Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  He was so near, Elizabeth felt his warmth. It became increasingly difficult for her to focus on her anger when he smelled so good.

  “None at all?” she whispered, trying to catch her breath.

  His eyes held her mesmerized. So dark and deep and tender. So close.

  She lifted her chin, her eyelids drooping of their own accord as his breath brushed like a feather over her lips.

  Chapter 16

  Moonlight gleamed against Miss Elizabeth’s creamy skin, adding a lustrous sheen to her chestnut locks and a dangerous glint to her cocoa brown eyes before her thick lashes fell like tasseled curtains over them.

  Her lips parted — plump and red.

  Darcy stared at them, caught between his honor and an overwhelming desire to gather her in his arms and press his lips against hers.

  He had sworn an oath to protect, an avowal which prohibited him from allowing anyone to get so close as Elizabeth was to him at that moment.

  How had he allowed it? How had she won his respect, laying inroads into his heart where they could not lead anywhere but to their mutual suffering? How could he keep his word and keep her safe? It was impossible.

  He pulled away, forcing himself step-by-step to continue onward to the horses. Wilson nodded at him. Darcy rubbed his chest. He had done the right thing, small consolation though it was. Botheration, that sounded bitter.

  Elizabeth deserved better — a secure place in the heart of a man who could make her happiness his purpose; honest conversation without the taint of lies and secrets; the happy prospect of a long life free from strife and villainous traitors. Darcy could give her none of that.

  He shoved his hand through his hair and repositioned his hat. What was wrong with him? He was not one to pine when he must keep his senses sharp. The shooter could make another attempt, and he now had two extra females to return safely to Netherfield. He had seen firsthand where that led when too many of his acquaintances at the agency allowed a woman to cloud their vision and jeopardize their missions. Too many times, the lady ended up being used as a lure. The fortunate ones survived. Most did not.

  Elizabeth was too full of vivacity to suffer such an early end. Darcy could not do that to her.

  If he was really a gentleman, he would end this now. He would keep her safe. He hated lying. He especially hated lying to Elizabeth. But he had no other choice. The mission must always come first. He would complete his assignment, then he would return to Pemberley. All would be better at Pemberley. He would know what to do once he was home.

  The maid and Wilson fell in behind Darcy, his valet leading the horses and his free hand hovering near the pistol he kept at his side. He would protect the maid. Which left Darcy with Elizabeth.

  Darcy’s skin tingled, and he knew she had caught up with him before he saw her beside him. He squinted his eyes in the dark, searching for movement or out-of-place shadows. “I must leave for London at first light.” Taking a deep breath, he added in a rush, “I doubt I shall return. My business will take some time.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. Was that regret he sensed? Lord help him, he wanted it to be.

  Darcy continued before his resolve weakened. “We tracked the shooter back to Meryton.” His first untruth of the night. They had not found the shooter. “He was seen leaving on horseback.” He stopped there. Not too many details. Just enough information to be convincing.

  “Toward London?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then, why did you not follow him immediately? Why go to Sir William’s stables?”

  She was quick, but Darcy had an explanation ready. “We learned that his business in Hertfordshire involved Sir William’s new trainer.”

  “I knew it!” Elizabeth exclaimed, the glint in her eyes restoring her usual vigor. She was charming. Enchanting.

  Darcy had to look away. He would not see the shooter if he was gawking at Elizabeth.

  She continued excitedly, “Mr. Robson’s arrival at Lucas Lodge was so unexpected, I suspected there was more to his sudden presence than Sir William’s horses. When Mr. Lucas told me of it this morning, he bore a troubled expression which has bothered me since. This explains it! Mr. Robson is not to be trusted—” She came to a sudden stop. “Oh, but you said he had business with the shooter. You did not say he was the shooter himself.”

  It would be a greater challenge to get Elizabeth to believe his lie than Darcy had imagined. He would have to be more convincing.

  Redirecting her line of reasoning away from the identity of the shooter to the harmless trainer, he said, “There is nothing untoward with Mr. Robson. He may not react well to strangers in his stables, but he is not a danger to your friends.” The last thing Darcy wanted was for Elizabeth to continue probing into the matter after he had left. He did not think the trainer himself had anything to do with The Four Horsemen’s scheme with Sir William, but he would not risk Elizabeth trying to find that out on her own.

  She was silent for a few paces. He prayed they would reach Netherfield and part ways before she had too much time to find the flaws in his makeshift excuse. Such as his connection to the trainer…

  “So, the man who tried to kill you was not the trainer, but he had business with him,” Elizabeth puzzled aloud.

  Darcy held his breath, knowing the folly of hoping she would not ask the question he most wished her not to ask when she was intent on getting answers.

  “The trainer has nothing to do with you, then?” she asked.

  Drat.

  “The shooter’s business with the trainer was an unfortunate coincidence.” Darcy clamped his mouth shut. He did not believe in coincidences. How could he expect Elizabeth to believe him when he didn’t believe himself?

  Wilson cleared his throat. “Pray excuse me for overhearing your conversation and intervening where I ought not, Mr. Darcy. But Miss Elizabeth is too astute. You must tell her the rest.”

  Darcy scowled at his valet. Wilson clearly had more confidence in his arts of deception than Darcy did. He abhorred disguise of all sorts.

  Elizabeth looked at him expectantly.

  Only one explanation presented itself, and Darcy’s pride rebelled. He would rather die than cast that shade over his character.

  But as the seconds passed, and no other reply came to him under Wilson’s encouraging nods and Elizabeth’s watchful (and growingly impatient) eye, Darcy had to swallow his deuced pride. Anything to protect her.

  The conviction that this unflattering fabrication was for her benefit helped Darcy choke out the words. “You will understand why I do not wish to reveal the whole of it when you see how poorly the truth reflects on me.” He took another deep breath, trusting the momentum of his exhale to force the repugnant lie past his lips. “I am deeply in debt to a gentleman I suspect of sabotaging the horse I had bet on. He is an unscrupulous man I knew better than to cross, but my horse was certain to win, and I took the risk. I bet heavily. Too heavily.”

  He looked askance at Elizabeth. What did she think of him now?

  “You did not pay your debt?” she asked.

  “I asked for time, allowing the gentleman to believe I needed it to gather the money I owed when in reality, I have been investigating.”

  “Then, why did you come to Hertfordshire?”

  Darcy’s muscles were so tense, he thought he might snap. Forcing his voice to relax when his body could not, he said, “I heard from a reliable source that Mr. Robson was to accept Sir William’s offer of employment at his stables. You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived before he did.”

  She arched her neck and peeked up at him. “Is that why you were asking all those questions about the Lucases on the eve of the assembly? Did you think they were involved somehow with this unscrupulous gentleman?”

  He nodded, determined to hold his silence as much as he could to allow Elizabeth the opportunity to fill the story in on her own. She was doing a much better job of it than he was.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, her
eyebrows bunched together. “I gather that Mr. Robson was at the same race, and you intended to ask for his help?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He wiped his brow. Would she never stop asking questions?

  “Then, why did you not ask him if he saw anything untoward at the race while you had the chance, Mr. Darcy?” She gestured behind her. “He was right there.”

  Dash it all, was she incapable of accepting anything without proof?

  He almost scoffed. Of course, she could not. Nor would he wish her to. Her intelligence had been nurtured and developed by her inquisitive nature, and he would not change her … no matter how inconvenient it was to him right then.

  It was time to change tactics. He had to take control. To attack.

  Assuming a stoic expression, he turned to her. “I would have done so had a certain young lady not interrupted and caused an unnecessary scene.”

  She gasped, but her bravado fizzled as he saw doubt enter her mind.

  He struck again while she was unsteady in her understanding. “You saw how cross Mr. Robson was. He would have refused to answer, and I would have guaranteed his unwillingness to cooperate at all had I pressed and worsened his opinion of me.”

  Elizabeth’s downcast posture suggested she believed him, but Darcy felt no victory of triumph. He felt wretched.

  They continued across the field. Netherfield was in view. Five more minutes, and he would have to put Elizabeth out of his mind indefinitely. His feet dragged. Only Wilson’s constant pace behind him kept Darcy from prolonging the inevitable. The necessary.

  Grass turned to gravel as they neared the stables. Wilson turned the horses over to Oakley, and Elizabeth’s maid waited by the door to the kitchen.

  Darcy waited for the ladies to precede him into the house, but when he saw how woeful Elizabeth looked, he regretted the gentlemanly gesture. He ought to have stormed inside the house like a brute without seeing to their welfare. Then, he would not have seen Elizabeth’s insecurity. It was too late. Her dismay was branded on his mind’s eye where it would haunt him because he had been the one to put it there.

  “Would it not be better to approach Mr. Robson again on the morrow? I promise not to interfere. Surely, he will be more agreeable, and you could find out what you need from him without leaving for London,” she said, her eyes searching him.

  She wanted him to stay. The realization was a dagger to Darcy’s gut.

  “Under the circumstances, it is more urgent for me to pursue the henchman. I am still within the time agreed upon to pay my debt, so I am determined to learn why he was sent. Perhaps he will provide what I need to expose the gentleman and put an end to this wretched business.”

  Elizabeth stepped closer to him, twisting her fingers in front of her, the night breeze rustling her hair and granting Darcy another hint of jasmine. “This is where we part ways, then.” She extended her hand.

  Darcy lifted her hand in his, her touch gripping him so hard, it knocked the air out of his lungs. With a bow, he brushed his lips over her glove. “Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  Dropping her hand, he stormed inside the house.

  Chapter 17

  Emily made no observations, though she frequently sighed and looked dreamily off into the distance with her hands clutched at her heart.

  Elizabeth’s life had become one big adventure since she had landed at Mr. Darcy’s feet, and she did not know if this was a cruel blow from fate or a gift from the gods. She did not want to believe he had irresponsibly gambled away a fortune. That he would allow the “gentleman” (whoever he was) to believe he lacked the ability to pay his debt went contrary to the pride she had discerned Mr. Darcy to possess. Then again, pride had prevented him from telling her about the loss … which added credulity to his account along with Wilson’s knowledge of his debt.

  And then, there was the kiss. The almost kiss. Elizabeth was not artful in feminine manipulations, and yet, her body had reacted of its own accord — rising to her toes, tilting her chin, and closing her eyes.

  After Mr. Darcy had walked away from her, she had felt foolish. But when he had caressed her hand so gently, melting her limbs and sending delightful shivers through her, she knew she had not imagined how closely he had come to kissing her. She did not believe in coincidences.

  If he held her in any regard at all, why had his goodbye sounded so final? Why had he offered no reassurance of returning to Netherfield after sorting his affairs in London? Why did he not stay and ask for Mr. Robson’s help?

  Elizabeth almost wished he had admitted to being a spy. It might have made more sense — outside of Sir William’s involvement. In that, she could more readily accept Mr. Darcy’s explanation of his debt and Sir William’s trainer’s connection to the ill-reputed “gentleman.”

  She sighed. Mr. Darcy was a study of contrasts. Elizabeth was fascinated. And now, he was going away.

  Soft gray light peeked through the edge of the curtain. Throwing off her blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders, Elizabeth ran out to the hall.

  Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber door was open. The room was empty except for a packed trunk Wilson would no doubt take with him when he joined his master in town.

  Mr. Darcy was gone. She was too late.

  What a silly goose she was for hoping he would stay, or at least bid her farewell before he departed.

  She shook her head. Foolish, foolish girl.

  Only the day before, Mr. Darcy had narrowly escaped a bullet to the head, and she wanted him to stay at Netherfield Park? Of course, he had to leave! He had a henchman to catch and a reputation to repair. He had no time for a moonstruck maiden when his life was in danger. No wonder he had left so quickly! She would have done the same in his position. She would stop at nothing until she got to the bottom of the affair.

  Hope fluttered in Elizabeth’s breast. That was it! Mr. Darcy had gone to London in pursuit of the henchman, but she was not useless. She had better ways of gaining information about Mr. Robson. She had Charlotte.

  Feeling lighter now that she had a purpose, Elizabeth cheerfully tended to Jane. She was much improved, and it was not difficult for Elizabeth to suggest they depart for Longbourn on the morrow. Mr. Bingley was sad to hear it, but he was overjoyed that Jane was well enough to travel, going so far as to offer the use of his carriage, which Elizabeth accepted readily (knowing how unlikely it was that her mother would send theirs.)

  Mr. Bingley, too, had improved. He offered to sit in the garden with Jane, claiming that the fresh morning air was just the thing to restore their strength. Elizabeth did not disagree with him. In her mind, sitting in the warmth of the sun in a blooming garden was just the thing to encourage their blossoming affection.

  While Miss Bingley and the Hursts showed signs of improvement, none of them felt strong enough to venture out of doors. Pity that, thought Elizabeth sarcastically.

  Given her activities, the morning mercifully passed, and Elizabeth left Jane to rest while she walked to Lucas Lodge.

  Charlotte was embroidering in the drawing room, the picture of an accomplished lady. Sir William would be proud.

  “Good afternoon, Lizzy. I am glad to see you. Is Jane any better?” Charlotte set aside her white work.

  “She is. We plan to return to Longbourn on the morrow.”

  “Before a full week has passed? What will your mother say?” Charlotte asked with an impish grin.

  “She would have refused us the carriage had I asked her to send it. Mr. Bingley offered his, and I gladly accepted.”

  “Very sensible of you.” The arch in Charlotte’s eyebrow asked what she did not voice.

  Elizabeth would not do as her mother often did and pronounce victory in an assumed engagement before an offer was made. She said, “He and Jane conversed for quite a while in the garden, and I suspect both of them are well enough to find their way to the drawing room during the course of the afternoon.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I am relieved to hear she is offering him some encourage
ment. If things progress as we hope, they will be happy.”

  “What of you? It has been ages since we have talked. What with—” Elizabeth bit her tongue. She was about to mention Sir William’s prohibition of his stables to her.

  “My father means well, Lizzy, though I have to remind myself of his motives often as I face hours of instruction in all manner of accomplishments I have little interest in mastering. Of what use is it to me to speak French in running a household smoothly? And while I am capable enough on the pianoforte, I do not share his ambition in learning to also play the harp.” She reached across the settee and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I am sorry for your sake, Lizzy. I know how important our morning rides were to you. I miss them, too. Now that I am trapped indoors, I can better understand your restlessness, although I am much better suited to it than you will ever be.”

  Elizabeth squeezed her hand in turn. “Thank you, Charlotte. I hold no grudge against your father. He is only trying his best to see you well settled, as any good father does.”

  “Remember what you just said when it is your time.” With another squeeze, Charlotte released her hold. Sitting back with a sigh, she added, “Things are changing at Lucas Lodge.”

  Elizabeth practically felt her ears perk up. If the conversation turned to Mr. Robson, now was the perfect time. Trying not to sound more excited than she ought to be, Elizabeth casually asked, “How so?”

  “Father and George have acquired a new horse. I expected it, as they could not hire a famous horse trainer without a thoroughbred worthy of his attention, but it still came as a shock. They leave for London on the morrow. I am glad they are taking John with them. He has been particularly restless, not being accustomed to our quiet country life.”

  A new horse! Now, she was getting somewhere. Where had they acquired enough money to buy a thoroughbred? What did they intend to do with it? She assumed, with the presence of the trainer, that George had something other than merely breeding in mind. Did he intend to start racing?