The Truth about Mr Darcy (Affinity and Affection)

317 Pages·2011·1.85 MB·English

by  Adriani Susan

Copyright
Copyright © 2011 by Susan Adriani Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by The Book Designers Cover painting A Source of Admiration, Edmund Blair Leighton
(1853-1922) © Christie’s Images/The Bridgeman Art Library Additional cover images © Shutterstock.com
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
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in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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www.sourcebooks.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Adriani, Susan.
The truth about Mr. Darcy / by Susan Adriani.
p. cm.
1. Darcy, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Bennet, Elizabeth (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3.
England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. 4. Gentry—England—Fiction. 5. Families—
England—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3601.D75T78 2011
813’.6--dc22
2010049268
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Cover
For my family,
whose encouragement and
support has made
all the difference.
Prologue
She came to him late one night as he sat reading in the quiet solitude of
Netherfield’s library, the delicate scent of lavender preceding her lovely form.
He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back and inhaled her heady fragrance,
a feeling of intoxication washing over his senses.
Without pause, she settled herself upon his lap and slid her arms across his
chest to his shoulders, her slender fingers wandering to the edge of his cravat to
tease the skin of his neck. He swallowed hard, struggling to regain the stoic
composure she always managed to rob him of whenever she was near. Tonight,
with her dark hair falling past her shoulders in silken curls, she was nothing
short of breathtaking.
He looked upon her in wonder as the hint of a smile played seductively upon
her rosy lips. She pressed her soft body firmly against his, her curves rendering
him utterly powerless, her eyes sparkling with an invitation. Every fiber of his
being ached to touch her, to tell her of his ardent—almost painful—desire for
her, to finally claim her as his own after so many weeks of fantasies and
sleepless nights.
Slowly, she began to feather her lips along his jaw, her hands blazing a path
of fire over his chest before moving to unbutton his waistcoat. As her lips came
to rest lightly against his own, so lightly they barely touched, she spoke, her
voice low and sultry.
“Have you been waiting long?” Her breath was hot against his flesh.
With a throb of longing that could no longer be denied, the last fragments of
his resolve crashed around him as he surrendered to her, claiming her lips in a
desperate kiss and tangling his hands possessively into her hair. When they
parted, their breathing was ragged, and their cheeks flushed.
“You have not answered my question, sir,” she said on a breath. “How long
have you been waiting for me?”
His voice was hoarse, and he whispered with feeling, “My entire life,
Elizabeth…”
***
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eyes flew open. He was thoroughly appalled to discover
himself in a leather chair in Netherfield’s library, rather than the privacy of his
own rooms. To make matters infinitely worse, he was aroused, and Elizabeth
Bennet was staring at him from the next chair with a mixture of astonishment
and impertinence written upon her face. He quickly averted his eyes, crossed his
legs, and groaned inwardly. Oh, good God! he thought with rising panic. Why is
she staring at me like that? Surely she cannot possibly be aware of…?
With as much aplomb as he could muster, Darcy took a shaky breath and
returned his gaze to the book he had been holding in his hands. Perhaps if he
simply ignored her and pretended nothing was amiss, all would turn out well.
After a few moments of this, he hazarded a glance in her direction, only to catch
her observing him out of the corner of her eye. He quickly averted his eyes and
shifted his weight self-consciously in his chair, willing his inflamed ardor to
cool.
“Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired with a slightly raised
brow.
He felt the heat of his blush and, without raising his eyes from his book, said
as calmly as possible, “Perfectly well, Miss Bennet. I thank you for your
concern.”
“It is nothing, sir. I am relieved to hear it.” There was a hint of amusement in
her voice that caused his head to snap in her direction. She had returned to her
reading but seemed to be struggling to repress a smile. Darcy’s ire rose at her
ability to laugh at his discomfiture, but rather than having a cooling effect on his
lower body, for some reason he could not explain, he found himself becoming
even more aroused. It was disconcerting, and he wracked his brain for anything
that might afford him an opportunity to compose himself enough to be able to
flee from her company.
Think, man, think! Something to repulse… something to repulse. He drummed
his fingers upon the arm of his chair. He repressed a shudder. Of course,
Caroline Bingley. Caroline Bingley in one of those hideous orange frocks she
favors. Hmm… and feathers. I must not forget feathers. Darcy repeated his
mantra, inhaling deeply. Ah, yes, much better… much better, indeed.
After several minutes, he felt in complete control of himself once again and,
as though to prove a point to himself, allowed his gaze to flicker toward
Elizabeth. She was reading, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she
wound a stray curl around one finger in an absent fashion. She presented a
delightful picture, and Darcy found himself enchanted. His mind drifted from
Caroline Bingley in her hideous orange frock to musings of a far more pleasant
nature. Elizabeth… my very own, lovely Elizabeth, just arrived at Netherfield,
her hem six inches deep in mud, her hair disheveled, her creamy skin glowing.
Oh, yes…
Darcy began to feel a familiar tightness in his breeches. “No! Oh, no,” he
moaned aloud.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, raising her head.
“No, not at all, Miss Bennet,” he stammered in a strained voice. “I was
merely taken unaware by something I had just… read. I apologize for disturbing
you.”
With a frown, Elizabeth laid aside her book and rose, averting her eyes as she
smoothed her gown. “If you will excuse me, sir, I fear my poor sister must be
wondering what has become of me.”
“Of course,” he muttered. Darcy didn’t dare rise. He would rather break with
correct etiquette and appear rude at this point than risk exposing himself, quite
literally, to any further mortification in front of Elizabeth. Turning his full
attention back to his book, he proceeded to give the illusion of engrossing
himself thoroughly in its text. Darcy did not move until he heard the click of the
door as it closed soundly behind her. Throwing his head back with relief, he
expelled a long, slow breath, ran his hands over his face and through his hair,
and cursed himself for being so susceptible to her charms.