There are many, many things he loves about his wife.

Her intelligence. That brain of hers - that wit! - that so captivated him when she was a guest at Netherfield all those months ago. His Lizzy has not had the formal education other gentlewomen might have had, but she is the smartest woman he has ever known.

Her passion. The spirit she expresses in so many conversations, her honesty, charmed him against his will. And before he knew it, he was lost. He was hers. Even when he'd fled Netherfield, Bingley in tow, a part of him had known he'd never escape her. Never find anyone to equal, let alone surpass her.

Her compassion. She had been, from the very first, so kind to Georgiana. Now they were sisters, in the legal and the heart sense. It fills him with joy to watch their interactions, to hear their shared laughter. He feels such pride, seeing Lizzy take on the duties of the mistress of the estate, treating the servants and tenants with respect and caring and firmness, and earning their adoration and devotion in return.

Her openness. He'd been nervous as a scared cat on his wedding night, and he was a man with experience in that area! How nervous Lizzy must have been, a maiden with little knowledge, and all of it about discomfort and pain and duty. But she'd been so trusting, telling him she was scared but she loved him and wanted to know what it was to be a true wife to him. Sweet, sweet Lizzy! In the weeks since their marriage, she is now so comfortable with him - brazen even - that she has initiated an encounter or two. And in his study, no less! He will never sit at his desk again without remembering wildly taking her on top of it, papers crumpled beneath them, nor the feeling of her biting his shoulder in an attempt to stifle her cries of pleasure.

Yes, he is a lucky, lucky man.

Perhaps he is the most fortunate man on the planet. As he is not inclined to explore the African continent, the Amazon, or the former colonies, he will just assume he is the king of all men.

But right now, as they lay together in the mistress' bed after making love, Darcy finds he loves her blushes the most.

He has seen her flushed many times, in many different ways.

The day she walked three miles to Netherfield, her face bright and glowing with exertion.

When her mother and sisters came to Bingley's estate to inquire after Jane - spots of deep color on her cheeks in shame at their behavior.

Dancing with her at Charles' ball, she had the faintest sweet flush on her decolletage.

Her first refusal of his marriage proposal. Face, neck, bosoms all pink and oh so tempting. A part of him felt fortunate that Lizzy dampened his lust with her scathing rejection, otherwise he might not have left the parsonage parlor without compromising her in some fashion.

And now, as her husband, he has the right and the privilege to see her in all her glory. All of her that flushes with pleasure from his touch.

He is a little tired from their exertions, but he suddenly wants to kiss her everywhere she glows pink. And so he does, straddling her waist and bending to lightly kiss her forehead, her nose, and her cheeks. He feels her smile and hears her small gasp of surprise, but does not stop. The skin from her ear to her neck smells too wonderful and tastes far too delicious to ignore.

"Am I not to be allowed time to rest, sir? You were quite - vigorous, you know," Lizzy quips.

"Is that a complaint, Lizzy?" he teases, nipping gently at her flushed collarbone. "Do you not like my attentions?"

She sighs dramatically, writhing a little beneath him as if to get away. "No, sir. I do not like your attentions at all."

"Is that so?" Darcy raises his head from her chest to look down at his wife, loving their banter. "I seem to recall, madam, some demanding and begging on your part. Pleading for more," he says, smiling, slowly sliding a hand down to cup a breast with his long fingers, his thumb lightly rubbing her still firm and swollen pink nipple.

A faint whimper escapes her. "I do not recall any such thing, sir. You must be imagining things."

"Indeed I am." He bends back down, letting his eager tongue explore her other breast, swirling and licking the aureole. He presses a light kiss to the flushing, creamy skin he loves. "I imagine making you blush all over, yet again, and hearing you voice your passion." And she does, for they both have learned very well just how much Lizzy likes what he is currently doing.

"You are incorrigible, sir," she gasps loudly, and arches her back, pressing her breasts closer to his hands and mouth. Darcy feels her hands on his head, in his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders.

"I know, my love. I am a terrible, terrible man," he says with mock severity as he moves down her body to kiss and caress her belly.

Lizzy bucks underneath him. "You are terrible only if you stop." It comes out as a wail, and he grins to himself.

"Then perhaps I should continue, if I hope to redeem myself." He parts her firm, creamy thighs, pressing his lips very near her center, but keeping away. He loves to tease her a bit, because it makes her blush even more.

"Fitzwilliam," Lizzy moans. Her hands are in his hair now, caressing his head.

Now he nuzzles her perfect flesh, licking her outer lips very, very lightly. Dear God, the smell of her arousal never fails to entice him, never fails to make him want to taste her. Gently he spreads her tender pink skin and kisses her.

His fingers slide inside into hot, sweet tightness and stroke her while his lips and tongue devour her. He looks up, only for a moment, as Lizzy gasps and whimpers. Her eyes are open, staring down at him but not seeing. Her lips are the deep luscious red of desire. And that makes him want her pleasure all the more.

"Please," Lizzy begs. Now her hands are tight in his hair, gripping strongly, pulling almost painfully. "Please," she says again. It comes out almost as a sob.

It is only a few strokes more that he feels her tighten around his fingers, her body releasing her passion through a flood of wetness on his hand and a long, loud cry. Lizzy jerks against him, legs quaking uncontrollably. Darcy looks up and smiles. From forehead to breasts, her skin is the most beautiful pink he has ever seen.

"I love to look at you like this,"he says quietly, still in awe that this amazing woman is his to love and cherish, to kiss and pleasure.

She is his, always. To make blush where and when and how he will.