Chapter Four #2
“Ye have just stepped from a whore's bedroom and ye speak to me of purity? That is rich. Ye are a fool and a hypocrite, Lord Darcy.”
* * *
His grip tightened on her arms once again as he glared at her.
In his many years taunting and using the opposite sex, no woman had ever infuriated him as much as his betrothed.
She had poor connections, she had little money, yet she possessed the power to slice him deep with her tongue.
It was part of her charm, and the talent which he most wished she would suddenly lose.
She, unlike everybody he had ever encountered, never failed to tell the truth.
Although the new information was a surprise to him at the moment, he had to admit that he enjoyed this more so than the company of liars.
Also, he was not a hypocrite. He had gone to the brothel in hopes of finding a woman, but none had struck his fancy, so he had simply enjoyed drinks and dice. Elizabeth, however, need not know that. He liked to pretend it was jealousy that riled her so.
“Ye are hurting me.” Her voice was low and icy.
“A thousand apologies.” He removed his hands, contrite. “Will you swear that nothing untoward occurred between you and Mr. Wickham this evening?”
She took a moment to consider her response, then smirked. “Pray, define ‘untoward.’”
His temper boiled again, but she dodged him before he could grab her.
“Do not trifle with me, Elizabeth.”
“Kindly refrain from throwing my name about. Ye do not own me yet, my lord.”
“I doubt any man would truly ever own you, nor would he wish to.”
“Liar. Ye wish to own my very soul. Collecting them for the devil himself, are ye?”
“Shall I send for the village physician then? I believe he is nearby.” Darcy threw a glance towards the Queen's Knees.
“I kissed George this evening. Nothing more. I kissed him good-bye.” Her voice held a hint of regret, but Darcy could detect nothing more.
“That is all the evidence I am to receive?”
“What more do ye require, sir?”
“A kiss.”
“After ye have been inside that house? I shall not.”
“Then I shall fetch Doctor Fox.”
“Fine!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.
Darcy wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“Sir, we are in plain sight. I would prefer the whole world not see that I have allowed ye to molest me.”
He released her, shaking his head and chuckling. “I no longer want to kiss you. I find no romance the act.”
She grunted, shook her fists, and attempted to walk away. Quickly, he commandeered her hand, spun her around, and embraced her. His mouth covered hers completely, crushing and bruising.
But no taste of a man lingered—no tobacco, no brandy—simply that sweet berry taste of Elizabeth.
Either George Wickham lacked passion or was a dandy.
How could a man not kiss her the way she was supposed to be kissed?
She should be kissed like she was the only source of oxygen in the room, like her lips were a font and a man was dying of thirst.
His tongue slid into her hesitant mouth, which verified she had not been spoiled. She had barely even been kissed.
He broke the kiss and let her stumble backward.
Casually, he sauntered back to his mount and was up in the saddle in a moment.
Slightly confused, Elizabeth took two steps in the direction of her house before Darcy lifted her up with ease and placed her body in front of his, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, his palm flat over her belly.
He breathed close to her ear, and she shivered—it must have tickled.
Just before they reached the bend in the road that led to Longbourn, Darcy brought the horse to a halt and tightened his hold on his intended.
He had sensed a change in her person. What had distracted her enough to lean against him, hold on to him?
In any case, he found the heat from her body more pleasant than he had even imagined.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked quietly.
Her hands were cold and he removed his from her stomach to cover hers.
She was so close he could take in details he had missed before: the way her hair, in the fuzzy dawn light, glowed like a dying fire, how she smelled clean and bright like lemons and sage, and the way she held herself on the horse despite the obvious fact that she disliked the beast. His stomach rolled in a sick way.
What might have happened with that boy? She was a conquest, a challenge, and he was worried about his property.
He repeated it to himself, trying to make himself believe it.
“Sunrise,” he whispered, pulling the horse in the direction of the rising sun. “I could let you go now, and we could forget this incident happened or I take you to the house where your Papa is informed of your activities.”
“I see.” She shifted in the saddle. “I suppose it is thy decision. Which do ye plan to do?”
“I shall forgive you your trespasses this morning provided you do one thing for me.”
“It is to be a pound of flesh then. Very well. What am I to do?”
“I want a kiss.”
“I have kissed ye once already!”
“Wrong answer.” Darcy clicked his tongue and the animal began moving.
“Wait!” Elizabeth cried.
“Too late. You have lost your chance for redemption. Count on my wrath being ample.”
“Ye are a bastard.”
“Language, Miss Elizabeth! Does your father allow such vulgarity?”
Darcy gave the horse a kick and the beast sped up. At Longbourn House, Darcy dismounted then pulled Elizabeth down as the front door opened.
Sir Thomas’s mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Pray, where have ye been?”
“I found her along the roadside, sir. I believe she was with her former beau.”
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open in shock at the ease with which Darcy implicated her.
“Elizabeth,” Sir Thomas muttered, shaking his head.
“Sir, I have lost faith in your ability to control your daughter and her impetuous actions. I must demand that when I return north at the end of this week, my betrothed will accompany me so I may protect myself and our contract.”
“Like hell!” Elizabeth wailed, turning on Darcy and beating on his chest. “This was thy plan all along, was it not?”
“Sir, control your daughter.” Darcy's tone was deadly.
Defeated, Sir Thomas stepped forward and grabbed Elizabeth about the waist, pulling her away.
“Have her things readied by dawn on Fifth Day. My party is to leave then.” Without another word, Darcy returned to his horse and kicked him up to speed, a billowing cloud of dust obscuring him from view.
* * *
In his anger at being ordered about by Lord Darcy, Father terminated Hill's tenure as Elizabeth's governess so when dawn came about on Fifth Day, Elizabeth was loaded into a carriage and was quite alone.
She was allowed to travel with her lady's maid, Heather, who was expected to ride in a separate vehicle.
She had said her terse goodbyes to her father and tried not to weep while household servants she had known all her life broke down.
She had not even been allowed to write a note to Charlotte informing her of the change in departure.
There would be no good-bye for her dearest friend.
Lord Darcy watched the partings with obvious disinterest, dismounting when Elizabeth was ready to be handed into the carriage. He barely glanced back as Elizabeth’s carriage and the coach containing her belongings began the long journey.
They met the rest of the traveling party, including two more coaches full of supplies and goods, at the main road that led towards the north.
Elizabeth caught a glimpse of her future husband as his horse trotted past the window of the carriage.
No one could deny that he made an impressive figure on the steed with his sword glinting dangerously at his side and his long hair trailing down his back in a thick, loose plait.
But his steely blue eyes were cold, and she bit her lip at the thought of spending the rest of her life with such a man.
After several attempts, she found she could not read the book she had brought with her.
The road was too rough, and the words became jumbled after a short time.
Instead, she put it away and watched the familiar dissolve into the similar.
All too soon even the similar would disappear and her world would never be the same.
* * *
When the sun was high, the company stopped. The carriage door opened, and cool air flooded the small compartment.
Elizabeth started when somebody’s hand touched hers and was embarrassed that she had fallen asleep.
“Miss Elizabeth, we are stopping to rest the horses and have a bite to eat. May I accompany you?” Lord Darcy asked, extending his hand to assist her from the carriage.
Slowly, she offered him her gloved hand and blinked as the sunlight overpowered her senses. He steadied her by gently touching her forearm and waited until she recovered. She was unused to a gentle display from him and became suspicious.
“What do ye want?” she whispered as they passed milling servants on their way into an inn.
“Stew.”
“Ye know what I speak of. Do not be coy.”
“And ale.”
Elizabeth huffed. Frustrating man!
“I suggest you get some bread, cheese, and wine to put in the carriage with you. The claret at this inn is particularly good.”
“What game are ye playing at, sir? Why are ye suddenly the milk of human kindness? Or, perhaps, the milk curd.”
“You never tire of hearing your own cleverness, do you?”
She shrugged. They entered the busy little inn and Lord Darcy set her at a table near a back window.
“My servants are present, my lady. I shall not set their tongues to wagging by quibbling with you before them. I would appreciate if you would apply the same effort since you are to become their mistress shortly.”
He excused himself to seek relief and left her to order their meals. When he returned, his eyes widened since his stew and ale were awaiting him. Perhaps he had expected to find raw eggs and skunked cider at his seat. She had thought about asking for them.