"You would be my wife, and God willing, the mother of my children. How can you think I would discard you?"
She pulled from his grip but held his gaze defiantly. "I spoke only metaphorically. I have no desire to be your wife while you look elsewhere for love."
"Elizabeth..."
She suddenly realized she had said too much. She panicked, backing away from his outstretched hand. "Don't listen to me," she said. "I don't know what I'm saying. I just...We are not suited."
"We are admirably suited," he contradicted hotly.
She shook her head. "No. You have some romantic notion now of rescuing me, and because you want me as well you are willing to offer your name. It is not reason enough for marriage."
He was staring incredulously at her. "Do you honestly believe I would saddle myself with a wife I didn't want merely to protect her? For God's sake, Elizabeth, there are many women in this world that need help, and I have yet to ask one of them to marry me. I mentioned it to you that day merely to point out that marriage would end your problems." He hesitated, then a reluctant honesty compelled him to concede, "Perhaps I did intend it as an inducement. I was far from certain that you even liked me, and was marshaling my arguments. Still, I can't believe you thought it my only motive."
"I believed you also wanted me," Elizabeth said truthfully. "But lust and love are far different emotions."
"Oh, I want you," he murmured, with a caressing look that sent that familiar sweet warmth spreading through her limbs. "But the desire I have for you won't be slaked in an hour, or a week, or a year. And I want more than to possess your body. I want..." He suddenly broke off, then resumed, abruptly sounding weary. "But you don't care about that, do you? What you are trying to tell me is that despite the way your body responds, you do not love me."
As though he could no longer bear to look at her, he spun sharply away and stared out the window again. Elizabeth could see the rigid way he held himself, the tension in his neck and shoulders, as though his body were braced for a blow.
"Well?" he said at last, sounding impatient, as if he wished to be done with her. "Tell me the truth, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth's voice emerged as a squeak. "Will you please tell me," she asked, "why you did offer for me?"
He gave a brief glance over his shoulder, his expression remote and almost irritated. "Because I love you, most ardently," he answered.
There was a long, quivering silence, in which Elizabeth's heart hammered so hard it nearly deafened her and Darcy stood so still he might have been transformed to stone. Then he turned slowly back to face her, and choosing his words with painful care, said, "You do know, don't you?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.
"Because I was afraid," he said simply. "Like a coward, I hoped you might expose yourself first. Expressing emotion is not easy for me. It has been a very long time since I have done so."
What she saw on his face made Elizabeth's heart lurch, and she was near to laughing and crying at the same time. The carefully constructed mask was gone, and the love, the tenderness, the sheer desperation in his eyes were all and more she had ever dreamed of. He had laid himself bare for her, handed her the only weapon that could hurt him, and she was humbled. She looked at his harsh, proud face and felt awe that she alone could bring him joy and passion.
"Why are you crying?" he asked in a husky voice as he tentatively touched her damp cheek with one gentle finger.
"Because I love you."
"Oh, God." He closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them to stare fiercely down at her. "Elizabeth, are you sure? You're not taking pity?"
"Now it is you who is being absurd," she said tartly, blinking back her tears. "I have loved you since the first time we met and you were so very rude! I refused your offer because I could not bear to be so close to you when you did not care for me. So, you see, I was a coward also." Filled with audacity, she slipped her arms about his neck. "And I lied to you," she whispered. "Colonel Fitzwilliam's kiss was not the same."
A choked laugh was her answer as he pulled her into a close embrace and buried his face in the soft cloud of hair that was already sliding loose from its constraints. She felt his impatient hand plucking the pins away, and in an instant her hair tumbled free over her shoulders and back.
Darcy held her a little away from him, although his hands gripped her very tightly, as though he feared to lose her. He said huskily, "I have long had an ambition to see your hair loose." A glimmer of a smile showed. "I would prefer to have it flowing about your unclothed body, as nature intended, but I am gentleman enough to defer that until our wedding night. But this I will not defer."
And with that, his lips closed hungrily on hers, which parted instantly under his onslaught. She felt again the exquisite pressure of his long, hard body against her softer curves, the overlapping ripples of sweet sensation conjured up by his big hands, moving so freely over her back and hips and the tender skin of her neck. And how different it was to have no doubts, to know that not only desire moved him, but love as well, and that there would be a tomorrow.
When his mouth left hers, it was only to brush across her cheek, nibble gently on her earlobe, then trail tiny burning kisses down the slender column of her throat. When he encountered the coarse brown material that formed the high neckline of her gown, he muttered, in a passion-thickened but still-laughing voice, "My love..."
She smiled as she ran a loving hand along the strong line of his jaw, feeling the rough texture of his close-shaven skin.
His hands caressed her through the coarse fabric, outrageously tracing the outline of her breasts, cupping them in his palms. His voice changed, mesmerizing her, as he said, "I would lay you on the sofa, silken skin against velvet, and I would learn your body, from the bright pools of your eyes to the sensitive arches of your feet. And you would discover that the joy of passion is not something that must be hidden in the dark, a shame to be covered when the sun shines, but one of life's greatest gifts."
His lips brushed like a breath of air across her eyelids, then closed on her mouth with a soft but insistent pressure while his tongue tasted the softness within, as though he savored a sweet wine. And when he lifted his head again, he looked dazed, like a man who had drunk too much, or perhaps not enough.
"I could touch you all day," he murmured, "kiss you without pausing for breath, drown in the feel of you."
And then his hands stilled, as though he had been jarred by his own words. Elizabeth scarcely noticed, so lost was she in happiness. That a man should talk to her so, touch her in such an intimate way, should have been shocking; instead, she had been pressing closer to him, arching to the feel of his hands, losing awareness of all but the glow in the eyes that looked at her from beneath heavy lids, the silky texture of his dark hair, the strength of his back and neck under the fine linen of his shirt, the powerful muscles of his thighs, the hand tangled in her thick hair.
She was chilled when he drew away, and she reached out as though to hold him. He squeezed her fingers tightly in his, but she saw the regret on his face.
"My love," he said again softly, "I wish we did have all day, but I fear our time is limited. Does anyone know you are here?"
Consciousness was creeping back into her mind, as if sunlight were slipping through cracks in a curtain. She shook her head slightly, trying to free it from the lassitude that clung like an early-morning fog.
Slowly she said, "I hope I'm not missed. Charlotte and Mr. Collins would be worried." She blinked with a sudden thought. "How are we to explain?"
He grinned. "Our mysterious change of heart? I believe I will call on you in the morning, and we will remain closeted in your cousin's drawing room for an appropriate interval. I'm quite certain we can manage to occupy ourselves. Then we can emerge, flushed and rumpled, and announce our intentions to the world. Will that do?"
She had to laugh. "Very nicely. And if I am discovered today, I will explain that we have been privately meeting on walks. Charlo
tte will be so delighted with the outcome that she won't care how it comes about."
"Speaking of outcomes—" his steady gaze held hers "—you do plan to marry me?"
"Can you doubt it?"
"No." There was no laughter in his face now. "It is too late for you. I won't let you escape now."
When his hand urged her toward the sofa, Elizabeth, somewhat alarmed by Darcy's newly serious presence, acceded to the pressure and sat, watching as he did the same.
He continued apologetically, "I dislike raising the subject again, but there is a decision you must make. Our marriage could end all threats from Anne. Obviously, we would need to elope. We cannot afford to take the chance of delaying while I seek your father's permission. But is ending the threat enough?" Darcy asked, his countenance now unreadable and his voice noncommittal. "Or do you want revenge for all she has done to you?"
Elizabeth stared into his intent face. What did he wish her to do? Depending on her marriage to settle the matter was certainly the easiest course. Papa would understand and forgive her.
"Revenge?" Elizabeth tasted the word. "No," she said thoughtfully, "I don't want revenge, but Anne might, once we are wed. Anne is dangerous, and she must not be allowed to behave so with impunity. We do not know what she is capable of. What is to prevent her from trying the same tricks, perhaps more successfully, on someone else? No, if it is at all possible, I would like to prove her culpability."
The reserve she had sensed in Darcy was instantly gone. He smiled wolfishly. "Good," he said, leaning forward. "Then let's lay our plans."
CHAPTER TEN
The moment the door closed quietly behind the butler, leaving Elizabeth alone in the drawing room, she hurried nervously over to peer out the small bay window.
The room was an upstairs one in the front of Rosings, but the window was hung with such a fine-patterned, heavy lace that Elizabeth could barely see the man who was strolling casually by the house, swinging a cane. She had an impulse to yank the lace from its rod and toss it away. Although the day was overcast, outside it was bright, but in here the light only reached grubby gray fingers through the film that cloaked the glass.
Elizabeth heard a slight sound and spun around to face the door with a sharply drawn breath, but she was still alone. Annoyed at herself for her discomposure, she closed her eyes for an instant and willed her taut muscles to relax, but still she felt as though her ears had grown larger and were reaching out for any tiny sound that might herald her hostess's approach.
She glanced about the room, which looked much as she would have expected from seeing the exterior. Her eye was caught by the one attractive piece of furniture in the room, a walnut library table that stood against one wall. It was in the Queen Anne style, with slender, tapering legs and a delicate scroll design inlaid around the edge of the top and on the one large drawer. Elizabeth had walked over to the table and was running her hand across the velvety wood, admiring the workmanship that had melded the mother-of-pearl and ebony with the wood, when the door opened behind her.
She turned slowly around to see Anne walk in. Elizabeth momentarily had the sensation of watching a cat slip into the room, silent and watchful. Like a cat, Anne was beautiful in a vaguely silken way. The high-waisted gown in black gauze emphasized her slender-boned grace, setting off the long, sinuous line of her neck and the faintly slanted eyes. She must have been taken aback to hear that Elizabeth was here, and yet she had the confidence, arrogance even, to look directly into Elizabeth's eyes, an inquiring half smile on her pink lips.
"Miss Bennet," she said. "Such a surprise. It's delightful to meet you again." Her coal-black eyes were wary, belying the polite enthusiasm.
Elizabeth forced an answering smile, one she hoped was diffused with cordiality. "I can only apologize for not calling sooner," she said. "Mr. Collins speaks so often of you."
"How kind of you to say so."
It was as though they participated in a stage play, and neither was a good actress; the polite phrases emerged as stilted, grotesque parodies. Although perhaps that was in her imagination, Elizabeth thought. Anne might well think this a genuine morning call.
How long, she wondered, could she keep this up? How long would she need to? All she could do was delay and hope that, when the charade ended, Darcy and his helpers had managed to take the house and were in a position to listen.
"I've been so sorry not to encounter you recently," she continued with false regret.
Anne's full pink lips tightened, and Elizabeth realized her remark had been ill-chosen, a sharp dagger pricking at soft skin.
"As I've remarked before, my mother insists I limit my time outdoors because of my health," the girl said stiffly. "You are so fortunate for your good health."
"Yes, indeed," Elizabeth agreed. "I am fully sensible of my good fortune. However," she added sincerely, "you are so very lovely that I cannot believe you have been ill at all."
Anne gave a short, harsh laugh, her mask of easy charm slipping. "Looks can be deceiving." As though she felt she had said too much, she turned away, saying, with only a whisper of sourness left in her voice, "Forgive me for my frankness."
Elizabeth felt a pang of pity, which she quite easily suppressed. Society had many injustices, but Anne was not a victim on whom Elizabeth felt inclined to waste her sympathy.
"Have you enjoyed all the new visitors to Rosings Park?" Elizabeth asked. "I, for one, will be more than a little relieved when this trip ends. In Hertfordshire I think people are less hemmed in by what they believe they ought to say."
"Oh, Hertfordshire..." Anne made an impatient gesture. She abruptly changed tack. "Mr. Darcy has been so helpful to me. I believe he has taken pity on a poor, lonely girl." She spoke facetiously and her eyes challenged Elizabeth.
Elizabeth did not care to be mocked. She gave a kind smile and said, "I'm so glad that Mr. Darcy has gone out of his way for you. I believe it touches his heart that you could have been so ill at such a young age, and he imagines what it would be like should something of the kind ever happen to him, or his young sister. He is such a sensitive soul, when you truly get to know him."
Anne gave an unconvincing chuckle.
Elizabeth wandered closer to the door, hoping to overhear some telltale sounds. Would Anne's servants resist Darcy's men, or have the chance to give an alarm? All would be ruined, then. "Do you plan to attend Lady Metcalf's ball on Friday?" Elizabeth asked placidly. "I believe she expects upward of five hundred people."
"Yes, indeed. She was kind enough to send me an invitation, and Colonel Fitzwilliam has been kind enough to agree to be my escort. I do hope that won't leave you without?"
"Oh, no." Elizabeth smiled warmly. "Mr. Darcy has offered his escort."
Anne put a gentle hand on Elizabeth's arm and said in a troubled voice, "Perhaps I shouldn't say anything, but my fondness for Mr. Darcy compels me to take an interest in your welfare as well."
Truer words had never been spoken, Elizabeth reflected grimly.
"I know it's flattering and so romantic to have a wealthy admirer courting you, but I feel I must ask you... Can you really expect Mr. Darcy to marry a lady beneath his station?"
Suddenly a distinct crash sounded through the closed door. Something heavy might have fallen, or perhaps a door down the hall had simply been slammed hard. The conversation was momentarily suspended as both women glanced involuntarily in that direction.
Anne said, "Excuse me, I must check..."
Elizabeth said hastily, "Oh, don't bother on my account. I understand how careless servants can be."
"Nonetheless..." Anne took a step toward the door, but before she reached it a timid knock sounded. "Yes?" she said impatiently.
The door swung open, and the butler who had earlier showed Elizabeth up appeared in the opening.
"Ma'am, I must apologize for the disturbance. I'm afraid the maid dropped quite a heavy brass vase. Naturally, I've chastised her."
His words tumbled one over the other, and his dem
eanor had none of the dignity that a superior butler should maintain to his deathbed. Sweat beaded the skin of his forehead, and his eyes flicked nervously from side to side, as though afraid to rest on one person or object. His body ostentatiously blocked the doorway, so neither woman could see out into the hall.
Anne's voice held an icy bite as she snapped, "Don't let it happen again! And see to it that I'm not bothered now until I call! Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am." He ducked his head in a nervous, submissive gesture, then retreated from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Elizabeth felt a tingle run down her spine. So. The final act of this play could begin. She drifted yet closer to the paneled door and took up a casual pose beside one of the numerous small tables, pretending interest in a china figurine.
"You mentioned an interest in my welfare," she said in an off-hand way. "I believe you might be just the person to assist me in arriving at a decision on what to do about some difficulties I have been having." Elizabeth paused, letting the silence stretch. "That is, if you are interested."
"Naturally." The reply was no more than polite.
"I've been having some very disturbing mishaps. I'm sure Mr. Collins has mentioned them." She turned to look directly at the other girl. "I've been forced to the realization that somebody actually wants me dead."
"No!" Anne gasped.
"Yes, I'm afraid so." Elizabeth shook her head mournfully. "I hope you understand that I'm confiding in you because I feel you're so close to being a friend. I know how fond Maria is of you."
"I would be delighted to stand as your friend," Anne interjected blandly.
Elizabeth let her tone moderate to one of slight embarrassment. "But would you rather I not spoke? Do I presume too much?"
"No, no!" Anne said quickly. "I'm fascinated by your story. And, of course, concerned for you."
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