CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth disappear into the house, he pressed his lips into a line.
Her perturbation had been apparent. This was not how he had intended their dialogue to proceed and further substantiated that the less he conversed with her, the better.
He might not have been so plain-spoken had he not been confident that she could walk away unscathed, albeit vexed, by any remark from him, but she did not deserve his impertinence, no matter her faults.
For days he had vacillated between continuing her instruction and removing himself from the picture.
The thought of another man touching her was unbearable.
But he had to ask himself what course of action was objectively best. If he intended to distance himself from Miss Elizabeth—and he had practiced this aim to no avail every time he made a point to encounter her on her walks or paid her a visit at the Parsonage—a third lesson would set him back grievously, perhaps past the point of no return.
He had called upon Abby to inform her of his noble intent to give up his position as Miss Elizabeth’s instructor, but was informed that Mrs. Trenwith had taken herself into town for a few days to attend a friend in need.
She was expected to return Saturday, the appointed day for Miss Elizabeth’s third lesson.
He did not receive this news disfavourably, however, for Miss Elizabeth would only suffer a mild disappointment if she came to Trenwith House on Saturday to learn her instructor was indisposed.
The delay would provide him the opportunity to speak in greater depth with Abby of his concerns regarding Miss Elizabeth.
Alas, when Saturday had come, Fate did not prove an obliging cohort.
He arrived at Trenwith House to learn Abby’s return was to be delayed a day.
Her presence was not required, as Pierre and Sally were seasoned servants and could ensure the lessons proceeded smoothly without the guidance of their mistress.
Darcy determined that he would deliver a letter to Miss Elizabeth expressing his regrets and apologies for the inconvenience his unavailability would cause, but his plans were dashed upon learning that, while Abby was not returned from town, Mr. Nicholas had, and was presently entertaining Miss Elizabeth.
“They have been an hour upon the south portico,” Pierre answered when asked.
Disconcerted by the information, Darcy felt empty of recourse.
While he could still have a letter delivered to Miss Elizabeth, he was loath to leave her with her present company, yet he could not intrude upon them without revealing himself.
Perhaps, upon receiving the letter, she would see no reason to continue at Trenwith House and take her leave.
But what if she did not? He needed to remove Miss Elizabeth from Mr. Nicholas.
“Have Sally inform Miss Bennet—discreetly, of course—that she can prepare for her lesson,” he instructed Pierre, “and notify me when Miss Bennet has retired to her chambers.”
By the time Pierre returned, Darcy had made up his mind that he would risk discovery by seeking out Nicholas.
He wanted to ascertain what the young man knew of Miss Elizabeth’s presence at Trenwith House and his intentions toward the lady.
As Darcy made for the terrace overlooking the garden, he wished Miss Elizabeth were not nearly so engaging nor so pretty.
From George Wickham to Colonel Fitzwilliam and himself, she had amassed quite the bevy of admirers in the time he had known her.
Once upon the terrace outside, he was met with only a maidservant attending to the remains upon the table.
“Where is Mr. Trenwith?” he asked, noting the two used wine glasses she placed upon her tray.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, he left here but a few minutes ago,” she replied. “To where, I know not.”
Darcy eyed the open bottles upon her tray. One of them was unusually small for a wine bottle.
“Had he and the lady with him been drinking much?” he asked.
“They finished this one, to be certain. Or, rather, she seemed to drink from it more.” The maid held up the curious flask. “Mr. Nicholas had this one upon him. I have never seen its like in the cellar a’fore. He preferred the claret.”
Darcy took the dark amber-coloured bottle from her and sniffed it.
He poured the last remaining drop onto his finger.
Upon tasting the liquid, he turned pale.
The brew had been greatly sweetened, but the distinctive flavours of the aphrodisiac could not be entirely masked.
He did not favour the use of such tonics, but the Duchess had found them intriguing and had experimented with them extensively.
The one that Miss Elizabeth had been imbibing was dubbed Nectar of Rati, one of the more potent agents.
If she had consumed the majority of the bottle, and over the course of an hour, she would be in a precarious state at this time.
Biting back an oath, Darcy dispatched the maid to Miss Elizabeth’s chamber with the directive that the guest was not to leave the room under any circumstance, nor was anyone to enter.
He quickly took himself back to his own chambers, where he found Pierre waiting.
With Nicholas prowling about the premises, the first order of business was to remove Miss Elizabeth from his reach, but she would be in no condition to return home until the effect of the aphrodisiac had worn off.
“Have Sally install her in the Temple of Bastet,” Darcy said as he threw off his coat.
The Temple of Bastet was a small, enclosed pavilion tucked in the far end of the garden and hidden from view by a thicket of hazel trees.
Few knew of its existence, and Nicholas had no affinity for walking about the garden.
Miss Elizabeth could be safely ensconced there until the Nectar of Rati ran its course.
Someone would have to keep Miss Elizabeth company during that time, and Darcy trusted no one but himself to ensure her safety.
“Shall I assist your wardrobe first?” Pierre asked.
“No!” Darcy answered. “After you have delivered the directions to Sally, find the whereabouts of Mr. Trenwith.”
Pierre, too proficient to ask questions, did as he was bid.
In his haste, Darcy opted simply to throw a banyan over his clothes and affix a mask over his eyes.
“I am told Mr. Trenwith was headed to the West Wing,” Pierre reported upon his return.
“And Sally?”
“Leading the miss to the Temple as we speak. It is fortunate timing. Before she left for London, Mrs. Trenwith had requested the Temple be prepared for the warmer spring weather.”
Darcy had not considered the state of the Temple.
He only wanted a place to shelter Miss Elizabeth for an hour or two.
His heart pounded as if he had run some distance, and not a moderate walk through the Trenwith garden.
He paused before the pavilion, simple in construct with a red cupola, ivory columns, and single marble door.
Two stone cats of alabaster guarded the entry.
It had been many years since Darcy had set foot within its confines, though Abby preferred it to any other location.
Inside the rotunda, sunken reliefs and carvings of gods and goddesses, in various states of dress and copulation, looked down upon a low platform bed with a canopy of coral-coloured fabric above the headrest. A mountain of pillows decked the new bed clothes, a mix of hand-woven linen and raw silk.
Lighting came from small pottery with floating wicks and warmth from a half-dozen torches evenly spaced in the pavilion, which otherwise would have been cold and pitch black.
Miss Elizabeth sat in the room’s only chair.
His breath left him upon seeing her, dressed in a kalasiris with straps.
The sheath reached just to the ankle, exposing sandals and feet to view, and its upper edge barely extended above the nipples.
He could not help his gaze from lingering a superfluous second upon the gleaming orbs.
A pleated shawl covered her shoulders and a turquoise mask concealed the upper half of her countenance.
With her dark hair unadorned, and skin tanned from all her walking, she did not appear out of place in the apparel.
Seeing his study, she said, “Sally thought this costume fitting for the location.”
Darcy only nodded. She shifted her hips in discomfort, though he did not suspect the furniture to be the cause.
“I must admit to being quite confused at this appointment,” she said.
He could see her clenching her thighs together through the thin muslin. He could barely swallow.
She continued, “I had received direction that I am to meet you in the Chamber of the Golden Phoenix in the south wing. Now I have been shown here.”
He decided against telling her that the note she had received had likely come from Nicholas. She pulled at her neck and released a haggard breath. Her discomfort was contagious, and he found himself wishing he had fortified himself with a stiff drink before he came.
“I fear, mademoiselle,” he said, “that you have partaken of an aphrodisiac.”
She stared at him blankly.
“A substance that arouses sexual desire,” he defined.
“I know what an aphrodisiac is,” she replied, “but you must be mistaken.”
As she spoke, her disbelief seemed to fade. “I do feel…peculiar. I thought perhaps I had partaken of a little too much claret?”
“Were you not drinking of another beverage whilst in the company of Mr. Trenwith?”
“Yes, it tasted of cloves and cinnamon…you think he…?” She squirmed in her seat and began fanning herself with her hand. “What am I to do?”
“Nothing. We shall wait for the effect to dissipate.”
She knit her brow in thought. “But we are to have our third lesson, are we not?”
He pulled at his cravat. “Given your condition, I think it best we forego any lesson.”
“I am not incapacitated. I merely feel…flush.”
“You are under the influence of a drug.”
“I am in possession of my faculties.”
“I respectfully disagree. You cannot have had much experience with aphrodisiacs.”
“But you have?”
“I have seen its effects in others.”
“Does it not aid our purpose here?”
“All too readily,” he replied drily.
“Then what is your objection?”
He frowned. The next two hours would not be easy.
“It was not without difficulty that I came here,” she continued. “The opportunities for these lessons are few, and the window upon them slim. If there is no good reason not to proceed—”
He turned from her. The dress molded her body in a fashion as to set his mind on fire. He faced a statue of Bastet, her feline eyes staring at him as if to demand how he dared commit blasphemy in her presence by not engaging in amorous activity.
“Are you ill?” she asked. “But you must have recovered or you would not have sent that note to me.”
“That was not mine.” He looked about, but in a rotunda, there was no corner to retreat to.
“That would explain the different handwriting,” she mused aloud. “But who then…?”
“I would hazard Mr. Nicholas Trenwith to be the author.”
Understanding seemed to dawn for her. “You think he gave me the aphrodisiac intentionally?”
“Did I not warn you to be on your guard?” he responded more angrily than he intended.
“Forgive me if I do not suspect everyone of poisoning me!”
He put a hand to his head in frustration. What was he to do?
“Is the aphrodisiac dangerous?”
“Not that I am aware.”
Though she had consumed a fair amount.
Agitated, she rose to her feet but wavered within a few steps, as if about to faint. He was at her side in an instant.
“One would think me inebriated,” she said with a hand at her head.
He helped her sit upon the bed. “Perhaps you had best lie a while.”
She nodded and allowed him to place her feet upon the bed as she reclined against the pillows. Her gaze roamed the rotunda, eventually falling upon a hieroglyphic of a man penetrating a woman from behind.
“What is this place?” she inquired.
“Abby names it the Temple of Bastet, said to be the goddess of sensual pleasure and defender of the pharaohs. She often takes the form of a cat or lioness.”
Miss Elizabeth observed the many appearances of the feline creature around them, including a gold embroidery upon a pillow. She rubbed her thighs together. He attempted to keep from looking anywhere below her neck.
“A fitting place for amorous pursuits,” she murmured. “Are you still opposed to the lesson?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He took a deep breath through his nose as he attempted to conjure a credible explanation, but nothing of satisfaction came to mind.
“You are inebriated, of a sort,” he repeated and went to stand against the wall.
She put a hand upon her forehead and crossed one leg over the other. Her breath was uneven. “Still, I fail to comprehend why that is an obstacle?”
“It is simply my principle not to engage if a pupil is intoxicated,” he replied brusquely.
Her squirming increased. A hand gripped the sheets. “A noble policy, I am sure, but rather unnecessary. I came here with full and sober awareness of what I engage in.”
“You will thank me later,” he muttered. It was no use. He could refrain from looking upon her directly but could still detect her motions from the periphery of his eyes.
“You mean to deny me then? But how ungenerous of you!”
A muscle rippled along his jaw.
“Then why are we here?”
“You will be safe here till you are returned to normalcy.”
“Safe? From what?”
He made no answer.
“I refuse to be imprisoned here,” she stated and sat up.
“It would be more prudent to stay,” he said quickly.
“For what purpose? To stare at titillating Egyptians?”
“When you are not under the influence of the aphrodisiac—”
“I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”
She stood up. He came to her.
“You might come across Nicholas.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “And what if I do?”
His jaw tightened and his cock tensed. “Given his treatment of you, you dare place yourself in danger of further mischief?”
“Take care, sir, your tone is in grave danger of condescension!”
She took a step forward but he grasped her by the arm. She looked down upon his hand.
“Lest you are disabled in some manner,” she began, and here her gaze dipped lower to where his hardened cock bulged against his pants, “I appeal to your consideration. A gentleman would not keep a lady in distress.”
The blood drained from his face and collected in his groin.
“Please.”
The small and breathy plea, passing between two supple and exquisite lips, was his undoing.
With a devastated groan, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers.
Surprised by the force of his movement, she lost her footing and they toppled to the bed.
He landed atop her, and the feel of her body beneath his ensured defeat of all forbearance.