Darcy's Kiss

by Claire Iverson

  Elizabeth wondered whether his touch would indeed ignite such feelings. Perhaps she was a trollop, with overheated emotions, and had responded to Darcy merely because he was a man, and the night had been dark and close. She looked up at the Colonel's straight, firm lips, and then rose to her feet.

  She realized that he had been talking and that she had interrupted him. He looked both astonished and unsure. Her invitation, however, was one he could scarcely ignore. He moved to face her; his tall form towering over her.

  She had anticipated that he would sweep her into his arms, pulling her body against his, but instead, he hesitated for an instant, then took her hand gently in his. He leaned forward and decorously pressed his lips against hers. They were warm and dry and firm against her own, which were being squished against her teeth. She was uncertain how to respond. How did one kiss a man back? Before she could react, however, Colonel Fitzwilliam's lips left hers, and he was sitting down on the sofa, looking expectantly up at her.

  Did he consider the kiss a seal of their engagement? she wondered. Or was he merely waiting for Elizabeth's answer?

  "I'm sorry," she heard herself say.

  "Sorry for what?" He laughed a little nervously. "I think, under these circumstances, that even your cousin couldn't consider a kiss improper."

  With great effort Elizabeth pulled her scattered thoughts into some kind of order. She had been drilled in what to say when a gentleman made her an offer, so as not to appear too eager, or, should she be refusing, not to carelessly slight his consequence.

  "I'm more honored than I can say by your offer," she began formally. "But I'm afraid I cannot marry you, and I am very sorry. You're everything I've always thought I sought in a husband, and I suspect I may be sorry I refused you, but..." She hesitated, her sympathetic gaze holding his. "I hold you in great esteem, but I don't love you, and I've come to realize how important that is. It wouldn't be right for me to accept your offer."

  She could detect only bewilderment in his eyes. He stammered, "But...why did you allow me to kiss you?"

  "It was very wrong of me," she said. She found herself blushing, and for the first time in their conversation evaded his gaze. She couldn't tell him the truth, which was that she had wished to compare his kiss with Mr. Darcy's and therefore discover how strong were her feelings for Darcy. She had needed to know whether she could make herself feel such passion for another man, one far more desirable as a husband. "It helped me be certain," she said. "I wanted to feel more for you."

  Resentment had begun to cloud his face, and he drew back from her a little, his nostrils flaring. "As one would try out a horse's paces?" he asked cuttingly.

  His accusation was too near the mark, and Elizabeth bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry if you should think it so. I could wish we might part without anger, although perhaps that, too, is cowardly of me."

  Her plea failed in its purpose, apparently going unheard. "It's Darcy, isn't it?" he demanded.

  "No gentleman would expect a lady to answer that question," Elizabeth returned evenly.

  "If you expect to catch Darcy—" he began hotly, but was interrupted by a light tap on the door, which then swung open. The butler, expressionless as always, stood in the doorway. "Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet."

  Elizabeth glanced desperately from Colonel Fitzwilliam's angry, but now composed face, to the butler's. Her visitors could not be allowed to meet, not when the colonel was in his present state of mind. He might well say something unforgivable to Mr. Darcy.

  "Colonel Fitzwilliam was just leaving," she said as calmly as she was able. "Please show him out." As her gaze met the butler's, she saw that he understood very well, and concluded that he had been listening at the keyhole, or at least hovering very close to the door. At any other time Elizabeth would have been angry, but now she was relieved. It was clear to her that the butler had determined that Elizabeth required assistance and had deliberately interrupted the unpleasant interchange.

  "Certainly, miss." He inclined his head slightly and stepped aside, waiting for Colonel Fitzwilliam to precede him out the door. The butler somehow succeeded in appearing both deferential and commanding at the same time.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated for an instant, clearly annoyed by the dismissal, but good manners triumphed and he gave a stiff bow, without taking Elizabeth's hand in his, and muttered, "Good day. Please give my regards to Mr. Collins."

  Elizabeth politely murmured, "Indeed I will," and watched with relief as he turned toward the door.

  Her relief, however, was premature. Before Colonel Fitzwilliam could exit the room, his way was blocked by Darcy, who with raised brows and every indication of interest surveyed his cousin's usually pleasant face, now set in rigid lines.

  He finally smiled. "I'm surprised to see you out so early, Richard."

  Elizabeth glowered at Darcy, who had clearly made this remark only to provoke the poor colonel.

  Elizabeth said sharply, "Colonel Fitzwilliam, I'm sure Mr. Collins will be sorry he missed you." Since Mr. Collins was doubtless ensconced in the breakfast room, comfortably lingering over his morning coffee.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave Elizabeth one last baffled look, nodded abruptly, then blundered from the room, followed by the butler, who had stared woodenly ahead throughout this exchange, giving no evidence of hearing a single word.

  The door closed behind the butler with a tiny click, and Elizabeth wondered at his willingness to leave her alone with a succession of gentlemen. Had Mr. Collins given specific instructions in the expectation that certain of Elizabeth's suitors would seek privacy to make offers?

  Darcy strolled toward Elizabeth, still with that unpleasantly knowing smile quirking his lips. "Sent him about his business, did you?" he observed, and although it was ostensibly a question, Elizabeth doubted that he required or expected an answer.

  She responded tartly, "Do you often visit other people's homes, entering any room you choose without waiting to be announced? You must overhear many interesting conversations."

  He appeared untouched by her acerbity. "I was curious," he said mildly. "Richard—" he jerked his head toward the door "—actually looked agitated. I thought you would appreciate my intrusion."

  "I see...”

  "Actually, I recognized Richard standing out front and guessed why he was here. He was far from happy the other night in the gardens, you know."

  Elizabeth had no intention of amiably discussing the other man. She retorted, "He would have been even less happy if he could have guessed how outrageously you behaved."

  She was immediately sorry she had raised the matter, because her words effected a transformation in Darcy. He gave a slow, appreciative smile, and his dark eyes seemed to brighten as he let his gaze move from Elizabeth's flushed cheeks down over her slim body and back up, lingering on the white skin exposed just above the low, ruffled neckline of her gown. Her heart began to beat so fast she felt breathless.

  Darcy finally said, on a note of laughter, "It is not my behavior Richard would find objectionable, but yours. No man would like to see the woman with whom he imagines himself in love passionately returning another man's kiss."

  Elizabeth made an inarticulate protest and turned away, clenching her fists at her physical response to this uncaring creature. Why, instead, could not her heart have pounded and her knees weakened for Colonel Fitzwilliam?

  Darcy asked abruptly, "Did you kiss him?"

  Elizabeth swung back to face him and said defiantly, "Yes!"

  All trace of humor was gone from his face. For a long, silent moment tension leaped between them as his narrowed eyes held Elizabeth's mutinous brown ones. Then he gave a contemptuous shrug and said dismissively, "Richard wouldn't dare forget you're a lady long enough to hold you like a woman."

  Elizabeth gave a tiny smile, feigning amusement, and said coolly, "He didn't act as though he felt too constrained. Personally, I find one kiss to be rather like another."

  Darcy gave a growl in the back of his throat, and hi
s long fingers closed painfully into a fist. "You lie," he said harshly.

  Elizabeth jerked back. "Don't speak to me of wanting. I'm neither for sale nor for hire. Satisfy your lust elsewhere, and leave me alone!"

  "Elizabeth..." He reached for her, his voice with a different note in it, one Elizabeth was too angry to define. To her enormous relief, he had no time to continue, because just then the door opened and Mr. Collins came bubbling into the room, looking expectantly from one to the other. Darcy's hand fell back to his side, and he turned to greet the victor, his face impassive and his emotions already neatly tucked away from sight. Elizabeth, too, took a deep breath and managed a semblance of a smile.

  "Good morning, Mr. Collins. The weather doesn't look promising, does it?"

  "No, and it's a pity. Lady Catherine's roses are particularly fine. But who knows? It's not raining yet!" He was studying Elizabeth's face in evident puzzlement.

  Darcy said then, "I called in hopes Miss Bennet would take a walk with me. I feel sure the rain will hold off that long. Wouldn't you enjoy some fresh air?"

  Because of Mr. Collins' presence, Elizabeth had to bite back the scathing opinion of Darcy's impudence that had leaped to her lips. She drew in a sharp breath and let her eyes meet his. The grim line of his mouth had softened and one dark brow quirked above the deep eyes, which held an apology and even, Elizabeth fancied, a look of pleading. Her fury instantly died.

  She suddenly realized how stifling was the air in the drawing room. A fire burned merrily on the grate, more than successfully combating the gray sky outside the windows. She thought longingly how refreshing the damp, cool breeze would be. It wouldn't be difficult to treat Darcy with cool civility, pretending this morning's events had never taken place.

  She finally nodded and said temperately, "That would be pleasant. If you wouldn't mind waiting while I change?"

  "Not at all."

  Mr. Collins didn't hide his satisfaction. "Don't worry about Lady Catherine, Elizabeth. She'll doubtless have to move the luncheon indoors, and think how tedious that will be! To stand about pretending fascination with the conversation of the same dull people one saw just the other night. If you're not home in time, Charlotte and I will escort Maria. I don't care to disappoint her, but your presence isn't required."

  "Thank you, Mr. Collins," Elizabeth said calmly. "But I feel sure I'll be home in good time. Now if you'll excuse me."

  Charlotte approached her in the hall. "Lizzy!" she hissed, glancing back toward the open drawing room door. "What about Colonel Fitzwilliam? Don't leave me in suspense! Did he..."

  Elizabeth said, without hope, “Charlotte, couldn't we talk about it another time?" She met her friend's imploring gaze, then sighed. "Yes, he did," she admitted. "But I said no."

  "Because of..." Charlotte jerked her head toward Darcy's unseen presence.

  "No!" Elizabeth exclaimed sharply, then realized she would be wise to lower her voice. "No, I just didn't feel I... I could care for Colonel Fitzwilliam enough." She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Are you very disappointed?"

  Charlotte looked astonished. "Disappointed? Oh, no! My hopes for you lie in quite another direction." She gave another meaningful glance toward the drawing room, smiled beatifically, then turned away, presumably with the intention of entertaining Darcy while he waited for Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth hurried up the stairs to her room, where she gave vent to her annoyance by a vicious kick at the washstand. Of course this only had the effect of injuring her toes, which angered her even further.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A short time later Elizabeth and Darcy were strolling through the countryside surrounding the parsonage. The necessity for a lady's maid for Elizabeth limited the opportunity for conversation, and when they reached the main road heading into town, Elizabeth was pleased to see that it was relatively deserted. A few grooms were exercising horses, but it appeared that the chill day, which held such a threat of rain, had persuaded the majority of the people to stay indoors.

  Without waiting for Darcy, Elizabeth turned off the road and entered the gate to the churchyard. Elizabeth was well ahead because Darcy had briefly paused to speak to an acquaintance, when, out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a man standing nearly obscured by some shrubbery. She was briefly irritated, feeling the man should know better. His presence could easily startle a horse.

  She had passed him, though, and put him from her mind, when suddenly something slammed into her shoulder from behind, nearly knocking her to the ground. She thought she heard a crack, as though a branch had broken. Elizabeth was losing her balance, clinging to a tree with her right hand, since her entire left arm seemed to have gone numb.

  She turned toward some trees and she began to feel inexplicably weak, unable to stop to move forward. With a rush of relief she became aware of Darcy on horseback, edging alongside. Swiftly he dismounted the horse. When he finally brought the big chestnut to a halt, he turned to Elizabeth, his eyes blazing.

  "What happened?" Abruptly his expression changed, and she sensed that he was staring at her left shoulder. She twisted her neck to look down at herself and saw the blood that had soaked the fawn-colored fabric. Still she felt nothing, and she looked up, puzzled, at Darcy.

  Without hesitation he leaned toward her and pulled back the neck of her gown with one gentle hand to make a quick inspection. Elizabeth made no protest. Finally, in answer to her unspoken question, Darcy said boldly, "You've been shot."

  "Shot?" Insensibly, she began to laugh, then as quickly sobered when she saw the look of intense anger on his face. "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "I'm sure," he said tersely. I hunt every season. I have seen plenty of men accidentally shot." He soothed his restless horse. "Does it hurt?"

  She ignored his question. “Where did you find this horse?"

  “An acquaintance on the road," Darcy said quickly.

  "Are you not going to try to capture the man?" she demanded. Twisting, she pointed with her good arm back toward the cluster of shrubbery where the man had been. "He was there. I noticed him, but..." She began to shrug, then thought better of it. Tentatively, she touched her blood-soaked shoulder, wondering why she felt nothing.

  For an instant there was a glitter in Darcy's eyes, like the light reflecting from the honed edge of a sword blade, then impatience mixed with regret wiped that momentary look of cold determination from his face. "He would have fled long since," he said. "In any case, you're more important. Now answer my question. Does your shoulder pain you?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "It's hard to move my hand, but I can't feel anything."

  "Don't worry," he advised in his usual cool fashion. That often happens. I've known people to break a leg and not even feel it." He was unwinding the starched white cravat from about his neck. He held Elizabeth's gaze. "Can you control the horse?" he asked. When she nodded and took the reins from him, he folded the linen into a triangle.

  "Are you going to tie that on me?" Elizabeth asked, feeling a surprising detachment.

  Darcy looked up. "Yes, but only as a sling to hold your arm and shoulder still. You don't seem to be bleeding badly, but I'm afraid the ride home is going to jostle your wound. It will hurt eventually, you know." He hesitated, and she saw the momentary indecision on his face. "I sent your maid to fetch a carriage—but on second thought—I don't like the idea of delaying. I want the doctor to see you immediately."

  Elizabeth felt the first thrill of fear. Darcy's air of matter-of-fact competence had kept her from worrying, trivializing the incident. Now she could see that his calmness had been partly a mask, worn for her benefit.

  "Am I going to die?" she asked, staring straight into his eyes, watching for the flicker that might give away the truth.

  "No!" he exclaimed harshly. "Don't talk like that!" For a second his hand was almost rough as he pushed her arm against her body, then wound the makeshift sling about it and tied it behind her neck. He was so close that she felt as much as heard the
deep breath he drew. When he spoke again he was once more in control, his voice soothing and calm. "I believe it to be just a flesh wound. You're bleeding in front, so the bullet must have come out again. You should have no difficulty unless the bullet damaged something, perhaps broke a bone. That's why you need the doctor. Besides, he'll give you something to keep it from hurting,” he said as he began to lift her up onto the animal.

  "But it doesn't..." she began to protest, then bit off her words as the horse shifted under her and she felt the first distant throbbing. It was almost a relief, as she had begun to fear she might never again feel anything in her arm. It was that which had frightened her. She could see that she wasn't bleeding to death; she had lost only enough blood to stain a dark red path on the front, and she presumed, the back of her gown.

  Darcy took the leather reins from her hand and turned the horse toward the gate, keeping the animal to a slow walk. Elizabeth stared numbly between the horse's flickering ears, trying to think of nothing in particular. The throbbing, as impersonal as the first echo of distant thunder, was becoming sharper, tearing at her flesh. When another horse clattered by, startling their own into a prance, Elizabeth winced and then gritted her teeth.

  Darcy said in a rough voice, "Elizabeth..."

  Elizabeth didn't even hear. "It wasn't an accident!" she said wonderingly.

  “An Accident? Of course not," Darcy agreed. “No one would be practicing their aim outside a church."

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. “No..no... That is not at all what I mean..."

  Elizabeth found herself staring directly into Darcy's eyes, which held a mixture of puzzlement and that same ferocious anger she had earlier glimpsed.