.

He liked it when she was reading and she came to a part of the book that made her furrow her brow in consternation. He daydreamed about smoothing his thumb over that furrow there, about touching her skin. He had been close enough to her on enough occasions to know that his own hand seemed impossibly huge next to her small and delicate features.

The thought of his clumsy hugeness against her pale grace seemed, well, like a kind of defilement in some way. He shouldn’t even want it. Touching her would be a sin against nature and God and decency itself.

Why he wanted it with such a blazing fervor was certainly a blight on his soul.

He should not want it.

Sometimes, she’d be out in the gardens at Pemberley, strands of her long dark hair coming out from her bonnet. She’d go out in gloves and then get frustrated when the fabric clung to her hair, so she’d take the gloves off. With her teeth.

He liked watching that, her teeth at the finger of her gloves, the way her face would contort in a kind of fierceness as she tore them off. And then she would busily tuck her hair away, calling for pins from her maid, tossing her gloves onto a table.

He liked her fingers. They were small and pale and graceful, too. He remembered watching them on the keys of a piano. He’d asked her to play for him once, but she’d put him off with a guffaw, saying something about how she didn’t want to damage either of their ears in that way.

Two, thinking about his wife. The thoughts were abominable. They got worse at night, when he lay in his bed. He was ashamed to say that he thought about her and touched himself. He didn’t think about the shape of her then, not the curve of her waist or the swell of her bosom. He was afraid to think of such things. He thought about her fingers then or her smile or the way she gasped in delight when there was blackberry jam for the scones.

It was quite bad, because now, whenever there was blackberry jam, he would react in ways that made his trousers too tight. It was appalling, sitting next to her at teatime, aroused, watching her shut her eyes and let out little appreciative moans as her tiny pink tongue darted out to get a stray smear of it from her plump pink bottom lip.

Kissing her.

He never thought of that.

It crossed his mind, and he pushed it away.

He didn’t think about having her, not really. He couldn’t think about it.

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