Darcy rosefrom the bed to give him and Elizabeth as much space apart as their cell of a room would allow. Not that he wanted to be away from her. He wanted to draw her back into his arms and kiss her again. No one had ever kissed him with such warmth, with such need. Elizabeth was just as perfect andsweetly passionate as he had imagined, and how awful that he had to learn that truth for himself when they were likely to be murdered.
And after she had said he was the last man in the world she could be prevailed on to marry.
He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, hating the feeling of it, as he found the laudanum bottle on the washstand and snatched it.
“What are you doing?”
He had todosomething, and kissing Elizabeth senseless was not an option. “Breaking the bottle so you can use it as a weapon.”
She rose from the bed. “Put on your gloves. I don’t want you to cut yourself.” She found where his things were piled on a box and brought them to him. The outer edge of her lips was still pink and swollen from kissing him.
Elizabeth had character and sense and was not the sort to marry without love. But what did that say about kissing? Was it an impulse in a lonely, frightening moment, or did she feel something genuine for him?
“Did you need my help?”
He had been staring as she held out his gloves. Shaking his head, he put them on, walking to a crate in the corner to push off the detritus and lift the lid. With a swift tap he hit the base of the tiny bottle against the edge. The glass tinkled and left a few jagged edges behind.
He felt her watching him as he checked his work. The sharp edges, however small, would do damage against the hands or eyes of anyone who got near to her. He handed it to her, gesturing to her pelisse, and she hid it in the pocket.
“Let us walk through the plan again,” he said, taking off his gloves. It would not do for him to think about begging Elizabethto marry him and pressing her back into the mattress to indulge in everything he had longed for.
He replaced the lid and leant against the stack of crates as Elizabeth talked over every step of their plan, all the way to arriving in the inn yard.
“If Markle moves us too late, we will miss the final stage and mail coaches. Tomorrow is Sunday,” she added.
“You know coach schedules are mere suggestions at best. We might not miss it after all.”
She threw him a look. “Yes, we will.”
“If we miss the coaches, I was going to find someone to take a letter to Fitzwilliam at first light anyway. He will come to get us, and we can stay in the coaching inn. We have enough to pay for a room.”
She nodded to herself, and then asked, “When should I lower the glass and try for the carriage door?”
Darcy crossed his arms and blew out a breath. No decent postilion would push the horses faster than seven or so miles an hour, and certainly not at night. “If we make five miles an hour, and perhaps it is fifteen miles to Dartford, we might have three hours to wait for our moment.”
“If I am to be completely disinterested from laudanum, I cannot always be looking at my watch.”
“I can look at you when it is time to lower the glass.”
“Will that be the only time you look at me the entire coach ride?” she asked softly. “I do not think I could bear that.”
Her gaze was steady, serious, and he hoped their shared look meant to her what it meant to him, that he could scarcely bear the thought of not being near to her, not looking at her, not being with her for the rest of his life. “Well, I will cough to get your attention when I think we are within a few miles of Dartford.”
They both heard a sound in the hall at the same time. Darcy pointed to the bed and whispered, “Pretend to be tired.”
She hopped onto the bed and lolled her head against the headboard just as the door opened. Thankfully, it was only Kirby and the maid, exchanging water and pots and candles like yesterday. While the maid moved about, Kirby glanced at Elizabeth.
“Your face looks better,” he said kindly.
She gave a faint smile but did not raise her eyes.
Kirby set down a tray, but he seemed more nervous than he had been this morning. He looked neither of them in the eye. He was neither friendly nor curious. Darcy wondered what might happen to the boy if Steamer or Markle suspected him of talking to them.
When the maid finished, Kirby let her pass, and before he locked the door, he turned back. Darcy watched him shift his feet and push up the sleeve of his too-long coat before whispering, “She took the laudanum?”
Darcy nodded, and Kirby blew out a relieved breath.
“Good. It would not do for my uncle to be cross with her.”
