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“Yes, but in what capacity? What have you done in the King’s name?”
“Certainly not seduced seventeen-year-old country misses.” Steven’s light tone fell flat.
“I know gentlemen expect certain leniency. My mother warned me of that when I decided to marry above my station.”
Steven turned to her, prying one of her hands free so he could hold it. He clasped her icy fingers in both of his. “I have lied for the King, and spied for him. Even cheated at cards, and once I stabbed a man in defense, but I have never, would never, break the sanctity of our marriage.”
She turned to study his face, tears building in lovely blue eyes that once gazed at him with such adoration.
He brought her hand to his lips, then said, “I swear to you.”
“I want to believe you,” she whispered. “I truly do.”
“Then do.” He kissed her hand again. “Please, dearest, believe in me for a little longer. If I am correct about who the Archers are, and Fletcher and I capture them, my debt will be paid. My family’s shame will be wiped clear, and I will be free.”
She looked down, tears spilling. “I would not have permitted you to court me if I had known about your father and brother.”
A chill went through him, his chest so tight he could hardly breathe.
“But I did,” she continued. “And I fell in love with you.”
His hand spasmed around hers. “And I have lost that love.”
Blue eyes met his. “If you had lost my love, I would not hurt so much now.”
He pulled her into his lap, into his arms, and buried his face in her soft curls. Slowly, her arms slipped about him. Her cheek settled against his shoulder and she squeezed him tight. Something inside Steven unclenched, and he could breathe again.
“I will not give you another chance,” Louisa murmured.
“I will not need one,” he promised, holding her as tightly as he dared.
Chapter Twenty
Darcy read to Elizabeth all afternoon. Once she recovered from her bout of tears, quite reasonable ones under the circumstances, she proved an engaging audience. She laughed at the same things he found amusing. Frowned at passages that evoked complex emotions or invited thought. Argued finer points with him, and frequently praised his delivery. To his surprise, he discovered a rather dramatic streak under the glow of her appreciation, and finally even came to his feet, delivering Henry the Fifth’s St. Crispin's Day speech with great passion. When he finished, Elizabeth clapped.
Her intelligent, luminous eyes. Her lively features. That quick mind, obviously not under the sway of whatever lingering harm affected her ability to read, they all engaged him. Everything about Elizabeth was perfection. Molded and crafted to fit him. How he’d made it this far into the afternoon without trying to kiss her again, he couldn’t fathom.
‘If I do not marry Anne, I will marry someone who brings at least as much to Pemberley as Anne would.’ Those faithful words rang in his head.
Darcy looked down at the book he held, unneeded as he’d memorized the speech while at university, and cleared his throat, his mood spoiled. What a fool he’d been to make such a vow.
What a greater fool now, to spend so much time with Elizabeth.
“That was magnificent.” Elizabeth smiled up at him. “I had no idea you possessed such passion…” She trailed off, pink blooming in her cheeks.
Their gazes collided, and he had no trouble guessing her thoughts. She knew precisely how much passion he kept walled inside him. Knew more fully, in truth, than anyone else, for, around her, his carefully cultivated restraint crumbled.
He snapped Henry V closed. Tossing the book atop a nearby table with the other volumes from which he’d read, he locked eyes with Elizabeth. In one smooth motion, he dropped down beside her, bringing her eyelevel. Bringing her so very near.
He stilled, startled by his need to hold her.
They didn’t stand in the dark outside an assembly hall. Kissing her then had been wrong. A mistake. A moment of supreme, sublime weakness.
One he would cherish forever.
But now they were out in the light of day. Bingley might well be in the garden somewhere. Elizabeth’s sisters could return at any moment. Or a member of the staff. Or Miss Bingley.
“You confound me, Mr. Darcy.” Pink remained in Elizabeth’s cheeks, but she met his gaze boldly.
