Darcy reached the end of the passage and paused at the discreet door that led into the morning room. He pressed his ear against the door, listening intently for any sign of activity beyond. The silence on the other side reassured him. Satisfied that it was clear, he slowly pushed the door open, the old hinges creaking slightly, and stepped through, holding it wide for Elizabeth as she followed close behind, her hand still resting on his arm.
The room was dim, the furniture draped in ghostly sheets, just as the footman had promised. Darcy hesitated only long enough to close the door behind them, then they were darting through the room to freedom. It was just then that a familiar voice drifted down the corridor outside, growing louder with every step.Wickham.
Panic surged through him. They were caught with no time to flee. If Wickham found them in this room, there would be no escaping the endless insinuations and probing questions that would follow. But no, how likely was that? The footman was quite right—no one used this room. Wickham would pass by in the outer hall, and they could leave once he had gone.
Darcy pulled Elizabeth deeper into the room, moving swiftly toward a spot partially concealed behind an arched beam. They were still in plain sight—there was no hope of hiding completely—but at least they were not directly in Wickham’s line of sight on the off chance that hedidhappen to open the door for some reason. The shadows clung to them, but it was a fragile cover at best.
As Wickham’s voice drew nearer, Darcy’s pulse quickened with anxiety. Surely, Wickham would simply walk past the doorway—he never used this room! Whatwere the odds that theonetime he did was right now? Zero, or perhaps less! But to his dismay, the door handle turned, and indeed, Wickham began to enter the room. Panic surged through him—there was no time to hide, no time to think.
Wickham could not find them like this. No explanations for Elizabeth’s attire, for why she was there with him in the first place. And he, why… he was supposed to be making his preparations to depart! Why would he be in an unused room with a woman who…
Well, there wasonepossible reason.
Inspired, he turned to Elizabeth, his hand already reaching out to pull her close, her back pressing against the wall behind them. “Do you trust me, Elizabeth?” he whispered.
She tilted her head. “I… of course. Why?”
He flinched as the door pushed open fully. There was not another instant to lose.
“Then forgive me.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and before she could protest, he silenced her with a sudden, desperate kiss. She stiffened at first, a soft gasp escaping her. But the moment their lips touched, everything else faded. Her initial resistance dissolved, and Darcy felt her yield, a softness that mirrored the ache in his own chest. The world outside vanished, leaving only the heady press of his lips against hers, the raw need to keep her close.
Her breath hitched against his lips, and Darcy’s heart pounded, the danger of the moment making every sensation sharper, more acute. The warmth of her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her hands instinctively clutched at his coat—everything about her presence was a lifeline in the dark.
Wickham would see them any second. He was only a few steps away, his voice now joined by another—Sir Anthony Mortimer. Darcy forced himself to pull back just enough to see Elizabeth’s face, her expression a portrait of confusion and… well, hopefully, that was desire, but he did not have the time to find out. He held her gaze, willing her to trust him just a little longer. She blinked, her breath catching, then her lips parted as she gave a faint nod.
Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her again, more deliberately this time, drawing her closer as if they had all the time in the world—hoping Wickham would see exactly what he wanted him to.
“Wexfield is impatient,” Wickham began. “The vote is only a few days away, and we don’t have enough support. How did we get here? What are you going to do about it, Mortimer?”
“It wasyourjob to win their trust, Wickham. With all the money Wexfield handed over, how did you manage to fail so completely? They should have been eating out of your hand.”
“They were! Especially after Bingley came. He always was a milksop, but for some reason, every mama with an unmarried daughter is falling at his feet. You’ve no idea the connections that softling has bought me.”
Darcy must have pulled back from Elizabeth to listen. One of them must have, because they were blinking at each other again, and her head was shaking faintly. Was she trying to tell him something? But an instant later, her fingers were threaded through his hair, and she had pulled him back down to her again.
Perhaps there were better ways to hide in plain sight, but this one was… rather diverting. Darcy sighed and sank deeper into her arms.
“Then, what happened?” Mortimer demanded. “I thought you said this was locked up.”
Wickham’s voice, now sharp with frustration, cut through the darkened room. “Bennet. He’s proving to be more troublesome than anticipated.”
Elizabeth stiffened in Darcy’s arms, breaking contact to hiss in a shocked breath. Darcy raised a hand to stroke her cheek, looking into her eyes with a grave expression that drew her focus back once more. She swallowed and leaned into him, her arms tight around his neck as she buried her face in his chest.
“Bennet,” Mortimer replied. “You mean the white-haired eccentric I met last night? What the devil can he do?”
“You do not understand. Longbourn is the linchpin to this entire valley—geographically as well as socially. It is the largest estate for twenty miles around that has been in the same family for more than two generations. Bennet is the key to over half the gentlemen eligible to vote, and through his brother-in-law, he can sway all the businessmen in Meryton. I wager he is the only man in Hertfordshire who wields more influence than he cares to, and we have lost him.”
“Then get him back,” Mortimer replied indifferently. “Whatever you did before—”
“There lies the rub.” Wickham paused, and they heard him pacing for a few steps. Darcy’s muscles tensed, but strangely, his comfort was Elizabeth. She felt him go rigid, and she worked her fingers into the knots of his shoulders to ease him. And she kept kissing him, which… ah, that worked rather well.
“The key to Bennet,” Wickham continued, “is his daughter. The clever one, Elizabeth. And I thought I had her sewn up as well, particularly when I set her off against Darcy—the chit loves an argument as well as he does—but something changed. I shall never win Bennet back if his daughter is against me, and she will turn Sir William throughhisdaughter as well.”
Darcy tightened his arms around Elizabeth as she smothered choked gasps into his neck. So,thathad been Wickham’s game! He stroked his thumb down the centre of her back, trying to soothe her for just another moment. Either they could remain unseen—doubtful—or they must maintain their little ‘liaison’ long enough to make it convincing. It did seem fairly convincing from where Darcy was standing, for Elizabeth hungrily plied his lips again as if their very lives depended on it.
“So, seduce the wench and have done with it,” Mortimer said. “Marry her if you have to—come, Wickham, I do not need to tell you, of all people, how to get a woman to do what you want!”
