The Journey (34 page)

“As you will. Now, will you tell me why you visit me all alone and risk further damage to your reputation?”

“I should think my reputation matters little to you. Not after you insulted me in the manner you employed today. At last I know exactly how little you think of me!”

“Insulted you? In what way?” He held out his hands, still clasping the bottle of brandy and nearly empty glass.

“With this!” I cried as I walked toward him, unfurled the wadded-up ticket and thrust it forward. “How dare you purchase this ticket to Virginia and have it delivered to me! Do you think to banish me from England? Is that how you rid yourself of the embarrassment my presence causes you?”

“Banish? You choose a harsh term in reference to a gift. After the tender scene I witnessed at the harbour today, I thought to afford you the means of joining the man with whom you are obviously in love.” He spat the last words out as though they left a bitter taste on his tongue.

I could not believe what I heard! He did actually assume I loved Morgan. What I had feared was all too true.

“How can you accuse me so?” I cried. “How can you think I would give my heart to a highwayman?”

He walked to the fireplace and placed the glass on the mantel, the brandy on a table nearby, before turning to face me.

“I have tried, madam, with everything that is in me to deny it, but today you forced me to face the truth. When I saw you travelled to the port to bid Morgan farewell, I could no longer conjure up anything that would make me disbelieve it. There is no need for you to keep up the pretence. I saw you allow him to kiss your hand. One cannot help whom one loves. If your heart is his, then . . .” His voice died away, as though he had given up, that the attempt to speak was too much for him.

“You are mistaken, sir. I happened upon Morgan by accident today. That is all it was — an accident, coincidence, whatever you choose to call it. I do not love him!” I said with feeling, stepping closer so he could see my face in the firelight. “What must I do to convince you?”

“No need exists whereby you must deny it. I am resigned to it. You love the scoundrel, and there is nothing I can do to change it.” He turned away and stared into the fire.

“Why do you persist in saying that? I know whom I love, and it is not Morgan! How can it be, when I love you?!”

Oh, what had I done? How had my tongue betrayed me?

Instantly he looked up, and although I attempted to turn away, I felt the force of his eyes upon me, willing me to meet his gaze when all I wished to do was hide my face. Before I knew it, he crossed the distance between us and stood so near I could smell his scent, feel the warmth of his body emanate toward me.

“What? What did you say?”

“I love you,” I whispered, “and I wish to God I did not.”

I said nothing more, simply stood there watching, waiting. I had lost all sense of honour, dignity, presence. I stood naked before him, my heart exposed and hurting, my shame lying open for his ridicule. Against every intelligent part of me that screamed I should be silent, I had blurted out the truth, the absolute, unalterable truth: I loved him. God help me, I loved him.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed.

And then unbelievably, I felt his hands upon my arms, pulling me toward him, gathering me into his embrace. I felt as though I stood to the side watching it happen to some other girl, some incredibly fortunate woman whom this man wished to touch, to hold close.

I watched his face incline toward mine, his lips coming ever nearer. His breath warm on my cheek, I saw his eyes move from my eyes to my mouth and then, oh so gently, his lips touched mine, and I began to tremble.

With tender caresses, he kissed me not just once, but once more, and then again and again and again. A pervading pit of fire began far, far down within me, so deep I could not fathom its source, a sensation I recalled from the single time before when his lips had touched mine. I felt myself lean into him, my hands spread wide open upon his strong chest, mindlessly moving back and forth and then upward, until I reached the warmth of his neck and those enticing curls edging his collar.

By then his kiss had grown harder as he forced my lips apart, taking my mouth with a fierceness that cannot be described, until I surrendered and allowed him to do what he willed. I was lost, utterly and completely lost in him, and I wished never to be found.

When, at last, he released my lips and began to kiss my cheek, my ear, and the place right below, my mouth throbbed in rhythm with my heart, and I trembled anew in his arms, clinging to him for fear that I could no longer stand.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered again and again as he led me to the sofa, never relinquishing his hold, nor lessening his embrace.

Once seated, he eased my head onto his chest, and I felt his hands smooth my curls back as though he would soothe and comfort me while his heart beat in my ear with a wild, furious rhythm. It was only then that I realized I was weeping.

“My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, do not cry. I can bear anything but your tears.” I felt his lips upon my eyelids. He gently kissed away my tears, his tenderness more than I could abide. “Why are you crying? Tell me.”

“Because I have humiliated myself before you and because I am helpless to cease from doing so,” I whispered.

He sat back and lifted my chin so that I was forced to face him. “Whatever do you mean? I do not understand.”

I kept my eyes closed, turning my face aside. “Oh, why do you torment me so? I come here unescorted. I allow you to hold me and kiss me as though I were a woman of the night. I even confess that . . . I love you. How can I not find that humiliating?”

When he did not say anything, I lifted my eyes to find him smiling at me. “For one so intelligent, you are a silly little goose. What do you know of women of the night?”

“I know enough. Only that type of woman would approach you alone at night, would allow you to force her into making a declaration, and would allow you to kiss her in such a manner when you have made no similar avowal.”

“No similar avowal? What are you saying? Did I not propose marriage to you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yes, but we both know why — to protect my good name, to rescue me from society’s disapproval. I know that you do not love me.”

He smiled that infuriating smile once again. “Oh, you do, do you? What is going on in that strange little mind of yours? How can you possibly think I do not love you?”

I blinked and swallowed. “In the cave — ”

“Yes, I remember what happened in the cave only too well.”

“You kissed me and then said it was a mistake. You did, sir. You said kissing me was a mistake.”

He took my hands in his and brought them to his mouth. “I did, Elizabeth. I never should have taken advantage of you in that way. It was a mistake to do so, quite brazen and thoughtless of me. That was what I meant.”

I could not believe what he was saying. “That is truly what you meant?”

He nodded.

“So . . . so you do love me?” I whispered.

He reached out and took my face in his hands. “Of course, I do. I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words that laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

I closed my eyes, knowing he was about to kiss me. Tenderly, his lips met mine, but I pulled away, a new thought having struck me. “Then why, sir, did you not declare yourself? Why did you not say you loved me? Why all that useless talk that we
had
to marry, that it was best for my family, best for my reputation? Never — never once did you profess your love! How dare you allow me to suffer all these weeks?”

“I am a fool,” he said, “an utter fool. I thought everyone could see how I felt and you most of all. I feared that
you
did not love
me
. All this time I suffered from the delusion that Morgan had captured your heart. Can you now fathom how I have suffered? After all, you defended him time and again and exercised much effort pointing out my faults!”

“Oh, I did!” I cried, glimpsing for the first time the predicament Mr. Darcy had endured, the manner in which he had read my actions. “I am the fool, sir, not you.”

“Let us not argue with the bard. We are mortal and therefore guilty. But no more, Elizabeth. From this day forward, we shall speak plainly. I love you with all that is within me, all that I am, all that I ever will be — all that I ever hope to be.”

“And I love you,” I said, growing weak, as he pulled me against him and once more began to ply me with kisses. I could not seem to control my hands. They roamed back and forth over his hard, powerful chest, while his strong but gentle hands caressed my back and shoulders. I matched his hungry fervour with that of my own, allowing him to recapture my mouth over and over.

At length, he sat back and held me at arm’s length. Both of us struggled to catch our breath. With a groan, he released my hands and stood up, walked to the fireplace and rested his forehead against the mantel. When he turned his handsome face to look over his shoulder at me, I saw the hungry passion still alive in his eyes, and my heart turned over.

“Elizabeth,” he said, still breathing deeply, “You must leave this house. I do not want you to — God knows I do not — but for your sake, I must get you out of here and a safe distance from me.”

I nodded slightly and unknowingly began to chew my lip, keeping my eyes on him.

His eyes narrowed, and I saw his chest move heavily as he breathed. “Do not — ” he faltered. “Do not do that, Elizabeth.”

“Sir?”

“Do not chew your lip. If you knew how often I have watched you do that — and what it does to me.” The expression on his face caused me to blush from head to toe. There was little need for him to say more.

I rose and gathered up my cloak. Instantly, he stood behind me and spread the garment around me, smoothing it over my shoulders, his hands lingering. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. I could not keep from leaning back against him, and within moments, he turned me around and placed his forehead against mine as he fastened the garment at my neck.

“I fear that we have a problem, sir,” I said softly, “of which you may not be aware.”

“I have a problem of which I am acutely aware, but to what do you refer, my dearest?”

I smiled and then lowered my eyes. “When last we spoke of marriage, you vowed never to renew your addresses to me, and I know full well that you are a man of your word. Does that mean we are to remain unmarried for the remainder of our lives?”

“I did say that, did I not?” he mused, frowning slightly. “Another bit of foolishness.”

“What shall we do? If you cannot propose again, it seems a hopeless case, does it not?” I raised my eyes and made them as wide and seemingly innocent as possible.

“It does,” he agreed, a statement I had not expected. “However, you must not expect me to resign my life to this exquisite state of torture, Elizabeth.”

“I must not?”

“No indeed, you must not!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Come with me.”

In the hallway, he instructed his butler to make haste and have his carriage brought to the front door. Firkin and Sarah stood where I had left them, expressionless but for their eyes wide with wonder. Mr. Darcy asked me who they were, and I explained that they were my uncle’s servants who had accompanied me, to which he readily praised them for their care of my person and indicated they were to join us as we marched out the front door.

He placed Sarah and me inside the carriage while Firkin took the footman’s position at the rear. Mr. Darcy announced that he would ride up front with the driver, commenting that he could do with a blast of cold night air.

As soon as the horses began to walk on, Sarah asked if I was well, and when I answered in the affirmative, she asked me our destination.

“I have not the slightest idea,” I answered.

In truth, I did not care as long as Mr. Darcy led the way.

Chapter Fifteen

I truly did not know where Mr. Darcy intended us to go. I thought possibly he would return me to my uncle’s house at Gracechurch Street, and quickly, before my family returned from dinner at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, so that no one but the servants would know of my daring, impetuous, and highly improper visit to his house. However, his carriage did not turn toward Cheapside, but remained in the fashionable portion of town. In fact, it travelled but a short distance before turning into Grosvenor Street and shortly thereafter pulled up in front of the residence of Mr. Hurst.

As we climbed the steps together, I gave him a quizzical look, but all he said was, “Will you trust me?”

“With my life, sir.”

“Then follow my lead.”

Once indoors, the butler said the family and guests were at table, whereupon Mr. Darcy asked him to allow us to join them. The servant hastened to oblige and snapped his fingers at a passing footman, barking orders for two additional places to be set.

“Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet,” the butler announced, as he opened the doors to the dining room and stepped back so that we might make our entrance.