“I cannot explain it,” he said helplessly. “Sometimes I get lost in memories of France.”
“Is that truly all?” she demanded. “Can you tell me honestly that is all of it? You were not like this when we still were in France.”
There it was, then. The thing he feared most thinking of. Could he bring himself to speak of it? He must, for the price of not doing so was hurting Elizabeth. Of risking her love for him, the most important thing in his life.
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “There is more. But it is hard to explain.”
“Can you not at least try?”
He took in a deep breath. “I feel lost. We are in a crisis, and I should dosomething, but I cannot decide what.”
“What do you mean?”
“Soon nowhere in England will be safe, and I am endangering you even more with my presence.” He let the words pour out quickly, because if he let himself think about it, he would stop. “Napoleon will target Pemberley because of me. I know I should leave, for your sake. And other times I wonder if I should be sending you and Jenny away to someplace safe, to Wales or even Canada, where none of this can touch you. But I do not want to be parted from you, and so I selfishly do nothing – and risk everything. Including you.”
Her eyes went wide. “No.” It was half a whisper. “Promise me you will not leave. Not to protect me, at least.”
“If it comes to that, in the end, how can I do anything else? Napoleon is coming, and you know as well as I that he will not tolerate my presence here.” Even saying the words made his heart pound. Where would he go?What could he do, if he became one more of the thousands of refugees who had lost everything when the French emperor came?
“It cannot come to that. Itwillnot. Cerridwen says there is still a way out.” But her lip was trembling.
“For us, or for the dragons? Her visions seem to be about dragons being killed, but what if her way out is a world where the dragons are safe, but you and I are dead or imprisoned?”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still glittering with tears, but she did not deny his point. “We cannot give up without trying.”
As if they had not been attempting everything to do just that, since the first day of their marriage! What did she think would be different now? But he squashed that hopeless voice down into his chest. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, and he owed his wife, his daughter, and his tenants a better fight than that. “You are right. We will find a way to stop him.” That was not enough, either. “But we must also make preparations for what we will do if that is not enough. If we must escape.”
Elizabeth's chin jutted out. “Only if we escape together.”
What had he done to deserve this woman? Now he did take her in his arms again, feeling the blessing of her love. The warmth of her body, and her curves, simultaneously familiar and new. Those differences from giving birth to their child, which made her even more beautiful to him. He buried his face in the silkiness of her hair, drowning himself in the scent of her. “Only together,” he whispered.
“And you will tell me things, and not hide them from me? Even if you think they will worry me?”
“I will do my best.” Time to be honest, though. “When there are no damned bindings.”
She gave a low gurgle of laughter. “My poor love. How you must despise that!”
“I do!” he said feelingly, grateful he seemed to be in accord with his beloved Elizabeth again, a relief he felt down to his bones.
Then she was seeking out his lips with her own, tracing her tongue along the line between them and inviting him in.
With a groan, he accepted her invitation. How long it had been since he had been able to do more than that! It was enough, though; it would have to be. He poured all his love and passion into the kiss that seemed to burn deep within him.
Finally, breathless, he pulled back, only an inch. “We must be careful,” he panted.
Her reddened, swollen lips curved in a teasing smile. “The midwife says it is safe now.”
Triumph surged through him, followed by urgent need. “In that case,” he breathed, “what are we waiting for?” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chapter 12
Darcylookedupasthe butler opened the door to his study. “Mr. Cattermole to see you, sir.”
It was not a surprise, since he had already approved Cattermole’s admission by the gatekeeper. The War Office had kept him waiting for weeks after he had sent his initial letter to them, while they continued to claim to have no idea why he had helped the French assassins. At their orders, of course. Now, finally, they had sent Cattermole here in person, all the way from London, without even the courtesy of notifying him.
The long wait had not improved Darcy’s current view of the War Office.
Cattermole had lost weight since Darcy had seen him last, and new lines were graven deep on his face. With none of the normal pleasantries, he dived right in. “How did you manage to make it back? I could hardly believe it when I received your letter.”
