She gave him a shaky smile. “You must have thought me the worst sort of simpleton to befriend the man after reading your letter.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Worse. I thought I had lost any chance with you.”
Again, the breath caught in her throat. “You wanted another chance with me?”
He chuckled softly. “I traveled to Longbourn for the purpose of offering an apology and requesting a chance to court you properly.”
And instead he had learned I was intimately connected with Mr. Wickham. Oh. Her heart ached to think of the pain she had caused him.
“Is it too late for another chance?” Somehow he was now so close that his face was mere inches from hers.
This Darcy was very different from the stiff and arrogant man who had proposed so awkwardly at Hunsford. His voice was soft, and his head was low. Yes, he still experienced an impulse to issue orders, but he had attended to her chastisements and taken them to heart.
She had stuffed all her thoughts and feelings about Mr. Darcy into a box at the back of her mind. What would happen if she opened that box and allowed herself to explore the ripples of attraction she felt for him? Would those ripples become a wave? Would the wave drown her?
It was a profoundly reckless idea. Under the present circumstances, losing focus on her mission could lead to injury or death, and yet she could not banish Mr. Darcy from her thoughts. What would it be like to be courted by him? To truly discover his character? Over the past few days she had found hidden depths in the man, and she wanted to know more.
“No, it is not too late,” she murmured.
Mr. Darcy’s smile shone like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. “Elizabeth.” He inhaled the syllables of her name as if they provided life-giving breath. He was moving toward her, and she was moving toward him. Their lips met somewhere in the space between—a joyous joining.
There was no comparison between this kiss and Mr. Wickham’s. It would be like comparing a pile of rocks to Westminster Abbey. Yes, this is how a kiss should be. This is the life-altering experience described in novels. In no time at all, the kiss had stolen away her reason, her breath, her thoughts. Nothing remained but the sensation of his lips pressed to hers and the warmth of his body clinging to hers.
“Elizabeth…” he moaned against her mouth while his hands caressed her hair. “Just as soft as I had dreamed.”
Another person had never stroked her hair before, and the experience was somehow both relaxing and stimulating, causing her to melt against him while also exciting her to deepen the kiss. Her fingers initiated their own exploration, plunging into his dark curls and stroking the strong curve of his jaw.
“I had lost hope of ever experiencing this,” he murmured when they broke apart.
“You imagined it?” she asked—both surprised and flattered. How often had he thought about her?
“More times than I would care to confess.” His fingers drifted lightly along the side of her neck, sending shivers down her back. She would have happily remained in this blissful place forever.
However, a sound intruded on her reverie. “Is that an owl hooting? I did not know any owls inhabited Brighton.”
Mr. Darcy whirled around and leapt off the bed in one movement. Racing to the window, he unlatched it and threw it open. After a moment, she heard scraping sounds, male grunts and curses, and then thumps as someone climbed over the low sill of her window. Mr. Darcy assisted the unidentified man in entering her room. If I had known I would entertain so many guests in the middle of the night, I would have prepared tea.
Mr. Darcy quickly shut the window and drew the curtains closed. When the newcomer moved toward Elizabeth, she saw his face clearly for the first time. “Colonel Fitzwilliam!”
“Miss Bennet.” The colonel executed a precise bow that struck her as rather excessive under the circumstances. “I apologize for my precipitous arrival. A night watchman was approaching the alley behind the garden, and I did not want my presence to be questioned. I gave my wayward cousin the signal”—he shot Mr. Darcy a sidelong glance—“but he dawdled a bit in opening the window.”
Mr. Darcy’s face was quite red. “I am sorry, Richard. I was distracted.”
The colonel’s eyes darted from him to Elizabeth. “I just bet.” She colored as she imagined how disheveled they must appear.
Mr. Darcy huffed. “We have been discussing the danger that Wickham presents.”
“And what did you conclude?”
No doubt the colonel believed Elizabeth should retreat to a safe location as well. Would Mr. Darcy admit Elizabeth had won that argument? He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. “Well, er, Eliz—Miss Elizabeth will remain in Brighton for now. She was recruited by Colonel Forster to report on Wickham’s activities.”
The colonel viewed her appraisingly. “So you are spying upon the spy? How clever of Forster; nobody suspects a woman of spying. More the fool they.”
“But it is dangerous,” Mr. Darcy interjected. “We do not know who killed Denny.”
“Yes, dangerous,” the colonel mused. Elizabeth braced herself for another argument about returning to Longbourn. Unexpectedly, he turned to his cousin. “We should devise a plan for ensuring her safety until her mission is completed.”
Mr. Darcy appeared resigned rather than argumentative. “I will remain with Elizabeth, particularly when Wickham is in the vicinity, and serve as a kind of bodyguard.” He turned anxious eyes to her. “If that is acceptable to you?”
Although pleased that he inquired, Elizabeth was prepared to object. Then she reconsidered; a protector might prevent Colonel Forster from returning her to Longbourn, and she was discovering she did not mind spending more time with Mr. Darcy.
“Very well.” A broad smile was her reward. “I also believe you should meet with Colonel Forster in the morning and share your information. We can join forces.”
“Such was my plan,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Good.”
The colonel peeked through the curtains. “The night watchman has departed, Darcy, and I suggest we make haste to leave as well. Every passing minute increases the odds of being detected.” After his cousin’s nod, the colonel opened the window and disappeared within seconds.
Mr. Darcy’s gaze fixed on Elizabeth’s lips; he obviously wanted to kiss her again but not when his cousin might see. Instead he took her hand and kissed the back. “I will see you tomorrow.” His voice alone, low and husky, sent shivers along her spine.
A few seconds later he had departed, and Elizabeth was alone once more in her bedchamber.
***
Richard and Darcy were silent for several minutes as they hurried back to Darcy’s lodgings. Darcy caught his cousin giving him sidelong stares more than once. Finally, he growled, “Say what you plan to say!”
Richard gave him a lopsided smile. “I sent you up there to speak with the lady, Darce, about a threat to her life. You were not supposed to make love to her.”
“I did not make love—” Darcy sputtered.
Richard waggled a finger at him. “I saw the state of her hair. And your lips are still red and swollen.” They were? He could not help touching a finger to his lips.
Darcy was not accustomed to defending himself from this kind of accusation. “It was the sheer relief, Richard. She does not love Wickham—and is working against him. The relief…lowered my inhibitions.”
His cousin shook his head. “If you had been discovered dallying with her—”
“I am not dallying with her! I proposed marriage.”
“Did she not refuse you?”
“I am attempting to change her mind.”
“With kisses?”
Darcy bit back an angry retort. His cousin was right; his behavior had been inappropriate. Perhaps there is sense behind the rule against visiting women in their bedchambers. Fortunately, Elizabeth had not acted at all offended by the liberties he had taken. “You do not understand, Richard. She had— Her nightrail was— And then
she—”
Richard snorted. “If a lady can render you this inarticulate, perhaps you are in love.”
Darcy glowered at his cousin. “Really, it was her hair…I had never seen it unbound before…”
“Her hair is very beautiful.” When Darcy scowled, Richard hastily added, “Not that I noticed…at all.” After Darcy subsided, his cousin grinned. “I have never seen you so before. You are rather helplessly in love.”
“Violently.”
“Oh dear.”
“Why do you sound so dismayed?”
His cousin sighed. “She has refused you once already.”
A seed of doubt grew in Darcy’s heart. “She allowed me to kiss her!”
“A handsome man appeared in her room at night, and she was swept away by passion. A kiss is not a promise of marriage.” Darcy could not forget that his cousin had far more experience with midnight assignations than he did.
The warmth he had enjoyed since leaving the colonel’s house was beginning to dissipate. Would Elizabeth kiss a man she did not intend to marry? Perhaps, if that man woke her unexpectedly in the middle of the night and demonstrated sincere concern for her wellbeing. She might be overwhelmed and confused and allow him liberties that she then regretted. When Darcy saw her in the morning, would she regard him with regret and shame? The thought cooled his ardor quickly.
“Did you learn anything else?”
“Hmm?”
“Did Miss Elizabeth relate anything else about Wickham beyond what we discussed in her bedchamber?”
Darcy tried to focus on the far more important subject of treason and threats to the nation. “I do not believe so.”
Richard rubbed his chin. “I had no idea Wickham’s commanding officer suspected him. I wonder if anyone in the Home Office knows? Damnation, this is a mess! The right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing.”
“We will sort it out with Forster in the morning.”
They walked in silence for a minute. Darcy’s thoughts constantly circled back to Elizabeth. “I wish I had convinced her to return to Hertfordshire, but she is determined to do what she can for country and crown.”
“Admirable.”
“Foolhardy,” Darcy growled. “She risks her life.”
Richard considered for a moment. “If the woman were easily cowed, she would not hold your interest. You have had years to fall in love, but the first woman to win your heart is the one who exhibits bravery and cleverness beyond the normal bounds. I do not believe this to be a coincidence.”
They had arrived at his lodgings. Darcy paused with his hand on the doorknob. “What are you proposing I do?”
Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “I am suggesting, my friend, that you accept the bad as you embrace the good.”
They spoke no more, but for the remainder of the night, Darcy considered his cousin’s words.
Chapter Eleven
Mr. Wickham was his usual gallant self the following morning—and it turned Elizabeth’s stomach. Greeting her with a smirk in Colonel Forster’s drawing room, he kissed her hand and gave extravagant praise of her beauty. Sitting beside her, he murmured asides under the noise of the general conversation—provided by Colonel and Mrs. Forster, Lydia, and two of Mr. Wickham’s fellow officers.
The room was rather crowded.
Elizabeth had lain awake for a long time after Mr. Darcy’s departure and then slept fitfully; the resulting fatigue caused her to be restless and irritable. Pretending passion for Mr. Wickham was growing increasingly difficult. She hoped the nausea was not evident on her face.
Memories of the previous night rendered the deception more difficult. In the early hours of the morning, she had kissed Mr. Darcy on her bed, and now she was flirting with Mr. Wickham. Any action would be wrong. If she smiled invitingly at Mr. Wickham, she betrayed the feelings beginning to develop between her and Mr. Darcy. But if she beheld the officer with indifference, then she might lose an opportunity to collect valuable information.
Mr. Darcy understands my mission; he shares my goals.
The reminder helped alleviate some guilt, but the sense of betrayal lingered. It had been an enormous relief to tell the man the truth, but it created new complications.
Mr. Darcy and his cousin had not yet arrived to speak with the colonel, and Elizabeth anticipated their entrance with no small anxiety. Would Mr. Wickham be suspicious of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sudden appearance? Might he reveal a clue about the location of the French spy?
Elizabeth was eager to be finished with this deception. Once they caught the agent, Colonel Forster could arrest Mr. Wickham and Elizabeth could return home.
In the meantime, she was virtually imprisoned in this drawing room, where the colonel was telling a longwinded story from his early days in the militia about a donkey and a goat. Everyone listened with polite attention—no doubt hoping, like Elizabeth, that the tale would prove to be moderately entertaining at some point.
While everyone’s attention was engaged, Elizabeth took the opportunity to scrutinize Mrs. Forster. Since the day at the beach, she had not noticed any signs of the lady’s particular regard for Mr. Wickham; perhaps their conversation had been nothing more than the usual insipid banter the colonel’s wife habitually exchanged with the officers. They did not steal furtive glances at each other or seek out private conversations.
Mrs. Forster flirted with every man within reach; there was no reason to believe she preferred Mr. Wickham or enjoyed an improper relationship with him. Now Elizabeth was pleased she had said nothing of the incident to the colonel. He had enough reasons for concern.
When would Mr. Darcy arrive?
The sound of the front door opening momentarily raised her hopes, only to have them dashed when Dawkins opened the door and addressed Mr. Wickham. “A boy brought this note for you. Said it was urgent.”
Mr. Wickham took the note from the woman and retired to the far-less-crowded front hallway to read it. When he stepped back into the room, everyone watched him expectantly.
“What is it, Wickham?” the colonel asked amiably. “It had better not be a love letter!”
The other officers chortled, glancing at Elizabeth, whose face heated. Uncharacteristically distracted, Mr. Wickham did not react to the jibe. “My friend, Henry Knox, has taken a fall, and his mother writes to beg my help. She cannot even lift him in and out of bed.”
“Fall, eh?” One of the officers laughed. “Probably foxed, he was.”
“Knox?” the colonel said. “He is not one of our company.”
“No, he’s a local man I knew as a boy. Might I go and help her, sir?”
“Very well.” The colonel waved dismissively. “I have no need of you this morning. Go, be a good Samaritan to your friend.” Additional jibes and laughter followed Mr. Wickham as he exited the drawing room.
While the conversation immediately turned to various types of muskets, Elizabeth considered the incident. She did not for one moment believe the note had been about an ailing friend. Mr. Wickham was not the sort of “friend” one sought out for assistance; he was too selfish. More likely he had been contacted by the traitor who wanted transport to France.
She tried to catch the colonel’s eye to learn if he shared her concern, but the man was deeply involved in the conversation and paid her no heed. If she remained here, Elizabeth would miss the chance to discover the spy’s location. It was too good an opportunity to lose.
She stood quickly and slipped from the room. Few people noticed, and the conversation continued unabated. The front hallway was empty as she rushed out of the door and onto the street.
Fortunately, Mr. Wickham had not traveled far. Lifting her skirts, Elizabeth hurried after him, catching his elbow to get his attention. “Mr. Wickham, I had a thought! Perhaps I can come with you and help you nurse your poor friend. I am certain he would improve with a woman’s touch.”
The officer hastily concealed his initial impatience with a smile. “That is a very generous offer, but I do
n’t believe it would be appropriate to have a young lady accompany me there.”
Conjuring an image of Lydia at her most flirtatious, Elizabeth pasted on a coy smile. “But I will not be any trouble at all. I will help!”
Although Mr. Wickham seemed a bit dazzled, he shook his head. “You are generosity itself, but the colonel would not be pleased if I spirited you away without his permission—and Knox does not live in a neighborhood that is appropriate for young ladies to visit.”
Elizabeth pouted and gave a reluctant nod, allowing Mr. Wickham to march away from her with a determined stride. In truth, she had not expected that ploy to be successful. However, the officer’s determination to refuse her company rather confirmed her suspicion about whom he was meeting.
She waited until he was several streets away and began to follow.
***
A series of unfortunate delays caused Darcy and Richard to arrive later at the colonel’s house than they had planned. When the housekeeper opened the door, they found a distressed and hurried Colonel Forster donning his hat in the front hallway.
“Mr. Darcy.” He gave a short nod. “I am afraid I have urgent business, but my wife is in the drawing room if you would like to—”
Darcy suppressed a flicker of irritation; he could not imagine that any business of the colonel’s could be more pressing than theirs. “We must speak with you immediately,” Darcy interrupted. “This is Colonel Fitzwilliam, currently on assignment with the Home Office.” The last words had their desired effect; the colonel stilled and stared at Richard.
“Is there somewhere private we may talk?” Darcy’s cousin asked.
“Of course.” Colonel Forster led the way to his private study where he positioned himself behind the desk. Nobody sat.
Richard carefully closed the door before speaking. “I am in Brighton seeking a French agent who infiltrated the Home Office and escaped with sensitive information. We believe he is in Brighton and will try to contact Wickham for help in crossing the Channel.”
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