Vampire Darcy's Desire (31 page)

Darcy did not respond; he simply strode towards the storefront and burst through the door, fully expecting to find both Elizabeth and Georgiana waiting for him; but no one was to be seen, not even the clerk. “Hello, in the store!” he called at the top of his lungs.

A stirring from the back of the building could be heard, and within a few seconds, the old man appeared. “Yes, Sir. May I be of service, Sir?”

“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. I believe my wife and sister were both in here minutes ago,” Darcy said impatiently.

“Your sister, Mr. Darcy, left first with your footman there.Your wife followed five minutes later. Mrs. Darcy took her leave at least ten minutes ago, Sir.”

Darcy tapped his cane to his hat in a salute of gratitude, but his mind was not on the conversation. Immediately, he was back on the street, searching the storefronts for the faces he most loved. “Belton, go down the other side as far down as where you found me, and work your way back here.”

“Yes, Sir.”The man took off at a trot, searching every nook and cranny. Darcy would do the same after ordering the carriage driver to wait, in case Elizabeth and Georgiana were close by.

 

Darcy had taken no more than ten steps along the walkway when he heard her voice. Elizabeth stood in the darkened alleyway, talking loudly to someone even farther back in the shadows. Georgiana must be there also; otherwise, Elizabeth would back away. Of course, someone could be holding a gun on both of them. A silent click of the switch and a twist of the handle, and he slid the sword, a narrow blade edged on both sides, from the cane; and he reached for the small gun he carried in his boot. Easing his body along the wall and line of boxes, Darcy tried to maneuver to where he could see his wife and better assess the situation. From his current angle, all he could view was her skirt tail and the back of her bonnet. He fought to control his breathing and to curb his urge to burst upon the scene. If her assailant had a gun, she would be dead before
Darcy could clear the obstacles in his line of sight.

“Mahkicw Egroeg!” Elizabeth called out bravely. Darcy wondered at her words.

Then he heard the voice he most dreaded in such a situation. “Gibberish, Mrs. Darcy? You are grasping at straws, my dear.” Then Wickham continued speaking, but Darcy could not make out his words.

Elizabeth paused, seemingly at a loss. “Georgiana!” she called out again, as Darcy edged close enough to see Elizabeth’s profile. She stood with his crucifix dangling from a chain in front of her. “You can see Wickham has no power to defeat the crucifix. You must believe, Georgiana,” Elizabeth urged her. “You must believe in your brother and in me.”

Darcy wondered where she got her courage; Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was facing Wickham’s demonic possession armed with nothing more than a jeweled cross.

Elizabeth took another step forward, and Darcy nearly groaned, knowing the danger she was in. He wished he could see his sister—see the situation in which Georgiana found herself. Georgiana had not spoken, so she might be gagged. “Release my sister at once, Sir!” Elizabeth demanded. Darcy winced, knowing how Wickham detested orders and those who dared to issue them
.

Intuitively, Elizabeth became aware of Darcy’s presence. He made no sound nor could she see him, but just the same, she knew he was there. Emboldened by his nearness, she sidestepped farther, hoping to pluck Georgiana from Wickham’s grasp. “I will tell you one last time, Wickham; your plan is madness.You will be found and punished.”

Desperately trying to formulate a plan as she moved, she thought once more of the book, and immediately Elizabeth recognized her error. The foul monster’s name was not really George Wickham; he was Seorais Winchcombe
.
George Wickham was his Anglicized name. She needed to use the correct one before the spell could work. Again, she visualized his name. She thrust the crucifix forward, extending her arm as far as the chain would go—
taking the jeweled cross itself into her palm.

“
Ebmochcniw Siaroes!
”The words shot through the darkness, and with a gust of wind, Wickham flew backwards, slamming against the brick wall behind him.

Instantly, Elizabeth grabbed Georgiana and tumbled with the girl to the ground, anticipating that Darcy would step forward from the shadows. Darcy fired the gun, aiming for Wickham’s heart, as the demon slid down the wall.

In triumph, Darcy strode forward, adjusting the sword in his grip as he moved, planning to decapitate the beast lying at his feet. Poised above the limp body of his enemy, he could not have anticipated the attack.

 

In the shadows of the alley, a figure waited for an opening. Phantomlike, it clung to the side of the building, blending in with the faded wooden slats. Following Wickham’s orders, Amelia Younge had tracked Darcy’s carriage back to the bookstore. She had seen him enter the alley and hide in the darkness created by the haphazard stacking of discarded boxes.

So when Darcy stepped out of his hiding place and fired on Wickham, Mrs. Younge reacted in the only way she knew. She attacked the assassin attempting to kill the
man
she had followed into hell. Like a wild animal, she charged forward, taking Darcy by surprise, clawing at his back and ripping his coat to shreds with just a few swipes.

Dropping the sword, Darcy hit the ground and rolled, trying to escape the claws and the fangs snapping at him with great force and speed. His face sustained a raking from the tips of her nails, but he fought on. Calling forth his own powers, he pushed against her chest, shoving the woman back far enough that he could extend his arms. Blue light streamed from him, wrapping the vampire with a force she had not expected.

Yet energized by her need to help Wickham, the lamia valiantly led another attack.Again, she pressed Darcy back, her fangs dangerously close to his neck and ear. He struggled to right himself, but
the she-devil drove a knee into his chest as she mounted him, forcing Darcy’s shoulders to the ground.

As they wrestled for control, neither Darcy nor Amelia Younge saw Elizabeth move; their struggle was too intense. Elizabeth grabbed the sword discarded during the battle and, with a sweep and a lunge—a perfect
envelopment
—she came down upon the woman with all her might.“
No…o…o!
” Elizabeth screamed as she thrust the sword through Mrs.Younge’s back, sending it all the way through the woman’s body.

A blood-curdling scream reverberated throughout the small space.With the evil released, the body of Amelia Younge shriveled, becoming an empty shell. The blood drained from her instantly, and her skin began to decay before their eyes.

Darcy scrambled to his feet, scooping the cowering Georgiana into his arms as he moved.“Hurry!” he called to Elizabeth over his shoulder.Without thinking, she hiked up her skirts to follow him, glancing back only long enough to see Wickham lean over Mrs. Younge’s festering body and then disappear in a puff of smoke.

Entering the nearly deserted street, Darcy bolted towards the waiting carriage, unceremoniously dumping Georgiana onto the floor of the coach before shoving Elizabeth in after her. Heaving his own scratched and bruised body onto the seat, he pounded on the roof, and the coach lurched forward, throwing Darcy and Elizabeth into each other’s arms. Righting himself, but not releasing Elizabeth, he called out, “Pick up Belton!” Then he turned his attentions to his wife, without whom, he would, undoubtedly, be dead. His hands slid up and down her arms—her back—searching—trying to assure himself of her safety.“Tell me that you are all right,” he demanded.

“I am,” Elizabeth said, her voice raspy.

The air rushed from him in relief.“Thank God.”

Then Darcy quickly untied Georgiana’s hands, and both he and Elizabeth helped her to a seat between them. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he massaged her wrists.

“I am well, dear brother,” she responded. “Thanks to you.”
Turning her head to Elizabeth, she said, “And thanks to you, dear sister.” She leaned against Elizabeth’s shoulder and sobbed.

Darcy cupped Elizabeth’s chin with his palm and, leaning across his sister, kissed his wife’s lips tenderly. “Thank you for saving
both of us.
”

Tears misted Elizabeth’s eyes as he pulled back to gaze at her. Georgiana sobbed, but Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “I could not become a widow so soon after my marriage,” she declared.“Nor could I lose a sister I had so recently gained.”

Georgiana released her hold on Elizabeth and sat back quietly in her seat. By and by, Elizabeth picked up Georgiana’s right hand and Fitzwilliam her left. All three held hands in silence—united as one, with one purpose—for the rest of the trip.

 

Arriving at Overton House, Darcy sent servants scrambling for the ladies’ pelisses and his overcoat before they departed the carriage. It was a façade of normalcy, played out for the benefit of the neighbors. What each of them wore under their outer garments might be tattered and torn—might be smudged with dirt and blood—but no one else would know.

He helped first his wife and then his sister depart the coach, and, leisurely, Darcy followed them into the interior of the house. They would deal with this together and in their own time. “Mr. Frasser, please have tea and some brandy sent up to Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room. And each of us would like a warm bath.” Elizabeth and Georgiana did not stop in the foyer. Instead, they ascended the main staircase, heading towards the personal quarters.We will need privacy after that. I will ring when we wish supper.” Both women turned towards Elizabeth’s suite of rooms.

“Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” The butler bowed as Darcy followed the women.

 

Elizabeth waited patiently for Darcy’s staff to set up the tub before the fireplace and bring in the water. Then she helped Georgiana undress for a bath. Neither woman wanted a maid’s service on that
day.They said little to each other, too tired to chat. Once the water was changed out, Georgiana returned the favor.

As Elizabeth slid into the warm water laced with lavender oil, the realization of what she had done finally hit her. She submerged herself in the water, needing to wash away the horror, trying to make herself clean again.
How long?
she wondered.
How long will it take before the mental images of this ghastly incident fade?Will they ever go away?
The water washed over her, caressing every inch—invading every crevice; and she wanted to stay there forever—under the water—where purity still lived.

She counted. How long could she hold her breath? What would happen when she ran out of air? Would she shrivel up like the woman in the alley? Yet no matter how much she wanted to stay under the warm water—stay where sins were washed away—Elizabeth’s body forced her to come up, gulping for air, sputtering water. She pulled her hair away from her face and wiped the water from her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts, attempting to obliterate the images lodged behind her lids.

Then Elizabeth sat quietly in the lukewarm water, fingertips stroking her lips, seeing herself from a distant vantage point, stabbing the woman—again and again.

 

Painstakingly, Darcy completed his own ablutions.This evening he would go without the customary cravat and jacket, and opt instead for a loose-fitting shirt and waistcoat. His appearance was the least of his worries.

He, Elizabeth, and Georgiana had survived. Needing to reassure himself, Darcy moved towards his wife’s room. The thought of what had happened that day compelled him to be where she was—confirming she was safe.

Georgiana sat sipping tea in Elizabeth’s sitting room.“Where is she?” he demanded, too consumed by his fears to be his normally polite self.

“Elizabeth is bathing.” Georgiana did not look up, and he noted that she shivered.

Her distress pained him, and Darcy leaned over to caress her face and kiss the top of his sister’s head.“I am sorry,” he whispered before he moved on to find his wife. His need to see Elizabeth immediately outweighed even his duty to comfort his sister.

The screen blocked his view, but nothing moved in the water, and Darcy momentarily wondered if she was finished and dressed. Then he heard Elizabeth break the water’s surface. A quick intake of air and a choking gulp frightened him. He rushed forward, expecting to have to pull her from the tub. But as he reached the screen’s edge, Darcy held back. Elizabeth swept her hair from her face. Ringlets of auburn curls streamed down her back, but his wife did not move. Elizabeth sat in the cooling water, lost in thought.

Darcy could not disturb her. Instead, he enjoyed the view of Elizabeth’s nude body—the curve of her spine and the perfect swell of her hips.

Then Elizabeth began to sob.At first, he thought to let her have her cry—but then she purposefully submerged herself again. Her limbs twitched as Elizabeth mourned for someone she had not known, and she opened her mouth to let the sorrow out. Water rushed in, and Darcy moved immediately to halt her madness.

 

Hands reached into the tub, lifting her from a watery grave. She choked, coughed violently, and spit water. Darcy firmly pounded on her back, forcing her to spew the last of the liquid. Then he pulled her to her feet, and, immediately, Elizabeth felt the warmth of a large towel surround her before Darcy lifted her from the tub.

Elizabeth tried to swallow—to clear the burn from her throat—to say
something
to him—but all she could do was to cough again before leaning against his chest—into his love—into his protection.

“I have you,” he murmured as he took another towel to help dry her.“I will never let you go.”

Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak, but thankful for the strength of his arms.

“Do not leave me, Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered close to her ear. “I cannot live without you.” Elizabeth nodded mutely. Darcy sat in
a nearby chair and settled her in his arms. “Please, Love; you are everything to me.” Darcy tilted her chin up to where he could see her face.“Never leave me.”