Page 35 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

"They are all out. Bingley's groom has the carriage road, and two of the men are in the park."

"And you?"

"You told me once that this was your favorite walk."

She was silent. She had told him. She had forgotten telling him. He had not forgotten. "I said nobody would think of looking here," she said.

"I did."

The light was going fast now. The hedges had turned black on either side. The lantern made a small gold room around them, and beyond it there was nothing.

At the bottom of the rise, he stopped. She felt him sway. He leaned his back against the stile, breathing hard, with her still in his arms.

"Put me down," she said. "Please. Only for a moment. Rest your hands."

"No."

"Fitzwilliam..." She had not meant to say it. It came out of her in the dark.

She felt him go still.

He looked down at her. In the lantern light his eyes were very dark. Then he pushed himself off the stile and walked on.

He stopped once more, by the hollow oak, and kept her in his arms.

She stopped asking him to put her down.

The gates came at last. The lodge windows were lit, and the keeper's wife was at the door, crying out. Up the drive, there were lights moving among the trees. Someone shouted. Someone else answered.

He kept walking. He carried her up the drive, past the beeches, toward the lit house. By the time they reached the steps, there were men all round them with lanterns. Thomas was there, and the groom, and her father, hatless, running.

"Lizzy!"

"She has hurt her bad ankle," said Mr. Darcy. "Badly. She cannot stand."

He went up the six steps without stopping. She felt every one of them in his arms.

The hall was full of light and people. Jane flew at them with her face wet. Mrs. Bennet shrieked, and swayed, and fainted very well into Mr. Hurst. Mr. Collins stood at the back, asking whether anyone had thought to shut the door against the draft.

Mr. Darcy set her down on the bench by the fire. He did it very gently. He straightened, and stepped back, and let his arms fall to his sides.

Elizabeth looked up at him. She opened her mouth to thank him, and closed it again.

In the candlelight, his hands hung open at his sides. The linen across both palms was soaked through. It was not oil. It was red.

10

"Not one step, Miss Elizabeth. Not one, for a week at the least." Mr. Jones tied off the bandage and sat back. He looked tired. He had ridden out from Meryton in the dark, and he had been an hour in the house already.

"And the crutch?" said Elizabeth.

"The crutch is in two pieces in your father's hands. That is the best place for it." He shut his bag. "You will lie on that sofa and be waited on. You will dislike it extremely. I do not care."

She had not argued with anyone since the hall. She had sat on the bench by the fire and let them do everything. Jane had chafed her cold hands. Her father had stood over her, still hatless, and had not made a single joke. Two footmen had carried her to the morning room in a chair.

"Mr. Jones," she said. "Mr. Darcy's hands."

He stopped at the door. "I have dressed them. Both palms are split across." He frowned. "He has undone several days' healing. If they turn bad, he may never close his fingers properly again."