William swallowed, the muscles of his throat working. He was breathing more rapidly, his eyes fixed on her lips as he took two stumbling steps toward the bed. She trailed her fingers up his arm. “Music helped to restore some memories. Perhaps you could do even more…”
He was on the bed beside her now, gathering her into his arms. His lips parted slowly and then he bent his neck, pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was long and languorous. Elizabeth lost herself in the sensations. Nothing existed except for lips touching lips, tongue sliding over tongue. Someone moaned, and Elizabeth realized the sound had emanated from her own throat.
One of William’s hands explored her back while the other cradled her head as he imbued his kiss with greater passion. Everywhere he touched, her skin tingled. She pressed herself against him, hoping he would proceed to the next stage of intimacy.
Instead he tore his lips from hers, sliding off the bed and whirling away with a groan of protest. She remained in the bed, bereft and untouched. “No…Elizabeth, it is not right. I am a virtual stranger to you.”
“But if I do not object…”
“Your trust in me is humbling. But I cannot. It would not be right until you recover your memories of our relationship.” He took great gulps of air, his chest heaving. “And I cannot get you with child,” he added as an afterthought.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “You still desire me?”
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “If I were not a gentleman, I would show you how much I desire you.”
“At the moment I wish you were not such a gentleman,” she murmured irritably.
William breathed out a laugh. “As do I.”
Elizabeth allowed her shoulders to slump.
“When we are safe in England,” William promised. “If you still wish it…”
“I will,” she whispered, a little shocked at the depth of her own desire. Proper young ladies were not supposed to have such feelings, although her brazenness did not appear to disgust her husband.
“I hope so,” he said just as softly.
Before she could question this peculiar response, he took a deep breath and spoke in a more normal tone. “You should get more rest.”
“Will you hold me?” she asked shyly.
He gave her a tender smile. “Of course.”
With his back to her, William quickly changed into his nightshirt. Raising up the coverlet, he extended his body beside hers. He turned her onto her side, his front to her back, engulfing her as he wrapped his limbs around her.
***
The following morning Darcy and Elizabeth bade the Moreaus adieu and took the road leading from Rouen. A far cry from the high-flying curricle, the wagon Darcy had purchased was worn and shabby, moving at a slow pace. The very sight of the vehicle made Darcy clench his teeth in vexation. This is a necessary part of the disguise, he reminded himself. Soldiers searching for Dreyfus’s English spy would not give the wagon a second glance.
The streets of Rouen were crowded; departing from the city was an exercise in patience as their wagon joined a crowd of produce-laden vehicles, grand carriages, and gigs out for a morning ride. Frustrated at their speed, Darcy pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time.
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her face turning quite white.
Darcy followed her gaze to the watch. He had taken pains to keep it concealed since Mr. Martin had reminded Darcy that laborers did not own watches. However, Elizabeth was not staring at the watch itself, but something on the fob.
The amber cross.
Darcy had completely forgotten that he had hung her cross as a pendant from his watch fob. Now her eyes were mesmerized by the sight. He slid the cross off the chain. “I did not think to return this to you before now. It was around your neck when you washed up on shore.”
He dropped it into her waiting hand, and her fingers closed around it. Elizabeth swayed on the bench, causing Darcy to reach out a hand to steady her. “Dearest?” Her pallor was a little alarming, and he had an irrational fear that the cross was somehow
causing her pain.
“Memories,” she murmured through gritted teeth.
“Oh.” Darcy swallowed, hairs rising on the nape of his neck. Was this it? Would she now remember the true state of their relationship? His palms grew damp; he was ill-prepared for such a conversation.
She swayed alarmingly, and Darcy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his body for safety. Even if she did remember, even if she hated him, she was still his responsibility. His beloved. She might choose her own path once they arrived in England, but until then he would not leave her side.