Will You? A proposal scene by Nicole Clarkston

How are you all holding up in this strange new world of ours? We love hearing from you, and we hope you are all safe and well. We also hope you have  been well supplied with reading material, but if you’re looking for a bit more, we hope to help out.

This month, our theme is “Will You?” That’s right, it’s a month full of proposals, the good, the bad, and the ugly! Most will probably melt your pudding, but you might just see a stinker in the bouquet. We all need to laugh, right?

For this post, I’m sharing the (successful) proposal scene from Nefarious, but  stay tuned! Our authors are working on original-never-before-seen-swoony-mush, just for your reading pleasure. Catch them all this month!

-NC

I paced Mr Bennet’s study, my shoulders bunched, palms itching, and my knees unwilling to support my weight. Sweet glory, the moment was upon me!

I tugged at my cravat, wishing for a gulp of something besides Mr Bennet’s tasteless sherry to wet my throat and refresh my tongue. By heaven, I was addled as a schoolboy, and overcome with a powerful urge to beat my breast so my heart might resume a steady cadence.

I had been angry the last time I had nerved myself to speak—furious, jealous for my own dignity and sure of my right to insist on her adjudication. Blind, I had been—blind to aught but myself, and the shining vision that had been my notion of restitution, as if she were to be my reward for all the past. This time, my only hope was that I might lavish the remainder of my years on her, seeking each day some new means of giving her comfort or joy. Yes, that would be the noblest pursuit to which I could devote my life!

The bookshelves, the furnishings, even the window all disappeared as I strove for words, trying to piece together something more comprehensible, more suitable than the garbled string of syllables presently clogging my throat. I wandered aimlessly about the room and could not say whether it was only seconds or long minutes before the door opened again, and she slipped inside.

I paused, and simply adored her from afar—her scent already washing over me, her irresistible hold already taking me until the whole of my body warmed in eager longing. Her hands were still behind her back, against the latch, and her eyes lit with mischief. “Having trouble locating a book, Mr Darcy?”

I crossed the room and stopped, just short of touching her. “I was seeking something, but it was not a book. I wonder if you can help me find it.”

Her chin lifted—not in defiance, but in concession, so her eyes met mine directly. Soft flesh furrowed at their corners, and her voice was light, gentle when she spoke. “Perhaps first, you might tell me what it is.”

Slowly, I reached behind her back and found her hands—my inner arms grazing her hips—then brought her fingers up and twined mine through them. I looked down, caressing each slender digit with reverent care, and then turned her palms over to expose her ivory wrists. I brushed my thumbs over those delicate planes, seeking the fine ridges and dips, and following down to circle the sensitive hollow at the centres.

“Mr Darcy,” she murmured, her voice tight and uneven, “if you wish for me to help you look for something, I will require the use of my hands.”

“In fact, it is I who need them to find what I seek.”

She swallowed. Her irises, which a moment ago had been golden pools of light, darkened in an instant. I heard and thrilled to the trembling of her breath as she gazed expectantly up to me. “And what is that?”

“Life,” I whispered. “The sort of life I had lost hope of ever living. Elizabeth?”

She hesitated, then nodded shakily. “Yes?”

“I would cling to you, hold fast to none other through the rest of my days. I will fall—I am certain to stumble along the way, but will you catch me? For I promise, I shall ever be waiting for you.”

A silver bead had started down her lashes, hovering and sparkling in the light from the window as it threatened to tumble down her satin cheek. Her breathing stopped; her lips parted, and her brow drew into tender awe as she beheld me.

“Elizabeth?” My hands slackened. Shaken and fearful, I tried to force myself to release her, to permit her to draw back, but she tightened her grip with a startling ferocity. She pulled, insisting and urgent, and then her arm was round my neck, her fingers threading through my hair, and she raised up on her toes to meet me.

“Eliza—”

She cut off my hoarse protest when she tugged my face lower, captured me, and stole my breath. While one hand cradled my head, the other slid over my chest, and she possessed me utterly. I was frozen for but an instant; then I snaked my arms round her waist, my hands cupping the sweep of her back, and my only verbalisation was a heady groan as I savoured the sweet spice of her lips.

Again and again, she overpowered me. I think I had never been so helpless, nor so whole—desperately famished and wondrously sated all at once. I was too dizzy to count, too intoxicated to number her caresses, but they were plentiful… and lingering. At length, she quavered, gasped, and reluctantly lowered herself. I followed, stealing one last taste of her lush lower lip before she spoke.

“I… did not mean to do that,” she panted, her breath warm against my jaw. “I meant… I think I meant to say something terribly clever.”

I caught the hand resting on my chest and held it there. “I hope you meant it to sound like an acceptance?”

She choked, a sobbing sort of laugh. “Heaven only knows! You do have such a dreadful way of setting me off my balance. I only knew… I could think of nothing but that I… I want you.”

I was as a man struck dead—I truly believe that my heart did rupture, and my mortal frame ceased to be for an instant. I had dreamt only of a modest acceptance—at best, a promise to bear with me in good cheer for the next thirty years, or whatever was to be our allotted time on this earth. Was that not all a woman ever really surrendered? But even in this, I had been ignorant, underestimating the magnificence of shared passion.

“You want me?” I repeated stupidly; my head still muddied with the wonder of it all. “Truly want me?”

She nodded, gazing intently into my eyes, and I became aware of her light fingers, yet stirring in the hair at the base of my neck. Goose flesh broke out all over my body, and the hand I had arrested over my heart was as a flame to my chest—bold and intimate, laying claim to me in a way none had ever dared.

“Foolish of me, is it not?” she whispered, lifting her mouth near my chin so that her breath sent a fresh wave of shivers through me. “But I am fearfully obstinate, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I am afraid I am quite determined to have you.”

“You had me ages ago, Elizabeth. God help you.” Her laughter was all that is beautiful and fine and magical in this world—even more so, because for the first time since I was a boy, I truly laughed with her. I could scarcely draw breath for the great bubbling well of elation that twirled me in its thrall, as I kissed her and wept for joy by turns.

Elizabeth did not give her affections by halves, and by the time Mr Bennet knocked on the door, after our appointed quarter hour was long up, there could never again be any distinction between us. My life was irrevocably hers.

Come back  for more  romance all month! <3<3<3