Page 11 of Midnight at Pemberley

He heard her whisper, “Good night, Mr. Darcy,” but he did not look back.

Chapter Three

ELIZABETH FLOATED INTO THE ROOM. SHE, ELIZABETH BENNET, HAD KISSED Fitzwilliam Darcy! Who would believe it possible? Little over a fortnight earlier, he snubbed her at the assembly. Now, they were keeping company in the middle of the night. When she meant to observe him for her aunt’s sake, she never expected to be the one upon whom he would shower his attention. His kiss mesmerized her. Although she did not wish to admit it even to herself, she would have done anything he asked.

She could understand how women became entangled with rich men. She could also understand how a washerwoman on his estate might lose her heart to him and how a man of his build, of his strength, could kill a woman with just a twist of his hands about her neck. Such was a fact she would be foolish to ignore.

Yet, when he stroked her chin with the back of his hand, it did not feel as if he were a murderer, and when he kissed her, his lips said hunger, but not lust. How was she to know what to believe? She wished desperately to prove her Aunt Gardiner correct. Yet she did not want to believe Mr. Darcy’s attentions to her to be a fatal game of seduction he played with many women.

Darcy did not breathe until he closed the door to his room behind him. What had he been thinking? She tasted of wine and of womanly desire, and immediately Darcy had imagined possessing her completely. Kissing Miss Elizabeth Bennet was excruciating torture, excruciating in the fact he wanted more, much more of her, and torture in the way he knew he could never marry, and that was exactly what he wanted to do. After one kiss, Darcy wished to make Miss Elizabeth his wife—to take her to Pemberley and live happily together. However, there could be no happiness for him. Ellender D’Arcy had seen to that fact centuries earlier. What could he do? He knew Elizabeth held him in a spell as easily as Wickham held his victims.

When he stepped into the morning room, her eyes met his and held his gaze for several long seconds before looking away. In some ways, Miss Elizabeth’s presence in the room surprised Darcy. Most women he knew would still be abed, especially after a long night, but there she was, looking freshly scrubbed and prepared for her day.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said and bowed to her. “I hope the morning brings your sister better health.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said as she rested her fork on her plate. “I believe it does.”

At the side bar he poured himself tea. Assuming the place across from her, he attempted to ignore the jolt of desire in his groin, as well as his preoccupation with the point on her neck where Elizabeth’s pulse throbbed visibly beneath the skin. To compensate, he addressed his friend.

“What say you, Bingley? What are your plans for the day?”

Bingley fidgeted in his seat, but his voice did not waver. “Darcy, if you do not mind, I would prefer to stay close to the house. Mr. Jones is to call upon Miss Bennet. I wish to know confidence in her recovery.”

“Naturally, Bingley.” Then, with an unanticipated pleasure, Darcy turned his eyes to Elizabeth. “It seems, Miss Elizabeth, Bingley releases me from my obligation. If you are of the persuasion, I could oversee the riding lesson of which we spoke.”

She went very still, and Darcy watched as shock played across her features, but Elizabeth recovered quickly. “Mr. Darcy, I could not intrude on your time,” she protested.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley assured her, “if you wish to learn from the best, Mr. Darcy is your man. I watched him teach Miss Darcy, and she is a superb horsewoman. It is an excellent idea, Darcy. Which horse do you suppose best fits Miss Elizabeth? Ceres, perhaps?”

“From your current choices, Ceres is a good one—gentle but a spark of adventurousness.” He looked upon Elizabeth to note the impact of his words. “If I were at Pemberley, I would choose a gelding—mayhap Apollo—but we will make do with what we have.”

“Mr. Darcy,” her protest returned, “I have no riding habit.”

Darcy smiled as he moved to the sideboard to fill a plate. His eyes told her to follow him. “We will send a servant to Longbourn to retrieve it,” he said as if she had no choice.

Bingley turned his attention to the entrance of his Brother Hurst. As instructed, Elizabeth stepped beside Darcy, standing closer than propriety permitted. “Mr. Darcy, I own no riding habit,” she hissed under her breath.

Her breast touched his upper arm, and Darcy shrugged his shoulders to rub against her. Such flirtations were beyond gentlemanly behavior, but Darcy had never permitted himself a reminder of what his life could be. He turned his head and spoke to her hair. “You do now, Miss Elizabeth. It will arrive by two.”

“Mr. Darcy,” she avowed, “I cannot accept gifts from you.”

“Another scandalous proposition,” he whispered as he placed toast on her plate. “Would you like chocolate, Miss Elizabeth?” he said, loud enough for the others to hear.

Elizabeth glared at him. “I do not think so, Mr. Darcy,” she said meaningfully.

Darcy leaned across her to choose a hard-boiled egg because it placed him in closer proximity to her. “What would Bingley say if he knew what happened last night?”

“Mr. Darcy, I dislike being blackmailed,” she said huskily.

“I just wish to spend time with you.” She stared at him, held his gaze with the most luminous eyes he ever beheld, before nodding her assent. “Thank you,” he mouthed as he turned back to the table.

When he had left her the previous evening, despite his better judgment, he had roused one of his footmen to send the man to London with specific instructions for Madame Lucinda, a renowned modiste, for a plainly cut riding habit in a dark green or grey. He could not imagine why he felt compelled to be with Miss Elizabeth, but, surprisingly, he enjoyed the possibilities. For some reason, the lady made him feel complete.

He slipped a note under her door stating that he would meet her at the stable at three. Elizabeth did not join them for the midday meal, sending word that she must tend to her sister. Therefore, he was not confident whether she would show. Relief arrived when he viewed her approach. The green riding habit required an adjustment in the hem and the waist, but, overall, no one would know it did not belong to her.

A groom hurried forward to greet her. He escorted Elizabeth to where Darcy held the horse’s bridle.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he acknowledged with a tilt of his head. She curtsied. “May I introduce you to Ceres?” He held the horse’s head still. “You should become familiar with the animal before you take your seat.”