Her mouth was dry.
“Yes, I have told you that I mean to ask to marry you, but I’ve not actually asked,” he said, his voice husky. “It is precisely the same as what Wickham has done, perhaps worse, because I never even really came out and said it until this moment, when you are in a compromised position.”
“We won’t…” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. “I won’t let you compromise me.”
“You’ll stop me?” he murmured. “Will you really?”
And then his mouth was on hers, and it was wet and sweet, and she had never felt anything like that before. The kiss was revelatory. It changed her. One moment she had stood on one side of reality, and the next, she had crossed a threshold into a different world, one in which her body was capable of sensations she hadn’t known existed. She whimpered against his mouth, unable to stop herself. She reached out for him, and her fingers touched the bare skin of his chest, and somehow her hand was inside his shirt.
And he was groaning and kissing her harder, and he had brought the bottom part of his body down against hers. Now there was pressure at the juncture of her thighs—marvelous pressure, wondrous pressure—and she was rather certain she was going to fall apart, splinter into hundreds of pieces.
He broke the kiss, panting. He rested his forehead against hers. “You see? You see how easy it could be?”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, also out of breath. “We wouldn’t. Not mere hours after Mrs. Fortescue’s death.”
“But it’s the death that seems to be driving it,” he said. “It would prove we were still alive, do you understand?”
And she did. She grasped handfuls of his shirt and pulled him against her and put her mouth on his again, and she was lost.
The kiss flowed into the next and the next, and their tongues danced, and her body throbbed, and she arched her back against the pleasure of it.
His lips left her mouth and he kissed her neck and her collar bone and down, down over her skin, dangerously lower…
“We won’t,” she said again. “You won’t.”
He let out a ragged breath. “I want—”
“You aren’t like Wickham. You’re nothing like him.”
He collapsed against her, his face buried between her breasts.
They didn’t move.
Moments went by, long moments.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You should go home.”
“Yes,” she said.
He climbed up next to her, drawing her into his arms. “I will walk you home. Give me a moment.”
She snuggled into the crook of his shoulder, and he smelled even more like himself there, and it was good. “Yes, in one moment.” She felt her eyes flutter closed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Elizabeth awoke with a start. There was gray morning light coming through the windows. She could have sworn she only closed her eyes for a moment.
She and Mr. Darcy were lying on the bed—well, half on the bed. His legs were dangling off, as was one of his arms, the one that wasn’t wrapped around her. He was snoring gently.
Blast.
How could she have fallen asleep?
She peered at his sleeping face. He seemed younger in sleep, innocent and sweet, like the boy he must have once been. She couldn’t wake him.
Carefully, she climbed off the bed. She went to the window to draw the drapes aside and look out.
It was not yet dawn. The sun had not even made an appearance. Her family would sleep late, and if she was very, very careful, she might avoid any of the servants as well. She could get to the couch in the library, and no one would know where she had been.
She found the clothes she had worn to Mrs. Fortescue’s. It wouldn’t do to go home in different clothes after all. They were still damp in a few places, but were mostly dry. Hastily, she dressed herself, though she did not have much skill at tightening her own stays.
Wearing an evening gown at a time like this seemed despicable, but there was nothing for it.
She scampered out of the house and onto the paths toward home.
She was quite careful to remain out of sight as she made her way home, staying out of sight if a passing carriage came—which happened only once, due to the early hour. But when she had finally gotten to the grounds of her family’s home, she let down her guard and allowed herself to become consumed by her thoughts.
She had much to think over, and she was not sure how to come to terms with what had passed between herself and Mr. Darcy the night before.
Part of her was enraptured when she thought of the way she had felt, how lovely it had all been, the sheer sweetness of touching him, of his touching her, of the kissing.
It made her shiver even now, recalling it.
But another part of her was revolted by her behavior. She thought it was horrifying that she should have done something like that, something so terribly wanton. She had thought the waltzing itself was bad, but this was on another plane of wickedness.
And she couldn’t shoulder the blame herself, either. Mr. Darcy had participated. Well, he had done more than participate, he had opened the door and shoved her over the threshold.
What sort of man was he?
Did she know him at all?
The things he’d said, they were true. He had not formally asked her to marry him. She had no assurances and no protection, and she was only thankful that things had stopped before they went further.
Heavens, after poor Mrs. Fortescue had died after sinning in much the same manner, Elizabeth had pressed her body into Mr. Darcy’s and kissed him and slept in his arms!
What more proof did she need to see in order to understand the danger she was skirting?
And yet, if she could do it all over again, she wouldn’t take it back. She would kiss him again. She would touch him again. She would rather have felt that than not. She wasn’t the same Elizabeth who had left her home the night before.
“Miss Eliza!” said a voice.
Horrified, Elizabeth looked up.
It was Mr. Collins, walking along the path. “Lovely morning for a walk, isn’t it?”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, yes. It is. Quite a lovely morning.”
He stopped walking. “I am overjoyed to see you, cousin. I had hoped we might have a chance to speak alone today. However, I did not expect you to be awake yet. I understand the family did not return home until quite late last night. I could not keep my eyes open, I must admit, and returned here rather early. I expect breakfast will be a bit delayed, hmm?” He chuckled.
“Yes,” she said.
“Are you an early riser, then? I am glad to hear it. I think we will suit each other quite well, yes, very well, yes—” He broke off, a shadow passing over his face. “I say, cousin, are you wearing an evening gown?”
Elizabeth felt her stomach turn over.
“Are you not, in fact, wearing the same dress you were wearing last night?” said Mr. Collins in a faltering voice.
“Well, you see,” said Elizabeth tentatively, “Jane and I quarreled, and I slept in the library, and then when I woke I fancied a walk, and I didn’t have anything else to wear.”
Mr. Collins considered this. “Why are you coming in this direction? By my calculation, if you wanted to walk all the way out to this edge of the property and then get back, you must have left the house before dawn. And really, is it quite proper for a woman to be walking alone in this manner? And what if someone were to see you, dressed as you are? What would they think?”
Elizabeth’s jaw worked.
“Where have you been, Miss Elizabeth?” said Mr. Collins in a quiet voice. “I feel certain you did not pass the night under your own roof.”
Elizabeth hesitated too long, and when she protested, “No, of course I did,” it fell flat, and she could see that Mr. Collins knew she was lying.
“The Lord sees all, cousin,” he said sternly.
Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Mr. Collins, please.”
“Is this sort of behavior something you are given to engaging in frequently?”
“No, obviously not. And I haven’t done anything—”
“No, don’t speak.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it. Perhaps you really did sleep in the library. But I doubt you now, cousin, and I will always doubt your character, and I would never be able to trust you. I’m afraid I don’t think we will suit at all.”
“No?” she said, and a kind of wild laughter came from within her. She tried to suppress it, but it seemed determined to come out.
“Why are you laughing?” demanded Mr. Collins imperiously. “You must cease that at once.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, laughing harder. “Of course. My apologies.”
“I shan’t marry you,” said Mr. Collins. “I could never marry you.”
“Well, how terribly unfortunate that is!” said Elizabeth in a gale of laughter. “Terribly unfortunate indeed.”
* * *
“Sir,” said Mr. Bennet, who was still in his nightclothes, since Mr. Collins had gotten everyone out of bed to announce that Elizabeth was a wicked sinful woman that he would not take as a wife. “I beg you to come with me somewhere so that we may discuss this man to man.”
“But it involves the entire household,” said Mr. Collins, gesturing around at the others who were assembled. “Miss Elizabeth has brought ruin down on your head.”
“That can’t be,” said her father. “If Lizzy said she was in the library, she was in the library.”
“Didn’t we all go there together and see that she had arranged the couch to look as if someone was lying in it, using pillows?” said Mr. Collins. “Her deceit has been laid bare. There is no point in denying it. Perhaps your permissive nature has encouraged this girl on her path to the pit!”
“I really think you are stating things somewhat strongly,” said Mr. Bennet. “No one is on the path to pit.”
“We are all sinners, sir,” said Mr. Collins gravely. “Our attempts at righteousness are but filthy rags to the Lord. He cares not for anything we do. We are but worms to his magnificence.”
“That may be,” said Mr. Bennet. “However, Elizabeth is quite young. We all make mistakes when we are young. Heavens, I was quite her age when I agreed to marry Mrs. Bennet.”
“Mr. Bennet!” objected Mrs. Bennet, drawing herself up.
“Yes, sorry, darling,” said Mr. Bennet. He addressed Mr. Collins. “I hardly think we should ruin Lizzy’s entire life over one mistake. You must allow me to speak to her. You must please, please try to keep all of this business to yourself.”
“Oh, of course.” Mr. Collins drew himself up. “We are all family, and I should not wish there to be a stain on the Bennet name, for it should also touch my name, and that would be unfortunate. I shall never speak of this to anyone.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Bennet. “You are beginning to see reason.”
“But I think that Miss Elizabeth must be disciplined,” said Mr. Collins. “She will never learn the error of her ways else. And I shall have to have some reason for not marrying one of your daughters, since my esteemed patron Lady Catherine did advise me to do so.”
“Well, what about Mary?” spoke up Mrs. Bennet. “You and Mary are always huddled in the corner with the bible, aren’t you?”
Mr. Collins turned to Mary. “Miss Mary is quite young.”
“Not so young,” said Mrs. Bennet.
Mary’s eyes were wide now. “Me? Married? But neither Jane nor Lizzy is married.”
“Many girls are happily married younger than Mary,” said Miss Bennet. “She is nearly nineteen.”
“Well,” said Mr. Collins, “it is true that Miss Mary and I have conversed on many occasions, and I do find her company quite agreeable.”
Mary beamed. “Oh, Mr. Collins! Truly?” Mary turned to Elizabeth. “I knew that some good must come from your terrible wickedness, Lizzy. And that virtue would be rewarded.” She clasped her hands together.
Mr. Collins crossed the room to her and took her by the hand. “I have a speech prepared to give to my intended when I ask for her hand.”
“Oh, everyone out of the room!” squeaked Mrs. Bennet. “We are ruining everything.” She got up and ushered everyone out in the hallway.
Lydia and Kitty spoke together in soft, excited voices.
“Thank heaven he will take Mary, Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Yes,” said Mr. Bennet, who was only looking at Elizabeth.
Jane took Elizabeth’s hand. “Oh, Lizzy, what happened?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She would have to speak to Jane later, but she wasn’t even sure what to say.
* * *
Elizabeth stood in front of the desk in her father’s study, her hands clasped behind her back.
He was sitting behind the desk, his face in his hands. His voice was muffled. “Oh, Lizzy, this is not like you at all.”
Elizabeth felt like crying. She had never intended this. She had never meant to hurt her father, hurt her family. She didn’t know what to do. “I was only trying to help. I was trying to do something good for someone.”
“Help someone? How could that be? What good were you trying to do?”
“Help Mrs. Fortescue,” said Elizabeth. “That’s the only reason I agreed to do the waltz in the first place, and that’s how I met him, and then everything… oh, I don’t know, I have begun to feel as if I’m losing my mind.”
Mr. Bennet raised his face to look at her. The expression on his face was so grieved, it broke her heart.
She turned away.
“What does that wretched waltz have to do with anything? And are you telling me you were in the company of that man, that Mr. Darcy, last night?”
“Well, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“He is going to marry me.”
“Yes, he most definitely is,” said Mr. Bennet, sighing. “If I have to drag him and force him at the end of a pistol.”
“Please,” said Elizabeth. “It’s not like you think.”
“What is it like then?”
“Well, it’s about Mr. Wickham. I overheard him and Mrs. Fortescue, and I found out that he had gotten her with child.”
“Mr. Wickham?” said her father. “That’s the young man courting Jane. What are you saying?”
“Oh, don’t tell me that you won’t believe me either,” said Elizabeth.
“It’s only that Mrs. Fortescue is that widow, is she not? The one who was always with the men of the regiment, teaching them to dance.”
“Yes, but she had a bequest from her husband to fund that work, it was a sort of charitable occupation for her. She had to continue doing the dances and the lessons and the demonstrations or the money would be reverted. So, I had to do the dance for her, otherwise she would have been thrown in the street, and—”
“Dash it all.” Her father sat back in his chair. “She was often in the company of that Mr. Darcy. Lizzy, what have you done? Is it Mr. Darcy who told you that Mr. Wickham was responsible for Mrs. Fortescue? If she is with child—which I must say, there has been no whisper of that—then I rather think you’ve been taken in, and by the worst sort of man.”
“Listen, you’re getting this all wrong.”
“You won’t marry him after all,” said Mr. Bennet. “No, I don’t care what happens to us, to you, to your reputation, I will not saddle you, not you, Lizzy, with a man like that. I can’t bear to think of your spirit crushed in that way.”
“Papa—”
“Hang it all, Lizzy, I thought you were smarter than this.” His voice broke.
“You don’t understand anything,” said Elizabeth. “If you would only listen to me.”
“He’s told you lies, and you believe them,” said her father. “You would believe anything now, I suppose. You have fallen for him.”
“No, that is not it,” said Elizabeth. “If he comes to speak to you about my hand, you wouldn’t turn him away, would you
?”
“He won’t come,” said her father. “He’s lied to you and used you.”
“He’s not that sort of man at all,” said Elizabeth. “You’re wrong. Promise me you wouldn’t turn him away.”
Her father gave her a gentle smile. “If he comes, I won’t turn him away. But he won’t come, my darling. And we shall simply hope he hasn’t done the same sort of damage to you that he’s done to Mrs. Fortescue, unfortunate woman.”
“You don’t understand. Mrs. Fortescue is dead,” said Elizabeth. “She died trying to give birth to the babe. That’s why I had to go last night. I couldn’t bear it on my own.”
“If that’s true, how could you not understand what danger you were in? How could you succumb to him?”
“I didn’t,” she said, stamping her foot. “I haven’t done anything. I mean, there were sort of… things, but not…” She let out a cry of frustration. “It’s impossible to talk to you about this.”
“Yes,” said her father, who looked stricken. He swallowed. “Perhaps it would be better if you spoke to your mother.” He passed a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I just spoke those words out loud.”
“I feel as though you are not listening to a word I say,” said Elizabeth. “You of all people, I thought you wouldn’t be taken in by Mr. Wickham.”
“Oh, he seems a bit of a dandy,” said Mr. Bennet. “And I should have thought that Jane would have wanted someone a bit more sober. But love makes fools of us all. That is why I am married to your very silly mother and have so very many daughters.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t fault you for it, I suppose.”
“Listen, let me get it out,” said Elizabeth. “It is Mr. Wickham who was so horrible to Mrs. Fortescue, and now he has set his sights on Jane. Think on it, Papa. Why would Mr. Darcy have attacked Mr. Wickham last night if he were the one who had gotten Mrs. Fortescue with child?”
Mr. Bennet furrowed his brow.
“You see, it only makes sense if you think on it from my perspective,” said Elizabeth.
“It makes no matter either way, Lizzy. You sneaked out of the house and spent the night in the company of a man. If anyone discovers this, and you can be assured that Mrs. Fortescue’s servants were well apprised of your presence, then you are ruined. And we are all ruined with you.” He sighed. “Perhaps you had better go. I don’t know if I can bear looking at you right now.”
Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions Page 32
