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Elizabeth’s lips twisted. Only this man could kiss her so passionately and then apologize so abjectly for it a moment later. “It is quite all right,” she said softly. “I am capable of defending myself from unwanted embraces. My pistol is somewhere about here.”
William’s eyes shot anxiously to her face, but then he chuckled. “I am pleased my embraces were not so unwelcome.”
Elizabeth was on the verge of confessing exactly how much she welcomed his advances when they were interrupted by a groan from Wickham. “What are you about over there?” Wickham called out peevishly. Fortunately, a well-placed shrub and a sturdy tree trunk obscured the man’s view of their compromising activities. “When is someone fetching the doctor?”
William took her hand again as they stole around the tree to regard Wickham’s prone figure on the ground.
William regarded her with a hint of a smile. “What do you think, Miss Bennet? Should we leave him here? Eventually, he might drag himself to the church.”
Elizabeth enjoyed the way his eyes lit with amusement. “Well, he has caused me quite a bit of trouble ….”
“You cannot leave me!” Wickham cried. He might be unable to stand, but his lungs were perfectly healthy. “I shall bleed to death! Wh
ere is your Christian charity?”
“Hmmm….” Darcy said thoughtfully. “If he were to die, it would save both of us quite a bit of vexation.”
Indignant noises were coming from Wickham’s direction. Elizabeth met William’s eyes with a similar conspiratorial glee.
“Indeed,” she replied. Her attention was caught by activity at the bottom of the hill. “But it appears that my carriage has returned. Perhaps we had best take him to the doctor. If he did die, there would be tiresome questions.”
Darcy sighed heavily. “Very well. If you wish.” He gave her a broad smile and strode down the hill to collect her servants.
***
Darcy sat across from Elizabeth, attempting to discern her mood from her shuttered expression, but it was fruitless. Her eyes were downcast, and her face a mask. Was she angry with him? She had every right to be. Not only had he failed to protect her, once again, from danger, but he had behaved with a total lack of propriety.
On the hill in the graveyard, Darcy had—for perhaps the first time in his life—acted wholly on impulse, without any consideration for the consequences. His heart had overflowed with relief at finding Elizabeth unharmed, and he had not checked the compulsion to embrace, even kiss her. Now that a cooler head was prevailing, he was heartily ashamed of his precipitous behavior but not the sentiments behind it.
Elizabeth had seemed happy to see him and appeared to return his affection, but perhaps she was only grateful for his assistance, belated though it was. Although she had denied being offended at his completely inappropriate behavior, she had grown more solemn since reuniting with her servants and had said little since then. Perhaps she had second thoughts …
He had said nothing about renewing his offer of marriage—it had seemed wrong to do so under those circumstances and in that place, but what if she believed he did not intend to? What if she believed he would compromise her reputation and cared nothing for her?
If possible, he ached for her even more than he had before. He had held her in his arms and knew how perfectly they fit together. He knew the softness of her skin and remembered the silkiness of her hair. His fingers, lips, every part of his body, wanted to touch her again.
Darcy rubbed his chin with his hand. After they had left Wickham in the company of the magistrate and under the care of a doctor, he had convinced Elizabeth to spend the night at Pemberley. Then he recognized the need for a proper chaperone, so he had dispatched Elizabeth’s footman to the home of Mrs. Devries, an elderly neighbor who always enjoyed his hospitality.
Once they arrived at Pemberley, it would be more difficult to hold a frank dialogue, so he knew they must clear up any misunderstandings now. However, a moving carriage was hardly the location he would have selected for a conversation of some delicacy.
And it was a damnably awkward conversation to initiate. How was one to begin? Perhaps, um, if you recall our kiss earlier …? Miss Bennet… you may have noticed I kissed you …. Elizabeth, do you remember that marriage proposal you earlier found so disgusting …?
Perhaps not.
How could this this be so difficult? He had kissed the woman, and she had not pushed him away—or used her pistol on him. Yet somehow, he remained completely in the dark about her feelings.
Elizabeth shifted her head slightly and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue; he barely suppressed a groan, recalling the taste of those lips. Her smallest gesture was mesmerizing to him. His mind was immediately preoccupied by thoughts of how and when he could touch her again.
How had Richard even managed to hold an intelligent conversation with the woman—all the while knowing she would let him kiss her if he wanted?
Richard. Darcy closed his eyes, silently chastising himself.
In all the excitement, Darcy had overlooked the fact that Elizabeth had indeed visited Richard’s grave. Did that mean she missed her betrothed and believed no one could replace him? Yet she had kissed him back …
He glanced over at her still downcast eyes. Did she regret the kisses? Or feel guilt? Was that why she would not meet his gaze?
She must have grown aware of his gaze on her; as he watched, her blue eyes rose to meet his. His heart thumped nervously in his chest, knowing that his fate would be decided in the next few minutes.
“I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Darcy, but how did you happen upon me?” She asked.
