She slipped quietly from the room. Darcy stuck his head out into hallway.
“Bingley. Richard.”
Both men entered at once, and Darcy handed them the letter without a word.
Bingley’s face went white.
Richard swore under his breath.
“What are you going to do?” the colonel asked.
Darcy’s voice was deadly calm. “I am going to Longbourn.”
He folded the letter carefully.
“And I am rescuing Elizabeth.”
Chapter 30
Darkness pressed heavily against Elizabeth’s eyelids.
For a long moment she could not remember where she was, or even why she felt so strange. Her body seemed to belong to someone else—distant, sluggish, unresponsive to the faint commands her mind attempted to send.
Something throbbed behind her eyes.
Her cheek burned.
Memory flickered faintly.
Mary’s hand.
The tea.
The letter.
Darcy.
Elizabeth tried to move.
Nothing happened.
Her limbs felt heavy, as though the bed itself had grown around her and would not release her.
Panic stirred weakly in her chest.
She forced herself to concentrate—to claw her way upward through the thick fog clouding her thoughts.
It was night.
She knew that much.
The darkness pressing through her closed eyelids felt deeper than sleep. The house around her seemed quiet… yet not entirely.
Somewhere nearby, something moved.
A dull sound.
Another.
