"Alpha."The word slipped out unbidden, barely a whisper.
Then he shoved her hand away roughly, taking himself in hand with movements that spoke of urgency beyond restraint.
"Don't move."The words came out through gritted teeth.
He positioned himself over her, and Elizabeth watched, mesmerized, as he brought himself to completion across her breasts and stomach.His jaw clenched so tight she feared he'd crack teeth, but he made no sound.Just the harsh rush of his breathing and the heat of him painting her skin.
The relief hit immediately—a cool wave dousing the fever's worst edges.Elizabeth sagged into the mattress, every muscle going liquid.Her bones might have dissolved entirely.Her eyes closed.
Darcy climbed off her, and through her closed eyes Elizabeth felt the mattress shift.No cloth from the washstand—instead his hands returned to her skin, warm and deliberate.He rubbed his spend into her heated flesh with patient dedication, each pass of his palm pressing his scent deeper.
The primal part of her brain that had awakened with her heat practically vibrated with satisfaction.Yes, it whispered,this is how it should be.His essence seeping into her, claiming her at a level that would linger for days.Maybe weeks.His fingers worked with devastating patience, missing no spot, until she smelled more like him than herself.Her body sang with it—every cell recognizing its alpha's scent, drinking it in like parched earth after rain.When she finally cracked one eye open, his face had become unreadable marble.Stone and shadow in the dying firelight.
He was already closing himself off.Already regretting.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words inadequate and necessary all at once.
His jaw clenched.A muscle ticked beneath the skin.
"Sleep."He turned away, withdrawing his hand."It will return tomorrow night."
That was all he said.
The questions burned in her throat—Do you feel anything beyond duty?Am I more than an obligation to discharge?—but his face had become a cipher, all sharp angles and shadows.The words withered unspoken.
Elizabeth turned onto her side, drawing her knees up.His sheets still carried warmth from where he'd lain beside her.The pillow beneath her cheek smelled of him—that dark richness that made her omega instincts purr with contentment even as her heart twisted.
Darcy crossed to the wingback chair near the hearth.No blanket, no attempt at comfort.He sat like a statue, spine straight, fingers gripping the worn leather armrests.The dying embers cast orange light across his profile, highlighting the severe line of his jaw.
She watched him through lashes growing heavier by the moment.His chest rose and fell in measured breaths, but nothing else moved.The firelight flickered lower, throwing his features into sharper relief—the hollow beneath his cheekbone, the tense set of his mouth.
What thoughts churned behind that marble facade?Regret?Disgust?Or something else entirely?
Sleep pulled at her before she could puzzle it out, dragging her under while he kept his vigil in the dark.
Before too long, Elizabeth stirred, her body stiff from sleeping curled on her side.The fire had died completely, leaving the room cold.
Darcy remained in the wingback chair, chin dropped to his chest at an angle that would leave his neck aching.Still in shirtsleeves and breeches, still gripping the armrests even in sleep.The grey light revealed what darkness had hidden—purple shadows beneath his eyes, deep grooves bracketing his mouth.He looked haggard.Worn thin.
Elizabeth sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to her chest.Her nightgown and wrapper lay pooled where they'd fallen.She dressed in silence, fingers trembling with cold and something else as she watched him sleep.
Two nights now.Two nights he'd given his body to ease her suffering, asked nothing in return.Not even the comfort of his own bed while she slept in it.
He held himself completely apart.
The first tear fell as she reached the door and turned the handle.She couldn't do this again.Wouldn't.
CHAPTERSIX
Elizabeth forcedherself to take another bite of toast.The toast scraped down Elizabeth's throat—dry, flavourless, necessary.Darcy sat opposite, his breakfast cooling while he studied it with the bewildered concentration of a man attempting to decipher Latin without instruction.Morning light poured through the windows, the listless light turning the hollows beneath his eyes into something raw and bruised.
Caroline leaned toward him, her fingers brushing his sleeve.
"Mr.Darcy, you look quite tired.Did you sleep poorly?Perhaps the room was not warm enough?"
"I slept adequately, Miss Bingley."
Caroline's hand fluttered to her throat—a gesture that drew attention to the elegant line of her neck."How dreadful when weather disturbs one's rest.I do hope tonight proves more peaceful for you."
