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The first light of dawn streamed in through the bedroom window, waking Elizabeth with its warmth on her cheeks; she stirred, but refused to open her eyes lest all the events of last night prove to be an impossibly pleasant dream. Even with her eyes shut to the daylight, though, her other senses assured her that all of it had in fact happened, for this was the softest bed she had ever lain upon and the sheets held the lingering scent of him—her husband, she reminded herself, the thought burgeoning the happiness within her heart so that she wondered if it might burst.
She extended her leg over to Darcy’s side of the bed—the bed they shared, she thought with girlish delight, but she was surprised when her foot met with only empty sheets. She rolled over and opened her eyes then, but before her brow could even begin to furrow with concern she saw him standing in the doorway in his shirtsleeves, a breakfast tray in his hands. She wished she could capture forever the adoration in his eyes in that moment and place it in a bottle to sip upon later like the fine wines in Pemberley’s cellars, although certainly they had many more years ahead for him to look at her so.
“Imagine my surprise, returning from the kitchen to find a naked woman in my bed,” he crooned, that tentative smile she loved teasing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry, miss, but I’m a married man. You’ll simply have to go.”
A low laugh rumbled in her chest as she propped her head up on her arm, and she didn’t bother to keep the sheet from slipping down, baring her breasts shamelessly. “And I’m sorry, Will, but I’m afraid I’m your kept woman for life now, and I’m simply not going anywhere. Have you brought me breakfast? Consummating wedding vows certainly works up an appetite.”
As he approached the bed, Elizabeth saw that the tray he carried was loaded not with a hearty English breakfast, but—
“Strawberries and clotted cream?” she gasped. She hadn’t thought she could love Darcy more, but his arriving in their newly minted marriage bed with her favorite sweet indulgence certainly increased her regard for him.
He set the tray on the mattress beside her, but she stopped him with a raised hand before he could climb in after it. “I apologize, sir, but clothing is not allowed here,” she admonished him. “Off with it.”
He chuckled throatily and obeyed, his eyes never leaving hers as he tugged his shirt off over his head and cast it aside, and suddenly Elizabeth was unsure which sweet indulgence she craved more. Her husband solved the conundrum for her, though, for no sooner had he settled in next to her than he dipped a ruby-red berry in cream and held it to her lips. She sighed happily as she bit into it, the juices erupting in her mouth, its tartness softened by the cool cream. It tasted of the summers of her girlhood, and now she knew it would forever taste to her of the pleasures of womanhood as well.
They fed each other idly as the morning light brightened until the clotted cream grew warm and runny, and a droplet spilled from a strawberry Darcy proffered onto Elizabeth’s bosom.
“Oh, dear, you’ve made a terrible mess,” she teased, a mischievous grin blooming across her cheeks.
“Alas, it seems I have,” he agreed. He set aside the breakfast tray and poised himself over her to plant a kiss on her forehead, then allowed his lips to travel along her cheek and her neck. “Shall I clean it up, Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured against her throat, sending a thrill straight to the depths of her belly.
“Yes please, Mr. Darcy,” she cooed.
His tongue lapped up the cream from the curve of her breast, and their breakfast was quickly forgotten.