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He stood so quickly it surprised her, heading for the door, and she jumped up to intercept him—throwing herself between him and the door to stop him. “Wait!” she whispered desperately. “There are things to consider, things you do not know!”
Betrayal and anger were in the gaze that accused her now. What else could she have done? Where could she take him and his sister to hide from such a powerful family? But neither could she allow him to barrel directly towards instant trouble.
“Listen to me,” she said, taking his face within her hands. “I was trying to help.”
Help,she thought, from a man who had already had him imprisoned within his power, a man whose intentions had proven unjust and dishonourable. And what of Georgiana? In calling for her uncle, she had as good as sacrificed herself to an unwanted marriage.
And it was I who urged Georgiana to write to Lady Catherine in the first place.
Why should he listen to her?
Her eyes filled with tears of frustration at her powerlessness, at her inability to fix all that was wrong, words of futile explanations and apologies clogging her throat.
Inexplicably, however, his expression changed, softened. Instead of being shoved aside, she found herself cradled in his arms.
The sensation of it!To be surrounded by him, to feel cherished by him. To breathe in his scent, to inhale him—he became her world in that moment.
Lizzy knew it was wrong. She should not be embracing this man—any man—and that he wore only his night clothes compounded the wickedness. Why, then, did it feel right? Why did it feel as if she was doing the best thing she had ever done? Why did the differences between them—hard and soft, muscle and yielding, male and female—meld into a perfect whole? Why did her name, spoken in his broken, gruff murmur, sound the way she had always longed to hear it?
“Liz-zy. Oh, Liz-zy.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. He looked down at her. The rage and frustration in his expression of a few moments ago was replaced with…tenderness? Affection? His head bent towards her. Would he kiss her now? Her eyes drifted shut, anticipating the sensation while fearing it as well. Oh, yes, she was in over her head for certain.
But the expected kiss did not come. Instead, he rested his forehead upon hers. His skin burned.
He is feverish, ill, and I think of kissing. What an excellent nurse I am!
But of course, she did not wish to be his nurse. She wanted something more, an unknown something creating an unnamed longing within.
Stupid, stupid girl.
So instead of words of love to lover, she softly told him the rest of it. “I brewed a—well, it is actually my mama’s sleeping draught, but we put it in cakes and served them to your aunt. She has been the next thing to unconscious for several hours now.”
He smiled, but she could not return it. “We do not know how long we can keep her asleep or whether she will grow immediately suspicious when she wakens. We sent Donavan away, but we do not think we can make him stay away, and the servants are very afraid of your aunt. I am uncertain…how much command we might be able to exercise.”
He nodded, solemn again.
“Do you think…it is such a long journey, but…would you be safe if we could find a way to spirit you to Pemberley?”
For a long moment, he held still, seeming to consider. But at last, he shook his head. “No. Look…there first. No egad…earl. No Cath-rine. Must…go.”
“But where? If only Bingley was in town!”
His countenance lightened with what might have been enthusiasm, but he grappled with his tongue, trying to express it. “Other. No. Nether-field.”
“Netherfield? You likely have not heard that my sister Jane married Mr Bingley,” she explained, and his face tautened.
“Bing,” he repeated, frowning. “Mar-ried.”
“Yes.”
His disapproval was plain upon his face, and she bit her tongue against reproaching him for it, reminding herself that while Jane was a worthy bride, Jane’s parents and prospects helped Bingley’s circumstances not at all. But it did give her the impetus, as one even less fortunate than her sister, to step away from him. He easily let her go.
“Only Miss Bingley and the Hursts reside currently at Netherfield, I believe,” she made herself continue, “as Mr Bingley and Jane are on their wedding trip. They went first to Scarborough, you see, to his relations there, and will go to Brighton after. I fear your appearance at Netherfield might only result in the furtherance of Lady Matlock’s plans.”
He closed his eyes. “No…earl. No…Cath. Must…away.” He swayed on his feet, might even have fallen if she had not clutched his arms.
“Sir, you must lie down. You are unwell.”
