Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Pemberley, a little past midnight

Maria had not exactly lied to Elizabeth when she said she wasn't feeling well. The affliction just happened to be emotional instead of physical. She simply could not face seeing him again so soon. The thought of possibly being seated next to him at dinner sent her heart racing in an unpredictable way.

She had managed to eat most of the food on her tray and assumed that her mental exhaustion would send her straight to sleep. But sleep was elusive, and Maria tossed and turned, recalling Colonel Fitzwilliam's kind eyes when he asked how he could help her, and the tenderness in his voice when he so softly said her name. Almost reverently. Maria.

And so, from her bed, she watched the crescent moon rise and travel across the sky until it passed the window frame. Perhaps if she had something to read her eyes might get heavy?

Desperation won out, and she hastily wrapped a dressing gown over her nightdress. Lighting a candle, Maria slowly and hesitantly made her way down the hall and in the direction of the main part of the house. At one point, a floorboard loudly creaked beneath her which nearly made her jump out of her skin .

The unsteady candlelight made everything seem unfamiliar, but Maria eventually found the room she was looking for: Pemberley's very large and excellent library. All four walls were floor to ceiling book-filled shelves. Comfortable looking leather chairs, tables, a writing desk, and even a large globe were scattered about the room. Where to even start?

She supposed it didn't matter much what she read but inspected the shelves in hope of some kind of fiction or poetry. Ah, here was something: Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect by Robert Burns. That should do . Maria had just pulled it off the shelf when she heard a soft clearing of the throat from the doorway.

She gasped, and nearly dropped her candle, thinking the butler or housekeeper was going to chastise her for being there. Then her eyes adjusted and saw that it was him . Arthur. In the same state of undress as she. Maria forgot how to breathe.

"My apologies, I did not mean to startle you," he said delicately, as if calming a frightened animal. "I found myself unable to sleep and thought I heard someone passing in the corridor outside my room. I admit curiosity got the better of me and so I followed to see who else might be awake at this hour."

Her hand was shaking, so she set her candle down on a nearby table. "It is only I, as you can see. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you, Colonel."

"I thought we were Arthur and Maria." His voice was low and throaty, a timbre she had never heard from him before. It sent a pleasant quiver from her head to her toes. He crossed the room to meet her, setting his candle down as well.

"In the light of day, perhaps, but dressed as we are now," Maria clutched at her dressing gown holding it more tightly closed, "it seems far too intimate."

"I disagree," he said, stepping closer, "What better time for intimacy than the middle of the night?"

Maria opened her mouth to reply but instead of any coherent words, only managed a strange kind of squeak. Here he was, her shining knight, her gallant King Arthur; only there was no awkward dinner or sad social situation to save her from, no teasing in his voice. Just raw intensity. Was this real, or had she fallen asleep after all, and this was merely a wonderous dream?

"Maria," he murmured gently, and reached out to stroke her arm.

His touch jolted her out of her reverie, and she dropped her book with a surprised gasp. This was no dream. They bent down simultaneously to retrieve it, nearly touching foreheads. Arthur grasped it first, and as they both stood up again, he placed it on the table next to their candles.

"Thank you, Colonel." She took a deep breath, then whispered, "Arthur."

She looked up at him. He was standing closer than she'd realised. Her eyes were just about level with his chin, and her gaze travelled downward to the open neck of his shirt, barely covered by the lapels of his dressing gown. Without thinking, she reached up to trace the edges of those lapels. Watching her own hands be so bold and familiar sent her head spinning and for just a moment she swayed unsteadily. Maria clutched at those lapels to ground herself and felt a solid arm wrap around her waist to hold her upright again.

"Easy," he soothed.

Still clutching that fabric, Maria felt herself melt closer and closer into his strength but did not dare to look up into his face. She wanted to savour every second of this strange encounter, bask in his masculinity, his scent. The way his arm felt around her, the way his breathing sounded. The thrill of his other hand caressing her shoulder.

"Maria," he whispered pleadingly. She did look at him then, and her lips parted in wonder. His face, his eyes, were asking for something. Beseeching.

It was she who closed the gap between them, innocently pressing her lips against his. Maria both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath. His hold around her waist tightened and his other hand moved to gently cup her cheek. Instinctively, her arms reached up for the back of his neck. As he deepened their kiss, Maria held on for dear life .

She could never have dreamt anything so wonderous as this. His lips were firm, yet tender, their movements searching, yet reverent. Hungry, but in control. She wanted more; more of him, more of his taste, more of everything.

She had so much love to give him, and under the cover of the room's relative darkness, she felt brave enough to show him in some way. Her iron grip around his neck released, and she instead cupped his face in her hands, showering it in slow, tender kisses. He may never know the full depth of her feelings, but she could give him this now.

She revelled in the scratch of his stubble, his warm breath on her face and neck as she administered each press of her lips. His breathing was quick and shallow, and Maria felt a tiny thrill at the thought of pleasing him. His jawline was intriguing, and the hollow beneath it which led to his neck, which led to a delicious spot just where his shirt?—

"Maria." He gently lifted her face away from his neck and looked at her intensely. "I am an honourable man, but I dare not trust myself if you continue."

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding, and a cold rush of shock at her own actions coursed through her. She started to pull away, but Arthur caught her by the shoulders and met her lips in one final impassioned kiss that left her breathless and grasping at his lapels again to keep herself upright. He gradually broke the connection of their lips and bent his face to touch his forehead to hers.

"Maria, I must?—

She lifted her head, breaking the spell. "Please do not apologise. Not now."

"Maria, please, I only wanted to say?—"

"There is no obligation to say anything!" She was determined not to hear him. She couldn't bear it if he were to say something principled or noble. "If you feel any regret, just tell yourself that we were merely sleepwalking, and we need not ever mention it again. "

Maria quickly picked up her candle, and shielding its flame, she fled the room.

Arthur watched her leave in stunned silence. He was too shocked to draw enough breath to call after her.

When he had first entered the room, any thoughts of plans and strategies had vanished at the sight of his beloved Maria. With her hair down, clad in a light-coloured dressing gown, and her face illuminated by the glow of her candle, she looked positively angelic. In that moment, he could only act on his deepest desire, which was to leave no doubt of his true feelings.

So how had this chance encounter gone from magically right to magnificently bad? Something had frightened her perhaps. The pieces slowly fell together in his mind, and he threw his head back and groaned.

No. She was trying to save him.

Somehow, she still thought that his interest, his advances, weren't genuine and that she could save him from a misplaced obligation. She had been so trusting and so giving.

She had reached out to touch him . She had breached that small distance between their lips. She had covered his face in a hundred sweet kisses?—

Good God.

Could Maria Lucas love him?

Arthur stood perfectly still, stunned by the revelation, and stared into the dark shadows of the room. He had never allowed himself to believe that any of her warm smiles or endearing laughs had been meant just for him. Were because of him. Everyone enjoyed her company, and so he'd always convinced himself that her innocent charm was bestowed upon everyone equally.

But what if that sparkle in her eyes when they last danced together was not just because she enjoyed dancing, but enjoyed dancing…with him? He groaned again, cursing himself as the most ob tuse, oblivious fool that's ever lived. But no, there was no time for this self-pity. He needed to think, to examine where he had gone so wrong before. With everything.

He needed to find exactly what to say that would convince her of his true affection. And that the only saving he needed was from his own stupidity.