In the shadows of the alley, a figure waited for an opening. Phantomlike, it clung to the side of the building, blending in with the faded wooden slats. Following Wickham’s orders, Amelia Younge had tracked Darcy’s carriage back to the bookstore. She had seen him enter the alley and hide in the darkness created by the haphazard stacking of discarded boxes.
So when Darcy stepped out of his hiding place and fired on Wickham, Mrs. Younge reacted in the only way she knew. She attacked the assassin attempting to kill the man she had followed into hell. Like a wild animal, she charged forward, taking Darcy by surprise, clawing at his back and ripping his coat to shreds with just a few swipes.
Dropping the sword, Darcy hit the ground and rolled, trying to escape the claws and the fangs snapping at him with great force and speed. His face sustained a raking from the tips of her nails, but he fought on. Calling forth his own powers, he pushed against her chest, shoving the woman back far enough that he could extend his arms. Blue light streamed from him, wrapping the vampire with a force she had not expected.
Yet energized by her need to help Wickham, the lamia valiantly led another attack.Again, she pressed Darcy back, her fangs dangerously close to his neck and ear. He struggled to right himself, but
As they wrestled for control, neither Darcy nor Amelia Younge saw Elizabeth move; their struggle was too intense. Elizabeth grabbed the sword discarded during the battle and, with a sweep and a lunge—a perfect envelopment—she came down upon the woman with all her might.“No…o…o!” Elizabeth screamed as she thrust the sword through Mrs.Younge’s back, sending it all the way through the woman’s body.
A blood-curdling scream reverberated throughout the small space.With the evil released, the body of Amelia Younge shriveled, becoming an empty shell. The blood drained from her instantly, and her skin began to decay before their eyes.
Darcy scrambled to his feet, scooping the cowering Georgiana into his arms as he moved.“Hurry!” he called to Elizabeth over his shoulder.Without thinking, she hiked up her skirts to follow him, glancing back only long enough to see Wickham lean over Mrs. Younge’s festering body and then disappear in a puff of smoke.
Entering the nearly deserted street, Darcy bolted towards the waiting carriage, unceremoniously dumping Georgiana onto the floor of the coach before shoving Elizabeth in after her. Heaving his own scratched and bruised body onto the seat, he pounded on the roof, and the coach lurched forward, throwing Darcy and Elizabeth into each other’s arms. Righting himself, but not releasing Elizabeth, he called out, “Pick up Belton!” Then he turned his attentions to his wife, without whom, he would, undoubtedly, be dead. His hands slid up and down her arms—her back—searching—trying to assure himself of her safety.“Tell me that you are all right,” he demanded.
“I am,” Elizabeth said, her voice raspy.
The air rushed from him in relief.“Thank God.”
Then Darcy quickly untied Georgiana’s hands, and both he and Elizabeth helped her to a seat between them. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he massaged her wrists.
“I am well, dear brother,” she responded. “Thanks to you.”
Darcy cupped Elizabeth’s chin with his palm and, leaning across his sister, kissed his wife’s lips tenderly. “Thank you for saving both of us.”
Tears misted Elizabeth’s eyes as he pulled back to gaze at her. Georgiana sobbed, but Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “I could not become a widow so soon after my marriage,” she declared.“Nor could I lose a sister I had so recently gained.”
Georgiana released her hold on Elizabeth and sat back quietly in her seat. By and by, Elizabeth picked up Georgiana’s right hand and Fitzwilliam her left. All three held hands in silence—united as one, with one purpose—for the rest of the trip.
Arriving at Overton House, Darcy sent servants scrambling for the ladies’ pelisses and his overcoat before they departed the carriage. It was a façade of normalcy, played out for the benefit of the neighbors. What each of them wore under their outer garments might be tattered and torn—might be smudged with dirt and blood—but no one else would know.
He helped first his wife and then his sister depart the coach, and, leisurely, Darcy followed them into the interior of the house. They would deal with this together and in their own time. “Mr. Frasser, please have tea and some brandy sent up to Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room. And each of us would like a warm bath.” Elizabeth and Georgiana did not stop in the foyer. Instead, they ascended the main staircase, heading towards the personal quarters.We will need privacy after that. I will ring when we wish supper.” Both women turned towards Elizabeth’s suite of rooms.
“Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” The butler bowed as Darcy followed the women.
Elizabeth waited patiently for Darcy’s staff to set up the tub before the fireplace and bring in the water. Then she helped Georgiana undress for a bath. Neither woman wanted a maid’s service on that
As Elizabeth slid into the warm water laced with lavender oil, the realization of what she had done finally hit her. She submerged herself in the water, needing to wash away the horror, trying to make herself clean again. How long? she wondered. How long will it take before the mental images of this ghastly incident fade?Will they ever go away? The water washed over her, caressing every inch—invading every crevice; and she wanted to stay there forever—under the water—where purity still lived.
She counted. How long could she hold her breath? What would happen when she ran out of air? Would she shrivel up like the woman in the alley? Yet no matter how much she wanted to stay under the warm water—stay where sins were washed away—Elizabeth’s body forced her to come up, gulping for air, sputtering water. She pulled her hair away from her face and wiped the water from her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts, attempting to obliterate the images lodged behind her lids.
Then Elizabeth sat quietly in the lukewarm water, fingertips stroking her lips, seeing herself from a distant vantage point, stabbing the woman—again and again.
Painstakingly, Darcy completed his own ablutions.This evening he would go without the customary cravat and jacket, and opt instead for a loose-fitting shirt and waistcoat. His appearance was the least of his worries.
He, Elizabeth, and Georgiana had survived. Needing to reassure himself, Darcy moved towards his wife’s room. The thought of what had happened that day compelled him to be where she was—confirming she was safe.
Georgiana sat sipping tea in Elizabeth’s sitting room.“Where is she?” he demanded, too consumed by his fears to be his normally polite self.
“Elizabeth is bathing.” Georgiana did not look up, and he noted that she shivered.
Her distress pained him, and Darcy leaned over to caress her face and kiss the top of his sister’s head.“I am sorry,” he whispered before he moved on to find his wife. His need to see Elizabeth immediately outweighed even his duty to comfort his sister.
The screen blocked his view, but nothing moved in the water, and Darcy momentarily wondered if she was finished and dressed. Then he heard Elizabeth break the water’s surface. A quick intake of air and a choking gulp frightened him. He rushed forward, expecting to have to pull her from the tub. But as he reached the screen’s edge, Darcy held back. Elizabeth swept her hair from her face. Ringlets of auburn curls streamed down her back, but his wife did not move. Elizabeth sat in the cooling water, lost in thought.
Darcy could not disturb her. Instead, he enjoyed the view of Elizabeth’s nude body—the curve of her spine and the perfect swell of her hips.
Then Elizabeth began to sob.At first, he thought to let her have her cry—but then she purposefully submerged herself again. Her limbs twitched as Elizabeth mourned for someone she had not known, and she opened her mouth to let the sorrow out. Water rushed in, and Darcy moved immediately to halt her madness.
Hands reached into the tub, lifting her from a watery grave. She choked, coughed violently, and spit water. Darcy firmly pounded on her back, forcing her to spew the last of the liquid. Then
he pulled her to her feet, and, immediately, Elizabeth felt the warmth of a large towel surround her before Darcy lifted her from the tub.
Elizabeth tried to swallow—to clear the burn from her throat—to say something to him—but all she could do was to cough again before leaning against his chest—into his love—into his protection.
“I have you,” he murmured as he took another towel to help dry her.“I will never let you go.”
Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak, but thankful for the strength of his arms.
“Do not leave me, Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered close to her ear. “I cannot live without you.” Elizabeth nodded mutely. Darcy sat in
“Never,” she said as she kissed his lips, eager to be a part of him.
CHAPTER 15
Darcy lost track of how long he held her to him.The damp towel slid away from her back, and he knew nothing but the feel of Elizabeth’s skin on his fingertips. He caressed the smoothness of her spine, leaving a trail of fire along the curve of her back. “Fitzwilliam, ” she whispered as she showered feathery kisses along his chin line.
Darcy’s hands searched her body, needing desperately to possess her in every way. “You are exquisite,” he murmured as her body arched into his hand. The back of his hand brushed against her breast, and her nipple hardened instantly. “I want to make you mine,” he groaned.
“I want to be yours, Fitzwilliam,” she breathed.
Elizabeth’s surrender was a red flag. Darcy loosened his embrace, but he did not withdraw.“How—how could I?” he stammered. “How could I take the chance of turning my darling …my darling Elizabeth into the kind of beast we met today?” He lightly stroked her chin as he spoke, captivated by her nearness and appalled at what he desired.
“There is no way…no way our passion could produce evil,” she declared.
“My loveliest Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered. He traced her lips, wishing to return to them and to drink his fill.“What we possess is pure, so pure I cannot destroy it to satisfy my hunger.”
Darcy read the disappointment written on her face. He wondered for a moment if Elizabeth might actually love him. They never spoke of love—at least, not between them. Their story to everyone else was one of undying love for each other, but he and Elizabeth had never said such words. Did he love Elizabeth? Since he had met her, Darcy could not breathe unless she was close. his Elizabeth. Even though it was selfish of him,—for she deserved better—Darcy had never been happier since the day Elizabeth had appeared before him at the Meryton assembly. Aloud, he said,“It is time to dress for dinner, Elizabeth.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth blushed, pulling the towel closer to cover her nakedness. She tried to scramble to her feet, but Darcy caught her to him again.
“You know that your wishes are my own.” He kissed the top of her head, while playing with one of the rapidly drying ringlets of her hair.
Elizabeth sighed, as if accepting her fate. “We tarried too long.” Her voice held sadness, and Darcy felt his heart lurch with self-contempt.
Elizabeth moved away quickly.“I will need someone to lace my dress; possibly Georgiana would favor me.” She did not look back at him; he was too tempting. Instead, she slipped behind another screen to don her undergarments.
“I will send Georgiana in.” Darcy’s eyes followed his wife’s retreat. It hurt to think he embarrassed her with his actions. He needed to get his emotions under control; yet unfortunately, where Elizabeth was concerned, he showed little restraint.
As she stepped behind the screen, Elizabeth’s distress was acute. Her hands shook and her knees nearly buckled. When she was near Darcy, she surrendered to her basic need for him. His touch—his well-being—only those things possessed her. Is this love?
She was married to one of the wealthiest men in England. She had exceeded everyone’s highest expectations, but she wanted more. Elizabeth wanted Darcy’s heart. I love him. Elizabeth wanted Darcy to love her as much as she surely loved him.
“Elizabeth,” Georgiana’s soft voice came from the other side of the screen.“Fitzwilliam sent me to help.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and reached for her chemise. “I will be out in a moment, Georgiana.”
Wickham crawled through the window on Edward Street. He could not stay there for long, but it would be a day or two before Darcy would come; and Wickham knew, at last, Darcy would come. The man would no longer accept Wickham’s intrusions without a response. Since Darcy had connected with Elizabeth Bennet, the man was uncannily lucky.That day, Darcy and his new wife had worked in tandem to defeat poor Amelia and seriously weaken him.
Elizabeth Darcy’s mumblings had seemed to be nonsense until her last pronouncement had sent him flying through the air like a kite caught by a swift breeze. How in the name of all that is evil did she know what to say? Even he had not known a reversal would have such a profound effect! Wickham laughed bitterly at the irony. Are the fortunes of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy intermingled with my own, our destinies intertwined? He snorted at the distasteful thought.
Wickham settled himself in the room in which he had previously slept.The bullet Darcy had fired had lodged in his shoulder, but the rejuvenating powder of his father’s ashes and the earth from his homeland would heal that wound quickly. Fortunately, Elizabeth Darcy’s incantation had sent him sliding down the wall before Darcy fired. If his enemy had taken the time to aim at his heart, he might have suffered a different outcome.
Lying back on the bed,Wickham contemplated his next move. He had to find a way to stop Elizabeth Darcy’s influence over her husband.What could he do to make her turn against the man she had married? What could he do to force Elizabeth Darcy to either turn from the man or, at a minimum, refuse to help him any longer? Wickham’s success depended on his separating the Darcys. Together, they were too powerful.
As he closed his eyes and welcomed a restorative sleep, his mind filled with images of the past few weeks. Suddenly, an idea surfaced—one so brilliant that he congratulated himself on it. He was still an officer in the militia—a very agreeable young officer, by all not love Elizabeth Bennet, but married her only because his presence in the same room with her threatened her good reputation.
Such thoughts allowed Wickham to relax. It would be easier to drive them apart if Darcy had married Elizabeth Bennet out of duty, rather than out of love. Their union simply needed a reason for a withdrawal.Taking one of Mrs. Darcy’s sisters as a replacement for Amelia Younge could be the perfect revenge on Elizabeth Darcy for her interference with his mission; plus, it was an inventive way to deny Fitzwilliam Darcy the one thing he most needed: his wife.Wickham had made his decision—he would travel to Meryton on the morrow.
Elizabeth and Georgiana joined Darcy in the sitting room; Darcy ordered fresh tea, and then they were alone.They sat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes before Darcy found his voice. “We need to discuss what happened today.”
“I do not think I can,” Georgiana protested.
Elizabeth moved to the mahogany desk. “Of course, you can, Georgiana,” she asserted as she took the chair behind it. “There is but one way to end this madness, and that is to consult together. I am more determined than ever to finish what we began.” She took out several sheets of paper from the drawer and prepared her pen. “I propose we organize what we know about George Wickham—what works and what does not work against the wretched fiend.”
“Please start with your thoughts, Elizabeth.” Darcy stood to pace. He thought best on his feet.“How did the two of you come
Elizabeth looked imploringly at Georgiana, and Darcy’s sister reluctantly began her tale of injuring her foot and of Wickham’s abduction.“I am sorry I did not react when he first appeared; I am helpless.”Tears formed in the girl’s eyes.
“You are not helpless!” Elizabeth declared vehemently.“You are young.And you did what was necessary to survive.”
“Your courage, Elizabeth, gave me hope.”
Elizabeth shot a furti
ve glance at Darcy.“That was not courage, Georgiana.That was faith in your brother’s protection.”
“How did you know Fitzwilliam was there?You could not have seen him from where you stood.”
“I knew,” Elizabeth said softly. “I knew your brother would come for us, and I sensed his presence.We have a deep connection. I have no other way of explaining it.”
Darcy cleared his throat self-consciously. “In the alleyway… what was that you chanted?” he asked.
“Georgiana and I visited the same bookstore that I was at the other day. We found several books dealing with spiritualism and with Celtic tales. One mentioned saying the vampire’s name backwards. I was desperate for ways to stall until you arrived, so I tried it. When I reversed the name George Wickham, nothing happened. Finally, I remembered that name was not his real name.” Elizabeth recorded something on the paper as she spoke.
“What are you writing?” Georgiana asked curiously.
Elizabeth looked up from her task. “I want to write down everything that seems pertinent to Wickham.We can add information found in the books.That way, maybe we can solve the puzzle of how to defeat him.”
“Then add the iron cross,” Georgiana said, brightening.
“The iron retards Wickham’s efforts,” Elizabeth observed,“but it does not stop him or kill him.”
Georgiana thought aloud, “Was that why you begged me to also believe in Fitzwilliam and in you?”
“I suspect the power of the crucifix lies mostly in our belief—
Stunned by his wife’s analysis, Darcy paused in his pacing. “If what you say is true, then we must discover what Wickham believes in.Your theory makes sense; two hundred years ago, Christian ideas readily mixed with tales of the supernatural.Why did I not see that before? Elizabeth, you are brilliant.”
Elizabeth’s eyes softened. “I do believe we previously approached this the wrong way.” Elizabeth’s voice held her anticipation. “If we discover what protects Wickham, we can use it against him.”
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