Could he truly mean it? And what would it mean to her if he had?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INFECTION INTERFERENCE
An hour passed,and then another. Colonel Fitzwilliam paced the room, waiting for a second opinion from Lady Catherine’s physician. Elizabeth and Georgiana maintained their vigil at Darcy’s bedside. She pressed cool cloths while Georgiana held his hand.
If they didn’t reduce his temperature soon, the bleeding would begin. Bingley wasn’t yet back with the ice wagons, and there was no telling how soon Lady Catherine and her physician would arrive.
“Brother, drink some more, please,” Georgiana coaxed, holding the willow bark tea to his lips. “You must regain your strength.”
Darcy’s eyes were closed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. Every so often, he’d startle and wince. Who knew what disturbing images flitted across his mind?
“You’ll stay,” he murmured. “You won’t leave me.”
“Yes,” both Elizabeth and Georgiana spoke at the same time. Elizabeth bit her lip, realizing he’d been addressing his sister. She looked up to see Georgiana’s worried expression. Her resemblance to her brother was striking—the same dark eyes,the same proud bearing, though softened by youth and feminine delicacy.
“Miss Bennet,” Georgiana said, her voice trembling. “I cannot thank you enough for your care of my brother. Your devotion has been extraordinary.”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “Your brother would do the same for anyone in need.”
“No,” Georgiana said with surprising firmness. “Not for anyone. Fitzwilliam does not give his trust easily. That he allows you to tend him so intimately…” She trailed off, her meaning clear enough.
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed.Intimately.The word hung between them, acknowledging the tender familiarity that had blossomed in the sickroom.
“I do what I can.” Elizabeth stared into Darcy’s eyes as he turned to face her.
“Lizzy, dearest,” he said. “Pemberley’s ice house. We need…”
“Yes, we’ll get the ice for you,” she promised, unable to help dabbing the sweat off his brow.
“Kiss me, Lizzy, before I… pass,” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. The request was utterly improper, yet the desperate vulnerability in his voice made her heart ache.
“You’re going to get well.” She glanced at Georgiana, her face flushing with the impropriety of his request.
“It is well, Miss Elizabeth,” Georgiana said, kissing Darcy’s cheek. “He needs to know we will stay at his side. He may be my older brother, but he needs to know we care.”
Elizabeth followed Georgiana’s example, whispering, “Darcy, you know I care about you.”
“After I leave, will you take care of Georgiana? Will you keep Pemberley for her? Seal it with a kiss.”
She couldn’t deny him the small comfort, so she leaned forward, intending to follow Georgiana’s example with an innocent sisterly gesture. But as her lips approached his cheek, Darcy turned his face, and suddenly her mouth was against his.
The world stopped.
His lips were burning hot from fever, yet impossibly soft. His free hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he kissed her with desperate tenderness. Elizabeth had never been kissed on the lips before—had never imagined the shock of it, the way her entire body seemed to catch fire, the way her heart raced as if trying to escape her chest.
She should pull away. She should be scandalized, outraged at the impropriety. Instead, she found herself leaning into the kiss, her eyes closing as something deep within her responded to his touch. This was madness—kissing a delirious man who thought her his wife—yet she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything beyond the tender pressure of his mouth against hers—so tender that it brought tears to her eyes. Could he truly mean all of this, or was it only a dream world for him?
The sound of the door opening broke the spell. Elizabeth jumped back quickly, expecting to find Jane. Instead, Caroline Bingley stood frozen in the doorway, her expression a mask of shock and outrage.
“Miss Eliza, have you completely abandoned all propriety?” Caroline demanded, her voice cutting through the quiet of the sickroom.
Behind her, a tall, imposing figure pushed her through the door. She wore black traveling clothes and appeared like a dark bird of prey.
“Fitzwilliam! What is the meaning of this?” Lady Catherine’s gaze settled with frigid displeasure on Elizabeth. “Why is this… person… at my nephew’s bedside?”
