"Elizabeth."
She ought to have straightened. She ought at least to have asked him to call for a maid or one of Mr Bingley’s sisters. Instead, her fingers curled into his lapel and she sagged against the solid length of him, no longer able to hold herself upright.
"She is well," she whispered again.
"Yes." His voice was low against her hair. "She is well."
The tears came then, not violently but in a warm, helpless rush. Mr Darcy gathered her closer, one hand spreading across her back as though he might shield her from the events of the past few days. She could feel his breath stirring the curls at her temple and the faint pressure of his cheek against the top of her head.
"I thought I might lose her."
"I know, my darling. You did not. You will not."
His arms tightened around her, and for several moments he simply held her in the quiet passage while she wept against his chest. Elizabeth had never allowed herself to lean upon anyone so completely. There was something almost frightening in the ease with which her body yielded to his strength, but she could summon no desire to pull away.
When her knees weakened again, Mr Darcy bent and lifted her into his arms. The movement was so effortless that Elizabeth did not understand what was happening until she was suspended in the air, his arm beneath her knees and another supporting her back. Her hands went instinctively around his neck, bringing her face close to his. His expression was grave with concern, though there was a tenderness in his eyes that made her breath catch.
"Mr Darcy," she murmured. "Someone may see us."
"I do not care," he said matter of factly. He simply adjusted her more securely against him, his thumb brushing the fabric at her waist, and carried her down the passage.
Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder. Each step brought the gentle movement of his body beneath hers and the warmth of him seeped through her gown. She knew she should protest, but the steady circle of his arms felt like the safest place she had ever known. He carried her into her chamber and pushed the door closed with his foot. Only when he reached the bed did he hesitate, looking down at her as though reluctant to set her beyond his reach.
"I am quite able to sit on the bed, sir," she said, though the words were little more than a murmur against his chest. The faintest smile touched his mouth. He lowered her carefully onto the bed, one hand remaining behind her shoulders until he was certain she was steady. When he began to withdraw, Elizabeth's arms refused to be parted from him and she found herself gripping his cravat, pulling his face close to hers. She was close enough to see the darker rim around his eyes and the shadow of weariness upon his face. This dear, dear man who cared so deeply and had watched over her for days while asking nothing of her.
The impropriety of the situation struck her all at once. They were alone in her chambers with the door closed. This was madness. Elizabeth tried to free her hand. "I beg your pardon."
Mr Darcy caught her fingers before she could pull away and held them against his chest. "Do not." The roughness in his voice made her look at him. For one suspended moment, neither moved. Then another shiver passed through her and his expression altered. "You must rest," he said firmly.
"I do not wish to be alone." The admission escaped before she could stop it. A flush rose to her face, but Mr Darcy's hand closed more firmly around hers.
"You are not alone."
He sat beside her and drew her gently towards him. Elizabeth offered no resistance as he settled back against the headboard and arranged her against his chest, one arm curved around her waist and the other supporting her shoulders. Her head came to rest beneath his chin, her cheek pressed to the soft folds of his cravat.
"This is terribly improper," she whispered.
"Isn’t it wonderful?" he said with a lightness that drew a small giggle from her, tired as she was.
She felt a chuckle rumble through his chest. "I find I care very little for propriety when it requires me to leave you exhausted and alone."
The intensity in his face stole her reply. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and his hand rose to smooth a loose curl from her cheek. His fingers lingered there, warm against her skin. Elizabeth turned her face into his palm. Darcy drew a sharp breath. His thumb moved once across her cheekbone, so gently that the touch was almost reverent, before he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead.
The tenderness of it undid her. She tucked herself closer, slipping one arm around his waist, and felt his hold tighten at once. His hand moved slowly along her back, soothing rather than demanding, while her breathing began to match the deep, steady rhythm of his own.
"She is well," Elizabeth said once more, the words muffled against him.
"She is well."
"And you will remain until I wake?"
His lips brushed her hair and he inhaled deeply. "Nothing could persuade me to leave."
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She could hear his heart beneath her ear and feel the warmth of his hand resting at her waist,his thumb tracing small, absent movements through the fabric of her gown. The last of the fear slowly loosened its hold upon her. Just before sleep claimed her, she felt his mouth touch her temple. Then his arms closed more securely around her, and Elizabeth allowed herself to rest.
Chapter Eighteen
Caroline, October 1811, Netherfield, Hertfordshire
