His gaze returned to Elizabeth’s sleeping form. As he watched, the shadow of a smile hovered at the corners of her lips and a feeling of guilt stirred in Darcy’s chest. He should not be staring at her as she slept. Observing her in such a vulnerable state was clearly an invasion of her privacy. Such intimacies were the privilege of a husband—or a lover—and heaven knew he was neither of those. Nor would he ever be.
The muscles in his throat constricted and he forced himself to look away. No, that honor would belong to some other man.
Closing his eyes, Darcy drew a ragged breath. The scent of wood-smoke filled his lungs, mingling with the lingering aroma from their dinner. Ignoring the burning in his ribcage, he inhaled again, this time picking up the subtle hint of wildflowers and lemon. God, he needed to remember that smell!
A log popped against the grate and he opened his eyes. Across the room a fly buzzed, futilely thumping against the sealed windowpane. Fingering the armrests of his chair, Darcy stared at the once-bright colors of the hearth rug, long since faded to a single muted hue. Slowly he adjusted his position, turning to survey the modest parlor. An old rocking chair sat beside a scarred wooden table and a small writing desk was tucked in a corner beneath the eaves.
It wasn’t much, but he felt a sudden uncontrollable urge to memorize every detail. To imprint this place upon his consciousness, to hold it tight within his heart, so that someday, in ten or twenty or thirty years, when he was feeling sentimental, he could call up every sight and sound and smell and touch. Every precious moment of the one night he had been exactly where he longed to be—alone with the woman he loved.
A gust of wind rattled the shutters and Darcy shivered in his seat. The fire had all but gone out. Pulling himself awkwardly to his feet he approached the hearth, feeding logs to the glowing embers. Gritting his teeth against the ever-present pain, Darcy dropped back into his chair, reaching for the flask and draining the last of the brandy.
In the seat opposite, Elizabeth shifted in her sleep and Darcy sighed. He knew he should wake her. It was late and she should get some rest in a real bed. It was wrong to sacrifice her comfort for his own selfish pleasure.
Leaning forward, he softly called her name. When she did not wake, he reached out his hand, intending only to touch her wrist, but instead his fingers brushed against the silken texture of her gown where it covered her curled legs. Warmth radiated up his arm and he promptly withdrew his hand.
“Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered and then opened. She stared back at him in confusion before straightening her spine, one hand tugging at the neckline of her dress.
“Forgive me, I did not realize I was so tired. How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long,” Darcy lied. “But it is late. You should retire.”
Elizabeth glanced over at the hearth, the flames dancing in the grate. “Did you tend the fire? You should have woken me!”
“It was no bother. But I am afraid the fire in the bedchamber will have to be lit. Thomas laid it before he left.”
Elizabeth stretched, arching her back like a cat, and Darcy nearly levitated out of his chair.
“I will attend to it now,” she said, rising to her feet. “But then you must take the bed. You will be more comfortable if you can stretch out your leg.”
Darcy shook his head, as much to clear the vision of Elizabeth’s gown pulled tightly against the contours of her body as to contradict her words. “That will not be necessary. I am perfectly content here. The bedchamber is yours.”
Elizabeth’s fingers clenched at her sides. “Mr. Darcy—”
His gaze traveled to her small fists and his mouth crinkled at the corners. “Do you mean to fight me, Miss Bennet? I do not generally engage in fisticuffs with women, though in my current state, you are likely to best me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Her lips momentarily pressed together, but it wasn’t long before her expression gave way to laughter. “Very well, Mr. Darcy, you win. I certainly would not wish to be responsible for the deterioration of your health.”
Leaving the room briefly, she returned with a pot of tea and a thick quilt. “Are you certain you will be comfortable? I am happy to stay a while longer if you would like the company.”
For a moment Darcy contemplated accepting her offer, but he could see she was exhausted. “No. I am well. And you should sleep. It has been a long day, and with any luck, our rescuers will be here early tomorrow.”
He thought he saw a shadow cross Elizabeth’s features. She turned to go, but then stopped, her back to him. “If you require anything, Mr. Darcy, you need only call. I shall leave the bedchamber door open.”
Darcy stilled, as a feeling of intense gratitude washed over him. Despite everything she had said that day at the parsonage, she trusted him to behave in an honorable manner.
If she knew how much he wanted to leap out of his chair and take her in his arms! Swallowing hard, he lifted his gaze. “I thank you Miss Bennet. That is most kind, but I will be fine.”
Elizabeth nodded, and a moment later, Darcy felt the gentle press of her hand upon his shoulder.
To his dismay, he could still feel the impression of her fingers long after she had quit the room.
***
Elizabeth was not certain how much time had passed before she woke, but the taper on her bedside table had yet to burn out, so she could not have been asleep for long. The low moaning that had pulled her from slumber began again, drifting in through the partially opened door. Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, Elizabeth stood, hurrying from the room.
In the parlor, Mr. Darcy was slouched in his chair, shivering violently. Elizabeth quickened her pace, her footsteps reverberating off the hardwood floors.
Darcy’s eyes were closed, the covers she had given him clenched tightly in his fists. Even in the low light, she could see the faint sheen of perspiration that dampened his brow. Another moan slid from his throat and Elizabeth rested the backs of her fingers against his forehead.
At the touch of her hand, Darcy’s eyes cracked open.
“Mr. Darcy, you have developed a fever,” she said quietly. “We need to get you into bed.”
Darcy blinked back at her, his teeth chattering.
“Mr. Darcy, can you hear me? We must get you into the bedchamber.”
He continued to stare for a moment before answering. “N-n-o. That is n-not n-necessary,” he whispered. “Forgive me, d-did I wake you?”
“Shh. Do not distress yourself. But I am afraid it is necessary. We have to get your fever down. Can you stand?”
Darcy jerked his head in a brief nod. “I… I think so…”
“Here, lean on me.” Elizabeth lifted his arm, draping it carefully around her shoulders. She tugged to help him to stand and Darcy yelped at the sudden movement, but staggered to his feet.
“Put your weight on my shoulder,” Elizabeth murmured, as Darcy stifled a groan.
“I cannot. I am too heavy…”
“Mr. Darcy, I am stronger than I look. Keep your weight off your injured leg. We only have about twenty paces to go.”
Darcy gritted his teeth, stumbling forward until they reached the bedchamber.
They made their way slowly across the room before Elizabeth released her hold, carefully lowering him onto the mattress. For the first time, she noticed that he had removed his waistcoat and cravat, and his collar was open at the neck.
An odd feeling settled in her belly.
***
Darcy’s body trembled as Elizabeth lifted his legs onto the bed, pulling the counterpane up and tucking it beneath his chin. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the pillow, breathing in the fresh scent of citrus that lingered on the bed linen. All at once he realized that Elizabeth had been in this very bed only moments before and his pulse beat a wild rhythm against his chest. He struggled to sit but immediately felt Elizabeth’s delicate hands pressing against his shoulders.
“Shh, lie back. I am going to get so
me fresh tea and a cold cloth for your head.”
Darcy moaned, sinking into the pillows.
He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, there were cool compresses draped across his neck and forehead and Elizabeth sat beside him in a high-backed chair. For a moment, he forgot where he was, but when he attempted to shift position, the blistering pain that seared his chest was a harsh reminder.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered.
Elizabeth leaned forward, barely reacting to Darcy’s use of her Christian name. “Do not try to talk. Here, you must drink as much as possible.” She pressed a cup to his lips.
Darcy managed to swallow a few sips of the tepid tea before dropping back onto the pillows. Elizabeth set the cup on the bedside table and moved to return to her seat, but Darcy reached out, catching her hand.
“Miss Bennet…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Elizabeth smiled, lightly squeezing his fingers. “There is no need to thank me. Just close your eyes, and try to sleep.”
***
Sometime later Elizabeth awoke from a restless slumber, rubbing the back of her neck which had grown stiff from dozing in the chair. Soft gray light filtered in through a crack in the shutters and a faint rasping filled the air. Before her in the bed, Mr. Darcy lay perfectly still. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, but beneath that, his skin was deathly pale. But the thing that troubled her the most was the terrifying rattle of his breathing.
“Mr. Darcy?” She reached out her hand, laying it gently upon his shoulder. Again, she called his name, but the gentleman did not rouse. Panic prickled deep within her. Something was wrong. For the first time it occurred to her that perhaps the gentleman had sustained some inner injury that neither of them had been aware of… A shiver rippled up her spine. Mr. Darcy’s ragged breathing reminded her of a neighbor who had fallen from the hayloft in his stables. A broken rib had punctured one of his lungs. He had not recovered.
She called out once more, shaking Mr. Darcy harder. After a moment, his eyes opened, but the gaze he fixed on her was glassy and unfocused. His head turned, his attention fixed upon the far side of the room, as if regarding something only he could see.
Elizabeth slipped her hand in his. “Mr. Darcy, can you hear me?”
He did not respond immediately, but after a few seconds, his eyes drifted to her face. “Elizabeth,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Go.”
His entreaty brought her dark brows together. Go? Where would she go? Perhaps he wished for her to fetch something. “What are you in need of?” she asked softly. “Would you like more tea?” She turned towards the cup on the bedside table, but his grip contracted around her fingers.
“No. Please…” He drew an uneven breath and Elizabeth could see it took all his strength to form the next two words.
“Don’t. Watch.”
Their eyes collided and the air seemed to leave Elizabeth’s body—for what she saw reflected back at her was not anguish or even fear, but resolution.
He was going to die, and he did not want her to witness it.
“Mr. Darcy, I am not going anywhere.”
He opened his mouth, but this time Elizabeth silenced him, placing a finger against his lips.
His eyes remained fixed on her form, tracking her as she straightened and crossed to the hearth. The chamber had grown cold and she stopped to place several logs upon the fire, fueling the flames. Setting the fire-iron in its rack, she turned back to the bed, but this time she moved to the opposite side. Darcy continued to stare, his breathing labored, as she climbed in beside him, stretching out on top of the quilted counterpane. Their eyes studied each other—Elizabeth’s watchful and worried, Darcy’s filled with desire… and regret.
Once again, Elizabeth reached for his hand, lacing her fingers firmly with his. His thumb brushed against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist and Elizabeth’s heart fluttered in her chest. She strengthened her grip.
“Sleep now,” she whispered. “I will be here when you wake.” Mr. Darcy regarded her for several long moments before closing his eyes.
After that, he did not stir.
***
Elizabeth opened her eyes. Mr. Darcy lay beside her, as still as death. The rasping sound had ceased. She lurched upright, tugging the bedclothes from his body, her gaze trained upon his chest. Slowly it rose, then fell. Elizabeth crumpled in relief.
He lived.
Reaching up, she placed her fingers to his brow. Cool. Her own breath escaped in a grateful rush. Rising from the bed, she moved to the window, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor. Perhaps his body had merely been in shock as a result of the trauma he had suffered. Nevertheless, she would feel significantly better when the physician arrived to offer a professional diagnosis.
Returning to the bed, Elizabeth sat. A single lock of hair had fallen across Mr. Darcy’s forehead, and she lifted her hand, brushing it back in place. Angling her head, she studied his countenance. Sleep had softened the harsh lines, but she could not help but notice the perfectly straight nose, the full lips, the firm jaw. He was as flawless as a statue. Slowly, as if of their own accord, her fingers trailed down his temple, brushing against the rough stubble of his beard. Darcy murmured in his sleep and Elizabeth quickly withdrew her hand. Good heavens, what was she doing? She was alone in a bedchamber with a man who was not her father. Or her husband…
And yet, strangely, she did not feel anxious or even ill at ease. Still, the impropriety of the situation was not lost on her, and she abruptly rose, smoothing her skirts. When she turned back around, Mr. Darcy’s eyes were open.
Elizabeth offered him a shaky smile. “You are awake. How do you feel?”
Darcy did not answer, but struggled to sit.
“No, do not move. I think the worst is over, but you must continue to rest.”
Darcy opened his mouth, but a sudden pounding on the front door startled them both. Their eyes locked.
“Our rescuers,” Elizabeth murmured. She turned to go, but to her surprise, Darcy’s fingers closed around her wrist.
“Miss Bennet,” he croaked. “Exercise caution… when opening the door.”
Elizabeth nodded and moved to step away, but his grip tightened.
“There is a pistol. On the mantelpiece.”
The banging resumed. Elizabeth swallowed. Hurrying into the adjoining room, she scooped up the pistol as a strong voice called out from the other side of the door.
“Mr. Darcy? Is anyone at home?”
At the sound of Mr. Darcy’s name Elizabeth’s body relaxed. The man called out again, and Elizabeth noted that the voice was deep and male, but she did not recognize it as belonging to Thomas, Mr. Darcy’s footman. She twisted the latch, easing the door open, the gun held tightly behind her back.
Outside the world shimmered in the morning light, but snow no longer fell. A red bay gelding was tethered to a nearby tree and an impeccably dressed gentleman stood before the door. Upon seeing Elizabeth, he instantly doffed his hat, bowing low at the waist.
“Good morning, madam. I hope you will pardon my early arrival, but I am looking for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Is he within? I am Mr. Cartwright, his personal physician.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew round as she stepped back, giving the gentleman room to enter.
“Oh! Yes, of course. I beg your pardon, I wasn’t expecting... ” her voice trailed off as the doctor stepped across the threshold. A blustery wind followed him in and Elizabeth hastened to shut the door. Returning the pistol to its place upon the mantle, she quickly took the physician’s coat, draping it over one of the armchairs by the hearth.
“I am very glad to see you, sir,” Elizabeth continued, leading the way across the compact parlor. “Mr. Darcy was feverish during the night, and his breathing has been labored, but he appears much improved this morning.”
They entered the bedchamber to find Darcy propped against the pillows. To Eliz
abeth’s surprise, when he spoke, his voice was composed, although still weak.
“Cartwright. Thank you for coming so quickly. May I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet? I was escorting her to Town when the accident occurred.” After a brief pause he added, “Her maid has only just stepped out.”
Elizabeth’s gaze immediately darted to the physician, but as far as she could tell he seemed unperturbed at finding his patient alone in a deserted cottage with a young woman, with or without her maid.
Cartwright nodded. “I received the express from your man last night and left before first light. I am glad to see it was not more serious, but I would like to do a thorough examination.” He set down his bag and began rummaging through it as Elizabeth moved in the direction of the door.
“Miss Bennet, wait.” Turning to his physician, Darcy continued, “I would like you to attend Miss Bennet first. She does not appear to be badly injured but she did hit her head and she has some scrapes along her…” His complexion deepened and he cleared his voice before continuing, “That is, I would feel more at ease if you would examine her.”
Elizabeth felt her own cheeks color. “That will not be necessary, sir.”
“Miss Bennet, I insist. I will not agree to be seen until you are looked after.” He glanced up at her and his tone softened. “Please.”
The doctor, who had been dividing his attention between the two of them now turned to face Elizabeth.
“Of course,” he said. “I will be happy to wait on you, Miss Bennet. Would you prefer that we postpone the examination until your maid returns?”
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked at Mr. Darcy who seemed to realize his error. He opened his mouth to speak but it was Elizabeth who answered.
“No, sir. It is not necessary to wait.”
Darcy made to stand. “I will give you your privacy,” he said formally, but Elizabeth held up her hand.
“Oh, no, Mr. Darcy. You will stay here. The doctor can examine me just as well in the parlor.” And with that she turned and headed for the door.
To Conquer Pride Page 6
