Page 82 of The Lost Prophecy

“You have repeated that instruction several times, Mr Darcy.”

“I shall repeat it until Wickham is extinguished.”

She regarded him as they moved down the line. “You have already explained that I cannot be compelled. You need not attempt it through concern.”

“I am not trying to compel you.”

“No, but your natural authority is doing exhausting work.”

Darcy drew her closer than the figure strictly required, then corrected the distance before the observers could interpret it. “You may stop the plan at any moment. Speak one word, and Wickham will be removed from this house.”

“Without evidence?”

“Yes.”

“And then he will approach elsewhere, where you cannot control the doors.”

“I shall find him, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Before or after he finds me?”

Darcy could give no honest assurance.

Miss Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around his. “This is my danger as well as yours. You do not protect my freedom by refusing to permit me to use it.”

“I know.”

“You dislike knowing,” she observed.

“Intensely.”

Her mouth curved. “Then we have made progress.”

The music carried them through the final figure. Beyond Miss Elizabeth’s shoulder, Wickham danced with Miss Kitty while keeping his eyes fixed on them. He did not bother concealing his interest from Darcy. The challenge in his face was deliberate: Darcy wanted the woman in his arms, Wickham knew what her blood could offer, and the ballroom prevented either vampire from acting openly.

Miss Elizabeth turned to see what he watched. “Do not glower at him.”

“I am not glowering.”

“Several candles have diminished.”

A bark of laughter escaped him, which made her eyes shine with amusement.

The set ended. Darcy returned Miss Elizabeth to Miss Lucas, released her hand, and stepped back before instinct could overrule discipline. Collins stood several feet away, leaning on his stick while he watched Wickham complete his bow to Miss Kitty. All of them stood where the plan required.

Wickham crossed the ballroom. He greeted Miss Lucas, acknowledged Collins, and bowed before Miss Elizabeth with perfect elegance.

“Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honour of the next set?”

Darcy heard her heartbeat accelerate, but her fan was open in her right hand.

“You may, Mr Wickham.”

Wickham extended his hand, and Darcy had to step aside and permit her to take it.

ELIZABETH PLACED HER hand in Mr Wickham’s.

Cold travelled through his glove, unmistakable now that she knew what it meant. He bowed over her fingers without bringing them near his mouth, and the restraint appeared almost mocking after Mrs Philips’s doorway. Mr Darcy was several feet behind them, his hands clasped at his back and every muscle of his body controlled so severely that restraint had become a public act.