Chapter Fifteen
DARCY LOST TRACK OF HOW LONG HE HELD HER. THE DAMP TOWEL slid from her back, and he knew nothing but the feel of Elizabeth’s skin beneath his fingertips. He caressed the smoothness of her spine. “William,” she pleaded.
His hands searched her body, desperate to possess her. “You are exquisite,” he murmured as her body arched into his hand. The back of his hand brushed against her breast, and her nipple hardened instantly. “I want to make you mine,” he groaned.
“I want to be yours, William,” she breathed.
Elizabeth’s surrender was too complete, and it brought him to his senses. Reluctantly, Darcy loosened his embrace. “How? How could I?” he stammered. “How could I chance turning my darling Elizabeth into the kind of beast we met today?” He lightly stroked her chin as he spoke.
“What we experience together could never produce evil,” she declared.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered. He traced her lips. “What we possess is pure, so pure I cannot destroy it simply to satisfy my hunger.”
Darcy read the disappointment written on her face.
He wondered for a moment if Elizabeth might actually love him.
She had told her relations that she loved him, but did she?
But he and Elizabeth had never said such words.
Did he love her? Since he met her, Darcy could not breathe unless she were near.
Without her, his life was a pretense. She was his Elizabeth.
Even though it was selfish, Darcy had never known happiness in any form until Elizabeth came into his life.
Pushing away the myriad of questions plaguing him, he said, “It is time to dress for dinner, Elizabeth.”
“Naturally.” She blushed, pulling the towel closer. She scrambled to her feet, but Darcy caught her to him.
“You know your wishes are my own.”
Elizabeth sighed in resignation. “We tarried too long.” Her voice held sadness. Elizabeth moved away quickly, and Darcy knew self-chastisement for his part in her misery. It made him sad he could not be the husband she wanted.
Wickham crawled through the window of the house on Edward Street.
He could not stay at the address for long, but it would be a day or two before Darcy would come.
Of that, he was certain. Darcy would no longer accept Wickham’s intrusions without a response.
It was as he suspected. Darcy and his new wife were a powerful force.
Elizabeth Darcy’s mumblings appeared nonsensical until her last pronouncement had sent him flying through the air like a kite caught by a swift breeze.
How in the name of all that is evil did she know what to say?
Even he had not known a reversal would have such a profound effect!
Wickham laughed bitterly at the irony. Are the fortunes of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy intermingled with my own, our destinies intertwined? He snorted at the distasteful thought.
Wickham settled himself in the room in which he had previously slept. The bullet Darcy fired had lodged in his shoulder, but the rejuvenating powder of his father’s ashes and the earth from his homeland would heal the wound quickly. Fortunately, Darcy’s aim remained poor.
Lying back on the prepared bed, he contemplated his next moves. He needed to force Elizabeth Darcy to abandon her husband. His success depended on his separating the Darcys. Together, they were too powerful.
As he closed his eyes and welcomed a restorative sleep, an idea surfaced.
He was still an officer in the militia—a very agreeable young officer, by all accounts, and Elizabeth Darcy still had sisters at Longbourn whom she loved.
Wickham doubted Mrs. Darcy had shared what she knew of him with any of her family, for to do so would be to disclose Fitzwilliam’s Darcy’s secret.
The Darcys’ union simply required a reason for a withdrawal.
Taking one of Mrs. Darcy’s sisters as a replacement for Amelia Younge could be the perfect revenge on Elizabeth Darcy.
Moreover, it was an inventive means to deny Darcy the one thing the dhampir required: his wife.
His decision made, Wickham would travel to Meryton on the morrow.
Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s sitting room when he heard his sister’s voice. He entered to discover his wife and his sister’s maid tending to Georgiana’s foot. “Is all well?” he asked.
“The wound is clean. And not as deep as we first thought. Your housekeeper sent up a salve for the puncture. It will be tender for several days, but we will keep Georgiana off her feet as much as possible.”
When the wound was bandaged properly, they excused the maid, but they sat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes. The necessary conversation was slow in coming. At length, Darcy declared, “We must discuss what occurred today.”
“I do not think I am able,” Georgiana protested.
Elizabeth countered, “You must, Georgiana.” His wife moved to the desk.
“We are stronger together. I am more determined than ever to finish what we began.” She removed several sheets of foolscap from the drawer and prepared her pen.
It seemed all she required was his permission to act.
“I propose we organize what we know of George Wickham, as well as what works and what does not work against the wretched fiend.”
Darcy inquired, “How did the two of you come to be in the alley with Wickham?”
Elizabeth looked imploringly at Georgiana, and Darcy’s sister reluctantly explained how she injured her foot and how Wickham abducted her. “I apologize for not reacting when he first appeared. I am too hesitant.” Tears formed in the girl’s eyes.
Elizabeth declared vehemently. “You are simply young. And you did what was necessary to survive.”
“Your courage provided me hope.”
Elizabeth shot a furtive glance at Darcy. “That was not courage, Georgiana. That was faith in your brother’s protection.”
“How did you know William was there? You could not have seen him from where you stood.”
“I knew,” Elizabeth said softly. “I knew your brother would come for us, and I sensed his presence. We have a deep connection. I have no other means of explaining it.”
Darcy cleared his throat, while feeling a bit self-conscious. “In the alleyway … what was that you chanted?” he asked.
“At the bookstore, Georgiana and I found several books on spiritualism. One mentioned saying the vampire’s name backwards.
I was desperate for a means to stall until you arrived.
When I reversed the name George Wickham, nothing occurred.
Finally, I remembered Wickham was not his real name.
” Elizabeth recorded something on the paper as she spoke.
“What are you writing?” Georgiana asked curiously.
Elizabeth looked up from her task. “I shall write down everything that appears pertinent to Wickham. We can add information found in the books. In that manner, we can solve the puzzle of how to defeat him.”
“Then add the iron cross,” Georgiana said, brightening.
“The iron retards Wickham’s efforts,” Elizabeth observed, “but it does not stop him or kill him.”
Georgiana thought aloud, “Was that why you begged me to believe in William’s love?”
“I suspect the power of the crucifix lies in our belief in God and in the baobhan síth legend. The power comes more from our faith in the item protecting us than the item itself.”
Stunned by his wife’s analysis, Darcy observed, “If what you say is true, then we must discover in what Wickham believes. Two hundred years ago, elementary Christian ideas readily mixed with tales of the Medieval “supernaturalis” Why did I not see that before?”
Elizabeth’s voice held her anticipation. “If we discover what protects Wickham, we can use it against him.”
“Was there anything else in the books we should note?” Darcy leaned over the desk, as caught up in the possibility as was she.
“I do not know.” Elizabeth confessed. “I sent the majority of them to Pemberley. We will have more time to study them there.”
“Fewer prying eyes.” Darcy recognized the sensibility of her action. “For now, we should spend our time making lists of what we know of the ballad—of the curse—of Wickham’s habits. Then we can compare them with the folklore. Perhaps a pattern will appear.”
“William, who was that woman today?” Although it pained her to recall her part in the woman’s demise, Elizabeth sensed that Darcy knew her.
“It was Mrs. Younge.” He glanced quickly to his sister and noticed her confusion.
“Mrs. Younge?” Georgiana was on her feet also. “Are you confident?”
“Who is Mrs.Younge?” Elizabeth demanded.
“Yes, Georgiana, I am certain the woman I fought today was Mrs. Younge.” The girl gasped in disbelief and sank into the nearest chair. To Elizabeth, he said, “Mrs. Younge was once Georgiana’s governess. I believe it was she who permitted Wickham access to Georgiana.”
Georgiana accused, “You told her?”
“Elizabeth is my wife, Georgiana.” Darcy understood his sister’s embarrassment, but he had no time for such propriety. “If she knows of Wickham, how could I keep anything from her? I trust her with my secrets and with my life.”
Elizabeth gave Georgiana’s embarrassment little credence. She treated his sister as an equal, not a child, as he sometimes did. “What do we know of Mrs.Younge since Wickham’s attack at Ramsgate?”
“She lets lodgings in a less-than-desirable area of London,” he explained. “I had her investigated after Georgiana’s attack. I thought Wickham might follow the woman to London, but he never appeared.”
“Do you know where this Mrs. Younge lived?”
“I do not recall the exact directions, but it is in the investigator’s report,” Darcy assured her. “Do you believe Wickham is there?”
“Wickham likely took shelter with Mrs. Younge after your confrontation in Hertfordshire. I suspect you injured him seriously.”