Vampire Darcy's Desire (4 page)

So when he walked into Sir William Lucas’s home that evening, Darcy anticipated another gathering during which he could watch
his Elizabeth.
He relished the knowledge that she did not suspect his interest. Darcy played it very well: At first, he scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he looked at her without admiration at the dance, and when they met over the subsequent evenings, he looked upon her only to criticize.

But no sooner did Darcy make it clear to himself and his friends that Elizabeth had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. This discovery was succeeded by others, equally mortifying. Although on several occasions he tried to convince himself she possessed more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing. Plus, as he openly bemoaned the fact that her
manners were not those of the fashionable world, their easy playfulness caught him. Of this contrast, Elizabeth was perfectly unaware—to her, Darcy was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere and who did not consider her handsome enough to dance with.

Tonight, he stood by the window, watching Elizabeth as she conversed with Charlotte Lucas and Colonel Forster, the commanding officer of the local militia. He enjoyed watching her animated movements;
his Elizabeth
exuded pure delight, and Darcy could not help but smile. She made his heart feel lighter; he had never thought that just looking at someone could be so satisfying.

 

Over the past few weeks, Mr. Darcy appeared in her thoughts more than Elizabeth cared to admit. At first, her interest lay purely in confirming her aunt’s suspicions, but now there was something more.Yet she could not let anyone else know. Of late, she would often look up to find him studying her, and just as often, his scrutiny made her senses flare with a smoldering she could not identify. On this particular evening, Elizabeth took note of his constant presence, and, as she was prone to do when she had no other way of dealing with a situation, she began an impertinent confrontation. “Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I teased Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

He purposely swallowed the smile that threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth.
His Elizabeth
chose to approach him. “You expressed yourself with great energy—but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”

She bristled, not sure of how to take him.“You are severe on us.”

“I offer you my apologies. As a gentleman, Miss Elizabeth, I would not wish to offend.”

However, Elizabeth had not finished with him; she had determined of late to see if she could ruffle Darcy’s usual self-control. “Mr. Darcy, am I to understand your estate in Derbyshire is an extensive one?”

If she hoped to catch him off guard, Elizabeth succeeded. Darcy wondered if she saw him as a potential mate. If so, she would be sadly disappointed, for he held other plans. He forced his face to appear expressionless, although a plethora of emotions rushed through him.“Such is its reputation, Miss Elizabeth,” he said warily.

“Large enough to employ several hundred, so I hear.” Elizabeth took a small step forward, as if to challenge him, but Darcy did not move.

Darcy kept a steady gaze on her, searching her countenance for information.
To what end is she leading?
There it was again—that look, the one that left him rattled.“If one counts the cottagers, several hundred seems reasonable.”

“Do you know everyone who works at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy? I mean, do you know the names of your footmen and stable hands?”

“I do not understand, Miss Elizabeth.” His ire grew by the second; he gripped his hands hard behind his back.“Is there a point in this conversation?”

“My aunt is from Lambton, Mr. Darcy. Did I happen to mention that fact?”

Darcy’s forehead furrowed in a frown. “I heard as such from Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “My Aunt Gardiner used to tell me of Pemberley when I was younger. In fact, a girl my aunt once knew in Lambton,Vivian Piccadilly, was a washerwoman on your estate. Do you know of Miss Piccadilly, Mr. Darcy?”

Vivian Piccadilly? Yes, I knew her.
She lost her life to George Wickham, but how could Darcy explain that?
Does Elizabeth Bennet know more than she pretends?
“I take great pride, Miss Elizabeth, in recalling the names of those who work within my household and who work the land of my estate. Miss Piccadilly was with us for only a few short months. Her father and mother remain as part of our staff, however.” His face was completely impassive.

Ah,
thought Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy says more than his words. At least, now
he
knows that
I
know,
but…

Before she could retort, Charlotte caught her friend and
coerced her into providing the entertainment by singing for the group. Elizabeth protested good-naturedly. “If my vanity took a musical turn, you would be an invaluable friend.” Then, realizing Darcy still remained close by and not wanting to give him more reasons to offer criticism, she quickly added, “I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”

Over Elizabeth’s protest, Charlotte insisted, and for a bit of spite, Elizabeth turned to Darcy and said,“There is a fine old saying, with which everybody here is, of course, familiar—‘Keep your breath for porridge,’—and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

Darcy offered her a slight bow as he said, “Excellent advice, Miss Elizabeth; I will heed your words if the situation arises.” She scowled, trying to understand how her irreverence amused him.“I look forward to your performance.”

Elizabeth walked away briskly and took up a position at the pianoforte.Though by no means capital, she offered a pleasing performance. As usual, Darcy moved to where he could watch her, at least in profile. Tolerably good, she entertained everyone with a couple of light-hearted ditties. Then the group entreated her to sing once more, begging for a love song.

“You desire something sad?”They agreed, so she let her fingers play lightly across the keys at first, trying to find the pitch and to remember the words. Then when she took up the melody, Darcy froze. Of all the songs in the world, she chose this one—his song:

How could she know?
he wondered. It made no sense, and he was a man who prided himself on common sense. But there it lay—Elizabeth Bennet knew his deepest secret; she had set him up. Every muscle in his body became taut, and Darcy fought to breathe naturally, but he managed to keep his expression constant. Despite his misery, she continued to sing:

Darcy clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to force the tension away, trying to hide his anguish behind a bland expression. If he could only move; however, her voice mesmerized him as much as it did the others. He had never heard the song done so well and with so much passion.

Here it comes
, he thought.
The ending!
The story of “Fair Ellender” he knew well—too well. Ellender D’Arcy began the madness; her love of Arawn Benning marked them—all the generations to follow—and Fitzwilliam Darcy fought to stop the evil she brought on his family. Knowingly, or unknowingly, Elizabeth Bennet sang on:

“Miss Elizabeth,” Sir William cried, “you clearly brought me to tears.
Such
a song!”

Elizabeth dropped her eyes, looking away demurely.“I apologize, Sir William. I did not mean to place a cold sheet on your festivities.”

“Really, Miss Elizabeth, it was worth the silence to hear one of the traditional ballads done so well; so few people these days remember them.”

Darcy stood near, praying for another topic of conversation. Engrossed in his thoughts, he took little note of Mary Bennet succeeding Elizabeth at the pianoforte, nor did he approve of her younger sisters’ demand that Mary perform Scottish and Irish airs instead of a concerto. Bingley joined the group of dancers, along with several of the officers; yet Darcy still did not move—he could not—would not.

When Sir William stepped up beside him and engaged in conversation, Darcy wanted no part of the man. He wanted only to retreat to his room and sort out the chaos. He wanted to go home to Pemberley or even to Overton House, but the vast emptiness of
each would drive him to madness. Yet Sir William rambled on about a house in town.
How could the man expect him to maintain such an asinine conversation when he just lost his soul—hexed by the truth of her words?
Moments ticked breathlessly away while Darcy remained silently reserved until Elizabeth came into view again, and despite wanting to throttle her—wanting to run away from her—wanting to question what she knew of him—his body betrayed him, and Darcy hungrily devoured her with his eyes.

Sir William summoned her, and Darcy silently moaned in despair. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from her. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?—Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner.You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”

If Darcy had bothered to look, he would have, obviously, seen that Elizabeth was as miserable as he. She protested immediately, taking a steadying breath. How could she let Darcy know she could not forget the look on his face as she sang? At first, she thought him critical again, but now she was certain she had hurt him somehow. Suddenly, everything she thought about him turned upside down. “Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.”

Her voice brought him back to reality, and although he still held the dread of her knowing a secret he swore to take to his grave, Elizabeth’s presence—her proximity—forced him to react. Unsettled by his spiraling desire, Darcy forgot his previous trepidation; he wanted to dance with her—like a moth compelled to follow the flame, he felt a need to be near her.“Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honor of this dance?” He offered her a proper bow.

“I appreciate your gallantry, Mr. Darcy, but without meaning offense, I will decline.” Instinctively, she knew she could not risk touching him—taking his hand. Elizabeth was not sure if she wanted to know of more Mr. Darcy.

She walked away, but the spell Elizabeth cast on him remained: She was an enigma—one he desperately wanted to solve.The fact that she did not set designs on him went a long way in holding
Darcy’s attention. He
must
know more of the woman.