Darcy's Kiss Read online

  DARCY'S KISS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Elizabeth was the first to alight from the carriage, glancing curiously as she did so through the open gate to the gardens of Rosings Park. Her cousin Mr. Collins bowed briefly over her hand, but then turned promptly to assist his wife Charlotte in negotiating the steps. Elizabeth saw that the Lucas' carriage had stopped just behind the one she had descended from, and that Sir William Lucas was already handing down his youngest daughter Maria.

  Although it was a warm evening, a nearby river seemed to be acting as a funnel for a brisk breeze, so that as Elizabeth walked out onto the small stone pathway she pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders.

  Elizabeth had been surprised when Mr. Darcy suggested the party make their approach to Rosings Park through the gardens. The notion seemed to suggest an unsuspected streak of romanticism lurking in his breast. Whatever his motive, however, she was greatly anticipating the experience.

  Sir William and Maria were the first to follow Elizabeth, the young girl with her hand resting lightly on her father's arm.

  "Lizzy! It was so clever of Mr. Darcy to suggest this outing. I've never been to a more elegant home than Rosings Park before, have you?"

  "No, I haven't," Elizabeth admitted.

  This sort of conversation, innocuous and loaded with platitudes, bored Sir William to death, but now he merely smiled fondly at Maria and momentarily covered her hand with his. "Are you warm enough?" he inquired.

  "Yes, Papa. Although I'm glad for the cloak."

  He glanced belatedly at Elizabeth. "Elizabeth? But I know you're accustomed to a chill wind. I daresay the snow has scarcely melted off the hills at home."

  Elizabeth felt a tiny pang of homesickness, although not for the snow. Still, the steep hills of Hertfordshire, cloaked with heather and grass, were at their most beautiful in the spring. The gentler landscape here in Kent had its own attraction, but left Elizabeth feeling somewhat hemmed in.

  By this time the party had gathered and was prepared to embark. Colonel Fitzwilliam made haste to claim the spot next to Elizabeth, while Mr. Darcy, displaying no perturbation, walked comfortably behind them. Maria, with her sister and father, had chosen to join Mr. Collins up ahead.

  The moon was a mere sliver, and lent no illumination to the scene. Nobody spoke, their silence attesting to the fairyland beauty of the intimate gardens at night, so different from the bustling countryside during the day.

  Her expression was one of bemusement as she glanced about, and Colonel Fitzwilliam's equally so, although for different reasons; his gaze remained fixed on Elizabeth. Elizabeth avoided looking at Darcy's shadowed face, but she had the uncomfortable impression that he was watching her.

  They arrived all too soon at the gaily lit entrance leading directly to the house. At first glance the illuminated gardens were charming, with extensive lawns and inviting walkways. At last, they arrived indoors. Elizabeth stood between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy as Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered the dining hall.

  Darcy said in a low tone, as he held Elizabeth's gaze, "Is something bothering you, Miss Bennet?"

  Elizabeth lowered her gaze in confusion and murmured. “No, no, nothing is bothering me. I...I was just admiring...that is a very fine necklace your aunt is wearing."

  "Very fine," Mr. Darcy agreed dryly. "And costly. Are you wishing you possessed one like it?"

  "Thank you, but no," she said with a light laugh.

  "No reason to thank me. I wasn’t offering you one," he said offensively.

  Elizabeth gave him as icy a look as she could muster, then showed him her shoulder as she turned to converse with Charlotte.

  At last the group was served a supper of the peculiar delicacies Rosings was known for: powdered beef, custards and syllabubs laced with wine. The gentlemen accepted glasses of punch, while the ladies sipped lemonade. Spirits were high; the older members of the party maintained an animated conversation, while Maria carried on an outrageous flirtation with the colonel right under her father's nose, and Lady Catherine hovered solicitously over Anne, her sickly daughter, correcting her every mistake. It seemed to pass unnoticed that Elizabeth was ignoring Mr. Darcy, who in turn appeared unconcerned by her rebuff.

  She could only suppose he had intended his earlier remarks in jest, but she found his implication that she had been hinting for a diamond necklace to be offensive indeed. His words had a certain bite to them, as though he had too often had lady friends beg for such baubles. Did he think of her in the likes of the spoiled Caroline Bingley, for example, with who he was apparently more accustomed to keeping company?

  His husky voice brought her out of her reverie.

  "I believe there is to be rain this evening. If anyone would care to take a stroll, perhaps we should do so now."

  It soon developed that everybody wanted to see more of the gardens, although some were more eager than others. Lady Catherine looked as though she would have liked to put her daughter on a leash, and her agreement in taking a walk was clearly to keep her eye on Anne.

  Maria accepted Colonel Fitzwilliam's arm with every appearance of enjoyment. Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth, and after the briefest of hesitations, she rested her hand on it. She had no wish to draw notice to the awkwardness between them, and she could see no danger in walking with him for a short way. Their group would no doubt stay together, and she could shortly find some opportunity to exchange partners with Lady Catherine, who had taken Sir William's courteously proffered arm.

  The paths were hung with brilliantly colored lamps, which seemed to be more for effect than for real illumination. Much of the way was quite dark, and other paths branched off the one they were following. To everyone’s surprise it took Anne only a minute to vanish, with Maria and the colonel following only a moment later.

  Lady Catherine's lips pursed in vexation, and she called sharply, "Anne! Anne, where are you?" When there was no response she began to look agitated, and after calling again to no avail, quickened her steps, drawing Sir William with her.

  Elizabeth thought her quest hopeless; she had noticed several benches placed behind thick shrubbery, and with the number of intersecting paths the possibilities for escaping detection were limitless.

  Charlotte seemed less concerned about her sister's disappearance. All the same, she and Mr. Collins hurried to keep up with Lady Catherine, perhaps out of sympathy. Sir William, too, stayed with the others, although Elizabeth thought he looked a trifle aggrieved. Elizabeth understood Maria's thinking very well, however; as a young, attractive girl, she had to take great care to protect her reputation.

  Darcy's unhurried pace did not change. "I believe they've lost their charges," he remarked calmly. "No sense hunting. They'll show up in their own good time."

  Although this echoed her own earlier reflections, Elizabeth was unreasonably annoyed by this evidence of Darcy's lack of concern.

  The older members of the party became lost to sight around a bend in the path. Elizabeth's hand was firmly imprisoned between Darcy's arm and his body, holding her captive. When she tugged to free her hand, his arm tightened, reminding her again that his relaxed, unhurried manner and fashionable garments hid a powerfully muscled body.

  She stopped dead in the path and glared at him. "Please release my hand," she said sharply.

  His brows rose in exaggerated surprise, and he said, "Certainly."

  The moment her hand was freed Elizabeth hurried forward, une
asily conscious of the darkness and of Darcy following close behind. When she came around the bend in the path she discovered the way forked, and nobody else in sight. There seemed nothing to choose between the paths, and she had no idea which way to go.

  Darcy's strong fingers gripped her elbow, as though he were reclaiming possession, and he said, "I believe this left path circles back toward the house. I think it the likeliest way."

  It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that it was Darcy who had engineered this outing, as well as suggesting the walk, and it might very well be that matters had come out just as he had intended them. It was this suspicion, along with an inexplicable perversity, which made her say stubbornly, "I think the right way is more promising."

  He simply shrugged. "Whichever you prefer."

  Elizabeth was by no means certain of her choice and was somewhat disappointed that he had not argued, thus shoring up her own conviction. They began to walk again, but encountered no one. It seemed to Elizabeth that this path was even darker than those they had left behind, and she began to wish she had not allowed her feeling of antagonism to overrule her common sense.

  She said fretfully, "Does this path go anywhere? Perhaps we should turn back?"

  "I believe it's making a gradual circle," he answered, sounding as nonchalant as though they were in the hallway in his own home. "Are you not enjoying the gardens?"

  "It's surely natural that I should be concerned about Maria," she responded stiffly.

  "She is simply taking a walk, which, after all, is what the place is designed for."

  Elizabeth felt unable to take his advice. The night was exceptionally dark, and the stars were flung across the sky like silver spangles in a canopy of black velvet. The air had a sweet, intoxicating smell from the flowering shrubs and was, now that they were further away from the river, pleasantly warm. The only sound was the soft crunch Darcy's boots made on the path. They seemed to be the only people for miles around.

  Elizabeth's skin had begun to prickle, as though it had suddenly become extraordinarily sensitive, and she was excruciatingly aware of his fingers on her arm, and of her gown brushing against his legs.

  In a determined effort to reduce the stroll to the commonplace, she rushed into conversation. "In answer to your question about Rosings Park, I find it pleasant enough."

  "Such enthusiasm," he gently mocked.

  She shrugged, aware he would feel the gesture. She moved toward a miniature Grecian temple that the path was just then circling.

  Elizabeth could feel herself bristle and reflected on how easily he provoked such a reaction in her. It was this edge of annoyance that gave her the courage to ask abruptly, "Why did you arrange this outing, Mr. Darcy? It's scarcely your style. I've felt like a puppet all evening, being moved about to suit your fancy, whatever that is!"

  "I think you know why, Miss Bennet," he said.

  His insinuating tone had the effect of further annoying Elizabeth and of making her wish to lash out at him. After a moment she went on crossly, "I don't know why. I can't understand why you're choosing to be mysterious."

  "Or why you're being obtuse," he said, suddenly sounding frustrated, irritated at her inability to read his mind. "I invited you because it seemed the only way to get you away by yourself."

  “Mr. Darcy, what has come over you?”

  He slowed his pace. “Miss Bennet, I want something that goes against my better judgment. I want you." His fingers bit into the soft skin of her upper arm as he abruptly stopped walking and pulled her to face him.

  Elizabeth gasped at the strength of his grip as well as at his blunt words. "You want me against your will?" she asked angrily. "How insulting!"

  Somewhere deep inside, Elizabeth was as scandalized by Darcy's words and unfamiliar touch as her upbringing had taught her to be, but although she acknowledged that stern voice, it seemed to have lost control.

  In a daze she felt his fingertips touch the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse beat. Then his fingers encircled her throat, slid up the slender column of her neck to clasp her chin and tilt her face upward.

  In the shadowy light from a nearby lamp she could see the wry, tender twist to his mouth, the gleam in his brown eyes. Elizabeth could not have moved to save her life; she felt as though her blood had been turned to a thick, hot syrup that flowed sluggishly through her veins, weakening her limbs.

  Her heart was pounding with hard, quick strokes, which surely he could feel, and her breath was shallow and fast. The quiver in her stomach might have been excitement or fear, she couldn't tell which.

  Although she had never before been kissed by a man, it seemed inevitable when his head bent, so slowly, that she knew with some part of her mind that he was giving her time to withdraw. Then his lips touched hers. Elizabeth's eyes closed, blinding her to the surroundings, to all else but the surprising warmth and softness of his mouth, which teased and coaxed her own.

  The betraying tide of passion crept up on Elizabeth; if it had suddenly swept over her, its newness would have frightened her. Instead, her lips parted tentatively beneath his, and her body swayed toward him, as though seeking his strength.

  In an instant the embrace changed. As Darcy felt Elizabeth's response, his mouth hardened, forcing open her lips, betraying his sense of urgency. His arms roughly encircled her, crushing her cloak, pressing her slim body against his powerful length.

  Through the thin muslin of her gown she could feel his heart pounding against her breasts, his strong thighs so shockingly, intimately, touching her own. She might have protested, but her thoughts were too incoherent, the flood of excitement that filled her too intense, so that it seemed more right, more natural, than she had dreamed a man's embrace could be.

  And then, through her fog, she heard a sound behind her, and felt him stiffen at the same moment. Footsteps, a light, girlish voice. Elizabeth wrenched herself from Darcy's embrace, and a sob escaped her lips. His hand on her arm steadied her as they moved into the thick brush.

  The instant they were out of sight, Darcy said, "Elizabeth..." His voice had a thick, uneven timbre, an uncertainty that Elizabeth would have sworn was foreign to Darcy. "I did not intend..."

  She waited for no more. Her own voice was shaking as she said, "I pray you didn't! If Mr. Collins had chanced to be here, he would have had to call you out! I said your words were an insult, but for you to have taken such liberties with me..." She whirled and stalked away, stumbling on the dark path because of her unwary pace.

  She had no sooner regained her balance than he was beside her, hand gripping her arm. He made no effort to restrain her pace, but simply stayed at her side. Knowing she needed his guidance, knowing that no matter how dangerous his touch, it was more dangerous still for a woman to wander alone at night, easy prey for prowling men, she made no effort to shake off his hand.

  The truth was that Elizabeth was filled with sick disgust, not aimed at Darcy, but herself. She felt her conduct to be inexcusable; either she had committed the unforgivable sin of allowing herself to pitch headlong in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy, a proud man who would never return such love, or else she had become like her adolescent sisters with no sense of shame.

  She had somewhere inside known from the beginning that Mr. Darcy desired her. It was there to be read in his eyes. She had been equally certain that she had not touched his heart, and yet she had allowed herself to be lured to this lonely path on a dark night, and let him kiss her.

  She could not even excuse herself by pretending that he had forced her in any way; she had cooperated willingly. Worse yet, she had enjoyed herself.

  She suddenly wondered whether he would make an offer for her. Many men, in such a situation, would. She could only pray that his sense of honor was not so strong. What could be more repugnant to her than to have this proud man, into whose arms she had melted, ask for her hand in marriage out of a feeling of obligation.

  What a contrast it would be if he offered for her out of love. That hot light, whi
ch she had been barely able to discern in the darkness, would be in his eyes, and his expression would not be mocking, but vulnerable, open to hurt from her, and no other. She rejoiced at the thought, and then knew, with the sharpness of a revelation, that she would accept an offer from him, if only he loved her.

  She stumbled again on the path, and his fingers tightened protectively, helping her find her balance. Elizabeth was stunned at the direction her thoughts had taken. Did all of this mean that she was in love with Mr. Darcy? With that dictatorial, mocking, impossible man? The warmth that flooded her face, the speeding of her heartbeat, the extraordinary sensitivity to his presence, even here in the darkness, all told her she had known the answer even before she asked the question.

  It was because her heart was already given that her body had been so prepared to respond to his. She could scarcely believe she had been able to delude herself for so long into believing she disliked him. He too obviously had all the qualities she had once dreamed of finding in a man; even her father would eventually come to approve of him.

  She was brought out of these absorbing thoughts when Darcy abruptly stopped walking and turned her to face him, as though in a replay of his earlier actions. Elizabeth instinctively flinched away and tried to pull free from his grasp. His hand instantly dropped to his side and he stepped back. They stared at each other in tense silence.

  Finally, he said dryly, "I have no intention of attacking you. I simply thought, since we will be back in the lighted area any moment, and will doubtless find my aunt there, that you might care to have a moment to compose yourself." He spoke with exaggerated courtesy.

  Elizabeth said combatively, "Why should I need to compose myself?"

  He suddenly sounded amused. "Because you look as though you have been thoroughly kissed."

  Being the object of his amusement succeeded in making her very angry; her words did not come.

  "I must confess this went further than I intended. Feeling you respond went to my head."

  Elizabeth gasped. She went on sharply, "What you, in your lofty arrogance, like to imagine was some favorable response, was instead shock that someone I had believed to be a gentleman would so forget himself as to handle me in such a way." She kept her voice low only with an effort. "I defy you to name me an instance when I have displayed any partiality for you. I don't like to be discourteous to anyone but you leave me no choice. I despise you!"