Vampire Darcy's Desire (46 page)

 

A little after midnight, Darcy emerged from his study.The household had slept for at least two hours. He wanted to see no one.Taking a single candle from one of those left burning in the entrance foyer, he made his way to his chambers, the ones connected to
hers—
to Elizabeth’s. She had been gone twelve hours and forty minutes, and unbelievably, his heart still beat and his mind still remembered. Elizabeth had left him. He had known from the first moment he desired her that this was inevitable, but he had succumbed to the hope that the outcome would be different.Yet how could he expect otherwise? He was an aberration, and he had brought evil into her life. Elizabeth was the perfection that he had held in his hands for a few precious moments. She deserved the best, and he had foolishly thought he could
buy
her things…and that would be enough. He had never considered the fact that Elizabeth’s goodness—her loyalty—her empathy—all those intangibles she offered in return—were priceless abstracts.

Sometime over the past few hours—after openly prostrating himself at Misery’s feet—he had formulated a plan—a plan to die. He knew where to find Wickham, and with the first streaks of dawn, Darcy would set out for Northumberland. For months now, he had set his estate—his papers—in order, and everything was ready for his death. Wickham had thrown down the gauntlet, and he would respond. Lydia Bennet’s seduction was a message—a warning—that George Wickham would not stop until one or both of them no longer existed. His enemy had chosen the girl as a
symbol of his own strength—and, as usual, he had succeeded.

Responding in kind, Darcy would release Lydia Bennet from her eternal grave. He owed Elizabeth that much, and if he died in doing so, his effort would be well worth giving back to
his Elizabeth
the only peace he could.Then she could go on with her life—a life without him. Even if he survived—and Darcy held no illusions in that area—Elizabeth would never love him again. What woman could love the man who was the means of ruining a most-beloved sister? He wrote Georgiana a letter explaining his departure. He left specific instructions for his solicitors to execute the dictates of his will, leaving the estate and the care of his sister to Elizabeth, with Damon’s help, until Georgiana married. When Georgiana’s children came of age, Elizabeth would hold the dowager house.

Of course, the possibility existed of Elizabeth’s choosing to remarry, but he felt confident that she would not bring another man into his house. If the situation were reversed, Darcy would never have another woman at Pemberley. It would be a break in the natural order.

Reaching his quarters, he stripped down to his breeches and shirt before falling across the bed in exhaustion. Tomorrow he would leave to find his enemy. After several tomorrows, he and George Wickham would face the ultimate battle—a battle of strength, of endurance, and of fate.

The shadows draped the hedgerow surrounding the community cemetery as Darcy edged along its perimeter.The graveyard backed up to the land identified as belonging to Wickham. Hot and sweaty and dust covered from his four-day ride, he wanted a bath and a warm bed, but death waited in a place where appearance made no difference. A deep hushed silence permeated the air. Darcy would cross the cemetery to circle behind the house that Wickham occupied.

Weaving his way among the headstones, an eddy of soft mist dampened his boots. The moonlight, shredded by the bare-leafed boughs, flickered off the granite, allowing him to read bits and pieces of epitaphs: Loving Father, Angel, Dearest Child, Peace. He crept now, on all fours, to the center of the graveyard. Resting his back against the cool stone, he caught his breath. “Elizabeth,” he groaned. It was for
her
that he had come—for her more than anything. Closing his eyes, her tear-stained face rose in his memory. Darcy hated the fact that his last image of Elizabeth was one of her in tears—tears he had caused.

Pushing the picture of his wife back into his heart, he shoved away from the stone while allowing his fingers to trace the engraving. A cloud moved aside, and the words glowed: Ellender D’Arcy Benning. The irony of finding the stone that signaled the beginning of this madness rang wildly with mimicry.“Let us end this,” he whispered, and moved forward again.

Finally, he made his way through the hedge shrubs, moving cautiously through the shadows. He would sacrifice himself for Georgiana, for his family name, but most of all, for Elizabeth. Up until this moment, a feeling of doom had followed him, but now tranquility came. If it was his fate to die here on this day, then die he gladly would.

A window glowed faintly with light, and Darcy crawled unevenly along the ground until he crouched beneath its sill. Unsurprisingly, the house itself smelled of old blood and bones. Peering inside, Darcy thought it all looked eerily ordinary, like a country manor house, except for the fact that a phantom circle moved about the middle of the room—trancelike—maintaining their distance from one another and from a center ornate chair occupied by Wickham himself. No one spoke, yet mumbled chanting—rhythmic and haunting—filled the air.

Looking closer, Darcy could see that the
throne
chair was an uncommon furnishing; it was made of earth, rich with decaying matter and coated with the same grey ashes he and Elizabeth had found at Amelia Younge’s house. Wickham, intent on the display,
simply smiled and looked all-knowing. Then his gaze fell on the window where Darcy watched, and Darcy knew they saw each other as clearly as if daylight shone. The moment they had both anticipated was upon them.

In a flash, the shades, which had looped around Wickham, formed a semicircle, enclosing Darcy in a ghostly prison. Pathetic monsters, they waited for him to react—to move—ready to respond with a sad compulsion not their own. Darcy recognized Lydia Bennet among them and murmured a prayer for her salvation. Among all these, she would be his target. He would use what skills he had to free Elizabeth’s sister from a macabre immortality.

Sounds and sensations came from the distance—from the graveyard behind them—a graveyard full of the same kind of souls dancing to an eerie tune.Wickham appeared on the periphery of his vision as Darcy surveyed the scene. “Ah, Darcy, you came.” He floated among those swaying in place, waiting for his command.

“You knew I would.”

Wickham nodded, a vacuous smile clinging to his face. “For you, at last, it all comes down to this. I must admit you were a worthy opponent; I almost hate to see it end.”

A loud rushing in his ears told Darcy that the chanting had increased. Riveting his attention on those closest to him, Darcy extended his arms, letting the energy flow outward, but it made no difference. His power could not stop the dead, and Wickham’s followers pushed forward, crowding Darcy against the wall.

“Farewell, Darcy.” Wickham offered a brief salute as he turned towards the cemetery.

Darcy pulled the iron crucifix from his pocket, holding it in his left hand, and he raised the silver sword in the other.A few of these apparitions would know heaven tonight, starting with Lydia Bennet. He angled his body to meet her assault first.The others did not matter.

From the right, he felt the skin along his arm tear as the claws of one of the coven slashed him, but Darcy did not even lower the sword. His attention rested purely on Lydia’s approach. He held the
crucifix higher and began his prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven.” His voice rang out clearly, resonating in the night air. Lydia Bennet’s specter moved closer, near enough for Darcy’s reach, and in a moment of triumph, he touched the relic to her forehead and continued the prayer. The others tore at him, but Darcy concentrated all his power on Elizabeth’s sister. “Hallowed be thy name.” Claws crisscrossed his cheek, tearing at his eye socket, but he steadfastly pressed the holy symbol against Lydia’s head, demanding that the demons be exorcised forever.“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.” Still he held Lydia to him. “Deliver us from evil,” he shouted; as her scream exploded, a bloody swirl of vapor poured forth from her mouth before crystallizing and falling to the ground.The shell of her body turned leathery and shriveled as Darcy pressed her downward.

Now, the others attacked him with full force. He spun and turned and twisted, fighting one after another.The sword and the crucifix took their tolls, but the combined effort was too much for him.They tore at him, blood gushed everywhere, tongues lapped at his wounds, and still they pressed him harder against the grey stone wall. Unable to see any longer, he leaned his head back and slid down the wall in defeat. The ghoulish apparitions covered him, tearing away his skin and sinking in their teeth to drain away what was left of his soul. As they smothered him, his mouth formed one last word: Elizabeth.

She bolted upright in the bed, her gown soaked with sweat. Elizabeth brought her trembling hand to her face, shoving the hair away.The image of Darcy’s blood-spattered face still hung in the air. Her jagged breath was the only sound in the inn’s small bedchamber. Elizabeth fought to control her breathing, gulping air into her lungs. A cold shiver shook her as tears erupted from the corners of her eyes. It was all so real; unable to stop herself, Elizabeth glanced at the foot of the bed, half expecting to find Darcy lying in a bloody pool at her feet. Feeling the coolness of the room, she pulled the blanket around her like a shawl and began to rock herself back and forth, in the same rhythmic swaying of the souls in her dream.The
beating of her heart slowed, but the image did not fade. For hours, she remained as such, seeking warmth that was not there and trying to wash away the dread that suffused her every thought.

Streaks of sunlight cleared away clouds from the late December sky as Darcy slipped into his sister’s room. Only the dying embers of the fireplace provided warmth, and he was half tempted to stoke the fire so Georgiana might be more comfortable, but he would not wake her. Standing by her bed and looking down at her, he noted how she grew lovelier every day, looking very much like their father’s forebearers. There were portraits in the gallery of some of the earlier Darcy households, and he saw the resemblance in many of them.When he was younger, he had searched the faces, looking for someone who he resembled. He had to go back five generations to find his eyes and his chin line. These thoughts on such a day were silent ramblings, but somehow they gave Darcy a sense of completeness. He belonged to this family—to this girl—to this curse.

He gently pulled the bed linens over her shoulders and tucked them in about his sister before placing the letter on the nightstand. “I love you, Georgie,” he mouthed and then turned for the door.

When he was nearly out of the room, her sleepy voice stopped his progress.“Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy returned to her side.“I am sorry I woke you, Sweetling. Go back to sleep.” He moved a strand of her hair away from her eyes. “I am to be away from Pemberley for a few days; I left you a note explaining everything.”

“Will you go after Elizabeth?”

Darcy shook his head. “I cannot. Elizabeth must be with her family now.”

Georgiana struggled to sit up in bed.“Elizabeth will return?”

He looked away and forced himself to swallow the hurt. “It would be my wish, Sweetling, that you and Elizabeth share a life together…best friends.You can learn a great deal from my wife.”

“But not without you?” she insisted.

“Unfortunately, Elizabeth possesses reasons to hate me. I am not under the persuasion that she will return.” How could he explain? “Georgiana, George Wickham took Elizabeth’s youngest sister.The girl is now one of the walking dead, and Wickham did it as revenge against our family—against me, specifically, because I foolishly challenged him. How could Elizabeth forgive my arrogance?”

Realization of what he planned hit the girl full force, and she clutched at his hand. “Fitzwilliam, you cannot go off alone to find Wickham! How will I face this without your guidance?”

“It is the only thing—the only honorable thing—I can give Elizabeth…the only thing I can do for this family.”

“Elizabeth loves you, Brother; she would argue against this for you.”

Darcy caressed her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against the coolness of his palm. “Elizabeth’s loyalty remains true, which will strain her relationship with her parents and her sisters. She cannot tell them the reason for Lydia’s demise or admit her share of the blame. I know Elizabeth; she will exile herself from her family. She will need someone to whom to turn. Be that someone, Georgiana; Elizabeth will respond in kind.The two of you will be a formidable pair. I have outlined what must be done for the estate and for your future.You and Elizabeth will want for nothing; I have seen to it all.”

Georgiana’s tears escaped, although she fought to be strong for him.“Do not go,” she whispered.

Darcy wiped away her tears with his thumbs. “I will make you one promise before I leave you, my darling girl. If somehow I survive this confrontation, I will find Elizabeth, and I will beg her on bended knee to return to us. I will humble myself at her feet and not take
no
for an answer.”