She sniffled uncontrollably, little gasping cries muffled against his chest as she pulled him close once more. “Do not leave me again, Mr Darcy!”
His fingers burrowed tenderly through her hair. “William,” he whispered softly into her ear.
She lifted her head, her lips silently forming the intimate name. He smiled once more, the light in his eyes a ghostly shadow of former days. “It was my dearest hope that this year I might have wished you a Merry Christmas, my precious Elizabeth.”
His shirt was now damp with her tears. She clung to him, praying that if she only held him tightly enough, he would not vanish in the mist. Her entire body racked in spasms of anguish, but his arms held her close as his tender voice caressed her starving heart. She gasped, tasting the salty drops streaming down her face. “Merry Christmas, William,” she whispered.
Chapter ten
Porto, Portugal
Darcydrewaslow,luxuriant breath, and then another. His chest bore a comforting burden—a warm pressure, softened by radiant silk and gentle movements. His fingers flexed and curled, stroking the cascade of dark waves and clasping them close. There, in that place between sleep and wakefulness, a name whispered from his lips. For just a moment, he was not alone.
With another breath, he pressed his forearm tightly across his chest, trailing his fingers through the short brush at his chin. He must ask Wilson today for a shave, but first, his lips formed a soft endearment, a tender valediction to the bliss of his slumber.
Another breath brought full consciousness. Darcy lay with his eyes open, staring once more at the darkened ceiling of his quarters. From some distant place, a church bell tolled merrily. Unless he missed his guess, this was Christmas morning.
He groaned, rolling out of his cot. Georgiana would be rising on this morning, weeping bitter tears for him. Would Richard have taken her to Pemberley, or was she in London? Had his gift to her, ordered in long-ago summer, been delivered? And what of the traditional servants’ gifts, and the tenants, not to mention his aunts and uncle and…. It made his head throb. So much had been his to oversee—far too much for a man of his years, but he had learned to command and care for all. Now, he was powerless to even ask for a shave.
It was not vanity to confess that his place had been that of a keystone in a bridge. Once pulled, all about was liable to tumble. What frenetic distress must follow in the wake of his absence!
He was slinging his body through his bare-handed fencing regime again, exorcising his frustrations through his muscles as his mind—detached from his physical self—battled for some peace. He had ever been one given to brooding silence, but just now, he would have sacrificed his right hand for the relief of unburdening his fears. Was Georgie safe from whomever sought control of him? What had become of all his careful planning; the specific breeding plans of his stables, the orchestration of the field rotations and the attentive maintenance of Pemberley’s orchards, the repairs he had planned to the eastern wing of the house, and the strategic investments he had ordered through his solicitor?
Voices without signaled the expected arrival of his breakfast, but he paid it little notice. Too much anguish gnawed at him. If only he could close his thoughts to those matters he could not control! Somehow, he must learn to focus his mind, or the burning helplessness of his circumstances, grieving himself for all that was far beyond his reach, would drive him to madness! If only he could cease thinking of poor Georgie, and Richard, and…oh, nohe could not give up thinking of Elizabeth.
Georgiana had been dependent upon him, and Richard’s burden had now multiplied. His guilt over what they must suffer could only torment him, but Elizabeth! She was the one treasure of his heart who might go on unaffected by his disappearance. He needn’t fear for her, but in allowing his thoughts to linger on her, he was reminded in some part of who he was, and what he once had desired in this life. His memories of her—both searing and exquisite—were the anchor that bound him to sanity.
The voices drew nearer now, and Darcy ceased his exercise to fold his arms and stare at the door. He was not hungry, had not been for weeks, but he longed to at least see the hand that slipped with the tray through the little hatch. That another person on this earth took enough notice of him to deliver food was small consolation, but it was all he could claim. It was, then, with a great degree of shock that he witnessed the larger door swing upon its hinges to reveal a man on the other side.
Darcy stood mute, his arms dropped in pleased surprise. How long had it been since he had last seen a face? At least eight or nine weeks, and those only the few he had encountered upon his arrival. His chest heaved as confused emotions washed over him, and he squinted his eyes to recognise the face. Was it the same man he had seen on the ship? The one who had ordered him dragged and locked here?
The man offered a smug little bow. “Feliz Natal, Senhor Darcy.”
Darcy’s mouth opened, trying to form the unfamiliar words in reply and discern their meaning.
The man smiled. “It is too long since we have spoken. You may remember, my name is Pereira. I am the attendant to Senhor Vasconcelos, the governor of the district. My master desires to brighten this holy morning for his guest by making himself known to you. Come, he awaits on the upper floor.”
Darcy drew back suspiciously. “I—” he paused, clearing his throat from disuse, and spoke again. “I should be most curious to speak with him, but I am not suitably attired.”
Pereira laughed. “If that troubles you, Senhor, I shall arrange for fresh clothing, but your current appearance does not trouble Senhor Vasconcelos.”
“It does ‘trouble’ me.” Darcy squared his shoulders, gambling everything on this stance. At last, here was an opportunity for some answers, but he would not meet his captor as a groveling prisoner! The man who could affect the most dignity in such a confrontation held an advantage, and he would exploit every possibility to secure his freedom. Any clothing that did not emanate such a fetid stench would restore some semblance of his pride.
“Very well,” Pereira shrugged, then signaled to someone outside to bring a small stack of folded linen. “However, senhor, I think you will find that it will matter little.”
Thecoatandbreechesmight have been stolen from the laundress’ line, so poorly did they suit his figure. Though he had still been denied the luxury of a proper shave, Darcy had been permitted to splash a little water over his face and torso before dressing once more. With damp fingers, he had smoothed his own hair and beard. No cravat had been supplied, and the boots lent him pinched his toes, but there was a great deal more to adopting a confident manner than the skill of a valet. His father’s example had served him well through many a negotiation, and none could assume a cooler presence than he when he desired to impress another by his disdain.If only I had not done so at the Meryton Assembly!
“Senhor Darcy,” Pereira paused before a door, offering a slight bow and extending his hand toward the room. “My master, Senhor Vasconcelos.”
Darcy arched a brow and boldly entered. His eyes quickly adjusted to the finer room and he cast a brief glance over the man who stood before a long window. Vasconcelos was approximately twenty years his senior, Darcy guessed, and a tall, lean man with dark hair, unmarked by any silver threads. He turned, and began to assume the right to speak first, but Darcy preempted him.
“Senhor Vasconcelos, I understand?”
The man permitted himself a small smile—a point acknowledged, but not given freely. “Bem-vindo, Senhor Darcy,” he bowed from the waist, speaking in English. “It is an honour to meet you at last.”
Darcy’s hard eyes cast haughtily down the lines of his aristocratic cheekbones. “The honour is all yours, I assure you. Am I to understand that it is you I have to thank for sending men to first beat me, then to kidnap me from my country and finally to cast me into a solitary cell?”
The man’s lips pulled into a smile. “Senhor Darcy, I would not have you think that I came specifically to harm you. Quite the reverse, in fact. I paid handsomely to spare your life.”
