"Hmm."He returned to his book."The weather.Of course."
Elizabeth selected a random volume—poetry, she noted without interest—and settled into the chair opposite him.The leather felt wrong against her skin, too smooth, too cold.She shifted, but that only made the seams of her dress press uncomfortably against her ribs.Even turning the pages irritated her, the paper's texture rough beneath her fingertips, catching at her skin like tiny thorns.
After twenty minutes of pretending to read the same stanza, she retreated to her guest room.
The writing desk beckoned.Charlotte would want news of Jane's wedding.Aunt Gardiner deserved a proper letter after her kind correspondence last month.Elizabeth dipped her quill, watched the ink bead at its tip.
My dear Charlotte,
She stopped.What came next?Words scattered through her mind like leaves in wind, refusing to settle into coherent sentences.The quill's feather brushed her wrist—another irritation.She set it down, picked it up, set it down again.
The wedding was—
Was what?Beautiful?Jane had glowed.Bingley had stammered through his vows.Mary and Kitty had not shown themselves poorly, and had even managed to allay their mother's tears as she bemoaned the few miles between Netherfield and Longbourn.Darcy had stood beside his friend in dark blue that made his eyes—
She crumpled the paper.
Outside, ice continued its assault on the windows.She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching her breath fog the pane.The storm had turned the afternoon dark as evening, shadows pooling in the corners of the room.
The bed drew her attention.Something about the pillows seemed wrong—their arrangement too rigid, too formal.She pulled one to the center, then another, creating a small bowl.No.That wasn't right either.She added the bolster, propped two against the headboard, scattered the smaller cushions in what should have been a pleasing pattern.
It looked ridiculous.
With a sound of frustration, she grabbed them all, throwing them back to their original positions with unnecessary force.One bounced off the bed entirely.She left it on the floor.
Evening came.Dinner was an affair not worth mentioning.Jane had disappeared after dinner—ostensibly to review household accounts with her new husband, though her flushed cheeks suggested otherwise.
"—absolutely delighted to spend Christmas here at Netherfield!Such elegant arrangements you must have planned, dear Caroline."
A pause.Then Mrs.Bennet's voice rose with theatrical surprise."Oh!Did Mr.Bingley not mention?"
Even though she was more engrossed in turning the pages for Mary at the piano, Elizabeth could imagine Caroline's expression—that particular shade of white that made her look consumptive.Any other evening, Elizabeth would have savored it.Tonight, she escaped with abbreviated courtesies, chin tucked low, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze.
The guest wing felt abandoned.Elizabeth changed into her nightdress, grateful for the loose cotton after the day's restrictive stays, then attempted to settle withCecilia.The words swam before her eyes.She read the same paragraph four times without absorbing a single phrase.
She kicked off the covers.The room felt stifling despite the storm raging outside.Her skin prickled with heat that had nothing to do with the banked fire in the grate.She paced to the window, back to the bed, to the door, then returned to stare at nothing through the ice-glazed glass.
She returned to bed.Sleep refused to come.Elizabeth turned onto her side, then her back, then her stomach—each position was worse than the last.She abandoned the bed, bare feet striking cold floorboards as she crossed to the window.The latch stuck.She yanked harder.Thunder grumbled its displeasure while snow began to drift past—nature itself confused, ice and electricity warring in the same sky.The December air bit at her face, yet her body continued its revolt.She pressed her wrists to the frozen sill, seeking relief that wouldn't come.Every joint ached.Every breath came shallow.Why couldn't she breathe?
A restlessness crawled beneath her skin like something trying to claw its way out.Wrong.Every nerve screamed it.She gripped the windowsill until her knuckles whitened.This was wrong, wrong, wrong.
The water jug stood no chance—Elizabeth drained it in desperate gulps before upending the remainder over her burning face.Nothing.No relief came.She pressed herself into the farthest corner of the room, but Jane's scent clung to everything like morning fog.Her sister's familiar sweetness of berries and maple had turned cloying, hostile, making her stomach turn and her skin itch as if she'd rolled through nettles.Jane had been in here only that morning, whispering and giggling with Elizabeth over newlywed nights.Elizabeth had savored the scent then, the familiarity, the pang of losing it forever, even to an honorable gentleman.That once-comforting blend of berries and maple now scraped against her senses like wool on sunburnt skin.
The kitchens—that would serve as excuse enough.Anyone discovering her could be told she required water.It was true, after all.Elizabeth drew her wrapper tight and ventured into the darkened corridor, her bare feet silent on the runner.The household slept.Good.She needed only to find somewhere, anywhere, that didn't reek of that terrible wrongness.Three steps into the hall and she nearly retched.The air hung thick with competing scents—each bedroom door leaked its occupant's essence into the corridor like smoke under a threshold.Elizabeth covered her mouth with both hands, breathing through the fabric of her wrapper as she hurried past.
Heat pressed against her from all sides as she navigated the passage.Her thoughts scattered like startled birds, leaving only the primitive urge to flee.She rounded the corner too quickly, colliding hard with—not furniture—a person.The impact sent her reeling.Firm hands steadied her, fingers wrapping around her upper arms, and she found herself staring up into Mr.Darcy's stunned expression.
He smelled wrong.No—that wasn't right.He smelled exactly right, and that was the problem.Dark chocolate, the expensive kind her father hoarded in his study.Autumn leaves decomposing into rich earth.The combination should have been strange, but instead it made her mouth water and her skin burn hotter.She wanted to press her face into his chest and breathe until her lungs burst.She wanted to run.She couldn't move at all.
CHAPTERTWO
Time stretchedbetween them like pulled taffy.Darcy's features transformed—the polite surprise melting into something sharper, more primal.He breathed in once through his nose, a deliberate inhale, and went absolutely still.
"Elizabeth."Her name came out cracked, weathered by some internal struggle.His fingers pressed harder into her arms."Get back to your room.Now."The command should have sent her running, would have, if he'd actually let go.Elizabeth's mind fumbled for words when it struck—his scent, absent one heartbeat and overwhelming the next.Alpha.His essence filling her lungs.
Nothing else had been right all evening, but this—this was everything correct in the world.Complete.Vital.She tilted forward, helpless against the pull, filling herself with him.Darcy's breath hitched sharply.He moved her backward, hands falling away as if she'd become molten."No.Elizabeth, go.You have to go now."The last words barely held together, fracturing with urgency.
"I can't—the smell—I don't understand—"
