Barnacles slashed into his arms and legs. He opened his eyes, desperate to see the surface, desperate for air. The salt water burned, but he kept them open, watching for the surface, for hope.You will live.Darcy prayed Jaffa was right.
A slight shift in the weight of his body told him that he was surfacing. Darcy counted seconds, convincing himself that he would make it. He had to make it.Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Come on! Three. Two. One. Almost there. You have to live! Three.
Darcy could not tell the night sky from the water, but he felt the breeze cuff his face. Quickly, he gulped in the blessed air just as he was plunged back under.
Again, he smacked against the keel, but he was prepared this time. He did not lose all of his breath. Dragged across the bottom, his arms and legs took a beating. He tried to hold himself into a tight ball, his arms crossed over his head, but the shock to his body and the lack of air in his lungs made Darcy weak.
He drifted through the water, his limbs unfolding. He fought it; he tried to pull himself back. He attempted to count, but no sooner had he thought of a number than he forgot it. He needed air.
Fear gripped Darcy, and try as he might not to lose consciousness, he could not deny the very real possibility thatthis was his end.
You will live.He had to live. He had to see Elizabeth again. He saw her—hair wild and billowing around her, cheeks in high color—and a calm warmed his chest. She was as real as if she stood in front of him at the Meryton Assembly, then at Lucas Lodge, where she had refused to dance with him. Darcy smiled as the images flickered through his mind like portraits lining a gallery: Elizabeth tramping through the muddy fields, reading at Netherfield, playing the pianoforte at Rosings, the fire in her eyes at Hunsford Cottage, her smile at Pemberley. That was the memory Darcy cherished the most. He had made her smile. He had pleased her when he had thought such a worthwhile aim impossible.
Darcy needed Elizabeth like he needed air.Elizabeth. Elizabeth, he repeated over and over, seeing her smile and letting her pull him to her side.
With a violent jerk, he broke the surface of his watery grave. He coughed and gasped. Cold needles stabbed his skin, and he shook uncontrollably. It occurred to him that he might have survived; misery made him doubt.
He hit the deck with a smack. Rolling on to his side, he coughed and sputtered more, every breath an agony and a relief. Darcy felt like a cat that had used up one of its nine lives, but Jaffa had been right. He was alive. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he dreamed of Elizabeth, her dark eyes warm and vivacious.
There is nothing like a near-death experience togive a man clarity. Darcy was alive, but he did not want to live without Elizabeth … if he could convince her to have him.
He would get off this infernal ship. He would gallop his fastest horse to Hertfordshire. He would grovel on his knees. And he would beg her to end his misery and become his wife.
CHAPTER 6
“Come, Mr. Darcy. Up with ye,” a rough voice said at his side. Two firm hands pulled him into a sitting position. A dry blanket dropped around his shoulders, and Darcy clung to it as well as he could with icy fingers that would not bend.
From his other side, a flask appeared, tipping toward his mouth. “Drink. This’ll warm yer insides.”
Darcy did as he was bid, gin burning a deliciously warm trail down his throat.
He heard Alex’s commanding voice. “Jaffa, see Mr. Darcy to me cabin.”
Shoving the flask away and rising on his wobbly feet, Darcy barked a haggard but profound, “No!”
She tilted her chin. “Ye dare defy me again?”
He would rather embrace a viper than spend a night in the same room with her. Steadying himself against the mast before he toppled over, Darcy straightened hisshoulders under the blanket. “You may comport yourself as you wish, but I am a gentleman, and I shall continue to act like one.”
She scoffed. “A gent used to comfort and luxury, no doubt. Are ye prepared to sleep in a hammock below decks with one hundred and fifty men who’ve not bathed since the last port? Men who’d sooner slit yer throat than have another body crowd ‘em more than they already are?”
He looked around at the men. A few nodded agreement, but the majority shifted their weight uncomfortably. Darcy would take his chances. “You cannot convince me that I am any safer with you.”
Cotton and Bauer stepped forward. “We’ll keep ye safe, Mr. Darcy.” A few others joined them, lending their support.
Alex looked like she might burst into flames. Deliberately defying her was stupid, but Darcy was too miserable to care.
“Take him below,” she snapped, marching away from him as quickly as he had done from Wickham.
How long ago had that been? What day was it? The wedding! Was Elizabeth safe? Would that he could get off this accursed vessel. He kept an eye out, peeking inside the quarters they passed, looking for maps or compasses—anything that might tell him where they were.
They went down narrow walkways, winding around to another set of stairs, then aroundagain until Darcy lost all sense of direction. Some navigator he was.
By the time he puzzled through the maze, deciding they must be at the stern of the ship, Bauer ducked inside a doorway.
Hammocks stretched from beam to beam down the width of the space, some bearing up to four hammocks, one on top of another. It smelled of mold and unwashed bodies.
Cotton noted Darcy’s reaction to the odor. “Ye’ll get used to it.”
