This was unacceptable. His eyes must be revealed to her. Her mouth opened, her voice emerging only as a whisper.
“Your eyes…they cannot be anything faded, mild, or meek. They must be dark, mysterious, resilient enough to hold the weight of a thousand acres. A thousand tenants. A thousand homes. A thousand mouths to feed. A thousand hearts to break.”
At her charge, his eyes opened to her. They could not have been more perfectly set within his features. So shadowed, they were almost black, a fathomless regard that could have sent soldiers to their willing deaths. They were the eyes of command, of duty, of domination. They stared into her soul, seeing too much, stripping her bare. Uncomfortable eyes, and yet, somehow, she knew no other eyes would ever measure up to them in her own sight, again. Sighing, she returned her gaze to his mouth.
“Your saving grace,” she said softly, touching once more his lips. “A woman could forgive much, for this.”
He was a dream, a fantasy, a man like no other. He would not capitulate to feelings, to emotion; he was much too accustomed to ill winds, stormy seas, citadel-sized obstacles in his path. In that moment, she knew that if shewanted him, she must seize him herself; he would not surrender to simple need or desire. She was inexperienced, yes; but she had power in her, untapped, and he was an admirable foe. If he thought her yet an impediment to his decisive direction, unworthy, easily dismissed, she would show him the error of his ways—and she smiled at the thought. Carefully, she set her lips to his.
In the hour or so since Elizabeth had fallen asleep in his arms, Darcy had conceived a plan—or at least, an objective. The moment she wakened, he must carefully explain to her the situation, ask her where it would be best and safest to deliver her, and get himself away as quickly as possible. He was in the worst of circumstances—with an unchaperoned young lady of good birth. He had considered taking her to the home of her aunt Philips—but that was her mother’s sister, and possibly she was not to be trusted. He knew of no other relations except those somewhere in Cheapside. Her friend, Miss Lucas, would probably take her in happily enough, but Sir William was an unmitigated gossip, and instinctively he knew Elizabeth would hate anyone else knowing what had happened. Besides, whether he had her alone in his carriage for twenty minutes or twenty hours, the Sir Williams of this world always drew their own conclusions and told them to anyone who would listen. Avoiding the Lucases seemed best. For lack of a better idea, he continued on towardstown; he could always turn a different direction, or even bring her home to Longbourn again once she was fully recovered.
Yet, there were further problems. He did not worry about Harwood or Frost; they would never say a word. He had given Bingley’s stableman a large gratuity which hopefully ensured his silence, although one could never be completely certain. Still, it was Mrs Bennet and Collins who were the real unknowns in this situation. Mrs Bennet had shown herself to be ruthless and amoral; Collins was certainly governed by neither intelligence nor common sense. Darcy could, he was certain, have his aunt shut Collins’s mouth, but how to shut Mrs Bennet’s was, in a word, a pickle. The best strategy on his own part was to rid himself of Elizabeth as soon as he could manage it; the Mrs Bennets of this world could not touch him. But might Elizabeth pay a price, regardless?
He should not care, he told himself. This was not a situation of his own making. He had been avoiding the dropped handkerchiefs—and other, less obvious schemes—of managing mamas and manoeuvring misses for years. He had done what he could,woulddo what hecouldfor her, but nothing more.
Then she opened her eyes, those lovely, trusting eyes.
Reaching up, she touched his lips, his nose, his brow. He was paralysed, frozen, helpless beneath those featherweight touches.
Move away, he ordered himself.Moveheraway. Put her onthe opposite bench, as you ought to have done immediately, instead of worrying she might tumble to the floor. Do not be a fool.
He nearly obeyed that reasoned, sensible voice…that is, until she smiled at him, a slow smile, a dawn’s sunlight lighting the horizon, bringing his every sense into the sharpest focus. Until she returned her fingertips to his lips, murmuring words he could not understand.
Until her lips touched his, and he lost his mind.
Darcy was a man who held his passions rigidly in control, always. He had lived in the shadow of a man, nearly his own age, who delighted in freeing them, exorcising them, using them and being used by them. He had seen the destruction in the lives of those wrecked by it. He had spent years attempting to undo its effects, trying, usually futilely, to sort through the ruins for survivors.
One touch of her mouth to his andhewas the one wrecked, ruined, destroyed. One touch of her mouth to his and he simply…forgot.
His hand slid up her back, up the slim strength of her spine, up into the dense locks of her hair falling over them both, then shaping around her head, holding her to him close and closer still. Her mouth opened beneath his, sweetly, plunging them both into a new country of feelings, a wild hinterland, begging to be explored.
He forgot duty.
He forgot discretion.
There was only Elizabeth, water to a thirsting man lost in a desert so long, he had forgotten its revitalising flavour, the taste of it, its quenching power. In the historyof the world, he was certain, there had never been such a kiss. She was Niagara Falls to his parched and drab life, and he could not drink deeply enough. He wanted to drown in her.
“Elizabeth,” he said, in what he feared was a moan. “Elizabeth.”
His mouth came back down to hers, but she reared back and looked at him,reallylooked, with shocked and startled eyes. She scrambled off his lap, except her limbs did not quite move properly and she fell—or would have done, had he not caught her. Still, she lunged for the door.
“Elizabeth!” he cried, trying to stop her from throwing herself again towards it. “We are moving, drat it! You will be hurt!”
“You do not understand,” she panted, struggling. “Out! I must get out!”
Sunshine gleamed in from the window since he had not bothered to pull the blinds, and at last he noticed what he ought to have seen at once—her skin had turned unnaturally pale. He pounded on the roof of the carriage and immediately felt the slowing of its motion. Not waiting for aid from without—or, even, the carriage to come to a complete halt—he half-leapt from the vehicle, hauling her away from it as quickly as possible. Seeing that they were on a deserted portion of the road surrounded only by fields, he set her down beside some shrubbery growing along a low stone wall. They made it only just in time, as she dropped to her knees and retched.
At first, Elizabeth could only shudder with the spasms. She could not stop the audience to her painful humiliation, not when he gathered her hair back and held it away from her so she could cast up her accounts without interference.
Why, oh why was she here in the middle of nowhere, wretchedly ill, before none other thanMr Darcy?
He said nothing, but she could feel the heavy weight of his autocratic stare, as if she was the one at fault for this entire bizarrenot-a-dream state of affairs.
Was she the one? Had she truly been kissing him? Had he been kissing her? Surely not!
As soon as her stomach seemed to have ceased its upheaval, she made a motion to stand. Unfortunately, her limbs were trembling, clumsy, and disobedient. What should have been a nimble move was a general lurching towards the ground, which he only just managed to avert so that she narrowly avoided falling upon her face. It was excessively lowering, when she had already believed she could descend no lower.
“Perhaps you would excuse the imposition of proximity, and remain where you are until your balance resumes?” he asked in his usual haughty tones. “You are not feeling quite the thing, I daresay.”
