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For Mr. Darcy’s part, Elizabeth’s arrival proved a balm to all the anticipation he had suffered. Hoping and waiting for her to appear in the room while doing his best to play the part of an attentive guest. One who listened and responded to his friend Charles Bingley at the right time while deflecting his friend’s sister Miss Bingley’s persistent but unfruitful attempts to engage him in conversation.

She called me William, Darcy recalled thinking when Elizabeth approached him a few moments before.

Never had the sound of a single word filled him with so much joy, so much pleasure, and most of all, so much hope that the night they had shared was but the promise of so many more such nights to come.

Doing everything in his power not to belie the notion of this being their first introduction, Darcy fought back the happiness that threatened to overtake his countenance. His busy mind, however, would not be so easily subdued. He was nervous; doing his best not to show it, he managed to keep a serious expression on his face.

He had to remind himself that she was not his. Not yet. He had to remind himself that to everyone else in the room, he and Elizabeth were mere strangers who had never laid eyes on each other prior to that occasion.

Confused by this battle between his emotions and his brain, Darcy forced himself to breathe. Elizabeth walked to the buffet, and he watched her every movement, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Once she had chosen everything she wanted, she turned and glanced around the table. Her dark, bewitching eyes landed on him, and she smiled softly. He smiled back at her.

She began to walk toward him.

His heart raced; the blood pumped straight to his manhood.

Elizabeth’s footsteps were slow and measured, but they eventually led her to him. He wondered how it was possible that he was so nervous, but he was sure it had something to do with this being the first time they were seeing each other since they had spent the best part of the night making love. Also, it was the first time they would be engaging each other in a crowded setting.

Would it be obvious what had happened between them? Would it be evident that he had been with her in the way that a man was supposed to be with a woman?

Darcy longed to be anywhere other than the breakfast room, as long as it was just the two of them.

He wanted to embrace her and kiss her. He wanted to do even more than that. He imagined taking her into his apartment, taking off her clothes, and making love to her once again. He wanted to grab her and make her his. He wanted to make her entirely his.

Elizabeth stood mere inches away from him. Darcy hoped his heartbeat was not so loud as he suspected. He arose from his seat, careful not to betray his calm composure or rather lack thereof.

“Do you have any objections to my sitting beside you, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, placing her plate on the table.

Her voice was music to Darcy’s ears. “It is my pleasure, I assure you,” he began softly. “Your doing so must surely hasten my getting better acquainted with you.”

Elizabeth stumbled.

Darcy caught her. He brought her against him and held her. Darcy was stunned by the feelings that came over him. He was fascinated by the glistening curve of her throat and by the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed. He heard himself make a soft noise, something between a laugh and a sigh.

“Are you injured? Did you trip over your own feet?”

“Or rather something to that effect,” Elizabeth replied.

Darcy stared hard at Elizabeth’s lips. He wanted to kiss her. He yearned to kiss her more than he could stand. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless. He wanted to run his hands over her body, feeling the soft curves of her skin. Indeed, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and never let her go.

“There is no need for concern,” Elizabeth continued, freeing herself from his hold on her. “I suppose I am a bit clumsy this morning. I have not yet had my morning tea,” she said as she sat down.

“Your morning tea?” Darcy responded questioningly. He sat down in his chair.

“Indeed. I am never quite myself until I have had my morning tea. It makes me⁠—”

Darcy held his breath as she paused. Elizabeth was teasing him. A loosened strand of her dark hair fell across her face. He ached to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. He fought the urge. Doing so would have been the most natural thing in the world to him hours earlier. Recalling how he had fastened her gown at the break of dawn, he almost groaned with the need to touch her.

“What does it make you?” he asked.

Heavens, he wanted to see her smile at him again. He had seen her tears. He had held her in his arms the night before and listened as she wept. Now, he simply wanted to hear her laugh.

“Well, sir. It makes me happy,” she said. “I am always happiest when I have had my morning tea. And now that you know one of my secrets, you must tell me one of yours.”

Darcy half-smiled. “I am sure I have no such secrets to share—at least not in present company.”

She was sitting so close. He could smell her. She smelled like roses and sunlight and everything good in the world, and he wanted her so much he ached with desire.