“I must go,” she repeated, more firmly, though a tremor still lingered beneath her words.
A brief silence followed.
“I will have my carriage brought round,” he said at last, his tone altered, the earlier edge of provocation softened into something quieter, more considerate. “Allow me to see you safely home.”
Alarm stirred at once, sharp and unyielding.
“No,” she said quickly, the refusal escaping before she could temper it. Drawing in a steadying breath, she forced calm into her tone. “No, my lord, that will not be necessary. Madam Rebecca has already arranged for my conveyance… and for protection. I shall be quite safe.”
The silence that followed seemed to linger, weighed with something she could neither name nor face.
“Very well,” he said at last.
Darcy inclined her head, though she still could not meet his gaze. “I thank you, my lord… for your—” Her voice caught, and she faltered, the word she sought feeling wholly insufficient. “—for your assistance.”
Before he could answer, before her resolve could falter, she turned and quit the room with more haste than dignity.
CHAPTER 11
An hour later, Darcy’s bedchamber felt oppressively small. Too still and quiet. When she had slipped inside and checked on her sisters, they were asleep together in Emelia’s room, still not used to having their own chambers and sleeping alone.
Darcy had carefully gone to her chamber, entered and pressed her back against the closed door, her breath unsteady, her chest rising and falling too quickly as she struggled to master herself. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, as though she might anchor herself by force alone.
It availed her nothing. She removed her mask and eased out of her gown, letting it fall away before slipping off her slippers and peeling down her stockings, until she remained clad only in her chemise. With hurried steps, she crossed to the bed and sank upon it, her limbs heavy, her thoughts chaotic. Even after several minutes, the darkness brought no comfort. Darcy sighed. She turned onto her side, then her back, then shifted again, unable to find rest. The sheets tangled about her as she moved, restless and unsettled, her body betraying a disquiet she could neither soothe nor understand.
Each time she closed her eyes, the memory returned with vivid clarity.
The warmth of his mouth. The deliberate care of his touch, as though he had known precisely how to unravel her. The slow, devastating patience with which he had drawn her into something she had never experienced, yet could not now forget.
Darcy lifted her hand to her lips, pressing her fingers lightly against them, as though she might remove the sensation that lingered there.
It only sharpened the recollection. A soft, unsteady breath left her as she turned onto her back, staring up into the darkness, her heart still far too quick, far too aware. How was it possible that a single moment—no, not a single moment, but a handful of fleeting exchanges—could alter her so completely?
Each kiss had been different.
Each had awakened something new.
Something she had no language for. Darcy turned onto her side once more, drawing her knees slightly inward, her fingers curling into the linen as though seeking purchase. His voice lingered in her mind. The way he had spoken her moniker, ‘Miss Red,’ as though it belonged to him alone.
“How silly that I cannot push you from my thoughts,” she whispered into the stillness of the room.
Darcy squeezed her eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, yet they clung stubbornly, refusing to be dismissed. Sleep did not come easily. When at last it claimed her, it was shallow and uncertain, her dreams troubled by the memory of dark blue eyes and the unmistakable, lingering awareness of a kiss she knew, with quiet certainty, she would not soon forget.
Darcy had just reachedthe middle of a passage inSense and Sensibility, her attention absorbed in Elinor’s quiet endurance, when the soft strains of the pianoforte drifted through the room behind her. Emelia’s touch was light, thoughtful, each note placed with gentle precision.
Across the room, Jane and Sarah stood pressed near the window, their heads bent close together in conspiratorial delight.
“I am certain she has just eloped,” Sarah whispered, peering intently at a passing carriage. “Her gown is so lovely.”
“Nonsense,” Jane returned, equally intent. “She is going to a ball, and that gentleman is her secret admirer. You may tell by the manner in which he handed her into the carriage.”
“I do not believe people attend balls so early. It is scarcely four o’clock.”
“Are we quite certain there are no assemblies or entertainments at such an hour?”
“We have very little knowledge of high society,” Sarah conceded.
“One day we shall know everything,” Jane said with quiet conviction.
