Unforgiving Temper (48 page)

The room turned in a giddy whirl as she
hurtled toward the fading light in the fireplace. Every instinct
screamed at her to shield herself from the fall with her arms –
but, still wound numbly within the unyielding sleeves, they were
now only useless appendages to her defenseless body. Elizabeth felt
frozen for an instant in time, falling helplessly, trying her best
to twist aside, to free her hands, to escape somehow the inevitable
impact.

Landing hard on her side, a loud, sickening
snap reverberated through her body as something within gave way,
and her head struck something hard as she slid sidelong across the
polished wooden floor. Elizabeth watched the smoldering embers
closing in with frightening speed and she tried frantically to slow
her progress; but her efforts were too little, too late. With a
terrible thud, she slammed unchecked into the heavy brass fender
surrounding the hearth.

Elizabeth lay stunned, feeling nothing but
surprise as she tried to absorb what had happened. Then the sound
of Lord Grissholm moving in the darkness jolted her dazed
senses and she jerked to escape him. The effort brought a
paralyzing, white-hot pain that radiated from her side and cloaked
her body in agony. It felt as if a knife had been plunged into her.
She wanted to scream for someone to get it out, but every breath
she took seemed to drive it deeper.

The raw, ragged pain tore at her chest again
and she felt a warm flow of blood oozing from her forehead as a
hideous, pulsing ache assaulted her brain. Waves of nausea united
with the rippling spasms in her side to form an agonizing,
unbearable swell of pain.

“Now see what you have done. You really
should not provoke me, my dear.” Grissholm's soft, silky voice
sounded above her. “This wrap is obviously in the way. Let me help
you.”

Gentle once again, he carefully untangled the
pelisse, bringing Elizabeth additional misery with every movement.
She thrashed feebly in spite of the pain, panting in rapid, shallow
gasps. Grissholm patiently waited for her to still, and then
lightly kissed her cheek.

“Come, Elizabeth, it is time.”

Crippled by overwhelming pain and a
bewildering haze that seemed to deepen with each passing moment,
Elizabeth was powerless to prevent the coming terror. A tiny shadow
of light fell on Grissholm's figure, illuminating his movements.
She could only watch in detached horror as he methodically removed
his coat and neckcloth, carefully folding each one before laying it
on a nearby chair. She squeezed her eyes shut as he bent to join
her, trying to shut out the pain she felt now and the pain she knew
that was coming.

“Do not worry, my love” he murmured, his
voice thick with desire. “It will be over soon, and then you will
be mine.”

Elizabeth’s vision was unnaturally dark, but
she could feel him close now – too close! His breath was quick and
heavy as he hovered above her. She tried to move away from the
suffocating stink of stale brandy, but only succeeded in bringing
another devastating spasm of pain to her side.

Cringing from the horror of his rough,
searching hands, she wanted to cry out, but her mind would not form
any words. She wanted to fight him, to escape, but every time she
opened her eyes an overpowering nausea prevented her from drawing
enough breath to scream or even plead for mercy. His nearness was
suffocating. His touch returned again and again in a relentless
nightmare of dizzying pain twisted with unspeakable kisses and bare
flesh that finally wrenched a long, agonized sob from her.

He moved slowly, stroking the already
unbearable pain to new heights. Another cry rose from her in
response – and then he was gone.

She waited for him to return, but mercifully,
he did not. Instead, there was a voice. It was talking, but the
words took too long to reach her brain before they made any
sense.

“Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet, can you
hear me?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but faint and
unimportant now. She was tired, so very tired. And the pain would
not go away. It was no longer just the throbbing ache in her head
and the exquisite pain in her side. Every part of her body was
hurting. She knew someone was moving about nearby, and she felt a
weight upon her. It was not so heavy as before, but it was painful
all the same.
Oh, please, let it end
, she thought, no longer
caring whether she lived or died if only the pain would stop.
Another agonizing ache racked her body, and then the darkness
obligingly swept her away before a low, anguished cry could reach
her ears.

“Dear God, no! Miss Bennet!”

“What the devil is going on?!” Charles
Bingley exclaimed, staring at Richard's bloodied shirtsleeves. “You
and Darcy were supposed to convey Miss Bennet to her uncle's
house.”

Grimly, Richard kept walking until he reached
the library and the decanter of brandy he knew Darcy kept there.
Pouring a glass, he downed it quickly, then moved to warm himself
at the fire, placing a steadying hand against the mantelpiece. He
stared into the rising flames, willing them to burn the haunting
vision of Elizabeth Bennet from his brain. He could hardly
reconcile his last memory of her lively company at Rosings Park
with the battered woman he had found in Robert Grissholm's
study.

Charles followed him into the library,
carefully closing the door behind them before coming to his
side.

“Richard, will you please say something?”

“Grissholm changed our plans,” Richard
growled softly, “It is a good thing that little maid of hers had
enough sense to come and fetch us. I just pray to God we were not
too late.” He shut his eyes against the vision of Elizabeth's near
lifeless body Darcy had carried in.

“Too late? What do you mean?”

“I mean too late to save her from Grissholm's
villainy.”

Bingley paled. “What in God's name
happened?”

“We were waiting near the carriage for
Miss Bennet to come at the appointed time, when a girl came
running toward us, crying hysterically and pleading for help. Darcy
had a deuce of a time calming her down enough to discover she was
Miss Bennet's maid and there was trouble. That was all it took
and we were off, following the girl back to Grissholm's house. When
we entered the kitchens – ”

“You entered his property? It is a miracle
you were not shot!”

“We had no choice. Miss Bennet was not
coming out, so we had to go in.”

“But the servants?”

“Not a one – except for the maid. I do not
think it would have mattered in any case. It was clear Darcy was
not leaving without Miss Bennet.”

“And Grissholm?”

Richard's fists clenched against the
sickening details that were still all too vivid in his mind. Twice
he began and had to pause to steady his voice before continuing.
“The maid took us to the door of his study and would go no farther.
It was quiet as a churchyard, which made me think she had gotten
confused in her distress and taken us the wrong way; but I was
mistaken. At that very moment, the most soul-wrenching cry came
from the other side of the door.”

Bingley could only stare in astonishment
while Richard took another deep breath to calm his temper. “I have
heard my share of suffering on the battlefield, Charles, but never
anything like that.”

“Miss Bennet?” he whispered, already
knowing the answer.

“Yes. We entered the room, but it was so dark
that it was difficult to see anything at first. Another cry gave us
direction – and then we saw them.” Richard swallowed hard. “She was
on the floor and he was over her.”

“Dear God in Heaven!”

“Darcy reached Grissholm in a flash, pulling
him off. It was obvious the man had been drinking, but not enough
to hinder his abilities. He said something about Miss Bennet
which I shall not repeat, and that sent Darcy into a mad rage.”

Bingley sank into a nearby chair, completely
stunned. “This is unbelievable. And Miss Bennet – what of
Miss Bennet?”

“I went to assist her, and when I saw what
Grissholm had done, it was all I could do to keep from joining
Darcy. Her condition was utterly appalling, Charles – half
undressed, bleeding, and senseless. I could barely touch her
without causing great pain and it was evident she needed immediate
attention. I called to Darcy, but he was beyond reason.”

“Knowing his affection for her, I can only
imagine! What a nightmare it must have been!”

“Precisely. At that point, I could see
Grissholm was losing ground. Darcy's fury was relentless – even
after the man went down. I have no doubt Darcy would have killed
him.”

Richard could say no more and the abrupt end
to his gruesome narration was underscored by a profound silence.
Both men knew that no amount of wealth or influence could have
saved Darcy, or Georgiana, from utter ruin if he had succeeded in
killing Grissholm in his own home. They also knew that in the
unlikely event Miss Bennet dared to make the incident public,
she had no hope of holding a man of his rank and standing
accountable for the atrocity.

“Grissholm must pay for this outrage. Will
Darcy challenge?”

“He already has,” Richard said quietly. “It
was the last thing he said to Grissholm, and the man was glad for
it. I am to make arrangements with Grissholm's second in the
morning.”

“Darcy will prevail in the duel, surely. I
have never seen a better shot.”

“You are assuming Grissholm will choose
pistols, but he is no fool. I expect swords will be his choice.
Darcy is good, but Grissholm is better – even with what Darcy did
to him tonight. This is a bad business, my friend.”

Bingley sat in contemplative silence before
shaking his head in disbelief. “I am stunned. Grissholm has always
seemed a gentleman. Somewhat aloof, I admit; but still I would
never have thought him as bad as this. What do you suppose set him
off?”

“This has been a long time coming,” sighed
Richard. “It started with that sordid business back at Cambridge.
Wickham was doing the devil's bidding even then. He had Grissholm
absolutely convinced that Darcy was responsible for the girl's
disappearance.”

“Disappearance? What girl?”

“Oh, yes, you were not at university yet,
were you? Grissholm fell hopelessly in love with a girl he met at
one of Lady Middleton's soirees. He had been seeing her for some
time when she suddenly disappeared. Nobody knew what happened. Some
said she died, but nothing was ever substantiated. Grissholm was
beside himself with grief – he apparently spent an entire year
looking for her and found nothing but an orphaned younger sister.
He took the girl in as his ward, though he uses another name for
her. An attempt to shield her from the scandal, I daresay. The
missing woman's name was Catherine…Morley or Munson or – ”

“Monroe?” Bingley asked in shocked
surprise.

“Yes, I believe you are right.
Catherine Monroe,” Richard replied, completely missing
Bingley's thoughtful expression. “At any rate, Grissholm has held a
bitter grudge against Darcy ever since. It has been festering these
ten years and now this whole affair with Miss Bennet has
finally forced their resentment into the open. It was only a matter
of time before they walked the fields together.”

“But this Catherine Monroe, what if –
”

Darcy's entrance ended the conversation as
Richard's attention was immediately focused on his cousin's drawn
and haggard face. Most of the blood had been wiped away, but his
shirt and neckcloth still bore the signs of the brutal conflict and
Miss Bennet's injuries. Richard's watched him anxiously. There
was no mask of reserve to hide Darcy's true feelings. There was
only deep sorrow and agony – and something else. Richard's gut
wrenched as Darcy wordlessly fell into a chair and buried his face
in his cut and swollen hands.

“Were we too late?”

“Too late?” Darcy's hands dropped dejectedly
to his lap, his strained and brittle voice barely audible in the
silent room. “I cannot say. I thought I could hear her breathing,
ever so faintly; but she did not make the smallest sound when I
laid her down. The doctor would not even venture an opinion until
he made his examination.” Darcy's eyes were filled with a desperate
anguish that hardened into cold, unyielding hatred. “If she dies, I
shall never forgive myself or him! I should have insisted she go to
her uncle's house. I should have never let her go back!”

“How could you know Grissholm would assault
her? He had proposed to her for heaven's sake!”

“I know, I know!” Darcy growled. “But I also
knew what Grissholm was capable of. I should have done more!”

“You did your best,” Bingley insisted. “No
one could have done better.”

“
I
could have! I
should
have!
She asked for my help. The first time she truly depended upon me –
trusted me – and I failed her.”

Darcy turned away from the others and dropped
his face into his hands once more to conceal his agony. His friend
and cousin both meant well, he knew, but their words of comfort
were meaningless when Elizabeth – his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth
– was lying upstairs, hovering so precariously between life and
death. His memories of their excursion into Grissholm's house were
a constant anguish, playing endlessly over and over again in an
exquisite, inescapable torture.

He could still feel the cold steel of the
door latch under his hand – right before that terrible,
heartrending sound had filled his ears. The sound of Elizabeth's
cry! He rushed through the door into a room that was dark, nearly
black, and stumbled blindly, searching for her. Then came another
cry, fainter than the first, but still saturated with pain. Turning
to the sound, his eyes had beheld a horrifying silhouette of bodies
against the ebbing glow of a tiny fire. Elizabeth lay prostrate,
the white lines of her bare shoulders reflecting the faint light.
The outline of Grissholm over her, his bare muscles flexing as one
arm drew her close and the other stroked her.