by Emma East
He glanced to the side, his eye catching on an option. An unfortunate one, but an option nevertheless.
“Come here.”
She may have followed him, but it was her dark gaze that led him by the throat to the cold wooden bench settled by the hedge. It was her tender yet hungry gaze that made him fall back onto it and left him helpless as she crawled into his lap. They were hidden from all except those who ventured out into this cold, inhospitable garden.
“Wait,” he murmured as she tore at his cravat. His fingers dug into her hips, unable to stop himself gasping as she pressed herself against him. “Let’s slow down—”
She tugged at the back of his hair, above the nape of his neck. “I don’t want you to make love to me.” Her eyes glittered. “That’s not what I need.”
Never had his mouth been so dry. “Kitten.”
She wanted him with an urgency he had never experienced before. It was a need that burnt skin and singed hairs. Her tolerance for the cold was immense and Darcy himself no longer felt the bite in the air with her hips, warm and supple, imprisoning him. Reckless, what a reckless thing to do, and yet here they were. Her breath tickled his earlobe and his hands scrabbled to be underneath the skirts tangled around their legs. The need for him to hold her, to throw himself into her wildfire, stemmed from their long months apart. So long had he consumed himself with guilt and grief, now all wiped away with her acceptance. She still wanted him. She still, potentially, loved him.
“Why are these stupid ties—” Elizabeth began in exasperation.
“Allow me, my dear,” he said, lunging up to catch her bottom lip with his teeth. How sweet she tasted, a burst of summer in the middle of this chilly winter.
He groaned when, once released, she enveloped him in the warmth of her hands. Then, desperation clinging to them, the air filled with longing for their reunion, the sizzling heat of her womanhood slowly, ever so slowly, sank down to consume him.
“This,” she gasped, pressed to his chest, her hands curled against his chest. “Exactly this.”
He shuddered. Months he had waited for her without even knowing that it was she who he waited for. Her forgiveness. Her tenderness. All his, still his, and he squeezed her soft, yielding hips and showed her how grateful he was for that gift.
Her eyes shot open at his first thrust, her lips parting to show her little pink tongue. Pain, it was torture to hold back, and so he didn’t, and her eyelids fluttered as they joined again and again with all the force and unrelenting pressure as the sea.
“Missed you,” he breathed, pulling her down to his lips. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Waiting,” she answered, and he redoubled his efforts with a growl of triumph. Waiting for him to stop being an imbecile, waiting for him to chase her again, waiting to be entangled once more, their senses inflamed and overwhelmed with one another. She gasped and clasped him tight, her delicate fingers curling in his hair as if to hold him there. But she should have no fear of losing him—not now when he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were destined for each other.
And with that thought, with that admission that had been hiding in plain sight for him to recognize, pleasure rocketed through him. A searing, near-painful fire that sent him scrambling to drag her to him. Her moan tore through him and her hands scrabbled against his chest as she sought to reach those same heights with him, on the edge as she was, her hips rolling and thighs shaking against him.
They settled, gasping, as tremors overwhelmed them both.
Darcy pressed his mouth to her throat, her pulse fast and hard under his lips. If only this moment could last forever. If only they were not out here in the height of winter.
If only.
He pulled away slowly, releasing her and fell back against the back of the bench. They had been gone for too long. Would Honeyfield have sent someone to search for him? He couldn’t allow her to find him in a compromising position with Elizabeth—not when she already had such incriminating evidence against them.
With the threat still outstanding, they couldn’t risk this again.
Elizabeth, not following the train of his thoughts, horrible as they were, smiled down at him. A gentle, sweet smile that he knew would soon disappear.
“When can I see you again?”
He longed to say tomorrow, to throw caution to the wind and welcome her into his home tomorrow and the next day and the next until they drifted off into a happily-ever-after sunset. But he couldn’t.
It was a fool’s dream. And while Elizabeth was excellent at turning him into one, this time he could not play the fool. Honeyfield would use Elizabeth as easily as she used Willoughby. He couldn’t bring Elizabeth into the middle of this clandestine battle, as her presence in his life now would do. It would be unconscionable.
No, he would protect her now, and then go to her when the dust settled.
“Not for a while,” he said. “I, unfortunately, have some business to tend to.”
“Business,” she said blankly. She studied his expression, her own expression unreadable.
“You’re shivering,” he said. “Let me go call my carriage to bring you home.”
A curl that had escaped out of her pins fell into her face as she shook her head. She scrambled off his lap, forcing him to hiss as the cold air hit his manhood. But beyond straightening his clothes and standing, he ignored the pain. There was something in Elizabeth’s face that he didn’t like, something that told him he had unknowingly stepped into a different war zone.
“I didn’t come here for this, you know. Never did I imagine this would happen when I came here to terminate our acquaintance for good.”
To hear it put like that, he winced. “No, I know. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
“It was you who kissed me,” she said, her voice breaking.
“You’re right.” He didn’t know why, but he felt like a man trying to calm down a nervous filly, one ready to bolt no matter if she hurt herself. He took a step forward and tentatively reached out for her. “Let us get you to the carriage. You’ll feel better under some blankets.”
She yanked her arm away from him. “What were you even doing here, Darcy? Why are you here? Is she here?”
“Who?”
“Don’t do me the disservice by pretending.”
“Kitten, of course I don’t think—”
“Is she here, then? Your Miss Honeydew or watermelon, or whatever her silly name is—is she here?”
Darcy made a point to always at least strive for truthfulness in business but especially in his personal life with those he cared for. Despite knowing how it would impact her, he said, “Yes. She’s here. She’s one of the organizers of these events.”
He felt the blow hit. Saw her shoulders sag and eyes shut. He took a step forward. “I do not want to be here by any stretch of the imagination,” he told her, taking her unresisting hands in his. His voice softened, and he tried to coax out the reasonable Elizabeth that he knew. “It is business, not pleasure that brings me here.”
“Business,” she whispered. She pulled her hands out of his grip and looked up at him, her eyes shining. Her tone curt, she said, “And what business would you have here with Miss Honeyfield?”
“Do you honestly believe I want to be here? She is blackmailing me, Elizabeth. It is no more complicated than that, though the situation may imply otherwise.”
“Blackmail? So she is asking you for money?”
“Not money.”
“Then what is she asking for? Trips to the shop and your presence here in full fancy dress?”
“It is a little more complicated that that,” he said dryly.
Her laugh was so bitter he could taste it. “You said to the contrary not even a breath ago. Lord, I have been a fool. One of the biggest fools in London—no, in all of England!”
“Kitten,” he began.
“No, no, you cannot call me that. You’re not allowed to call me that any longer!”
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��Damn it, Elizabeth, she’s blackmailing me!”
His outburst shocked her into silence. Tears glittering in her eyes, she stared at him as he glared. In a furious whisper, humiliation burning his cheeks, he said, “She’s blackmailing me. That’s the only reason I’m here. If I were here for any other reason, I wouldn’t have pursued you tonight.”
Elizabeth took a step away, and then another. Shame and betrayal burned in her gaze. Her lip trembled.
“So you’re being blackmailed to come to a club and m-make love to women. Poor Darcy. However will you cope with such a cruel fate?” She hiccuped and raised a hand to her face and then stopped, cursing, at the mask blocking her from rubbing her eyes.
“It isn’t like that—If you would just stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen to me, you would understand.”
She dropped her hands. “I understand well enough. Don’t bother wasting any more of your precious breath. It’s finished. You’ve no fear of me using this against you in the future, at least. The sooner I forget everything about you, the better!”
With that, she stormed away. Darcy watched her go, lines of tension making her walk stiff and clunky, without her normal grace. She disappeared into the manor and he lost her, but knew she would be storming toward the exit and back to Gracechurch Street.
He stood in the cold for a long time after that, and only the scent of her still clinging to him told him their encounter had not been a dream.
Chapter Seven
Gone, dried up. Elizabeth collapsed onto her bed once safely inside her room at the Gardiners’ home. She had no more tears to cry, her cheeks sore and tender. It had taken only the trip back to Gracechurch Street by hired buggy to be all cried out, rid of all emotion. Now she felt empty, rung dry like a washcloth in the basin.
They were well and truly finished. Slowly, she began pulling the pins out of her hair.
“Beware Prince Charming,” the female executioner who had signed her in had whispered to her in the front hall, her whisper so light Elizabeth could barely hear her over the din. “Charm only lasts so long before you’re left with the human underneath.”
And he had appeared charming, seductive. His eye would alight on her across a room and her whole body would fizzle like a freshly poured glass of champagne. He had made promises to never put her into a position where they could be caught; promises, she found out, he hadn’t been willing to keep. And he had turned her from a level-headed, pragmatic person into one ruled by passions. An idiotic woman the likes of which she would have ridiculed less than a year ago. Here she was, Elizabeth Bennet, allowing herself to be led on by a man who said only a few pretty words. It would horrify her family. At one point, she would have shared that horror.
Tonight had made it clear. No matter what charming words he uttered, no matter how impassioned his kisses, he did not love her. He did not love her enough to commit to her. She had mistaken his base urges as love, when in reality any woman would have done for him.
She rubbed her tender eyelids. Now to convince herself that it was not love she felt, but only an attachment to the first man who touched her with passion. Her awareness of him was one any woman would have toward a handsome gentleman, but she had assigned more feeling to it. His dark gaze when he entered a room, and the way his mouth curled slightly when saying her nickname, and his elegant stride that evoked the image of a hunting tiger. All of it noticed, memorized, by her eager eyes… but it was simply a crush. A silly little crush that could cost her dearly if she continued to indulge in it.
She should have left well enough alone. She shouldn’t have gone. Though she truly had entered the masquerade only to end things for good between them, she had ridden all the way carrying a hope that, once he saw her, he would confess the time away from each other had caused him to realize his feelings for her.
Even in the privacy of her bedroom, she blushed. She couldn’t believe she had indulged in such a childish fantasy, something only Lydia and Kitty would make up. Disappointment stung her cheeks, and she quickly got up and crossed to her wardrobe, hoping to distract herself from the shame and embarrassment bubbling up in her stomach. But when she pulled out her nightgown, she remembered a night in Longbourn when Darcy had slid his cool hands under this very same nightgown. One of the few times they had ever made it to a bed.
Lord, what a fool she had been! What if she had become pregnant? What if a servant or—Heaven forbid—her father had investigated a noise from Darcy’s guest room? Imagining Jane’s horror, Mrs. Bennet’s shrieks and wails, her father’s silent disapproval, made her stomach churn.
She should have never sought after Darcy tonight. She shouldn’t have listened to his lies about being faithful to her when his very presence at the masquerade spoke volumes.
And blackmail! She snorted. Though she despised Miss Honeyfield on principle, she could imagine no one designing such an elaborate scheme just for Darcy’s presence. It made no sense! No woman would spearhead and organize such an event.
No, the most likely explanation was that Darcy, surprised by her presence, had lied to protect his image in her eyes. Miss Honeyfield was probably sleeping in her bed, dreaming sweet dreams about her beloved Darcy.
She slid under the duvet and pulled the quilt up to her neck, relishing the scratchiness of the fabric. It was time to burn her girlish fantasies and focus on cutting her losses. Only by tending her heartache and admitting her mistakes could she move forward and recover.
At least she had the visit to Charlotte to look forward to. Seeing her pragmatic friend would remind her of what was important in life and also relieve some of her pain after Jane left for Netherfield. It would be a breath of fresh air after so long in a place that only reminded her of Darcy. Hopefully, by the time she returned home, she would see it with fresh eyes.
She blew out the candle on her bedside.
In the morning, Mrs. Gardiner found her in the dining room with a book and her morning tea.
“You’re up early, dear,” she commented as she poured for herself. Her soft smile froze as she looked over the table at Elizabeth. She peered closer. “Are you feeling well, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth couldn’t escape her aunt’s perceptive gaze, but she made an attempt. “I had a little trouble sleeping, is all. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Ah.”
Mrs. Gardiner did not appear wholly satisfied by this excuse, but she accepted it with equanimity. She continued preparing her tea with milk, and Elizabeth read the same line of her book three times without comprehending it.
“I had a thought this morning, and I’m afraid I agreed for us to have tea with a friend of mine today and quite forgot about it when that Miss Honeyfield invited us to join her today. Of course, I feel awfully silly, but I fear I will have to send my regrets. Unless you want to go…?”
The delicate way she phrased the question made Elizabeth’s heart squeeze. Her aunt was one of the kindest, gracious, and most perceptive women of Elizabeth’s acquaintance.
Elizabeth smiled. “It was a last-minute invitation. I’m sure Miss Honeyfield would not be offended if we were to proceed with prior plans.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “I’ll send along a note directly.”
They sat in silence, Elizabeth returning her attention to her book while Mrs. Gardiner prepared toast and fruit for herself. They were used to being the first of the household to the breakfast table in the morning, and today Elizabeth was grateful for it. Jane, though dear to her heart, would notice Elizabeth’s changed mood and inquire about it. The peaceful routine was just what she needed to settle her mind.
“May I ask you a question, Lizzy?”
“Of course.”
“Did you have strong feelings for the gentleman?” When she saw Elizabeth’s expression, she quickly said, “Feel free to not answer this nosy old aunt of yours. I just wish to understand a little of what you are feeling and lend an ear if you wish to speak.”
Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “I don’t think y
ou’re nosy, Aunt. It’s natural you would be curious after my reaction yesterday.” She sighed and set down her book. Outside, birds were flying back and forth, complaining about the frozen ground and the hard-to-reach worms. Mrs. Gardiner waited, hands clasped on the table, her manner so serene Elizabeth imagined she would not mind sitting patiently for hours.
Would it do any harm to reveal a little of her inner turmoil to her aunt? She didn’t think Mrs. Gardiner would judge her too harshly.
“I thought I did,” she finally said. “I still do. But now I’m realizing that I saw a version of him that wasn’t reality, and I allowed my emotions to stand in the way of reason.”
Mrs. Gardiner leaned back, picking up her tea and stirring it with little clinks of the spoon hitting the sides of the teacup. For a long time she said nothing, but Elizabeth did not fill the silence. She let her aunt consider her words.
Then, finally, she said, “I wouldn’t say this hasn’t happened before to many a young woman, myself included when one could accuse me of being young.”
“Then at least I can say I join good company.”
“You are not the first to be swayed by a gentleman’s looks rather than the man himself.”
Elizabeth shared a smile with her aunt. While she thought it was something a little more primal than appearance that attracted her, her aunt’s point was a good one. “And here I hoped to be the first lovesick woman in England. At least now I know what to look for in the future.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “There is always a bright side.”
Chapter Eight
“Why, Darcy, you look far too dull and we haven’t even stepped foot on Rosings.”
Darcy had let Colonel Fitzwilliam into his study only two minutes ago, and he already regretted it. He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile.
“How have you been, cousin? It’s early in the year for your annual trip to London.”
Shifting in front of Darcy’s desk, Fitzwilliam raised a brow. “Yes… if I intended to stay for any length of time. I’m here to start the journey to our dear aunt’s—unless you’ve changed your mind about going this year and we can skive off altogether?”