What he had felt when Balfour aimed at Elizabeth beggared description. It was near to what he had felt when he saw the body in the stream and thought it was her, but a thousand times more intense, a terror that nearly cut him to pieces from the inside out. “Good God, Fitzwilliam, what might Balfour have done if he knew I love her?”Might Balfour have held her hostage? Used her to bargain against his seeking justice for Carew? Shot her to distract him whilst he fled?
A more gruesome possibility occurred to him. “He might have been able to take both guns, kill us both, and with his charming manner convince everyone that it had been a lovers’ quarrel and that she and I killed each other.”
When Darcy blew out a breath and lifted his eyes, Fitzwilliam gave him a sympathetic look. He then rose with a weary sigh. “I must get to bed. Mrs Lanyon is still asleep, and when she wakes... well, there will be a great deal for her to hear.”
“Mrs Lanyon will need you,” Darcy said gently.
His cousin gave a little nod. “It will break her heart. She cannot have known about it, I am certain of it.”
“None of us knew.” How horrifying was that, that someone capable of murdering without remorse appeared the same as any other person in their circle?
“Whilst you are making statements to the magistrate, I shall comfort her as best I can. I suspect she shall want to leave?—”
The door opened, and Elizabeth rushed in. He ought to have stood to greet her, but he could not summon the strength. She was dressed for bed, and her lips were pressed tightly together, and she seemed to be thrumming with desperate energy.
Has she been waiting up all this time to see me alone, but could not wait a moment longer?
Darcy instinctively knew that what they both needed was to wrap their arms around one another. Whilst still looking at Elizabeth, he said to Fitzwilliam in a low voice, “Get out.”
“Now, a moment, Darcy. I am sure she only wanted to see for herself that you were well. Let me first make certain the corridor is empty so no one sees her leave your?—”
“Not her,” he said shortly, now looking at him. “You. Get out.”
His cousin tilted his head, then looked between him and Elizabeth, made a thoughtful sound before giving an embarrassed laugh, and gave Elizabeth a slight bow. When the latch clicked, Elizabeth ran across the room, leaving her wrapping gown and slippers on the floor as she climbed onto him, and tried to give him a passionate kiss. Hewinced, and Elizabeth gave his swollen lip a worried look before moving to kiss along his neck.
Weariness sapped his strength and fatigue dulled his senses, and for a long while he was passive as she kissed him and lifted off his shirt. Then he saw her eyes were filled with tears. Her whole expression, as she tossed his shirt to the floor, was anguished.
Even as she sat astride him to unfasten his trouser buttons, she was sniffling.
“Stop,” he said as she tried to push them down his hips. “Stop,” he said, more forcefully.
“Why?” Elizabeth dropped her hands and her shoulders fell. Tears were running down her cheeks.
“Because you are crying.”
She sniffed again, and Darcy brought his hands to either side of her face to wipe away her tears with his thumbs. “Come here.” He pulled her by her shoulders to rest her head against him. He could smell the sulphur of the black powder in her hair.
He held her tightly until her crying slowed. “I thought he would kill you,” she said into his neck. “He was angry and desperate and—” She broke off with another sob. “And you were going to let him shoot you!”
“I could not let him shootyou.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “I was afraid Balfour would kill you in his despair.” He had been absolutely sick with fear, and she had clearly felt the same. “What must you have felt when you ran into the gunroom!”
“I heard a noise and assumed that you had returned with Mr Balfour,” she said, still lying against him, “but I had no idea that you had fought over the gun and that I would see him aiming it at you.”
“You looked anxious, but you acted calmly the entire time,” he said, wanting to know what she had thought.
He felt her warm breath against him as she sighed. “I did not feel calm,” she said slowly, “and certainly not after I had only ten minutes before faced Mr Utterson in the drawing room. But I was resolved not to leave you, certainly not when I had a way to protect you.”
“Did you take the pistol from the gunroom earlier to follow me to Lambton?” He felt her nod.
“I knew you would be angry if I followed you, but it was foolish of you to confront him alone. I never should have let you go by yourself.”
He had been too worried that a crowd of outraged servants, tenants, and villagers would take justice into their own hands. “I ought to have guessed Balfour might become violent against me, considering what he had done to Carew. I just—I just could not comprehend the depths he had sunk to. You were very quick in the gunroom, dearest. I had not even noticed you had the small pistol up your sleeve. It was clever of you to distract him.”
“Clever!” she cried, sitting up to look at him. “I was not trying to be clever. I was trying to shoot him.”
Darcy thought of the lead ball embedded in the wall a foot higher and to the left of where Balfour had been standing. He was only spared further mischance because Elizabeth fired a pistol badly.
He dried her tears again and said, “Next time you ought to just take it by the barrel and throw it.” As he hoped, she laughed. “You might have better luck.”
