Chapter Thirteen A Ball of Excellent ution Part II
MR WICKHAM CALMLY CLOSED the study door.
Elizabeth faced him. “What did you do?”
“I removed an inconvenience.”
“You compelled him.”
“He will remember an urgent desire to return to Longbourn,” he said with a shrug. “By the time anyone notices his absence, our conversation will be finished.”
“You claimed you wished to protect my freedom.”
“I wish to protect it from Darcy. Your cousin’s freedom is of no consequence.”
The charm was absent now that he believed them alone. He walked to the fireplace, the flames sharpening the angles of his face while leaving no warmth in his skin.
“You are the True Blood.”
Elizabeth did not answer.
Fear wanted her heart, and she declined to surrender it. She breathed as though the room contained nothing more alarming than a long sermon, measuring each breath against the music beyond the wall. Let Mr Darcy hear a woman conducting a disagreement, nothing more.
“The instant I touched you, I recognised it.” He flexed the fingers which had held her hand at Mrs Philips’s. “There are vampires who have searched for you for years, and you were walking through Meryton accompanied by three foolish girls and a clergyman.”
“One of the foolish girls appears to have been me.”
“No. You have many qualities, Miss Elizabeth, but foolishness is not among them. That is why Darcy fears what I might tell you.”
“He told me what my blood can do.”
“His version of it.” He approached the chair nearest her but did not sit. “Give your blood willingly to a master vampire and he becomes human. You become master in his place, immortal, and subject to no authority but your own.”
“Darcy explained the exchange.”
“Did he describe the power? You could command every vampire in England. You could never age, never sicken, and never depend on a husband’s wealth, or a father’s estate.
Your family will lose Longbourn to that creature carrying the stick, yet one act of consent would place you beyond every inheritance law written by men. ”
Elizabeth kept her distance from him. “Your concern for the legal position of women is touching.”
“I understand what it is to have nothing while another man controls everything.”
“You also understand how to improve your position by deceiving a young woman.”
Mr Wickham’s face became still.
“So far, all you have told me means immense power for me,” she continued before caution could restrain her. “It is very interesting, but not as interesting as what Mr Darcy told me about Georgiana.”
The name stripped away the last of his performance.
“What did he tell you?”
“Can you not imagine, Mr Wickham?”
“He has discussed his sister with you,” he said, surprise written in his features.
“He discussed what you did to her.”
For the first time, he appeared less angry than wounded. Darcy had trusted Elizabeth with a history Mr Wickham considered his private weapon, and the confidence disturbed him.
“He has been thorough.” He walked away from the fire and paced along the front of the shelves. “Did he also tell you that Georgiana had lived for centuries under his command? That she could not leave Pemberley, form an acquaintance, or make a decision without his consent? I offered her freedom.”
“You offered her another prison with yourself as gaoler.”
“She would have had rank, wealth, and a husband unable to discard her,” he reasoned.
“A husband who despised her, you mean?” she countered.
“I did not despise her. I merely valued other qualities more.”
Elizabeth huffed at him. “You improve your defence with every sentence!”
He stopped pacing. “Darcy has persuaded you that he is honourable because he confessed to wanting your blood before taking it. He will not remain so noble when you refuse him. He has desired humanity for centuries, and you are the only creature who can give it to him.”
“He has already refused to ask.”
“Of course he has. Refusal increases the value of the sacrifice when you offer it. It is his scheme, Miss Elizabeth!”
“You believe every act of restraint is calculation because calculation is the only restraint you practise.”
The darkness began to gather in him again.
Elizabeth held her ground. “You claimed to have brought me here to reveal Mr Darcy’s intentions. You have revealed only your own.”
“My intention is to offer you the choice he fears.”
“To give you my blood.”
“No! To become free!” he shouted.
“While you become human and escape every consequence of the condition you forced on others.”
“I did not force it on all of them.”
“The distinction is unlikely to comfort those you did.”
“Give me your blood,” he urged. “Think of that. Together, we could fight him.”
“I do not require preternatural power to disagree with Mr Darcy. Ordinary conversation has proved sufficient.”
Mr Wickham’s mouth curved, but nothing human entered the expression. “Give your blood to me.”
“No.”
“You have not considered the offer.”
“I considered it while you were making it.”
“Consider it again.” The command entered his voice.
His eyes became black. The room seemed to draw inward, the fire sinking lower while pressure gathered against her mind. It carried no argument, only a demand which expected the body to obey before reason could resist.
“Come to me.” Mr Wickham extended one hand. “Give me your hand and tell me that you consent.”
Elizabeth felt the force of the order, cold and invasive, but it found no place to fasten. Her thoughts were her own, her feet did not move, and her hand stayed against her skirt.
Mr Wickham’s fingers curled.
Elizabeth released a breath. “The True Blood cannot be compelled, Mr Wickham, have you forgotten?”
The pressure vanished. He withdrew his hand and began to close the distance.
“You believe immunity makes you safe.”
“I believe the house contains five vampires who have sworn that you will not touch me.”
“They cannot prevent what they cannot reach in time.”
Elizabeth moved in the opposite direction, commanding her heart to remain calm. “They are expecting you to try.”
He stopped moving.
The admission had been a risk, but his hesitation rewarded it. He glanced at the door, the curtained windows, and the shelves, searching for evidence of the trap he had believed himself clever enough to evade.
“You came willingly.”
“I came with Mr Collins.”
“Whom I removed.”
“You may have underestimated him.”
“I have met furniture with greater force of will,” he said with a laugh.
A faint metallic scrape sounded near the side table.
Mr Wickham turned his head, but the sound ceased before he identified it. Elizabeth could see nothing under the table beyond shadow and the lower edge of its embroidered covering.
He returned his attention to her. “Darcy cannot use you if you cease to be the True Blood.”
Understanding entered with a coldness deeper than fear. “You cannot become human without my consent, Mr Wickham.”
“No, but I can ensure that he never does.” Mr Wickham’s upper lip drew back, revealing the sudden length of his teeth. “Once you carry my blood, you will become an ordinary vampire bound to the master who created you. Darcy will lose his precious salvation, and you will belong to me.”
“You would have to reach me first.”
Mr Wickham moved.
Elizabeth retreated to the far end of the room, seized the back of a chair, and dragged it between them. He struck it aside without slowing. The chair overturned, its legs cracking against the floor, while his eyes fixed on the pulse in her throat.
Music continued beyond the walls, bright and distant, and Elizabeth understood that the room had been chosen to conceal exactly this sound.
Mr Wickham lunged.
Her heart broke free of her at last, loud enough to carry through every wall in the house.
The silver punch bowl shot from under the side table.
It struck his leading ankle, rolled between his feet, and tipped hard against his shin. Mr Wickham lost his balance, one hand catching the chair while the other swept through the empty space where Elizabeth had stood.
Suddenly, the door struck the wall and Mr Collins filled the doorway.
His face was bloodless, his breathing ragged, and his hands unsteady, but nothing in his posture resembled the man who had fled under Mr Wickham’s command.
He was still carrying his walking stick.
The brass ferrule had been removed. In its place, a sharpened length of ash pointed directly at Mr Wickham’s heart.
He saw the overturned chair, the exposed fangs, whatever now stared out of Mr Wickham’s face and Elizabeth trapped by the wall.
“Stand away from my cousin, Devil!”
Mr Wickham recovered his balance and turned. The punch bowl rolled behind him, its rim dented from striking his leg, while Mr Collins advanced one step into the room.
“You came back.” Mr Wickham laughed, the darkness still in his eyes. “Your mind is even less obedient than the rest of you.”
“I was instructed to remain near Miss Elizabeth.”
“And now you will leave.”
The command entered Mr Wickham’s voice again, darker and more forceful than before. Mr Collins stopped. His arms trembled, the sharpened stick wavering in front of him, but his feet remained planted.
“You will leave this room,” Mr Wickham repeated. “You will forget what you have seen, return to your sermons, and continue being useless.”
Mr Collins’s shoulders bent beneath the pressure. His eyes closed, and for one terrible instant Elizabeth believed he would obey.
The punch bowl rolled behind Mr Wickham and struck the backs of his legs.
He staggered, falling on his knees.
Mr Collins opened his eyes and drove the stick forward.
The sharpened ash entered just left of Mr Wickham’s breastbone.
Mr Collins threw his whole weight behind it, forcing the point between the ribs and into the heart.
Mr Wickham’s body stopped so suddenly that even his coat ceased moving.
His black eyes widened, his mouth open around his fangs, and one hand closed around the shaft protruding from his chest.
Mr Collins held it there.
Mr Wickham’s fingers tightened. “You fool.”
“I have been called worse by better men, sir.”