“I long for all to be concluded, that we may discover the truth and Miss Henry’s share in this design. I wish her gone forever from his life, whether she plays a principal part or but a slight one in this strange drama acted about Richard.”
“You must cease to be so angry,” Elizabeth pleaded. “I feel your anger in my heart as if it were a dagger.”
“I cannot, when, at the very time we ought to enjoy our happiness, we are to hasten a hundred miles to save Richard from her.”
Yet it was never long before Elizabeth’s smile drove most of the worries from his mind.
Despite her protest, Darcy drew near, eager to press his lips to hers. “Cease your struggling,” he said, holding her fast. “I cannot remain away from you.”
“Behave yourself, sir; someone may come in at any instant,” she ordered, yet her tone was more an invitation than a reproof.
“And that person will find me kissing my betrothed.”
“Yet it may ruin my reputation—”
“I shall marry you in any case,” he said with playful gravity. “Indeed, with your reputation ruined, I shall be the only one willing to marry you.”
“Stop this nonsense, Fitzwilliam!”
But he could not, for it was the first time she had called him so.
Even when close to him, she had the power to say, “Let us be seated. We must speak of our journey.”
“We shall have abundant time tomorrow in the carriage, and it is needful besides that your uncle should hear the plan,” he murmured half thoughtfully in her ear, making her tremble and forget all else.
His lips sought hers after every answer, until at last she remained quietly in his arms, her gaze fixed upon him.
“You asked me to be your wife,” she whispered.
“I remember,” he said softly at her ear, while his lips traced the tempting line that followed the neckline of her gown.
“Stop,” she said, though it was more entreaty than command.
“You do not wish me to stop.”
It was true; yet neither could she allow him to proceed. “Stop; we must speak of the wedding.”
Curiously, that subject checked him at once, as though he were eager to discuss it.
“Why are you so angry?” she asked again, when he had seated himself in an armchair.
“You made me stop because you wished to speak of our wedding,” he replied.
“I wish you would first tell me the truth. I must know the real dangers of this affair, for I must prepare with care what I am to say to the colonel.”
Darcy regarded her with tenderness. He could scarcely believe that, only weeks before, he had been so foolish as to hesitate to marry her. He was glad of his aunt’s approval, yet he understood that in the end, he required no one’s approval. Elizabeth was the woman for him—not only beautiful beyond measure, but a lady of firm character, lively intelligence, and quick discernment.
“As we speak, there are at least three men in the Tower guilty of crimes less than that of which my cousin may be accused.”
“In the Tower?” Elizabeth cried in dismay. “But that must mean—”
“Precisely. It means death.”
He saw her grow pale and lay a hand upon her heart.
“My God.”
“It is called treason, my love, and the Regent does not trifle with such a charge in time of war—nor at any time.”
