Then, luckily, she moved.
He found he was disappointed at losing the chance to touch her. But he put that aside and went at the door.
It wouldn’t open. He put his shoulder into it. It groaned, but it didn’t open.
Elizabeth had set down her candle. She was biting her lip and hugging herself.
“Something’s wrong with the door,” he said.
“That’s what I said to you,” she said. “You are uncommonly arrogant, are you not? You keep no council but your own.” So, even in this situation, he wouldn’t be safe from her sharp tongue.
His gaze honed in on her bottom lip, the way it plumped up with her teeth biting into it. That made him feel warm all over. He turned back to the door and continued his endeavors to get it open, which were coming to naught, and he knew it. But to truly come to terms with the situation would be too much for him. He needed to focus on something else, some task he could complete. Opening the door was that task.
However, several more moments rattling the door and fiddling with the latch, and he knew it was hopeless. He kept at it for a bit longer, anyway, simply to have something to do. Eventually, he had to give up. He turned, back to the door, squaring his shoulders. “I think we’re trapped in here.”
“Oh, do you?” She glared at him. “You’ve just now come to that conclusion, I suppose?”
“Forgive me if I am not as quick a study as you, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I am not the sort who gives up easily, I suppose. I will labor until I have quite exhausted any attempt.”
“And you have done so now and made your conclusion?” Her tone was acerbic. “How marvelous. What would we have done without your attention to detail, sir?” With a huff, she turned away.
God help him, but he liked the way her eyes flashed when she was in a passion. This was some kind of awful torture, stuck with her here in this room, neither of them dressed. Why, the things that he could do to her…
But why was he here? His brow furrowed in thought. Was it possible that Bingley had somehow noticed his shamefully inappropriate attraction to Miss Bennet and arranged to have them trapped here as some sort of joke?
No.
That didn’t seem like the sort of thing that Bingley would do. He didn’t have a cruel sense of humor.
And it wasn’t likely that Bingley could have guessed what Darcy was feeling for Elizabeth. Darcy had hidden it well, at least he hoped he had. He would not wish it aired among his social circle.
But now, with this turn of events, trapped in this room, was there a way to avoid it? He and Miss Bennet were going to be linked when they were discovered. And—
“What are you doing?” he said, leaving off his thoughts and crossing the room to Elizabeth, who was opening a window on the other side of the room. “We are two stories above the ground. We can’t get out that way.”
“I had thought maybe to find a trellis or some helpful stonework,” she said, sticking her head and torso out the window.
He went after her, and the letter from Bingley fluttered out the window and into the darkness.
“What was that?” she said.
He yanked her back inside.
She recoiled. “Don’t touch me!”
He backed away, partly because of her cry, partly because touching her scalded him—a fiery line of desire licked through him, and he was undone.
She poked back out the window. “Lord, there is nothing.” She pulled her head back in, clenching her hands into fists. “We really are trapped in here, Mr. Darcy.”
He shut the window with a slam. “Yes,” he said. “And it’s far too cold to have the window open.” He did up the catch. And then he winced. He ought not to have made such noise with the window.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Her voice was rising.
“Quiet,” he said to her.
“Don’t shush me,” she said. “I suppose you’re going to claim that you need silence to think, but let me tell you, there is nothing to think about. There are two ways into the room—through the door or the window—and the window isn’t really even a way in, but both are unassailable, so—”
“It’s not for the sake of me that I ask you to be quiet,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “It is because I do not wish for anyone to hear us.”
“But we must be heard. How else will we get clear of the room?”
“Miss Bennet, if we are discovered in this manner, together, it will be shocking,” he said.
Her delicate fingers fluttered at her lips, and understanding flashed across her face, followed by horror. “I should be quite ruined,” she breathed.
* * *
Elizabeth went across the room and sat down on the bed, her heart pounding. How could she have been so stupid as not to have thought of the implications of all of this? She was alone in a room with a man, without a chaperone, and neither of them were wearing clothing. Why, if this were discovered, it would be the end of her, and the end of her entire family. This would destroy any chances Jane might have with Mr. Bingley. This would stop cold any chance any of her sisters might have.
It washed through her, like an icy current, and she despaired.
How had this happened? She looked up at Mr. Darcy, who was still by the window, seemingly very interested in the palm of his hand. “Why is the bed made?” she burst out.
“Hmm?” He looked up at her, surfacing his own thoughts. She wondered what he was thinking. This was not so devastating for him, but it wasn’t good either. He would survive the scandal. He had the money for it, after all, and he was a man. But it wouldn’t be good for his name or his reputation. She was a gentleman’s daughter, and this would sully him as well. But he didn’t seem the least bit ruffled. She wondered if anything affected Mr. Darcy, or if he was always stiff and formal and proper.
“The bed,” she said. “You are obviously dressed for sleeping, and I accidentally wandered into your chamber, but why is the bed still made up? Hadn’t you lain down for the night?”
“This isn’t my bedroom, Miss Bennet.” Had he always had such a deep, rumbling voice? She rather liked it, she decided, even if he was altogether the most awful man in the world.
“Not your bedroom?”
“No,” he said. “I was summoned here to this room by a letter.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” she said.
“Were you similarly brought hither?”
“No, I am simply lost.” She dragged her hands over her face. “I am beside myself, sir. If I had only paid better attention to the path to my own room, I should not have been wandering around in the dark alone, and I should not be in this position at all. But now, I am here, and I have brought about the worst for myself and my family.”
“I imagine they’re quite capable of doing that themselves,” he muttered dryly.
She sat up straight, indignant. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Pay me no mind, Miss Bennet.”
“This is serious,” she said. “When we are discovered, it will be the end for me. I shall never recover from something like this.”
He came across the room toward her, moving through the darkness. She could barely see him in the light from the candles they had left on the other side of the room, but in shadowy profile, she was suddenly struck by how handsome he was, how straight his nose was, how firm his jaw. It was late, and he had not shaved since that morning. There was a bit of growth on his chin, and he seemed so… so frightfully masculine that there was a churning in the pit of her stomach and goosebumps prickled her skin.
He stopped only a foot away from her. “You mustn’t take on like that,” he said in a soft, low voice that seemed to reverberate through her. “It will all turn out right in the end. I’ll see to it.”
“How?” she whispered. “If you think you can pay off the servants to keep them from talking, you underestimate the delight that people take in a scandal like this one. And if you think we can somehow avoid detection by the servants, y
ou are wrong. It will likely be one of them who will discover us, and then it will be all over Hertfordshire by the time a fortnight has passed. There is no hiding from this.”
He cleared his throat. “Well…” His hand came up and he passed his thumb over the line of his jaw, rubbing at his stubble. “We could get married.” He eyed her then, and there was something in his eyes, some kind of hunger that deepened the stirring in the pit of her stomach, that made her shiver in fear. In anticipation. But of what she was anticipating, she didn’t know. Elizabeth had very vague ideas of what passed between husbands and wives after marriage. If she felt any curiosity beyond her knowledge, she pushed it aside for the sake of propriety. The look in Darcy’s gaze wakened something inside her, but it also frightened her and confused her. She didn’t know how to respond to it.
She shot up from the bed, lifting her chin. “Is this a proposal, sir?” She was pleased that her voice didn’t tremble. “It’s highly irregular.”
“Everything about this situation is irregular,” he said and his voice was even deeper now.
Yes, it was. She stared him down, taking great, heaving breaths and trying to calm herself, because she could not marry Mr. Darcy. Not the man who had said that she was tolerable, but not enough to tempt him. No matter how appealing he looked now without his clothes, with his deep voice, and with the stubble on his face. No matter that she had some kind of strange warmth pooling between her thighs when she looked at him—shameful warmth, confusing warmth. None of that mattered. He didn’t want her, not truly. He was only suggesting a marriage because he had a shred of decency, but there was no way they could be happy together. He would resent her. She would despise him. It would all be miserable.
She opened her mouth to say something to this effect, but she was interrupted by a sound.
The door latch. It was rattling.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the noise of the latch rattling, Darcy turned to look at it, but he didn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, waiting for the door to be thrown open and the two of them to be discovered.
He found he was disappointed. He couldn’t say that he was enjoying her company, not truly, but he was enjoying the view. He liked the way she looked, her hair in that braid, only clad in her nightclothes. It was an intimate, secret look, something that he had no rights to look upon, but he was able to see her, feast his eyes on her, and he didn’t want to stop.
Elizabeth made a sound, a little yip of fear.
And suddenly, the latch stopped moving.
Darcy didn’t understand.
Everything was still and silent for a moment. And then he heard the faint sound of footsteps moving away from the door.
He had an instinct to go to the door and yell after whoever was there to come back and let them free. But the consequences of discovery were unpleasant for both of them. The consequences were unavoidable, but they were not to be rushed. So, he stayed rooted to the spot and listened as the footsteps faded out.
“Someone knows we are in here,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Perhaps not.” He was whispering too. “We did nothing to identify ourselves. There is no proof.”
“They will come back,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I wonder why this person stopped trying to open the door when you cried out.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” She put a hand to her forehead. “We are trapped here, and we will be found out eventually. There is nothing for it.”
“Yes,” he said, because she was voicing his own thoughts. “Our fate is sealed.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “You needn’t feel as though you must rescue me by… by doing as you said.”
He turned back to her. Dear God, he had suggested marrying her, had he not? And he couldn’t marry her. He had been over every reason why she was inappropriate, why she was not the bride for him. And yet, he did want her, and here they were together, and perhaps the barriers between them were not insurmountable. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted to feel the heat of her skin through her nightclothes. Or even—shockingly—to put his hands on her bare skin, to move aside her clothing and—
“It would be awful for you,” she said softly. “I know what you think of me.”
“On the contrary,” he rumbled. “I can imagine it being rather pleasant.” He was going to touch her. Damn it, if they were compromised already, what did it matter? He was suddenly brutally aroused, a throbbing going through his entire body, but concentrated between his legs, where he had grown even harder, and he wanted to put his mouth on hers.
She looked up at him, though, and her eyes were wild and frightened.
He gritted his teeth.
She winced. “You don’t have to say such things. I can see that you are appalled at the idea. I know I am not the sort of woman who would… would tempt you. After all,” and here she gave a funny little laugh, “I am only tolerable.”
He was flush with hot embarrassment and shame. She had heard him? He tried to say something, but nothing came out except a sputter.
“And you mustn’t flatter yourself to think I have any other opinion of you,” she said. “You are altogether wrong for me, not the sort of husband I would want in the least.” But as she was saying that, she was looking him over, and there was a breathless quality to her voice.
“When I said what I said before, Miss Bennet, you must understand, I didn’t mean it.”
She laughed again, but this time, there was real mirth in it. “Yes, that is quite the way most people speak, Mr. Darcy. They say what they do not mean. Naturally, that is what I would understand.”
“When I saw you, I…” He licked his lips. How to explain to her the effect she had on him? She would find it vulgar, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that he was driven to do all manner of vulgar things to her, with her, and now they were in this room together, and they were standing so close to each other, and why wasn’t he touching her?
“You are proud, and you are quite convinced yourself above the rest of us mere mortals, and I should never be the sort of wife you truly wanted. You would grow to loathe me if you don’t already.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that would be the case.” There was a lump in his throat. Though, of course, her family and her lack of connections were quite a blow. But what was the alternative? She was right about the servants talking when they knew of the two of them together. If he were to leave her here, if he were not to marry her, the damage done to his reputation would be significant. Perhaps it would be surmountable, but it would cause trouble for Georgiana, and he couldn’t bear to harm his sister. Lord knows, she had been through enough already, barely skirting scandal on her own.
“And I,” she said, her voice even breathier, “I already loathe you.”
“Do you?” He stepped closer to her.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I would not marry you if you were the last man alive in all of England.” She puffed out her chest, which only made her bosom more prominent.
He raised his hand, thinking about cupping one of those breasts. He would do that, and she would melt into his arms, and then there would be no more questions about whether they were going to be married or not, because he would take her now. He would lay her back on the bed next to them and lift her skirts and part her thighs and—
He touched her braid instead. He picked it up, and his knuckled brushed the softness of her bosom, but that was all.
Her eyes went shut and then fluttered open. Her breathing was uneven.
So was his. He fingered her hair, stroking its softness. His voice was hoarse. “I think you’re being ridiculous, Miss Bennet. You have to marry me, and there’s no reason to talk about it anymore. And when we are married, whether we loathe each other or not, I am quite sure that I will enjoy, at the very least—”
“Stop that,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Let go of me. You shouldn’t touch me. It’s improper.”
“I’m not to
uching you.” He fingered her braid. “Not really. I could touch you. I could touch your face. Your lips. I could…” He leaned closer. “I could kiss you.”
Her eyes widened. “Mr. Darcy—”
He was going to do it. His lips were going closer and closer, and he was going to put his lips on hers, and once that was done, then he would wrap his arms around her, and brush his fingers over her hips and waist and anywhere else he pleased. His lips were less than an inch from hers.
But then he looked from her lips to her eyes, and he stopped. Because he couldn’t read what was in her eyes. Whether it was welcoming or whether she really did loathe him. So, he hesitated. One moment. Two. Three.
And then the moment was lost to him and he took a step away from her. This was madness. What was he doing? Thinking about tupping this woman that he barely knew when every word out of her mouth told him that she despised him? He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He had done his best to make her think that he was indifferent to her. He wished he was indifferent to her, in fact. He wanted her against his own will. If he could stop his feelings, he would stop them.
He couldn’t, though.
However, he could stop his own actions. He moved away from her, to the other side of the room, to that window that she had opened, and he gazed out into the darkness, gulping in long breaths of air, trying to get himself back under control.
* * *
Elizabeth was shaking. She was unsure of herself, and everything that she was feeling was foreign to her.
Mr. Darcy had very nearly kissed her. Kissed her. Why had he done such a thing? It didn’t make any sense, not when she knew what she did of him. He had very clearly put her down at the ball. He had insulted her appearance, and now, he was behaving as if he found her… well, tempting, the very thing he had said she was not.
The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Page 3
