Vampire Darcy's Desire (56 page)

The colonel looked up from the pew upon which he reclined when the Darcys made an entrance. He had returned several hours earlier to check the security around the church and the gravesites.

Elizabeth’s appearance brought a smile to his face. “Mrs. Darcy, you look fetching,” he teased.

Elizabeth donned the breeches, shirt, and waistcoat Darcy had given her to facilitate their fencing lessons, along with a loose-fitting coat, probably belonging to one of the stable hands. She turned in place and made a deep curtsy, as if dressed for a ball. “Thank you, Colonel, for noticing.”

A bit possessively, Darcy caught her around the waist and pulled her to him.“I was thinking, Cousin, all women should dress as such.”

“Heaven forbid, Darcy! Could you imagine Lady Anne or
my
mother dressed so? Besides, if we accepted women wearing breeches like a man, what else might we have to accept?”

His good-natured taunt did not offend Elizabeth, as she added her own thoughts.“The right to vote? Control of our own money? An honorable occupation besides being a wife?”

Damon laughed out loud at her disputation. “This is sacrilege, Madam!” he said, feigning ridicule.

Darcy relaxed into the repartee, watching his cousin’s attentions
to Elizabeth. Damon placed any feelings he possessed for Darcy’s wife behind him.The two of them would be friends.

Suddenly, reality returned. In a short time, they would face the possibility of death.

“Is everything in place, Damon?” Darcy’s arms encircled Elizabeth, needing to feel her closeness for what could be the last time.

“Elizabeth and I will open graves until we defeat each of Wickham’s followers.The salt and the millet will affect their assaults.We have crucifixes and holy water strategically placed throughout the headstones. We will work together to do this. Wickham will have no reinforcements tonight; it will be just the two of you.We have contained the others to this earth. By the way, the priest left you several vials of holy water by the back door of the church. He said you asked for them.”

Darcy signaled an acknowledgment of what his cousin told him.“Have we forgotten anything?” Darcy now thought out loud.

Elizabeth moved away from Darcy’s embrace, placing importance on what she said. “Fitzwilliam, you must use your wits.Wickham hides something in that house. You must find his
grave
and destroy it, the same way that Damon and I will vanquish those within the cemetery. Without his grave—his coffin—Wickham cannot survive.”

“I understand, Elizabeth.” Darcy seriously listened to her instructions. Damon trusted her knowledge enough to place his life on the line, so Darcy would also.

“Might we share a prayer?”The colonel moved to the front of the church.

“I believe it appropriate.”

The three of them joined hands and bowed their heads. The colonel lowered his voice in worship. “Dear Lord, protect us and guide us in this endeavor. As your humble servants, we pray to release these souls once more into your hands. Allow us to prevail and lead us to do the honorable thing. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.Amen.”

“Amen.” Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s voices echoed in the silence.

They remained locked in a circle of love for several minutes, each resolving to do their best by the other two.

When Darcy raised his head, he turned to embrace his cousin. Privately, he whispered, “Damon, I know I need not say this, for you will understand even without my words, but I charge you to protect Elizabeth and Georgiana if something goes awry.”

“Of course, Darcy.”

“Now, if you will excuse us a moment, I need to speak to Elizabeth.”

The colonel simply saluted cordially and walked away. “I will check the weapons one more time,” he called as he went towards the back of the church.

In semiprivacy, Darcy took Elizabeth in his arms. “You are to be careful, Elizabeth; I cannot live without you. Defeating Wickham would be a sour victory without you by my side.” He brushed Elizabeth’s hair away from her face.“I love you, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.”

“Then I charge you, Sir, to protect yourself. My happiness depends upon your being my husband.You are not to leave me at twenty years to find my way in this world alone.”

“Are those orders, my love?” he said as he smiled down at her.

Elizabeth traced his lips with her fingertips. “They are, Mr. Darcy, and you need to address your bride’s wishes.”

“Might my bride wish to kiss me?” His voice sounded suddenly less sure.

“
Wish
to kiss you?” She shook her head.“
Need
to kiss you.” She went up on her tiptoes as Darcy lowered his head. It was a kiss that bound them to each other—not ravenous—but tender and giving, and, above all, loving. “Godspeed,” she whispered as they parted.

Almost instantly, the colonel returned. “It is time.” He handed Elizabeth a sword as Darcy took up one of his own. “Come, Elizabeth.” The colonel took her hand. “We will see you on the other side, Darcy,” he called as he led her away. Darcy prayed his cousin’s words had no double meaning.

He watched them exit the side entrance to the church. Just as
they reached the door, Elizabeth’s catlike eyes caught Darcy’s—speaking of commitment and of tenacity.“Protect her, God,” Darcy pleaded and then turned to the back of the church. Grabbing the vials of holy water, he directed his attention to Wickford Manor.

 

Still a few minutes before midnight, Darcy circled the graveyard on the outside of the hedgerow. Reaching the hill’s well-worn path, he glanced over his shoulder to where Damon lifted Elizabeth over the hedges, not wishing to disturb the salt line. He waited for his cousin to place her safely on the ground. They turned to face where he stood. Damon gestured with the sword, but Elizabeth simply stood tall and gazed at him. Through the dark, Darcy saw her every feature, the look of undying love clearly visible, and then he turned to make his descent.Tonight, no light came from Wickford Manor, but Darcy knew Wickham waited within. The full moon helped to illuminate the way as Darcy moved cautiously through the wooded field.

Reaching the house, he tried each of the doors and the windows, seeking an entrance, but each one was bolted shut. He preferred not to break in, not to sound an alarm, although he intuitively knew Wickham expected his arrival.

Circling the house, Darcy hid behind a large bush to observe the front of the manor; yet nothing moved within. Guardedly, he climbed the outside steps, trying to remain in the shadows.
I can smell human blood.
He heard Wickham’s words clearly now as he approached the front door.A shiver shook Darcy’s spine when he saw the door standing ajar.
He waits for you.
A warning rang in his head:
Death calls you.

Shoring up his resolve, Darcy used his shoulder to push the door wider. For some reason, he did not fear Wickham’s lying in wait, hiding behind the door or some other darkened passageway. It was not of Wickham’s nature: They would face each other in a pivotal arena.

Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dense darkness of the entranceway, he cautiously stepped inside. The moon reflected
through the left-hand windows, creating a latticework of light and dark patches across the hardwood floors, a luminescent carpet leading to the main hall.

Darcy warily moved to the room described by his cousin—the hub for the dance. He had seen it only briefly the night he came here alone. For two nights Darcy had listened to the cadent shuffling of feet—unaccented pulsations. He imagined the sway of the banshee-like disembodied spirits bending to Wickham’s gestures as his enemy orchestrated an improvised promenade.

Now he stood where those lost souls had stood. The double doors, fully wide, opened to a grand hall.The expanse of the room spoke of Seorais Winchcombe’s desire to be the gentleman he never was. Darcy again felt a twinge of empathy for the man who had lost everything because he loved Darcy’s relative. Finding a candle by the door, Darcy lit it, compelled to see the hall for himself.

Lighting it, Darcy held it aloft. Again, he knew Wickham was not in this room, but he moved guardedly. Broken and twisted furniture filled every corner and was piled high in the room’s center. Fine tapestries depicting forested scenes of animals and of pagan gods hung precariously from light fixtures, shredded by the force of what must have been a violent storm. Darcy recognized the destruction, knew automatically that it had come from Wickham. Every pretense his enemy had put in place lay destroyed, except for an ornately carved, thick-legged chair, resting in the dead center of the room. Moving to it, Darcy’s fingers traced the etching found in the wood, a horned god—resembling a human—surrounded by animals.The branching antlers stretched like tree-tops as the god sat, legs spread wide and holding a torque in one hand and a horned serpent in the other. Above the scene was the name Cernunnos, written in gold.
Elizabeth and Mrs.Annesley were correct
, Darcy thought.

Darcy circled the chair once, admiring its craftsmanship, and then moved to the doorway.
Upstairs
. He heard the word as if the walls spoke it. Setting the candle on the table, he took a fresh one and lit it from the first.

Taking a deep breath, he placed his foot tentatively on the first step and straightened his knee to move his weight upward. Darcy repeated the process, slowly approaching a final counterpoint. Step by step, he soon stood at the top of the staircase. Knowing that most people would turn automatically to the right, Darcy chose the passage on the left.

Again, the moon lit the way, a beacon in the night, to another open doorway. Unlike the rest of the house, this room radiated light; yet it was cold and uninviting all the same.The door tottered on its hinges, but Darcy moved through the doorway anyway, now drawn by a hypnotic spell.

The coffin was there, and Wickham was in it.Tantalized by the tranquility of the scene, Darcy first set down the candle and then reached for the sword by his side. Inching slowly towards the target, he overcame a powerful urge to run from the room and the scene depicting what he could easily become.

Wickham rested in his coffin, arms crossed about his waist, his eyes wide open, but as if seeing something not there. Darcy’s hate controlled him; this was the creature that had filled the lives of generations of Darcys with fear. Wickham left chaos and death wherever he looked. A beast of the night, Wickham indiscriminately discarded his victims, leaving them torn and broken, great gashes ripping apart their necks, or he took them as he had Lydia Bennet, small puncture wounds draining their life, one drop of blood at a time.

Impulsively drawn to Wickham’s figure, Darcy now stood over it. Poised, he placed the tip of the sword above the braggart’s heart and prepared to end it all. Wickham’s steel grey eyes told a tale of despair and of rage—and as they turned deathly pale, Darcy felt a fizzle of excitement course through his veins. Minutely, he shifted his weight and prepared to plunge the blade into Wickham’s flesh, but as he watched, silently, a serpent slithered forth from under Wickham’s arm and wrapped itself around the sword’s tip. In a fraction of a second, panic shot up Darcy’s back, and he snapped a quick glance at Wickham’s face, only to find the grey eyes closed
and a grim smile adorning the mouth. Knowing Wickham’s penchant for show, and needing to act immediately, Darcy flicked his wrist to adjust the paik, but before he could thrust, a wrist shot out and caught his arm in a viselike grip. Seeing Darcy’s face again, Wickham’s eyes—now blackened pools of timeless death—glowed.

Damon and Elizabeth stood in the middle of the headstones, waiting for they knew not what.“Stay close,” he cautioned.

“Count on it.” Elizabeth turned slowly in a circle, scanning for a possible attack. “When do you suppose…?” She did not need to finish the thought; the colonel understood.

“Any moment now,” he whispered.

Almost as if the earth heard them, the ground beneath their feet began to vibrate so violently they barely could maintain their balance, and they jumped to safety. “They want out,” the colonel gasped as he caught Elizabeth before she fell. Shrieks of pain rang from the earth; chasms of sorrow—eerie howls of anguish begging to be set free. “So it begins,” he murmured to himself. “One at a time, Elizabeth,” Damon warned as he reached for a white thorn stave, seesawing on the nearest mound.

They stepped back as a deliciously beautiful young maid, dressed innocently in a white gown, like one for a girl at her debut, rose from the mist seeping from the center of a grave. Her features became more defined as the breeze lifted the vapor until she floated alluringly only inches from the ground. She smiled seductively at Damon and rolled her shoulder, letting the bodice of her dress sag, exposing the curve of her breast. “Would you like to come with me, Sir?” she purred.“It is my introduction to society.”

The colonel simply nodded and gestured for the spirit to lead the way. He followed her at a healthy distance. Behind him, the shrill drone continued. He could see Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye paralleling his movement on the other side of the markers.

When the girl reached the back of the site, she paused, swaying to a silent tune.

“Is something amiss?” Damon asked behind her.

The girl did not turn, but she spoke.“Someone blocks my way.” Sadness laced her voice.

Damon steadied himself, expecting an attack.“
I
do.”

“Why?” A man’s deep voice boomed, but it was the girl who threw her head back and howled.

Elizabeth jumped with the verbal explosion, but the colonel simply waited. Within a split second, she was on him, pushing Damon back with savage force. Her jaw snapped as she lunged for his throat, but he used his own weight against her, sending the girl flying through the air and crashing against the side of a mausoleum.

Immediately, she attacked again, climbing on his back while clawing at his arms. Damon struggled to throw her off, but suddenly, Elizabeth appeared from nowhere. She scooped a handful of millet from that placed about the graveyard and unceremoniously threw it in the girl’s face.