“I enjoy the flush of color on your cheeks, Sweetling.” He brought her hand to his lips. From the beginning, she had driven him crazy—creating a powerful yearning he controlled only with great determination.

Elizabeth tightened her hold on his arm, but she could not respond. Darcy had that effect on her. Even when she had thought that she despised him, in reality, she sought his attention—his regard—his approval.They made the perfect pair. Darcy gave her the freedom to have her own thoughts and opinions, something she treasured; and Elizabeth showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. She truly esteemed her husband, looked up to him as a superior. Yet, theirs was a marriage of equals in all the essentials, those that made people happy. He was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suited her. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Elizabeth.”

“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth sat up suddenly in the bed.

“Hear what?” Darcy groggily sat up and looked around for something out of place.

Elizabeth clutched the sheet to her. “I do not know. It was a click—like a latch or a lock being engaged.”

Darcy pulled on his breeches and began to check the room. They had locked the door when they entered their shared chambers, and it remained secure so he checked the windows and the folding screens, but found nothing.

Elizabeth’s eyes followed his progress.

Darcy released the door lock. Peering out, he nodded to someone in the hall and then closed the door again. Sliding the bolt in place, he turned toward the bed. “Murray is changing the candles in the hall sconces. Perhaps that is what you heard.”

“Perhaps,” she mumbled as she relaxed against the pillows.“It just sounded closer—as if it were in the room, not out in the hallway.”