She couldn’t make heads or tails of that.
Then there were her own feelings, the sensations that had surged up within her body, tempestuous things that she was unprepared for. When his lips had been inches from her own, she’d felt a breathless excitement at the thought of their closeness. When he had touched her hair, she had felt hot and then cold and then hot again, and there were… tingles in all sorts of places. Her body didn’t feel like her own. She was altogether unprepared for any of it.
She struggled to calm her beating heart, but she couldn’t.
Proper Mr. Darcy, about to kiss her!
What upside-down, topsy-turvy world had she tumbled into?
She had a vague hope, suddenly, that she was actually asleep, and this was nothing more than a dream, but she didn’t dare to hope for something like that. How lovely it would be to wake up in her bed, or even in that dreadfully uncomfortable chair next to Jane’s bed, breathing a sigh of relief that none of this had ever happened.
But no. She was awake, and all of this had happened, and she was either to be ruined or married to Mr. Darcy. Of the two of them, she wasn’t sure which she dreaded more. Certainly, she must marry him, if he had sincerely offered. If not because it would be preferable for her, then because of what it would do for her family, most especially for Jane, who had fallen for Mr. Bingley. She had to do it for Jane.
But…
Oh, Elizabeth wasn’t necessarily a starry-eyed romantic. She knew that marriages were often conducted for practical reasons, so she didn’t dare hope that she would fall helplessly in love with her husband. Life wasn’t like one of those lurid novels she often read, after all. But she knew that she could not marry someone that she didn’t respect.
And she abhorred Mr. Darcy. Everything about him was despicable. It wasn’t only because of the way he had insulted her at the ball, it was everything about his manner and his dreadfully stiff pronouncements. She remembered again how he had declared that he could not boast of knowing half a dozen women who were truly accomplished, and she felt again the growing desire to strangle him for being so assured of everything. She dearly wished for Mr. Darcy to be wrong and to be publicly humiliated. Marrying a man for whom she had such feelings, it was not to be borne.
Oh, but… now, the two of them here, the way he had looked at her just then? The look had burned. It had made her burn. It was some kind of sinful look, the kind that was denounced from the pulpit, the kind that she should repent from even considering.
How could stuffy Mr. Darcy look at her that way?
And what would happen if he did kiss her? Would that burn too? Would the fire reach all the way inside her, between her legs and into her core? Would it set her soul aflame?
She shuddered.
Mr. Darcy turned back to her from the window, and there was no heat in his eyes anymore. Instead, his expression was dull, like usual. When he spoke, his voice was not so deep as it had been. He barely looked at her. Instead, he seemed to be looking over her head as he addressed her. “We are trapped here, and there is no way to remedy our situation. I don’t suppose there’s much point in continuing to talk about what we will do. We are both tired and unsettled, and that does not lead to the most wise decision making. A night’s rest will not change the situation. We will simply address the issue on the morrow.”
Her jaw dropped. “You propose we sleep here… together?”
“Unless you’d like to stay awake all night?” He strode across the room and unceremoniously tugged a blanket off the bed. “I shall sleep on the settee.” He gestured. “You may have the bed.” He turned his back on her and went over to the settee. He lay down, pulling the blanket up over his head.
Well. She supposed that was that, then.
She turned to look at the bed.
After a moment’s hesitation, she climbed onto it and settled on one of the pillows. She shut her eyes, but she didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
* * *
Darcy had erotic dreams about Elizabeth. He woke from one in which he was unbraiding her hair and spreading it out over her bare breasts to hear the latch on the door being undone.
He sat up straight, shaking the images of his dream out of his head, forcing himself to stop wondering if his imaginings of the size and color of her nipples was the least bit accurate, and saw that the door to the room was standing open.
It was still dark outside, but the hint of dawn was not far off. He could see that from the window. They didn’t have much time. Servants would be up and about within a half an hour, undoubtedly. But if they were quick, they could get back to their own chambers undisturbed. They were free.
He hesitated.
Was that what he wanted? If he went back to sleep, they’d be discovered soon, and then he’d be forced to marry her. Soon enough, he’d be able to find out the truth of her bare breasts for himself. He felt a lurch of heat go through him at the thought. He wanted her.
But perhaps it was obscene to go about it this way.
Even if they did get married, under such circumstances, there would be a smear on their good names, and he would avoid that if he possibly could. No, it was better if they weren’t discovered. And it didn’t mean that he couldn’t still marry her. She had said all those things about loathing him last night, but she must see that a match with him was very likely the best offer she would ever get, and she wouldn’t refuse him.
She already has, whispered a voice in his head.
He shoved that aside. He would not have it forced between them. If she discovered that he had known the latch was undone and had not woken her, she would definitely despise him, and she might never forgive him. He had to wake her.
So, he did.
He touched her shoulder and her skin was warm and giving under her nightdress, and he was hard again. He groaned softly, but he shook her.
She stirred and woke, and she was beautiful shaking off the dregs of sleep.
He wanted again to kiss her, and if it hadn’t been for the nature of the news he bore her, he might have, because in the wee hours before dawn, kissing her seemed the most natural thing in the world. But instead, he only whispered, “The door is open.”
She sat up straight. “How did you do it?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I woke up to find it thus.”
She put a hand to her chest.
Her braid was mussed from sleeping, rather looser than it had been, and it only made him want to untangle it more, to see all of her hair down around her shoulders. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t dare touch her.
“How did it get open?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Someone opened it,” she said, looking up at him. “Someone knows. The same someone who tried the latch last night?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But whoever it is, they have taken pity on us. We have a way to avoid damage to our reputations. We must take it.”
She stood up from the bed. “You are right, of course, but it still makes me uneasy. How did we get locked in? How did we get free? Who summoned you to this room?”
He had to admit that he wasn’t pleased with the situation either. However, they had no answers to those questions, and they couldn’t waste time worrying over them now. “We don’t have much time, Miss Bennet. The servants will be rising soon. We must get back to our rooms before that is known.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, of course, you’re right. We must go. And perhaps it will be as if this never happened.”
“Indeed.”
“Thank heaven,” she said.
“Quite.” He nodded too.
CHAPTER SIX
Together, Elizabeth and Darcy put the covers back on the bed and smoothed them out. They were neither of them experts in bed making, but together, they managed to make it look presentable. And then they left the room, parting ways. Elizabeth was concerned that she would still be lost, unable to find her room, but she found it straight away, without any problem. She cl
imbed into her bed and tugged the blankets up to her chin and waited until she heard the sound of the servants moving around. Then she sank back into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning, she waited through breakfast for some announcement by whoever had opened the door of what had passed between herself and Mr. Darcy. But it never happened. Luncheon came and passed as well. Nothing.
She noticed that Caroline Bingley shot her some of the most venomous glances that she had ever seen, but she was not unaccustomed to veiled hostility from that woman. She didn’t know what it was all about, but she imagined that Caroline did not want Jane as a sister-in-law, and that she sought to drive both her and Elizabeth away.
There was also the matter of Caroline’s obvious preference for Mr. Darcy. She practically fawned over him. In fact, after luncheon, Caroline spirited Darcy off by herself so that the two of them could walk together, leaving Elizabeth alone with her sister, Mrs. Hurst.
With Mr. Darcy himself, Elizabeth didn’t know how to interact, so she didn’t. Several times, she looked at him and found him gazing at her with bottomless, unreadable eyes. Once or twice, she was even sure there was a hint of that fire from last night in his gaze. But they didn’t speak to each other. At all.
Which was no matter, as they had not been been speaking overmuch as it was.
However, it was all quite disconcerting. It was truly as if the previous night had never happened, and Elizabeth was unsure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was quite grateful, because everything was back to the way it had been before, and she was no longer ruined or in a position to be forced to be married to Mr. Darcy. On the other hand, she felt somewhat disappointed, though she couldn’t be sure why. It had something to do with those fiery looks he’d given her, something to do with the kiss they’d almost shared, and she didn’t understand exactly what any of it meant.
Furthermore, she was still on guard, because someone did know they had been in the room, and she wasn’t sure who that person was or what the person might do with such knowledge.
She was so consumed with these thoughts that she didn’t speak much to Mrs. Hurst as they walked together.
And for Mrs. Hurst’s part, she didn’t seem pleased to be saddled with Elizabeth as a companion. She walked very quickly, and Elizabeth had to stretch her legs to keep up.
Eventually, they spotted Caroline and Darcy, and presently, they came close to them, within earshot.
“As for your Elizabeth's picture,” Caroline was saying in a jeering voice, “you must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”
What? Why was she calling Elizabeth Mr. Darcy’s? He wouldn’t have told Caroline what had happened the night before, would he?
The rumble of Mr. Darcy’s voice. “It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their color and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”
At that point, Darcy and Caroline rounded a bend and came face to face with Elizabeth and Mrs. Hurst.
Caroline’s eyes widened in horror.
Darcy also looked surprised, but he looked her over and his expression kindled the same fiery desire from the night before.
Elizabeth stood still, shaking a bit. What had they been talking about?
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, narrowing her eyes.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
Elizabeth licked her lips, gazing at Mr. Darcy, her eyes full of questions.
He broke away from Caroline and started for her.
Mrs. Hurst intercepted him, linking her arm with his, endeavoring to have him walk along with her and her sister.
But Darcy shook her off, saying, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.” He wound Elizabeth’s hand around his arm and took off with her into the avenue, which was just outside the path they walked on.
Elizabeth glared at him. “You told her!” she whispered accusingly.
“Certainly not,” he whispered back. “I know not, though. She is frightfully close to home with her teasing. I fear she is the one who opened the door.”
Then Elizabeth understood. Caroline knew, had not told because she wanted Darcy for herself. Her longing for the man was nakedly obvious. Elizabeth took her hand from Mr. Darcy’s arm. Well, that was better, then, wasn’t it? Allow Caroline to have him. Elizabeth didn’t want him. Hadn’t she said to herself how she abhorred him? And if Caroline got the man she wanted, well, that would ensure her silence. She gave Darcy a little shove back toward Caroline.
“The two of you make such a picturesque spectacle. You mustn’t allow my presence to spoil it.” She gave Caroline a knowing look.
Caroline’s return look was one of confusion. But she seized Mr. Darcy’s arm at once and went off with him.
Elizabeth watched them go, and she wasn’t sure why there was a pang in her chest.
* * *
The evening was abominable for Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth seemed resolved not to speak to him, and no matter what he did, Caroline would not leave him alone. He had a book, which he was very pointedly reading, although the truth of it was that his mind was in far too much turmoil to possibly concentrate on the book.
He couldn’t make all the pieces of what had happened fit. Earlier, on his walk with Caroline, she had gone on and on, teasing him about his attraction to Elizabeth and saying all manner of positively insulting things about both Elizabeth and her family. He couldn’t understand why she would do such a thing. It seemed obvious that she had discovered him and Elizabeth in the room together the night before. But, for some reason, she had kept it all to herself, and he wasn’t sure why that was.
Perhaps Caroline was trying to be good to him, keep a secret that she knew might cause damage to him. But if she truly thought that he had risked his reputation for a tryst with Miss Bennet, then why would she be attempting to talk him out of his attraction to her? Wouldn’t she think that things had gone too far for an attempt such as that to succeed?
Of course, Caroline was a particularly stupid woman. It was possible she had not thought it through.
Whatever the case, she had not said anything, and he was grateful, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to engage in any ridiculous conversation with her about whatever stupid things she was saying. For heaven’s sake, she kept parroting back things he himself had said to her as if they were her own observations. Did she not think he would remember saying it himself?
He really wanted to strangle her, and he knew he was going to have to be nice to her to get her to keep his secret.
Then he wondered again if he really cared if it was known. In the early morning, before the dawn, he had been convinced that he would marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He would, wouldn’t he? He would rather it be proper, that he court her and go through the right motions, and that they have a respectably long engagement…
Well, that wasn’t true. He wanted to rip all her clothes off her and unpin her hair and kiss her lips and her jaw and her neck and her…
At any rate, a very short engagement would suit him fine. If Caroline decided to tell all, he didn’t care.
But why wouldn’t Elizabeth even look at him anymore? She had pulled away from him on the walk before, as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of him.
She loathes you, said a voice at the back of his head. Has she not said it enough times, you idiot?
But what could he have possibly done to make her hate him that much? He had been short with her. He had ignored her. He had said an insulting thing, which she had heard, yes, but which he did not even mean. Surely, if he had the chance to explain it all to her, she would change her mind.
Of course, he’d been alone with her for the entirety of last night and not been able to explain it then.
Yes, but it had been distracting, then. She wasn’t wearing clothes. She’d had her hai
r in that braid. And he’d been thinking about kissing her the entire time, which had made it hard to speak. More than once, he’d removed himself from her close proximity so that he could gather himself.
All of that had happened because he was unprepared for being alone with her. But now that he knew what it was like, he would be quite adept at navigating the path that was talking to Elizabeth. So, he’d go to her again. Tonight.
It was improper to do so, but there was no other way that they could talk without being overheard, and so there was nothing for it.
* * *
There was a soft knocking at Elizabeth’s door. “Jane?” she called out hopefully, for her sister was doing much better, and might conceivably be up and about and looking for her.
“It’s not Jane,” said a deep voice at the door.
Mr. Darcy! The sound of his voice made a shiver go through her. What was he doing here? She crossed the room and opened the door, but only enough to peer outside. “What are you doing here? This is most improper.”
“I realize that,” he said, “but we need to converse, you and I. Let me in.”
“No,” she said. “It was bad enough to be trapped in a room with you last night. I can’t do it again. I should be putting myself in much the same danger as I was last night, and I like to think that I have escaped it.”
“If someone were to happen upon us arguing through the door, it would be just as bad,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “You might as well let me in.”
Her nostrils flared. This man! He was dreadfulness personified. But she relented and opened the door.
He came inside.
She shut the door behind him. “We shall talk briefly, and then you’ll leave straightaway.”
“Listen, Miss Bennet, I fear that I’ve made a bad impression on you, and I must rectify it. Perhaps if I could explain why it was that I said the things that you overheard me saying at the Meryton Assembly.”
“Well, that’s plain enough, I must admit,” she said. “You said those things because you thought them.”
“Indeed, I did not. I was only in a rather embarrassing situation, and I was eager to say anything to get out of dancing. I could not bear dancing.”
The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Page 4
