The Journey (17 page)

What was happening to me?

“And Elizabeth?”

“Yes,” I said, breathlessly.

“Do not fear the arrival of Morgan’s men tonight. I have his gun and knife within reach.”

“Thank you, sir. That is most reassuring.”

How I lied! Reassurance was not what I felt at all!

If truth were told, I did not fear what lay without that cave. I feared what lay within . . . and most of all, what had taken hold of my heart.

Chapter Eight

If I live to be a woman of great age, so old that the majority of my memory fades, I shall never forget that night I spent in the cave with Mr. Darcy — or the morning after.

More than once during those dark, bitter hours, Mr. Darcy arose to tend Morgan. Bathing the highwayman’s face anew each time did little to lessen his fever, but it seemed to comfort him and ease his restless thrashing about. Upon each occurrence, I scarcely awakened — I admit this to my shame — but dozed against the cave wall, missing the comfort of Mr. Darcy’s warmth. With his every return, I gladly opened my coat, hurriedly cuddled close to him, and welcomed his strong, consoling embrace.

Evidently, some hours before daylight, the rain ceased, leaving a raw dampness in the air that seemed to permeate my bones. That time before dawn has always proved to be my deepest sleep, and fortunately, it did the same for our patient, for he did not awaken us for some time. The dimmest glimmer of sunrise filtered into my sleep-addled senses before I struggled toward wakefulness.

When I did open my eyes, I was amazed to discover that I lay across Mr. Darcy’s chest, my mouth against his face, his arms clasped tightly around my back and waist! I thought it was but a dream — that I could not possibly have slipped into that position. The last I remembered, we had been sitting up, and now it seemed we had slid down upon the floor of the cave.

As I attempted to lift my head, my lips brushed against his cheek. Instinctively, he turned toward me, his eyes still closed. Before I knew what had happened, I found his mouth upon mine, his lips searching, pressing more and more until . . . my own lips parted. Deliciously, he began to kiss me with an increasing, intoxicating fervour. I felt helpless and could do nothing other than respond in kind. Still drugged in the early haze of sleep and drowning in this unexpected, pervasive passion, I felt my mouth go soft and slack, surrendering to his provocative exploration.

His arms tightened around me, and he began stroking my back, one hand finding its way to the back of my neck. I became conscious that my own fingers now tangled among his curls, caressing the silky strands again and again.

“Well, seems I was mistaken.”

The sound of that statement jarred my senses as though a wild animal screamed in my ear. Immediately I awakened fully, as did Mr. Darcy! Opening his eyes, he gazed at me, as shocked as if he saw a spirit. Quickly we released each other, turning toward the voice. We sat up to see that Morgan was conscious — all too conscious it would appear.

“And here I thought you didn’t care for him, Elizabeth. Won’t be the first time a pretty face fooled me. Hate to interrupt, but I’m bedevilled with a powerful thirst.” He still remained on the floor where he had lain all night, although he had now turned his face toward us.

Mr. Darcy jumped up, raked a hand through his hair, and straightened his waistcoat. He picked up the pitcher of water and took it to Morgan. Although the man could talk, he was still too weak to lift his head and had to rely upon Mr. Darcy for aid.

I, too, quickly rose and self-consciously attempted to smooth my skirt and hair. It was a hopeless task, however, and I donned my pelisse to cover my wrinkled clothing.

Unable to face either man, I walked to the mouth of the cave and stepped outside. The ground was soaked, the leaves on the trees laden with remnants of last night’s raindrops. The approaching sunrise made them twinkle and sparkle like fairy lights. The wind had ceased, and although it was cold, the world seemed suddenly brand new.

Or was it my life that was brand new?

My lips still throbbed with the memory of his kiss, and surely I glowed from head to toe. How had such a thing happened? Why had he kissed me? And even more important, why had I kissed him back? Could I be in love with Mr. Darcy? Did that explain this tempest running amok within my heart?

Before I could think clearly, he stood beside me. I turned expectantly, but I did not know whether to smile or speak. What anticipation did he hold? He met my eyes briefly, and I was stunned to see the tortured expression therein before he turned away.

“Miss Bennet — Elizabeth, I . . . I hardly know what to say. I do not know what possessed me to forget myself in that manner. I can only ask you to forgive me. I never should have — if I had been more awake — ” He sighed deeply. “I am floundering. I pray you understand it was all a mistake.”

Mistake! He thought our kiss a mistake?

His words could not have stung more if he had struck me. My heart fell to my feet, and I forced myself not to sway visibly. Tears misted my vision, and all I desired was to escape his presence. Where could I flee?

I heard him say my name once more, but I lowered my head to the ground, unwilling to allow him witness to my emotion. Swallowing, I steeled myself to quell my shaking voice.

“Then let us not speak of it again,” I said softly.

“But do you not want to — that is, should we not discuss — ”

I shook my head. “I pray you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I need some time alone.” Quickly, I stepped away from the cave and hurried into the sanctity of the woods.

“Of course,” he called after me, “but take care that you do not stray farther than privacy demands.”

My body’s needs did demand compliance, but I wandered much farther than necessary. Over and over his words echoed in my head —
a mistake!
I was
a mistake
. Kissing me was
a mistake
.

Of course, it was. How could I dare to imagine he might love me? I was a fool, an utter fool. Again and again I berated myself with such thoughts. What must he think of me? Did he consider me wanton, a girl who shamelessly allowed such licence? Why had I lost control so easily and given in to him?

I had felt as powerless as a tiny leaf blown about in a great wind, unable or unwilling to resist the strength of his passion. I trembled, thinking how natural and easy it had been to allow him command over both my body and my heart.

And now, what would I do? How could I face him? Once again, all my old fears of what lay before me if and when we reached safety surfaced anew. Not only had I portrayed the role of Mr. Darcy’s wife, I had shared a room and blanket with him night after night. Although we knew that we were innocent, what would society think when our story was revealed?

Perhaps it would not have to be known. I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy would reveal it willingly, but then I thought of the witnesses to his declaration that we were married — not just the highwaymen if they were apprehended, but Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and the servants attending the carriage. There would be many questions, and I had little hope that my honour could survive unscathed.

After this morning, I did not even feel I should escape censure, for surely my behaviour demanded such. I began to question myself anew — my motives, my foolishness, and my helplessness in the grip of Mr. Darcy’s affections. Did I love him, and if so, how could I? Much of the time, I did not even like the man!

No, that last thought was false. I did like him. I admired him. I respected his strength, his intelligence, his courage and compassion. Heaven knows I did not always agree with him, but I knew him better than I had when we began this journey, and yet, I felt as though I barely knew him at all.

He was a reserved man, a quiet man, a man who rarely revealed his emotions, but still, had I not witnessed a greater range this week than he had exposed during his entire visit to Hertfordshire? Had I not seen him angry, arrogant, foolishly brave, and yet kind, tender and wise? And had I not caught but a glimpse of the raw passion he kept hidden from the world? I closed my eyes, remembering the unleashed force of his affection and wondering what greater depths lay just below the surface.

I shook my head, trying to erase the longing now awakened in my heart. Surely, the last four days and everything we had endured together had created a false intimacy, causing me to believe I cared more deeply for him than I truly did. After all, we had been deprived of restful sleep, catching what we could here and there. Our senses had been on constant heightened alert, and we had been thrust into each other’s sole company with little escape both day and night. Surely, that could be the cause for my lapse in judgment, could it not?

With sudden swiftness, Mr. Wickham’s accusations echoed about me. I recalled the harshness with which Mr. Darcy had treated him and Morgan, as well. Then I thought of his solicitous care of the highwayman through the night. I felt utterly bewildered.

Who was the man?

* * *

I cried for some time, but at last my tears subsided and sanity returned. Leaning against a tree, I had not noticed that its rain-soaked bark dampened my pelisse until I attempted to wipe my eyes and found my hands already wet from pressing against the tree trunk. At that point I was past concern for my appearance. What difference would it make to wear a wet coat?

I pushed my hair back, using my fingers to search for possible hairpins. I was relieved to discover the last two I owned and had just begun to pin a few strands back when I heard a horse whinny and crash through the underbrush!

“Who goes there?” a man’s voice shouted.

I darted behind the tree and cowered low, hoping he could not see me. I heard him alight from the horse. I held my breath as his steps drew nearer, thinking surely my heart would jump from my chest.

Dear God,
I prayed,
please do not let it be Sneyd!

I heard the click of a cocked gun and screwed my eyes shut. If I were to be shot, I did not want to see it coming.

“Well, now!” the man said in wonder. I opened my eyes to see a gun pointed straight at me, but to my amazement, I found that it was not Sneyd who held it, but a handsome soldier, instead. He smiled and lowered the weapon.

“And who might you be?” When I did not answer, he asked, “Do you live around here? Have you seen a man and a woman travelling the roads?”

I shook my head, the only response I could manage.

“His name is Darcy, and she is Miss Bennet. Are you certain you have not seen them?”

My eyes now widened in wonder. “I — I am Elizabeth Bennet, sir.”

“Capital! I cannot believe my good fortune! My men and I have been searching for you and for my cousin, Darcy. Is he with you?”

“Your cousin?”

“I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”

I let out my breath with a great sigh. “Oh Colonel, I — I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are here!”

After I told him that Darcy and the highwayman were at the cave, he fired three shots in the air as a signal to his men. He then offered me his arm, and I led him up the path to the shelter.

On the way, I attempted to relate the major events that had transpired since Mr. Darcy and I had been released from the cabin and found the cave. He had questions as to Morgan’s condition, which I answered to the best of my ability.

“Mr. Darcy seared the wound last night, and it is because of his good care that the highwayman awakened this morning.”

“Well, I shall recommend my cousin’s nursing skills to my physician,” he said, laughing. “Perhaps he can find employment there if he should ever lose his fortune.”

I liked the colonel. He was pleasant and agreeable, easy to converse with, and by the time we reached the cave, I felt comfortable in his company.

Mr. Darcy, however, met us with Morgan’s pistol drawn and ready!

He, too, was much relieved upon recognition of his relative, and soon eight or nine more uniformed men had ascended to the cave. All of the soldiers were on foot, other than the colonel, having left their horses at the road in order to comb the woods more thoroughly.

They made short work of preparing a litter on which to carry the injured man, cutting down small saplings and using ropes from someone’s pack to attach a blanket. Four of them held the litter while two more picked up Morgan and deposited him thereon. They did not take pains to lift him gently, but instead almost tossed him onto the makeshift device.

He cried out in pain, and I immediately stepped forward to assist him, but Mr. Darcy caught my arm, restraining me.

“Let him be,” he said quietly. “’Twill not do to make a fuss over an outlaw.”

“But he is seriously injured!”

“They are aware of the fact. You must not make a scene.”

He held my arm none too lightly, and I was forced to acquiesce to his command. My better sense told me he was right, that I must remember to caution my responses, for the time of censure had arrived. My heart, however, yearned to give the poor man some measure of comfort.

Colonel Fitzwilliam approached us then and offered me his horse for the journey into Hazleden. “You look fairly haggard yourself, Darce. Perhaps you should ride as well, if Miss Bennet does not object.”