Vampire Darcy's Desire (41 page)

Wickham did not gamble—just as he did not eat or drink. He had no need for such activities, but he took a jaunt through the gaming rooms, seeing if anyone interested him. It did not matter
whether the victim was male or female; the only difference lay in how he handled them.With a woman, his natural persuasive charisma made her an easy mark; he simply needed to seduce her with a few precisely placed caresses. Often the woman did not realize her mistake until he snapped her lovely neck with a well-planned crack of the tendons. If he found the woman to be especially attractive or potentially useful, Wickham would often not kill her before he drank. Sometimes he simply facilitated an exchange, filling his victim with the power he possessed and taking her life blood.That was what he had done with Amelia Younge, keeping her as a follower, a soul imprisoned to fulfill his needs. That was his plan for Lydia Bennet; Wickham would bind her to him forever as part of his revenge. He fancied his actions made him a
consummate
lover.

However, if no woman was available, a man or a boy would do, and it was more an issue of brute force.The feasting became an act of base survival, like an animal overcoming its prey. Actually, he hated it when he took someone simply because he hungered for him like a lion claiming a gazelle as food in the wild.Wickham preferred a woman.With a woman, he considered himself an artist.

Finding no one whom he thought might consider leaving with him, he returned to the public rooms. Laying on a good one for the holidays, probably to cover their loneliness, drunken louts spoke loudly and shoved each other.Aware of the alcohol-induced happiness circulating around him, Wickham found a small table in a darkened corner, where he could watch the goings-on. As he settled himself, he took on the image of James Denny. He could not be seen leaving the bar as himself.

In a few minutes, a busty bar maid, no longer young, came to the table, swiping at it with a none-too-clean rag. “Need some Christmas cheer, Guv’nor?” she asked as she circled the table a second time with the cloth.

“A tankard of ale, if you please.”Wickham’s eyes found hers. She was not what he would normally choose, but as he knew the Christian holiday kept many people at home, he would make do. The woman’s breasts swelled from the tight-fitting bodice of an equally
tight dress. He let his eyes trace them and then slide up her neck, where he would have her. “You do not know where a man might find some company for the evening? I have no desire to be alone.”

The woman took full note of his appearance, and Wickham offered up a lonely smile, playing on her pity. He usually took more time with his seduction, but after what had happened in Meryton, the possibility of his disguise fading played on his mind.

The chaos swirled behind her as she made the mistake of looking deeply into his eyes to judge his character. He changed instantly from affable gentleman to supreme seducer. “I might be persuaded, Dearie, if ye be interested.” Her voice cleared away the inebriated din of the room.

Wickham’s hand lightly stroked her bare forearm. “May I ask your name, Sweet Lady?”

Enthralled by the gleam in the swirling grey of his eyes, the woman did not move. “Me mama named me Lucinda. Most call me Lucy.”

“I will call you Lucy or Love or my Heart.” The words made little difference because she could not withdraw even if she wished to do so. “When do you leave work, my lovely Lucy?” His voice was sweet.

“Me thinks it be mighty soon. I come in early today.” She leaned into his light touch.

Wickham winked at her, solidifying his hold.“You have a place we might visit?”

“It be just a sleeping room.”

“I have no desire to sleep.”Wickham leaned back in the chair to release his hold on her.“Say we will not sleep, my lovely Lucy.”

The woman shook her head, trying to clear it. “No, Guv’nor, we will take no sleep.” She gave him a smile, showing one missing tooth.“I will bring ye the tankard. I be askin’ Harry about leavin’.”

“That would be capital, Lucy.”

The woman disappeared into the crowded room.As she departed, Wickham visualized what he would do to her. Getting her to a room, he would make her submit to him with a twitch of his eyes.
His body would perch over hers, while he held her down, clasping both of her hands in his grasp.Then he would take her leisurely.

Surprisingly, Lucy appeared at the table in less than a quarter hour.“Ye be ready, Guv’nor?” She extended a hand to him.

Wickham, as Denny, took the hand and brought her to him as he stood.“Never been more ready, lovely Lucy.”

He slung his arm about her shoulder and maneuvered the bar maid out into the crisp December air. “Whew,” she uttered, her breath forming a solid film,“it be colder.”

“I will keep you warm,” he growled close to her ear.

Lucy laughed, a bit nervously, but she never paused or faltered as they crossed the intersecting streets. “I live just down here.” She pointed to a row of tenements, shabby-looking buildings even in the daylight. In the cold night, they seemed to huddle together to keep themselves warm.“Ye be tellin’ Lucy yer name, Guv’nor?”

“I am James,” he said as he followed her up the narrow stairs of the second row house.

“James be an honest-soundin’ name,” she observed as they reached her door. Unlocking the bolt, Lucy opened it to a darkened room.“I find us a candle.” She fumbled along the mantelpiece.

“Allow me.” Needing no light to see clearly,Wickham managed to find the flint and the stub of the candle easily.

Lucy removed the scarf she wore around her neck for warmth. “My, ye be handy.”

“I am here to please.” He gave her an exaggerated bow. “You settle yourself, Lucy, and I will stoke the fire.”

When the fire was blazing, he came to where she stood. He did not kiss her, as she had anticipated, but Lucy knew some men preferred not to kiss—too intimate. She found that amusing. Instead, Wickham caressed her jaw line and raised her chin to look into her eyes. He would do nothing else but rest his intense gaze upon her.

Lucy felt the heat all the way through her, although he barely touched her.With a slight tilt of his head,Wickham indicated the bed, and Lucy backed towards it. Besides the caress of her cheek, he had not touched her. She lay back, and he straddled her, taking
both her hands in his large grasp. With the other hand, he traced circles across her breasts with his fingertips. He heard a quick intake of breath from his captive.

Now as caught up in the act as the woman,Wickham lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. She smelled of sweat and of tobacco and of cheap liquor, but Lucy also smelled of life and of iron-filled blood, and Wickham needed what she offered. He raised his head to stare at her with another spellbinding gaze.Then came the snap of her neck, a quick movement of his hands, placing the thumbs at the indentation before giving a lethal jerk. Lucy’s eyes rolled back in her head, the life leaving her immediately.

Slowly, finally enjoying himself, Wickham lowered his head again, drinking his fill of Lucy’s blood—feasting on her existence. The act of tasting her in the most personal of ways brought the erection the woman had thought to enjoy, and Wickham sated himself with a copulation with her lifeless, rapidly cooling body.

It was pure power—this lustful lapping of the woman’s life fluid. It was the taking of a human life; it was the build-up of emotions—the control—
his
control—and the submission—
her
submission. The exhilaration of the absolute power he held inflamed him more than did the sex act. Wickham lived for that one split second before they died—the moment his victims knew the folly of their decision.

Wickham considered the act very much like the Christian Eucharist—a sacrifice inasmuch as it is offered up and a sacrament inasmuch as it is received.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.

After the storm, the days warmed quickly, unseasonably so for December.The weather allowed Darcy and Elizabeth to escape the house and resume the riding lessons. They had left Ceres in the London stables, so Darcy introduced Elizabeth to a new horse, the gelding Apollo he had considered for her back at Netherfield. Apollo was more spirited than Ceres and would challenge Elizabeth to use her natural skills.

“Straighten your back,” Darcy reminded her when she began to bounce in the seat.

“He is so powerful, Fitzwilliam!”

“No more so than Ceres; Apollo is just different—not as comfortable as your favorite, but he is a better horse for the rolling hills of Pemberley. Ceres is better for the city—not as skittish with the noise and the traffic.”

“You know so much about the nature of animals,” she observed, while automatically relaxing into the horse’s gait. Darcy’s words gave her the confidence to handle the reins admirably.

For nearly half an hour, they rode leisurely.The ground was still muddy and soaked from the melting snow.“Do we have a destination?” she asked.

“I thought that we might call on a few of the tenants; and maybe the vicar if there is time.”

“I would take pleasure in that.” Elizabeth shot him a quick glance.“I was thinking.” Suddenly, she seemed tongue-tied.

“Dare I ask of what?” Darcy found her embarrassment endearing.

Elizabeth breathed deeply.Apollo tossed his mane and pranced. The deep breaths calmed her, and she carried on. “I considered where I might find my place as your wife—as the mistress of this estate. Back at Longbourn, I often handled the tenant affairs for my
father. He chooses his books so as to avoid such
trivial
confrontations, and my mother’s nerves make the confrontations too tedious. I flatter myself that I have a way with the workers—at least, I seemed to at Longbourn. Pemberley is much bigger, of course.”

Darcy pulled up on his horse, stopping at the crest of a hill. He gave her a level look.“What would you do at Longbourn? For the tenants?” he asked seriously.

Elizabeth sparkled with his interest. “Papa trusted me to settle the disputes and such matters. And at this time of year, I would arrange a basket for each family. It was not much; Papa is not wealthy, but everyone appreciated our acknowledgment.”

Intrigued, Darcy asked,“What kind of basket?”

“Simple gifts: cold meat, bread, a few potatoes, a candle, and a branch of consecrated mistletoe.” Her eyes searched Darcy’s for his thoughts.

“We could do something similar.Why do you not consult with Mrs. Reynolds when we return to the house? It would give you a chance to establish your place in my life, giving it your own
Elizabeth
touch. I like the idea. For some time, I took care of the overseeing of the land, but I neglected the personal aspects of being the master of Pemberley. It would do wonders in strengthening bonds.” Darcy smiled at her in approval and then nudged his horse ahead again.

Elizabeth kicked at her horse’s side, lunging forward to catch up with him. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she said when she came abreast of his mount.“I will make you proud of me.”

 

Christmas at Pemberley must resemble
heaven
, the rooms aglow with light and the smell of cinnamon and fresh pine and nutmeg and everything good of the season. Unlike the hustle and bustle of Longbourn, with family and children underfoot, Pemberley, in its majestic realm, held court for the community, and, especially this year, as the Darcys, including the new mistress, held
court
.

After the morning service, they received tenants and villagers for several hours in their home. People came to see the splendor of
the house; they came to learn more of the master’s new wife. Elizabeth Darcy would affect their lives for many years, and they were all curious about the nature of the woman. The neighborhood wanted to know how much influence she would exercise over her husband, and they were surprised and thankful to find not only Mr. and Mrs. Darcy affably receiving each of them but bestowing a gift on each family.

“The workers are grateful for the charming baskets,” Darcy whispered into her hair as the latest arrival curtsied before his new wife. Darcy paid the staff members extra to work the holiday hours involved in opening Pemberley to the country.

Elizabeth’s viridescent gown with golden threads shimmered in the soft light reflected through the amber-tinted windows; she sparkled as brightly as the ornaments hanging from every available cornice and stairwell. “Mrs. Reynolds outdid herself. Georgiana and I helped, but Mrs. Reynolds is phenomenal. She even added tea and some candy for the children.” Elizabeth smiled happily.

“I am sure Mrs. Reynolds saw the idea as a way to promote the Darcy family; she is very protective of the name,” he observed.

Elizabeth added before greeting the next family, “As it is now
my
name, so am I, Mr. Darcy. So am I.”

 

Elizabeth and Georgiana surprised Darcy with the gifts of the riding boots and riding crop. Darcy was delighted beyond reason with the presents. Elizabeth had taken close note of his appearance, sought out his favorite boot maker, and enlisted Georgiana’s help in having the boots delivered to Pemberley. She had personalized her choice by thinking of the man who would receive the gift.

“They fit well.” Darcy took a few steps about the room in the new boots. Elizabeth had insisted that he try them on immediately, even retrieving a boot pull from his private chambers and helping him remove the old ones.

“You look very debonair, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana half teased when she handed him the riding crop.

“You are astute, Georgiana. I am fortunate to have earned your
brother’s affection before all the ladies of the
ton
saw him so bedecked. Otherwise, he would pay me no regard, being so beset with admirers.”

“I would find you, Mrs. Darcy, despite the biggest crush at the grandest ball,” he asserted.

Elizabeth smirked and said, “Assuming you found my appearance
tolerable,
Sir.”