She laughed, and there was a long pause. “There might be talk, Darcy,” she said slowly, “insinuations about an improper connexion between us because we were kidnapped together.”
“When you give an accounting of our kidnapping, you can leave out any mention of there being only one bed,” he said dryly.
When she neither laughed nor spoke, he added more seriously, “The sensation of our being kidnapped by smugglers, about your mistaken identity, will be what has everyone’s attention, not that we were alone together. The outrage over what happened to two respectable people will be what captures notice. There is no need for where we slept to become a general concern.”
He could mention that if there was any hint that her reputation was forfeit because she was held in the company of a single man, or that she was alone with a gang of kidnappers, he would marry her and damn anyone who spoke against her.
Of course, I would marry her anyway.
Darcy’s heart beat faster at the thought of her being his wife, or holding her against him, feeling her arms around his neck again, and her lips moving gently over his. He longed to knowfor certain if she could love him, but now they were too weary for such a conversation.
Elizabeth yawned and then said, “I can honestly say that as long as we are unharmed, I could not care less about what anyone whispers. But it would hurt you if there is disparaging talk about your character.”
“People like gossip if it hurts someone, Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “and no mention that we were kidnapped together would hurt me. Besides, after an experience like this, our safety and happiness are more important to me than a few whispers by a tiresome society gossip trying to create a scandal where clearly none exists.”
“Are we really safe, Darcy?” she said into the dark.
He knew she was not talking about safeguarded reputations or safe from gossip. Steamer might not have been injured after all and be briskly walking toward Dartford now. Kirby might admit immediately to Markle where they were. He turned on his side to face her back and moved a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “For now.”
Elizabeth reached back her hand, and Darcy took it. And when she tugged him nearer, Darcy shifted closer, wrapped his body around hers, and linked their fingers together. It felt like such a natural course of events to fall asleep with Elizabeth in his arms. His heart beat a little fast at her wanting the same thing.
But she might not be as ready to give in to their mutual attraction as he was.
He would have to risk his heart and ask her what she wanted. When this entire kidnapping matter was closed, when she was with her family and could think clearly, he would ask her again to marry him.
“I still don’t know whether to feel afraid or relieved,” she whispered.
All amorous wishes were driven away at the tension in her voice. “Both, I think. That is how I feel.” The sensation of pushing a knife blade into another person would long stay with him, but he would do it again without hesitation. “In a few hours, we will be far from here, and everything about this will be a painful memory.”
“Except for us being together.”
“Is that because I agreed that your plan of escape was better than mine?”
She gave a little laugh, as he had hoped. “I am not sure what I would have done if you were not with me.”
“That is not something you ever have to worry about,” he whispered roughly.
Elizabeth yawned again, and then brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his palm.
Darcy kissed her hair before giving her hand a squeeze and falling asleep.
When Elizabeth awoke,stretching her arms over her head and blinking at the sunlight, she had a moment of contentment before panic took its place. Darcy was gone. She leapt from the bed as a bolt of fear coursed through her.
“Darcy?” she called to the empty room.
She went to the window overlooking the courtyard, but, being Sunday, the typically noisy and busy yard was silent. She rushed to find her watch, the chain slipping through her fumbling fingers. It was eight in the morning; where could he have gone?
Gradually, her breathing slowed, and her heartbeat calmed. There was a sensible explanation. Darcy had likely gone to findpaper and ink and someone to send a note to Colonel Fitzwilliam at Hunsford.
Elizabeth drew in a breath and slowly let it out as she sat on the bed. There was no reason at all to go to pieces. He would never have left her. Darcy had not been out of her sight for two days, and she missed him. Not simply was his absence noted because they had not been ten feet apart since this began, but she missed talking with him whenever she wished.
Wherever he was, did it feel strange to him to be apart, or did he welcome finally having a moment alone? Typically, she would be delighted to have a moment of privacy, the chance for inward reflection and quiet. But in this moment, she wanted Darcy here. They were safe now, and she wanted to enjoy that feeling with him before they returned home.
Falling asleep with his chest to her back was almost as lovely a feeling as kissing him.
But a kiss was not a vow; several heart-stopping kisses were not a vow. Darcy was the last man in the world who would give any woman the idea of his feeling more for her than he really did. He still loved her, but did she love him in return? What other name could she give to what she felt for him?
But did Darcy condemn his father’s godson to penury out of jealousy?
