Chapter Twelve A Ball of Excellent ution Part I #3
“If he requests a dance, you are under no obligation to accept.”
“I agreed to draw him into action.”
“You agreed to assist. You did not surrender the right to alter the terms.”
Miss Elizabeth closed her fan briefly, then moved it in her right hand, looping the ribbon securely.
Darcy followed the movement with his eyes. “If he proposes a private conversation, you close this and move it to your left hand. Miss Lucas summons Mr Collins, and you do not leave the ballroom without them.”
“You have repeated that instruction several times, Mr Darcy.”
“I shall repeat it until Wickham is extinguished.”
She regarded him as they moved down the line. “You have already explained that I cannot be compelled. You need not attempt it through concern.”
“I am not trying to compel you.”
“No, but your natural authority is doing exhausting work.”
Darcy drew her closer than the figure strictly required, then corrected the distance before the observers could interpret it. “You may stop the plan at any moment. Speak one word, and Wickham will be removed from this house.”
“Without evidence?”
“Yes.”
“And then he will approach elsewhere, where you cannot control the doors.”
“I shall find him, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Before or after he finds me?”
Darcy could give no honest assurance.
Miss Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around his. “This is my danger as well as yours. You do not protect my freedom by refusing to permit me to use it.”
“I know.”
“You dislike knowing,” she observed.
“Intensely.”
Her mouth curved. “Then we have made progress.”
The music carried them through the final figure.
Beyond Miss Elizabeth’s shoulder, Wickham danced with Miss Kitty while keeping his eyes fixed on them.
He did not bother concealing his interest from Darcy.
The challenge in his face was deliberate: Darcy wanted the woman in his arms, Wickham knew what her blood could offer, and the ballroom prevented either vampire from acting openly.
Miss Elizabeth turned to see what he watched. “Do not glower at him.”
“I am not glowering.”
“Several candles have diminished.”
A bark of laughter escaped him, which made her eyes shine with amusement.
The set ended. Darcy returned Miss Elizabeth to Miss Lucas, released her hand, and stepped back before instinct could overrule discipline. Collins stood several feet away, leaning on his stick while he watched Wickham complete his bow to Miss Kitty. All of them stood where the plan required.
Wickham crossed the ballroom. He greeted Miss Lucas, acknowledged Collins, and bowed before Miss Elizabeth with perfect elegance.
“Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honour of the next set?”
Darcy heard her heartbeat accelerate, but her fan was open in her right hand.
“You may, Mr Wickham.”
Wickham extended his hand, and Darcy had to step aside and permit her to take it.
ELIZABETH PLACED HER hand in Mr Wickham’s.
Cold travelled through his glove, unmistakable now that she knew what it meant.
He bowed over her fingers without bringing them near his mouth, and the restraint appeared almost mocking after Mrs Philips’s doorway.
Mr Darcy was several feet behind them, his hands clasped at his back and every muscle of his body controlled so severely that restraint had become a public act.
Mr Wickham led her into the forming set. “I fear our last meeting ended strangely.”
“You held my hand too tightly, as I recall, Mr Wickham.”
“A momentary illness.” He guided her through the first figure, his expression touched by regret so graceful that half the room would have forgiven him without knowing the offence.
“The excitement of arriving in a new neighbourhood, irregular hours, and the demands of military society must be held responsible.”
“Do irregular hours often turn your eyes black?”
His step did not falter. “You observed that?”
“Mr Collins observed it as well, although he has since become uncharacteristically discreet.”
The dance separated them. Elizabeth wove between two couples and returned to him as the musicians carried the set forward. He had used the interval to abandon regret and recover amusement.
“You have been speaking to Darcy.”
“I have lately acquired knowledge of several unpleasant things, Mr Wickham.” Elizabeth allowed him to take her hand for the turn and released him at the earliest instant permitted by the figure. “I believe you are of a similar nature.”
He laughed softly. “How delicately you arrange an accusation.”
“I have not accused you of anything.”
“Not yet.”
“Should I?”
He studied her while they moved down the line. “Darcy has told you enough to encourage suspicion but not enough to damage himself. That is very characteristic.”
“You admit that he and you share certain qualities.”
“We share an origin. I should not flatter him by claiming any greater resemblance.”
The next figure brought Lydia and Mr Denny past them. Lydia smiled broadly at Elizabeth, delighted that Mr Wickham had distributed his notice within the family, while Mr Denny appeared less pleased by the arrangement. Mr Wickham returned Lydia’s greeting before turning back to Elizabeth.
“Has Darcy told you how long he has desired to become human?”
“He mentioned the desire.”
“Mentioned it,” he repeated the phrase with enjoyment. “He has pursued every scrap of prophecy, every rumour, and every relic for centuries. There is not a master vampire in Europe who does not know that Fitzwilliam Darcy despises what he is.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened. “That does not make his desire dishonourable.”
“No, but desire becomes dangerous when a man has patience, power, and very little conscience.”
“You have accused him of pride, injustice, and calculation. A want of conscience is a new addition.”
“I lacked privacy at your aunt’s house.”
The dance carried him away before Elizabeth could respond.
She completed the figure with another gentleman, aware that Mr Darcy watched closely.
He had not moved, but his gaze followed Mr Wickham.
Charlotte was next to Mrs Hurst, and Mr Collins stood beside her resting both hands on his walking stick.
When Mr Wickham returned, he lowered his voice.
“Darcy never approaches anyone without calculation. Every courtesy has a purpose, every confidence advances a design, and every sacrifice purchases a greater advantage. You cannot believe his interest in you began before he recognised your blood.”
“What advantage do you suppose he expects?”
“Your consent. He cannot take what he needs by force,” Wickham said.
“You must give your blood willingly. Fear will not suffice, and compulsion is useless against you, so he must secure affection. Once you care for him, he will present his suffering, his long imprisonment, and his noble reluctance to ask. You will offer what he has wanted all along.”
“And if I do?”
“He becomes human.” Mr Wickham released her and bowed as the figure required. “You become immortal, unchanging, and bound to the world he has escaped.”
“I would become a master vampire.”
Surprise appeared before he concealed it. “He admitted that?”
“He did.”
“But did he explain what it means? You would have strength beyond ordinary vampires. You could compel vampires, not only humans. You could command them and live beyond every earthly limitation. Darcy would not merely gain humanity. You would receive power.”
The set separated them again. Elizabeth performed the figure and returned while he adjusted his approach. He had expected ignorance, then fear. Knowledge required seduction of another kind.
“I do not wish to see Darcy use you.” His expression softened. “Whatever lies between him and me, you have no part in it. You deserve the choice he intends to narrow until only sacrifice appears honourable.”
“How fortunate that you are willing to protect my freedom.”
“I am willing to explain it.”
“In a ballroom full of witnesses?” she asked.
“No, not here. Darcy can hear us.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. He stood in the same place, but the distance meant nothing when he could hear her heartbeat from another room. She had felt her heart betray her when Mr Wickham first bowed over her hand. She resolved to give Mr Darcy nothing further to hear.
Mr Wickham followed her glance. “Bingley’s study is open this evening. Darcy used it before the guests arrived, and there are papers there concerning the True Blood which he has not shown you.”
“Why would Mr Darcy leave such papers in an unlocked room?”
“Because he believes I cannot cross the boundaries he has imposed.”
“Can you?”
“The study is among the rooms opened to the guests.” He extended one arm as they turned. “His command protects the private passages, not every desk at Netherfield.”
The explanation was plausible enough to deserve suspicion. Elizabeth completed the figure without responding.
“I will show you the papers,” he continued. “You may read Darcy’s intentions in his own hand.”
“Do you take me for a fool? I shall not go anywhere alone with you, Mr Wickham.”
Mr Wickham’s gaze travelled beyond her to Mr Collins, who stood beside Charlotte with his stick planted firmly between his shoes. Contempt touched Mr Wickham’s face before charm concealed it.
“Your cousin may accompany us. No one could question the propriety of a clergyman’s presence.”
“No one acquainted with Mr Collins would question his presence anywhere. He generally supplies the explanation before it is requested.”
The music ended. He bowed, and Elizabeth returned the courtesy before stepping away. She closed her fan and transferred it to her left hand.
Charlotte saw the movement.
She walked without haste, drawing Mr Collins with her through the simple method of mentioning Elizabeth’s name and walking in the required direction.
Mr Collins followed, his stick striking the floor at every second step despite the injured toe having caused him no visible discomfort since his dance.