“What are you doing here?” Miss Elizabeth behaved as thoughhewere the intruder.
Darcy could hardly breathe, could hardly think straight. Wickham had a particular talent for winning people over with his easy manners and false charm, but that he might have succeeded in winning over Miss Elizabeth… It had to be a trick. Miss Elizabeth would not be the first to mistake Wickham’s character, but she was not so foolish to allow such a man to ruin her. He blinked hard several times, wishing his vision to adjust so that he might haul Wickham out of the study by the collars. “Where is he?”
“Where is Wickham? You think he is here? With me?”
Darcy heard the offense in her speech, and he felt the faultiness of his thinking. Miss Elizabeth’s character was too strong to yield to vice. He ought to know better. But Wickham was crafty. He had so nearly ruined Georgiana. Darcy had to be certain. “Wickham is not here?”
She stood close enough to him now for his skin to tingle. Cloves and orange blossoms. He braced himself for the kick. “You think me capable of being alone in a dark room with an unmarried man?”
Darcy could have pointed out that that was precisely what was happening, but he knew better than to provoke her further than he already had. “No.”
“Then why persist in this questioning? If I am above fault in your opinion, you would have accepted my word immediately and departed.”
He bowed his head. “I apologize for causing offense. You have never given me reason to doubt the strength of your character or the integrity of your virtue.”
“And yet you accuse me of being ensconced in this study with Mr. Wickham? You have a strange way of displaying your confidence, Mr. Darcy.” She sucked in a breath. “Perhaps that explains your behavior toward Mr. Bingley. You must trust him a great deal, or else you might make the mistake of allowing him to dance and speak with whom he pleases at his own ball.”
Bingley. A small voice in Darcy’s mind wondered why Bingley had sent him on a fool’s errand when Wickham was not present.
The louder voices demanded justice. He had apologized. Instead of gracefully extending him forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth used it as a weapon against him. Such impudence was not to be borne. He leaned closer to her. “You would criticize me? From the moment you arrived, you have done little but watch over your mother and sisters. Would you have me believe you do so out oftrust?”
At first, her silence gratified Darcy. But victory soon ceded to uncertainty. Darcy could be certain of nothing in Miss Elizabeth’s presence.
He heard her take in a deep breath, felt her exhale against his cheek. “I admit the injustice of my accusation when I am guilty of the same. I have my reasons, as I am certain you have yours. However, here we both are, neglecting our duty to the ones we wish to protect.”
Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. That she ascribed proper motive to him in protecting Bingley should have appeased his palpitating pulse. Had her family not been the very ones from whom Darcy wished to protect Bingley, had she been ignorant of his aim, he might have returned the compliment. Instead, her insightfulness proved her to be an even stronger foe than he had imagined. As paradoxical as their predicament was, he had to admire her.
She continued, “I would not be alone in the dark in this part of the house without a reason. I have been sitting here for about twenty minutes waiting for my friend, Miss Lucas, who was supposed to meet me. Then you barged inside shouting Mr. Wickham’s name.”
“I did not shout,” Darcy whispered. He could see her now. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, her lips a dark contrast. He knew he should look away. As God was his witness, he tried.
“I beg to differ, sir.” Had they spoken louder, perhaps he might have achieved some distance, but her whisper pulled him closer. His gaze snagged on her curvy lips as she spoke, “Now, while I appreciate the irony of this moment given the subject of our argument, I beg you to open the door. It is inappropriate for us to be alone together. I would rather wait for Charlotte in the hall.”
She was right. Of course she was right. What foolishness had come over him? Rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair, trying to get rid of the lingering smell of cloves, Darcy said, “No, I should be the one to leave. My apologies.” Turning to the door, he saw it shut and heard the lock turn.
He blinked hard and shook his head, disbelieving what he had clearly seen and heard. He distinctly recalled closing the door himself, and yet, someone must have opened it only to shut it again. This bode ill. In the next instant, he ran to the door, rattling the knob. Panic rose in Darcy’s throat. He raised his hand to bang against the barrier.
Miss Elizabeth was at his side, her hand cradling his fist. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Do you want whoever locked us in here to know we are trapped together?”
Darcy knew he must pound against the door if they had any hope of escape, but her touch sent shivers through him.
Her hands were soft, warm. Where were her gloves? The fire had burned out long ago in Bingley’s study; she might catch a chill. He turned his wrist and slowly opened his fist, her fingers gliding over his palm. He would have clasped her hands in his to keep them warm had she not snatched them away.
He gritted his teeth. What devilry was coming over him? Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at the door.
Miss Elizabeth cleared her throat. “There is a perfectly good window behind us. You can lower me from it.”
He knew what he would find at the window, but he tried anyway. Gripping the casing, he thrust his weight upward with a mighty shove. The paint did not even crack. Not one to give up easily, Darcy tried again. And again.
He considered breaking the window. He imagined tossing one of Miss Bingley’s painted tables through the glass, but then what? Miss Elizabeth would have to scramble over sharp shards through the opening. She was certain to be injured. The height was too great for either of them to leap from, and there was no convenient trellis or ledge to climb down.
He already knew the layout of the room. He had seen the drawings and inspected every room with Bingley and his agent. There were no other doors, no secret passageways.
The only way in or out of the study was through the locked door made of sturdy English oak.
They were trapped together.
* * *
