“Yes,” she mumbled, almost as stunned as he that she had done it. A bleary question raised a nervous hand: “Was that… expensive?”
“Priceless.”
Elizabeth flinched and looked up to see if he was angry. Darcy met her eyes, and he was smiling.
Smiling!
“Thank you, my angel.” he slurred.
Taking a few unsteady steps towards her, Darcy caught Lizzie up in the clumsiest hug she had ever felt. For a few moments she breathed slowly, feeling his heart racing against her chest and his warmth finally thawing the icy stone in her stomach. She leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing, and wrapped her arms around his back. Then Darcy swayed, and all of his weight fell onto the slight woman whom he held.
Lizzie yelped and managed to pry one of his hands lose so she could shove him back onto his own feet. “Please, Darcy… I am just as dizzy as you, and only half as strong! If you want to fall down, then at least do it somewhere soft!”
Darcy mumbled something and drew back. His fury had left him, and all that was left was boyish fragility. He looked at Elizabeth with wide eyes, then staggered backwards towards the bed. Lizzie could not free herself from his hold around her wrist and followed with a few inelegant stumbles of her own.
They fell onto the bed together, with Darcy beneath and Elizabeth lying against his chest. Elizabeth nervously told him that at least they had fallen the right way around - or she might have been flattened! Darcy laughed softly, and Elizabeth heard it rumbling in his chest. Then he was silent, holding her tightly, and she could hear the deep thud of his heartbeat.
“I missed you, angel.” he murmured, “I missed you so much.”
“Did you miss arguing with me, sir?”
Again, he laughed and fell silent.
Despite her drunkenness, Elizabeth was embarrassingly aware of how close she was to the man she had been dreaming about for weeks. Every joint in her body seemed to have locked, but every muscle felt limp. She could not find the strength to push herself out of his arms, but what of it? She had no wish to. Her skin tingled pleasantly wherever he touched her. His fingers wove in and out of her hair, pulling and caressing, clumsy yet gentle, and sometimes he murmured her name without thinking.
Elizabeth cuddled closer, resting her dizzy head on Darcy’s chest. She wanted to see what expression he wore, but when she made the attempt, she had to squeeze her eyes shut at once.
“The room is spinning.” she mumbled blearily.
“You drank too much.” he replied softly, slurring the words, “It will pass.”
“Good. How could you stand feeling like this all the time?”
Darcy shrugged. Elizabeth groaned when the movement jolted her head off its resting spot.
“Stop moving! It’s your fault that I’m dizzy. The least you could do is be a well-behaved pillow.”
“I apologise.” his voice was gentle, his fingers slowly caressing her hair, “Go to sleep, my love.”
Her eyes had been sliding shut, but at those words she tensed. They made soft warmth burn in her veins. It was not the heat she often felt with her husband, but a sweet and delicate candle that needed only the tiniest flame to cast golden light.
He loves me. He said he loves me.
Elizabeth sighed and nestled closer, breathing in the scent of him, and a second thought made her smile against Darcy’s chest.
I finally said it, too.
Chapter 27
Elizabeth woke up alone. She blinked blearily at the unfamiliar room for a moment and then remembered why she was there. Rolling away from the window and the punishing winter sunlight, she groaned and held her head.
One eye opened a sliver. The other one grudgingly followed, complaining emphatically the whole time. Lizzie stared at the bedding in front of her for a long time before comprehending that it was empty. Gasping, she sat bolt upright.
Where was he? She had promised so faithfully to stay with him, the second time they had fallen asleep. He had been afraid of his own stubborn pride. It would easily march him into the nearest town for a drink. It had happened before. Elizabeth was his tether. She had promised, and now he was gone.
Elizabeth climbed out of bed and blearily noticed she was still wearing her stockings. When she looked at her feet the shards on the floor swam into focus. The smell of spilled port was nauseating, and her stomach made an awful curdling groan. Elizabeth staggered to the window and wrenched it open, taking big gulps of cold air.
Had she really thrown the decanter? Had sheshouted?Everything from the day before was a drunken blur, and shecould only remember parts of it. More pieces arrived with each breath, as if the fresh air was chasing the fumes away.
