“It has been little more than two-and-seventy hours since you were almost killed. Yououghtto be resting.” Elizabeth’s eyes moved over him as she checked his covers, his pillows, his bandages. His eyes remained fixed upon her—something she noticed eventually. “What is it?”
“Thank you for helping me.”
He could not discern the meaning of the look she gave him. He might have thought it was surprise had not there been something intensely searching about it.
“You are welcome, sir. Sleep now, and I shall heat some more broth for you when you next wake to help rebuild your strength.”
Darcy knew not whether it was in the waking world or his dream that she took up his hand and sat beside him until he slept. He did know that if he let go at all, it was long after oblivion claimed him.
Chapter 6
A Good Understanding
Unusual noises roused him; clatters, bangs, and the occasional frustrated huff from beyond the door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber. He knew not what she was doing, but it sounded as though she was being typically belligerent about it, and that made him smile.
There was another shuffle, another clang, and then the sound of pouring water. An unbidden image of Elizabeth bathing came to mind, and he cursed in vexation, thoroughly ashamed of such ungentlemanly thoughts. By way of distraction, he resolved to attempt to sit up unaided. It worked on both counts, for he managed to both haul himself much farther upright and banish all thoughts from his mind but for the agony of doing so.
He reached for the glass on the nightstand, but water did nothing to relieve his discomfort. Swallowing only radiated pain along his tongue and made the base of his skull thrum. He discarded the glass clumsily on the stand and felt it spill over his hand but could do nothing about it. He held himself stilland waited for the pain to ease, though he began to suspect it never would.
While he lay panting in short breaths, Elizabeth emerged from her room. She had not been bathing, but she had apparently washed her hair. She walked bent forwards, with her head tilted to one side as she rubbed it dry with a towel. She started when she saw him and, though Darcy could not be certain in the candlelight, he thought she blushed.
“I thought you were asleep!” Her embarrassment quickly changed to concern upon looking at him properly. “Has something happened? You look very ill.”
He could not even bring himself to point at the glass of water in explanation. He wished everything would cease hurting for just a moment.
“You are in pain.” It was not a question. She hastened to the side of the bed. “Allow me to rearrange your pillows. They are pushing your head forward, I think.” As she had done before, she knelt over him and supported his head as she tugged and batted at the pillows behind him. When she lowered him back down, his pain halved instantly, leaving him wholly at the mercy of the overwhelming surge of yearning for the woman poised above him, with her warm hand at the back of his neck, her wet hair falling all about his face and her breath brushing his forehead.
She retreated a heartbeat later. “Is that better?”
He touched one finger to the back of his other hand. “Yes.”
She retrieved her towel and stepped back from the bed, returned to her earlier embarrassment. “Sorry if I dripped on you.”
Darcy’s mind made yet another unchaste connexion, and he clenched his jaw in annoyance. She deserved far better than to be the object of baser imaginings, yet she had such power over him as frequently rendered him breathless with desire.
The want of any response and perhaps his staring at her wet hair evidently unsettled her. “I could not put up with it another day,” she said defensively. He could think of no immediate response, prompting her to continue even more heatedly. “I am aware it is highly improper, sir, but frankly, nothing we have endured these past few days could be considered proper. Compared to blood, gore, and chamber pots, I hardly think my hair being unpinned ought to be what offends you most. I am sure you will survive seeing me in this way!”
Darcy was not sure he would. He signalled for paper and pen, which she grudgingly provided.
Nothing you do offends me.
He showed her, though it only deepened her frown. On a whim, he brought the paper back to his lap and added,
Your hair looks very pretty.
He showed her that also. He did not mistake her blush this time, though he thought she looked more bemused than flattered. She muttered her thanks and left the bedside to sit by the fire.
Ordinarily, Darcy would never have been so ungentlemanly as to watch a lady in any state of undress, but as Elizabeth had so rightly pointed out, there was little either of them could do about their present circumstances. Moreover, she evidently did not object to his seeing, else she would have sat by the fire in her own room. He watched her repeatedly run her fingers the length of her hair until the desire to go to her and perform the task himself became too much to bear, and he forced himself to close his eyes and at least feign sleep, if not actually achieve it.
“Mr Darcy?”
He started, having not heard Elizabeth approach, and carefully rolled his head so as to see her. She was standing at the foot of the bed with her hair loosely rebound and an unusually contrite turn of countenance.
“Forgive me for waking you. I am going downstairs to get some food. I thought you would like to know where I am going.”
He smiled warmly at such a conciliatory gesture. She did not leave directly but remained rather awkwardly, unable to meet his eye. Though he knew not what troubled her, he could not but be endeared by her manner, in particular the conscious way in which she rubbed her temple with the tip of her middle finger. Just as he thought he must put her at ease somehow, she found her tongue.
“I beg you would forgive my poor manners, sir. No matter how little I like this situation, I recognise it is not your fault, and that you have even more reason to be unhappy about it than I. It is particularly ungenerous of me to be so captious when you are this ill.”
