Page 22 of Triumph at Pemberley

“Something like that would be beyond price,” he argued. “Why would she give it to you?”

“I…” She looked lost, and then her eyes seemed to lose their focus. Was she speaking to her dragon, right in the middle of an important conversation?

Did she not trust him, after all this time? After all, she had hidden this from him. What was she thinking?

Coquelicot entered his thoughts. Cerridwen asks me to tell you there is a binding in play.

A binding. Of course. That would explain why she was being so evasive. Some of the tension left his shoulders, but it was still frustrating. He was tired of dragons deciding what he and his wife could talk about. What other secrets might she be keeping? “I see,” he said slowly. “Why does she think you need protection?” Was his wife in greater danger than they knew?

Elizabeth looked down, clearly unhappy. “She was not thinking about that when she gave it to me. I bonded to it without meaning to, and that made it worthless to her. Cerridwen is trying to find out more about it, beyond the little Chandrika knows.”

And with that he had to be satisfied. If it helped Elizabeth in some way, he would be glad of it.

Chapter 9

The steps into Darcy House seemed steeper than usual, but Jack did not hesitate. He wanted to get inside and be alone. Roderick had insisted on bringing him to his door after his efforts using the King’s Bond, and the worst part was he was not wrong to do it. Jack had come off battlefields after fighting all day feeling stronger than this. And less uncertain.

He headed straight to the drawing room where he knew a decanter of port would be waiting for him. He could have taken over Will’s study for his own use, he supposed, but somehow that felt wrong. He sprawled on the sofa with a glass in his hand.

Had he really spent the day raising earthworks single-handedly? It was the stuff of storybooks.

“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” came Mrs. Hartung’s lightly accented voice. “I hope you are well. Or perhaps you prefer to be alone?”

“No, pray join me.” And suddenly he did not want to be alone at all, as long as she was the one with him. “How are the children?”

“They have discovered your attic is a fine place for hide-and-seek.” She handed him a fresh glass of port from the decanter. Their fingers brushed lightly, and she looked startled. With a slight frown, she rang the bell. “You need some sweetened tea and cakes instead. I fear you have been overusing your Talent.”

Startled, he asked, “How can you tell?”

“I could feel it on you. It is part of my healing ability.”

A footman came in, and she relayed the request for the tea tray.

Perhaps he should trust her judgement. “It might be a good idea. I was only using land Talent today, but I might have overdone it.” Or perhaps the King’s Bond might be different. On an impulse, he admitted in a low voice, “In truth, I have no idea what I was doing, and they expect miracles from me.”

She nodded. “I have only the small Talent for healing, yet people always hope for more than I can provide. Your brother was gracious about it, when I saved his arm, but he lost most of the use of it. Others have not been so kind.”

Lost the use of it? Then he remembered rescuing William from the French prison, with one arm helpless. He had forgotten about it after Coquelicot intervened. “He has regained most of it, after a dragon healing.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I am so glad! He was brave and stoic about it, but I could tell it distressed him.”

“Any healing is better than none,” he said. “Were you trained to use your Talent?”

Her expression grew distant. “To a degree. My mother brought in a healer to work with me, and my sister and I had – I suppose you could call it tutoring about other uses of Talent. It was not for my sort of gift, though.”

“No one taught me anything. I always had the potential for magery, but I never developed it until I bonded to a dragon. Even then, I only used it to speak to him. Until just recently, when….” He stopped abruptly.

She patted his hand. “You need not tell me anything you are not comfortable with. All men have secrets.”

“It is not that. I…” He might not have to explain, but for some reason he wanted to. “It is… I… Oh, damn it! Forgive my language, I beg you. Can you keep a secret?”

She smiled. “Your brother’s life once depended upon my ability to do so.”

“He is not my brother,” he said abruptly. Damn it, he had not meant to start there! It was still such a tender point.

Her brow drew together. “But you said…”

“I know. I thought that myself until a month ago, when I learned I am in fact his cousin,” he said bitterly. “Of the not completely legitimate sort. His parents took me in as their own.” He waited for her to recoil from his bastard blood.