At the grand old age of forty, Elizabeth was still as playful as she had been when Darcy first knew her. With a loud growl, he stood up, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her down from behind the chair onto his lap. “Well, the new Lord Darcy wants your homage differently,” he chided, with an expression of arrogant countenance.
She stopped laughing and said, “Fitzwilliam, my lord, how do you want to be esteemed?”
“The speech you helped me to draft was a bit too long,” he said with a frown, “And the parliament hot. I am thirsty and in dire need of some refreshment.”
“Oh, I shall ring for a cold drink this instant.” She tried to stand up, but he prevented her.
“I have something fresher in mind,” he winked, and started to pull the day dress off her shoulders.
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