She leaned forward, treading now onto more sacred, more painful ground. “And Georgiana. She told me her healing faltered, became a mere trickle, after she left Pemberley. Shebelieved it was her own shame that blocked the flow, a punishment for her choices. But what if it was not just her shame? What if it was you? A bond of blood, of a shared magical heritage, is a powerful thing. Is it not possible that in your pain, you were unconsciously clamping down upon her magic? Suppressing it from afar without ever realising it, because the thought of her with Captain Wickham was a wound you could not bear? Think of when her gift began to mend, William. Think of what had just changed between you.”
He recoiled, an involuntary movement. The thought clearly unsettled him.
“The ritual between us was a means to force a connection where none existed. The bonds you share with them were forged in childhood; they are a matter of blood and of history.” She paused, her gaze softening. “And you do not fully comprehend the nature of your own power. It is a force of will that commands the atmosphere of a room. Is it so very difficult to believe that such a power could shape the magic of those closest to you in ways even the scholars have not yet fathomed?”
Darcy looked past her for a moment, his thoughts clearly turning inward, re-examining years of memory. Eventually he rose and paced the small room.
When he finally turned back to face her, his expression still bore the harsh lines of scepticism. “I confess itisdifficult to believe. What you propose stands in direct opposition to centuries of established arcane doctrine.”
Elizabeth drew a breath, though what she might say next, she hardly knew. She had exhausted every rational appeal. Her only remaining argument was a deep, insistent feeling, and she was acutely aware that such a sentiment would carry little weight with Darcy.
Yet before she could speak, Darcy continued, “And yet it is also bold. Unconventional. And perhaps just certifiably ludicrous enough to actually work.”
He walked back towards her then, stopping just before her, kneeling so they were eye-to-eye. His nearness, his warmth, his unique and heady scent once more filled her senses, making her pulse quicken and her breath catch in her throat.
“I do not trust Wickham. But I trustyou, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice rough, husky with an emotion that made her tremble. “I trust your instincts. I trust your heart. If your intuition tells you this is a path we must attempt, then I shall set aside all my own reservations and let your conviction be my guide.”
He paused, and an affectionate light filled his eyes as he added, “Even when it leads us down paths that are perilous and almost certainly destined to incur the full wrath of the Arcane Office.”
Elizabeth was deeply affected by the quiet nature of his trust. A laugh, light and full of unreserved joy, escaped her, filling the room with a warmth that rivalled the fire. “To think I have made an imprudent man of you, Mr Darcy. You place a great deal of faith in a heart that has been so wrong about you in the past,” she teased gently.
Darcy’s smile broadened into that beautiful, full smile that still had the power to steal her breath away. “If this is imprudence,” he said, pressing his lips to the delicate skin of her hand, “then I do not wish to live any other way.”
“I believe the Mr Darcy I met in Meryton would be utterly appalled at your present course.”
He gave a low chuckle. “He was a man I scarcely recognise,” he said, “and have no desire to meet again.”
“You are too severe on him,” she said, with an answering smile, “He was a constant source of vexation, yet in essentials, he was very much the man I see before me now.”
The fondness in her own voice lingered in the air between them. To look at him in that moment was to feel her heart turn over in her chest, then surge with a glowing adoration. Darcy went still, his smile fading into a look of quiet fervour.
He rose, and with a gentle hand to hers, drew her to her feet before him. She came willingly, and he gently brushed a stray curl from her temple, his fingers lingering for a moment against her skin.
Beneath his touch, the air between them began to pulse, the thrum of their bond intensifying into a living heat. The atmosphere grew thick and warm under the burn of Darcy’s gaze, his breath quickening as his hand slid down the curve of her body. It was not the uncertain, questioning touch of their first kisses. It was a touch of reverence, and it sent a rush of delicious and wonderfully unexpected shivers through her, from the crown of her head to the very tips of her toes.
The world faded to nothing but the closing distance between them. In the dim light of the fading fire, he looked at her, his eyes shining with an emotion so raw, so vulnerable, so full of unwavering love, that it threatened to undo her completely.
“You are beautiful, Elizabeth.”
“I love you,” she breathed. The words were a truth that had been building within her until it could no longer be contained.
A tremor ran through his frame, as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his soul. “You love me?” he asked, hoarsely.
“I love you,” Elizabeth repeated, more steadily now with the certainty of it. “I love you with all my heart, William.”
A wondering sound escaped him, before he kissed her with a possessive tenderness that left her breathless. When the kiss ended, he did not pull away, but brushed a thumb across her tingling lips, his own words emerging as a heartfelt whisper. “I love you. Now, and for all my days.”
“Then…” she said, the word trembling with an emotion that was equal parts anticipation and longing. “I wish to be your wife in truth. Tonight.”
Every unspoken hope, every carefully controlled desire she had ever glimpsed in him, seemed to ignite in his eyes at once. A faint shimmer distorted the air between them, the atmosphere charged by the sudden surge of his magic. His gaze intensified as the hand that had been resting gently on her waist tightened, his fingers moulding to the arch of her body.
“Elizabeth,” he managed, “Do you…do you apprehend…forgive me.” He cleared his throat, “That is to say…”
A wicked glint entered her eye. He was still the gentleman. “I do,” she said, the word catching on a breathless laugh, “Do you?”
“How I love you,” he groaned. His next kiss was deep and searing, and the scent of him, a clean, masculine fragrance of warm skin, was wholly intoxicating. Lost to the rush of new sensations, she had no time to recover before he swept her into his arms and carried her towards the bed.
As Darcy lowered her to the edge of the bed, his eyes searched hers, seeking one last confirmation, seeking one last reassurance, seeking something he perhaps dared not even name, dared not even hope for.
