But then, unable to help herself, she brushed another kiss—slow, aching—against the corner of his mouth.
His eyes fluttered open, hazy at first, but searching. And when they focused on her—truly saw her—his fingers twitched against hers and caught. “Elizabeth?”
“Fitzwilliam.” Her lips parted, heart surging at the look in his eyes. She bent closer, meaning to kiss him fully… and he did not stop her.
Not this time.
Her lips met his—tentative at first, then deeper, fuller as the seconds slipped past and the carriage rocked gently beneath them. His hand, still tangled with hers, tightened. His other came up slowly, with effort, brushing the line of her jaw as though he meant to memorize it.
She sighed into the kiss, felt the warmth of him answering back, the faintest hum in his throat—one that was all relief, all yearning, all yes.
For one brief moment, nothing existed but the press of her mouth against his. The world narrowed to the shallow breath between them. And it was good. It was perfect.
And then his hand shifted, pressing lightly against her shoulder. Not urgent, not unkind. Just firm.
“Elizabeth,” he croaked, voice hoarse and ragged. “No. Do not.” He pulled away, breath ragged, and let his head fall back against the cushion.
“Do not what?” She picked up his hand and pressed it to her lips.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with regret. “You know very well what I mean.”
“Yes, and you know very well how impossible I am, so I have no intention of abiding by your wishes.”
“Listen to me,” he began, curling his fingers against her mouth and trying—unsuccessfully—to retract his hand. “When we reach Carlton House... you must be cautious in your speech.”
She frowned. “Fitzwilliam, you are injured. I almost lost you! Carlton House is the farthest thing from my mind just now. We can discuss—”
“No! You must promise me. Do not... compromise yourself before the Prince. No matter the provocation.”
Her stomach twisted. She knew what he meant. The lie unspoken between them, the role she could play if she wanted to seal his redemption. Her eyes searched his pale face, his bloodied coat.
“I cannot stand by while you suffer unjustly,” she protested.
His grip tightened, a surprising show of strength. “You must. If you speak out, try to say anything to tickle His Highness’s fancy, I will deny it. The consequences will fall solely upon you.”
Still?Even now, he still thought this way? Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. The protective barrier he sought to erect around her was both infuriating and endearing. “You will not. I know you better than that. You would not let me face that alone.”
His cheek ticked. “Promise me, Elizabeth. I’ll not see you ruin yourself.”
She looked at him, really looked at him—so strong, so foolish, so utterly hers—and nodded, her heart breaking. “I promise.”
Only then did his body ease. His hand slackened and his eyes closed again. She pressed another kiss to his brow, this one lingering, as the carriage wheels clattered on through the dawn toward their fate.
ThegatesofCarltonHouse rose like a judgment.
Darcy sat ramrod straight, despite the agony blooming beneath his bandages. He had barely spoken since the first London cobblestones clattered under the carriage wheels. The wound in his shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a dull, insistent warning. But pain was nothing. Pain could be borne. What waited for them inside—what he had known would come—was another matter.
The prince wanted blood.
Elizabeth had moved to sit across from him now, her posture rigid with tension. Even in her borrowed garments, with her sleeves pulled down to hide the bandages on her forearms and her hair bound in a hasty, unruly twist, she looked like nobility. Or perhaps something even rarer—like defiance shaped into elegance.
He watched her without letting his eyes linger. He could not afford indulgence. Not now.
They had not spoken again of their pact. There had been no need. But the silence wedged between them like a splitting maul.
The footman opened the carriage door.
Darcy descended first, careful not to show how the movement jarred him. He turned to offer his uninjured arm to Elizabeth, and she accepted it wordlessly. She would have need of it, for she was too proud to limp, too injured not to, and too stubborn to ask for help.
