by Hahn, Jan
At last, seemingly content that he had done what he could for the man, Mr. Darcy returned to the cave opening and washed his hands anew in the rainfall.
I marvelled with what skill he had cared for him, how he had taken command of the situation and done what was best. With mortification I thought of how unreasonable my idea had been. It would have been foolish, indeed, to send him off in the storm searching for a way out of that forest in the dark. My emotions had caused me to demand the impossible while his calm, rational manner had provided the best solution.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, as he sat down beside me, and stretched his hands out to the warmth of the fire.
“Yes,” I murmured.
“Good. ’Twill not do to have two patients on my hands.”
I looked up to see a friendlier manner about his eyes.
“Mr. Darcy, I must ask you to forgive me. I fear that my alarm caused me to make foolish requests. I defer to your better judgment, and I am grateful for what you have done. If Morgan lives through the night, it will be due to your skill and wisdom.”
“You must prepare yourself, Elizabeth, for the eventuality that he may not live.”
I nodded.
“Will your heart survive if he does not?”
My heart! “I . . . I do not understand what you mean, sir.”
He averted his face and stared into the fire. “I sensed . . . an attraction between you and Morgan. Am I correct?”
“You are incorrect! I am in no danger of a broken heart, whatever his outcome. I do feel for him — one could hardly refrain from doing so — but it is nothing more than pity. I cannot help but sympathize with the injury he has suffered. That does not mean that I condone the unwise choices he has made. No, Mr. Darcy, you are mistaken as to any attraction between us.”
“Partly, perhaps.”
“Do you not believe me? Would you accuse me of dishonesty?”
“I believe you are as truthful as you can be. You, however, may not know the true depth of your feelings. As for Morgan, I know he is enamoured.”
My face began to burn and not from the heat of the diminishing fire.
“You say that you do not return such feelings,” he said, “but then why in blazes, may I ask, did I arrive to find you singing to him while his head rested in your lap?”
It was his countenance that burned now, aflame with anger and — could it be jealousy? Had Mr. Darcy play-acted the role of husband so long that he now believed he had that right?
“I tried to soothe him. He was feverish and restless, out of his head for the most part, and I sang simply to ease him somewhat.”
“That tune sounded oddly familiar. It seems that I recall hearing the faintest snatches of it last evening when I listened at the door while you had dinner with Morgan. You then returned in tears and refused to tell me what had transpired. What is it you are hiding? Did the man make advances toward you?”
I closed my eyes in regret and resignation. He insisted on hearing the story, and eventually I gave in, telling him how Morgan had demanded that I sing and dance with him. He was angry that I suffered such humiliation, but he continued to probe, asking leading questions until he asked the one query I hated to answer.
“Did Morgan make love to you?”
When I told Mr. Darcy that the highwayman tried but that I rebuffed him, he rose and began to pace the short circumference of the cave.
At long last, he stilled and stood peering out into the rain. Almost at that very moment, the small fire consumed the final twig, flaring up for a moment only to vanish, plunging our shelter into darkness. A strong gust of wind blew in, and I shivered, pulling my coat closer.
“Well, that is the end of our fire,” he said, turning back to face me. “The night is growing colder quickly. Should you not replace your shoes?”
I agreed if he would grant me privacy. While he turned his back, I scrambled to pull on my stockings and shoes. Although my feet still hurt, I was glad to see that the brief absence of wearing boots had allowed the swelling to subside somewhat.
We discussed the best place for me to sleep, agreeing that the back of the cave would be most protected from the elements. He then checked on our patient once again, felt his forehead, and placed his ear upon his chest to make sure he breathed.
“He is still feverish but, fortunately for him, in a deep sleep.”
Mr. Darcy then announced that he would remain near Morgan in case he grew restless during the night. I wondered how he would face the cold with his greatcoat lost in the briar patch.
“Sir, how shall you stay warm? You have nothing with which to cover yourself.”
He rubbed his hands together. “I fear it will be a long night.”
For some reason I could not bear the thought of Mr. Darcy shivering through the night, cold and wet while I wore a warm coat. All through this ordeal, he had done much for me. Why, a lesser man might have abandoned me to the highwaymen while Mr. Darcy went out of his way to protect me. What could I do to help him keep warm?
Of a sudden, a shocking thought crossed my mind! Did I dare give voice to it?
I swallowed twice before speaking. “You must — well, that is — why not allow me to share my coat with you tonight, for you could grow ill with the mere protection of a redingote?”
He immediately refused, protesting that my pelisse was much too small for the two of us.
“But your clothing is quite damp from your walk through the rain,” I replied, “making you easily susceptible to a dangerous chill. I insist that you be sensible, for I cannot care for two patients either!”
“I am only a bit damp, not wet through. I reached the cave before the rain descended in earnest. I shall be well.”
I knew that was not true, that once again he was putting my interests before his own. “I cannot rest unless you agree to share my coat.”
He looked at me in amazement. “Elizabeth, it simply will not do. We . . . well, we would be forced to lie — that is, to be exceedingly close together in order to share such a narrow little coat, for your figure is light and pleas — ” He cleared his throat. “I could not impose upon you.”
I sighed deeply. “Have we not shared a blanket three nights, sir? I believe I know you well enough to be assured you are not a man who takes advantage of a woman. It is not an imposition. I insist. I do not need to lie down. Can we not sleep sitting up?” I motioned toward an area in the rear of the enclosure. “Why not over here with our backs against the cave wall.”
In the dim light, I could just make out the sceptical look in his eyes and the way his chest heaved as he sighed. “Very well, but I suggest we sit nearer Morgan. If he becomes restless or worsens during the night, one of us will awaken.”
And so it came about that, somewhat awkwardly, we sat down, Mr. Darcy placing himself on the side closest to Morgan. I had unbuttoned my coat, removed it, and now opened it up to spread over the two of us. I quickly felt the lack of my petticoat, for the cold penetrated my muslin gown and undergarments. I shivered and drew up my knees so that they might benefit from the wrap.
Mr. Darcy was right, however, about the insufficiency of the garment. It covered neither of us. No matter how we turned it about, the wool pelisse was simply too small.
He pressed his lips together, looked around, and then once more cleared his throat.
“I trust you understand, Miss Bennet, that I am not attempting liberties, but if you would turn a bit more toward me and, uh, allow me to place my arm . . . here behind your head — ” He gently slipped his arm around my shoulders, also turning toward me and drawing me into an embrace. “There. Now, rest your knees against my leg. Is that — is that too distressing?”
“No.” For some reason, I was unable to manage more than a whisper.
“And if you — well, if you care to — you might lay your head on my shoulder.” He slipped his other arm around my waist and pulled me even closer. “Now, are you warmer?”
“Yes,” I whispered ag
ain. I wondered if anyone’s skin had ever literally caught fire from the heat of a man’s arm. If not, mine might be the first.
“And your coat now covers more of both of us. That is much better, so let us try to sleep. Good night, Elizabeth.”
I could not answer. Every part of my body felt as though it were aflame! Never had I felt this way before — not when any young man had held my hand or briefly touched my waist when dancing, certainly not when Sneyd had clasped me to him in that vile, repulsive way, and not even when Morgan had held me against his wildly beating heart.
It was a familiar feeling, akin to the sensation I had experienced when Mr. Darcy held me last night, but now magnified a thousand times. This embrace was all encompassing, for I very nearly sat in his lap.
Not only could I feel the taut strength of his body, but the smooth power of his shoulder on which I lay, and the hypnotic rhythm beating in his strong chest beneath my cheek. My forehead nestled into his neck now exposed by his open shirt and the earthy, heady scent of his skin pervaded my senses. How could I find it pleasing when he had not washed in days?
What was happening to me?
“And Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” I said, breathlessly.
“Do not fear the arrival of Morgan’s men tonight. I have his gun and knife within reach.”
“Thank you, sir. That is most reassuring.”
How I lied! Reassurance was not what I felt at all!
If truth were told, I did not fear what lay without that cave. I feared what lay within . . . and most of all, what had taken hold of my heart.
Chapter Eight
If I live to be a woman of great age, so old that the majority of my memory fades, I shall never forget that night I spent in the cave with Mr. Darcy — or the morning after.
More than once during those dark, bitter hours, Mr. Darcy arose to tend Morgan. Bathing the highwayman’s face anew each time did little to lessen his fever, but it seemed to comfort him and ease his restless thrashing about. Upon each occurrence, I scarcely awakened — I admit this to my shame — but dozed against the cave wall, missing the comfort of Mr. Darcy’s warmth. With his every return, I gladly opened my coat, hurriedly cuddled close to him, and welcomed his strong, consoling embrace.
Evidently, some hours before daylight, the rain ceased, leaving a raw dampness in the air that seemed to permeate my bones. That time before dawn has always proved to be my deepest sleep, and fortunately, it did the same for our patient, for he did not awaken us for some time. The dimmest glimmer of sunrise filtered into my sleep-addled senses before I struggled toward wakefulness.
When I did open my eyes, I was amazed to discover that I lay across Mr. Darcy’s chest, my mouth against his face, his arms clasped tightly around my back and waist! I thought it was but a dream — that I could not possibly have slipped into that position. The last I remembered, we had been sitting up, and now it seemed we had slid down upon the floor of the cave.
As I attempted to lift my head, my lips brushed against his cheek. Instinctively, he turned toward me, his eyes still closed. Before I knew what had happened, I found his mouth upon mine, his lips searching, pressing more and more until . . . my own lips parted. Deliciously, he began to kiss me with an increasing, intoxicating fervour. I felt helpless and could do nothing other than respond in kind. Still drugged in the early haze of sleep and drowning in this unexpected, pervasive passion, I felt my mouth go soft and slack, surrendering to his provocative exploration.
His arms tightened around me, and he began stroking my back, one hand finding its way to the back of my neck. I became conscious that my own fingers now tangled among his curls, caressing the silky strands again and again.
“Well, seems I was mistaken.”
The sound of that statement jarred my senses as though a wild animal screamed in my ear. Immediately I awakened fully, as did Mr. Darcy! Opening his eyes, he gazed at me, as shocked as if he saw a spirit. Quickly we released each other, turning toward the voice. We sat up to see that Morgan was conscious — all too conscious it would appear.
“And here I thought you didn’t care for him, Elizabeth. Won’t be the first time a pretty face fooled me. Hate to interrupt, but I’m bedevilled with a powerful thirst.” He still remained on the floor where he had lain all night, although he had now turned his face toward us.
Mr. Darcy jumped up, raked a hand through his hair, and straightened his waistcoat. He picked up the pitcher of water and took it to Morgan. Although the man could talk, he was still too weak to lift his head and had to rely upon Mr. Darcy for aid.
I, too, quickly rose and self-consciously attempted to smooth my skirt and hair. It was a hopeless task, however, and I donned my pelisse to cover my wrinkled clothing.
Unable to face either man, I walked to the mouth of the cave and stepped outside. The ground was soaked, the leaves on the trees laden with remnants of last night’s raindrops. The approaching sunrise made them twinkle and sparkle like fairy lights. The wind had ceased, and although it was cold, the world seemed suddenly brand new.
Or was it my life that was brand new?
My lips still throbbed with the memory of his kiss, and surely I glowed from head to toe. How had such a thing happened? Why had he kissed me? And even more important, why had I kissed him back? Could I be in love with Mr. Darcy? Did that explain this tempest running amok within my heart?
Before I could think clearly, he stood beside me. I turned expectantly, but I did not know whether to smile or speak. What anticipation did he hold? He met my eyes briefly, and I was stunned to see the tortured expression therein before he turned away.
“Miss Bennet — Elizabeth, I . . . I hardly know what to say. I do not know what possessed me to forget myself in that manner. I can only ask you to forgive me. I never should have — if I had been more awake — ” He sighed deeply. “I am floundering. I pray you understand it was all a mistake.”
Mistake! He thought our kiss a mistake?
His words could not have stung more if he had struck me. My heart fell to my feet, and I forced myself not to sway visibly. Tears misted my vision, and all I desired was to escape his presence. Where could I flee?
I heard him say my name once more, but I lowered my head to the ground, unwilling to allow him witness to my emotion. Swallowing, I steeled myself to quell my shaking voice.
“Then let us not speak of it again,” I said softly.
“But do you not want to — that is, should we not discuss — ”
I shook my head. “I pray you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I need some time alone.” Quickly, I stepped away from the cave and hurried into the sanctity of the woods.
“Of course,” he called after me, “but take care that you do not stray farther than privacy demands.”
My body’s needs did demand compliance, but I wandered much farther than necessary. Over and over his words echoed in my head — a mistake! I was a mistake. Kissing me was a mistake.
Of course, it was. How could I dare to imagine he might love me? I was a fool, an utter fool. Again and again I berated myself with such thoughts. What must he think of me? Did he consider me wanton, a girl who shamelessly allowed such licence? Why had I lost control so easily and given in to him?
I had felt as powerless as a tiny leaf blown about in a great wind, unable or unwilling to resist the strength of his passion. I trembled, thinking how natural and easy it had been to allow him command over both my body and my heart.
And now, what would I do? How could I face him? Once again, all my old fears of what lay before me if and when we reached safety surfaced anew. Not only had I portrayed the role of Mr. Darcy’s wife, I had shared a room and blanket with him night after night. Although we knew that we were innocent, what would society think when our story was revealed?
Perhaps it would not have to be known. I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy would reveal it willingly, but then I thought of the witnesses to his declaration that we were married — not just the highwaymen if th
ey were apprehended, but Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and the servants attending the carriage. There would be many questions, and I had little hope that my honour could survive unscathed.
After this morning, I did not even feel I should escape censure, for surely my behaviour demanded such. I began to question myself anew — my motives, my foolishness, and my helplessness in the grip of Mr. Darcy’s affections. Did I love him, and if so, how could I? Much of the time, I did not even like the man!
No, that last thought was false. I did like him. I admired him. I respected his strength, his intelligence, his courage and compassion. Heaven knows I did not always agree with him, but I knew him better than I had when we began this journey, and yet, I felt as though I barely knew him at all.
He was a reserved man, a quiet man, a man who rarely revealed his emotions, but still, had I not witnessed a greater range this week than he had exposed during his entire visit to Hertfordshire? Had I not seen him angry, arrogant, foolishly brave, and yet kind, tender and wise? And had I not caught but a glimpse of the raw passion he kept hidden from the world? I closed my eyes, remembering the unleashed force of his affection and wondering what greater depths lay just below the surface.
I shook my head, trying to erase the longing now awakened in my heart. Surely, the last four days and everything we had endured together had created a false intimacy, causing me to believe I cared more deeply for him than I truly did. After all, we had been deprived of restful sleep, catching what we could here and there. Our senses had been on constant heightened alert, and we had been thrust into each other’s sole company with little escape both day and night. Surely, that could be the cause for my lapse in judgment, could it not?
With sudden swiftness, Mr. Wickham’s accusations echoed about me. I recalled the harshness with which Mr. Darcy had treated him and Morgan, as well. Then I thought of his solicitous care of the highwayman through the night. I felt utterly bewildered.
Who was the man?
* * *
I cried for some time, but at last my tears subsided and sanity returned. Leaning against a tree, I had not noticed that its rain-soaked bark dampened my pelisse until I attempted to wipe my eyes and found my hands already wet from pressing against the tree trunk. At that point I was past concern for my appearance. What difference would it make to wear a wet coat?