Elizabeth pressed her palm against her mouth.Images flooded her mind unbidden—Darcy's hands shaking as he touched her, the strain in his voice as he fought for control, the way he'd pulled back at the last moment rather than claim her.All that restraint, and now he suffered alone because of what she'd done to him.
A heat-induced rut would be agony for someone of Darcy's temperament—all that legendary control turned against him, his own body betraying every principle of propriety he held dear.
"It's my fault."The words scraped raw from her throat."Jane, I—" Elizabeth stared at her hands, watching them twist in her lap."Until last night, Darcy was helping me through my heat."
Jane went still.
"Darcy found me the first night."She forced herself to continue."In the hallway, trying to go to the kitchens, already in some heat induced delirium.Jane, I've never been so mortified—or so grateful.He cared for me.Never said a word about propriety or scandal.He did not even blame me when I couldn't convince Papa to leave."She squeezed her eyes shut."The last night, I threw away my dignity.Begged him to claim me.Told him I wanted his mark, his bond, everything."The memory burned."He told me to leave Netherfield immediately."
Her shoulders shook now, tears coming hot and fast."I love him, Jane.I love him desperately and I—he does not.I can never see him again.Promise me—promise you'll never invite me to Netherfield when he's there."
She could have been ordained by heaven as his match, and yet he would not incline himself toward her.
"Stop."Jane gripped both her hands now, fierce in her gentleness."Whatever happened, whatever passed between you, you were in heat.Your first heat.You couldn't have known, couldn't have controlled it."
"But I went to him."The confession tore free before Elizabeth could stop it."I knew what I was doing, and I still…" She closed her eyes."You welcomed me so generously, and I repaid you by creating a situation where Mr.Darcy—your husband's closest friend—can likely never comfortably visit Netherfield again.How will you explain it to Charles?I've poisoned their friendship, your peace, everything."
Jane's grip on Elizabeth's hands became almost fierce—as close to anger as Jane ever came.
"Elizabeth Bennet, you will listen to me."Her voice held that rare steel that appeared only when defending those she loved."You have poisoned nothing.Charles and Mr.Darcy have weathered far worse than this, I'm sure, and the story you have told me is one that only makes me think more kindly of the gentleman, for saving you from a public compromise, at the very least."
Jane smoothed Elizabeth's hair back from her fevered brow."Whatever happens next is between you and Mr.Darcy.But you willnottake responsibility for grown men's friendships or my marriage.Those are not yours to break, dearest."She studied Elizabeth."Did… did he hurt you?"
"No!No, he never hurt me.But where I may have once had hope, I hold none now."She pulled her hands away, unable to bear a touch that wasn't the one her soul called to."We shall never meet again.Once this"—she gestured vaguely at herself—"passes, I'll return to being nobody of consequence to him."
"But you'renotnobody to him.That much is clear."
"Oh Jane, you could find the good in a tempest that sank your ship."Elizabeth managed a watery laugh."But even your generous imagination cannot transform 'leave Netherfield immediately' into a declaration of love.Mr.Darcy has always been perfectly clear in his meanings, and I assure you, there was nothing ambiguous about his desire to be rid of me.And if there's one thing I cannot do, I will not trap him."
Jane tried—oh, how she tried—with all the sweet reason that had made Charles Bingley fall in love instantly.But Elizabeth had fortified herself against comfort the way a besieged city bars its gates, and no amount of gentle battering could breach her defenses.
"Very well," Jane said at last, and the words carried the weight of a promise she clearly wished she need not make."I give you my word."
Then, because Jane was Jane and could no more leave Elizabeth to suffer alone than she could sprout wings and fly to London, she pulled her sister into her arms.Elizabeth resisted for all of three heartbeats before crumbling entirely, her tears soaking through the fine muslin of Jane's dress.Jane held her with the patient tenderness of someone who had spent years soothing Elizabeth's rages and heartbreaks—though never one quite like this.She stroked Elizabeth's hair and hummed wordless melodies until the storm of grief exhausted itself, until Elizabeth's breathing deepened and her body went limp with the blessed oblivion of sleep.
Sleep abandoned her in the darkest hours, tears streaming as her body cried out.Her neck unmarked, her core empty, both screaming for what he'd denied her.
CHAPTERTEN
The first thingElizabeth noticed was the silence—genuine, peaceful silence instead of that terrible hungry stillness that had consumed her.Her skin felt cool and normal, though the sheets were wet from her tears and sweat.Thoughts arranged themselves in neat rows rather than whirling like autumn leaves in a storm.Sometime between darkness and dawn, the heat had fled, and though it left her weak as water-soaked muslin, she recognized herself again beneath the exhaustion.
She sat up slowly, testing her body's response.Weak, yes.Shaky as a newborn foal.But no fire racing through her veins, no crushing emptiness demanding to be filled.The heat had passed.
The walls crowded her.The air hung heavy, sour with evidence of what had passed.Out—she had to get out.Let December's teeth bite through this fog of humiliation, let winter strip her clean of everything she'd allowed herself to become.
Elizabeth dressed with fumbling fingers, her muscles protesting every movement.Her simplest morning dress, no stays—she hadn't the strength for proper lacing.At the door, she pressed her ear against the wood.No sounds from the hallway.The key hadn't turned in the lock since Jane's visit yesterday afternoon.
Still locked.
The window, then.
She eased it open, wincing at the squeal of wood against wood.
The cold hit like a slap, sharp and clean.Elizabeth tilted her face up, breathing deep.No more chocolate and autumn leaves haunting every inhale.But her own sweat still lingered in the air and her eye was drawn below.
The ancient wisteria trellis clung to the wall beneath—she'd used it often enough as a girl, sneaking out to read in the garden before dawn.But that was years ago, when she'd been lighter, the wood less weathered, her manner less proper.
Please hold,she thought, swinging one leg over the sill.
