The Heart Wants What The Heart Wants

Author's note: This story is a fairy tale. I have taken the opportunity to use the flexibility of this story to write something unlike anything I have ever written before. I guess you might call this my grand experiment.

For a while now, I have been intrigued by the idea of Darcy as being an anti-hero. Off the top of my head I cannot recall one story where Darcy has been cast in the role of anti-hero and I think it might be entertaining for us (and him, that poor heroic chap) to see him cast in a different light. Now, before many of you bust a vein in your forehead, let me explain that I believe an anti-hero is different from a villain in one singular way: an anti-hero still gives you a reason to cheer him on while you eagerly await a villain's downfall.

Also, regarding the language: some of the words are modern though I have tried to keep the grammar of the prose close to Regency. By the same token, some of the language actually spoken is considerably older and is used as a form of dialect. Darcy, highborn and from the North of the Country, speaks more formally while Elizabeth, a gentleman's daughter of lower rank, speaks a Southern dialect.

There are also rules of station in this story. Darcy is what is called a High Lord, a term that is interchangeable with 'prince.' However, throughout much of this story, he is simply referred to as 'lord.' He rules most of the Northern half of the Country and answers only to the High King, who rules the rest. Darcy fought, bought, and used a little magic to acquire his position; he wasn't born to it, though if he were to have sons, they would inherit his lands, but not his title, which would have to be bestowed by the High King. Hopefully, we won't need any of these useless details and this effort of mine will give us something different yet thoroughly enjoyable.

Chapter One

Once upon a time there was a young girl who was fair of face and figure with extraordinarily fine eyes that were the color of a summer sky. She was beloved among her people and the pride and joy of her father. This girl, innocent and pure though gifted with a sharp wit, captured the attention of an important and powerful man who decided that he could not live out the rest of his days in happiness if he did not possess her, body and soul, despite the fact that she was promised to another.

From the moment he had seen her laughing in the music filled hall, he had been enchanted. He had sought out excuses to be in her company, ventured into places decidedly below his station in order to seek her out, if only to have her in his line of vision, though she expressed no desire to be in his company.

Very soon, the girl unknowingly had the man's complete devotion, a devotion, however, was unwanted and discouraged.

And so, it is to this unhappy accident of bewitching fate that we begin our tale.

* * *

Elizabeth sighed heavily. She had encountered High Lord Darcy yet again while walking through Meryton on her way to Aunt Phillips' house. He had appeared out of nowhere, as he seemed prone to do, his eyes following her. She felt him there before she saw him, a talent that she was beginning to think very helpful, though she thought it still so very unsettling.

She had not favored him since they had met at the Assembly where her engagement was announced; much to the joy of her fellow citizens as her beaux was a kind and well-respected fellow. Darcy had behaved poorly amongst strangers with his haughty demeanor, which she could not forgive despite his station. She knew that a powerful ruler such as he should have had better manners, especially a man who walked the fine line between diplomat and warrior everyday. She had been presented to the High King the previous summer and, though she was no expert on the ways of royalty, the High King had been the very model of a gentleman even while exuding a tremendous amount of power.

"My lady," said he, giving a slight bow.

"Lord Darcy," she replied, dropping a deep curtsey and congratulating herself on her own impeccable etiquette in the face of such provocation.

"I trust you are doing well." A lock of black hair fell from its binding and curled along his cheek, making him look more like a pirate than a prince.

"Aye. Many thanks for asking."

There did not seem to be anything else to say, so Elizabeth excused herself, walking hurriedly away. Darcy made her uncomfortable with the dark blue eyes, which never seemed to stray very far from her form. She ducked into the pub, vowing not to come out until he was gone.

Inside the smells of ale and lager were thick and the midday crowd filled the air with a dull roar. A few people looked up as the lady walked in, her appearance causing a smile on many a face because the young miss was regarded as a local treasure. Her smile and her beauty pleased most everybody while her wit charmed them. She was the daughter of Meryton's current Lord's Councilor, Thomas Bennet, the man who acted as a representative to the local lord, Sir William Lucas.

“My lady, 'tis a pleasure!” Phinneas Crowe, the pub's owner, cried. “Have ye come to fetch lunch for your young man?”

Elizabeth smiled, considered the idea, and decided that it was indeed a good one.

“Aye, Phinneas, I do believe I shall take my George something to eat. Shall ye pack some cheese, bread, and wine into my basket?”

Darcy watched her take refuge in the dank tavern, smiling to himself at his effect on her. Within him, there had never been a more burning desire than for that of Lady Elizabeth Bennet. The slight bit of reason still left to him told him that to want her so was a poor idea, that she was a poor choice of mistress because he should use his carnal conquests for political and monetary gain, but the other part, the part that now ruled him did not care about her lack of high connections or about his duty as the Prince of Pemberley, the Northern County, over which he ruled. Indeed, that primal, base part of himself wanted only to keep her as a slave in his bed.

She had pulled him under her spell the moment she had brushed by indignantly at that rather piss-poor—vile food and bitter spirits-- excuse for an Assembly. The next moment, she had done what no other woman had ever dared to do before. She had laughed at him, had mocked him, and rather blatantly at that. He had hated her for it until he realized how utterly important it was.

No person, male or female, had ever laughed at him. Ever. It simply was not done. Most people wanted something from him and were willing to worship him in order to get what they needed. He had always taken his position and power for granted, assuming that anything worth having was there simply for the taking. Elizabeth Bennet did not want anything from him, as he knew her to already be promised to another--a poor, smiling sap that could never see her for the temptress that she was--but he had come to want something almost desperately from her.

He waited around in the street for a few moments more before resuming his course back to the nearby berg of Netherfield, where he was lodging with his friend, Lord Charles Bingley, and hammering out a trade agreement for a newly discovered cache of gold. He had time, plenty of time to receive what was his and he, for now, had the patience it would require in order to acquire it.

* * *

Staring into the bowl of cherry scented water, Carahlyn tried to control her rage. The water had shown her that her efforts had been in vain, that her heart's desire would never be truly be repaid for all the years she had waited patiently for Lord Darcy to see her as more than an advisor. She had used her gifts to help him amass fortune and power like other men bought sheep. He had paid her handsomely, but she had always wanted something more.

The Fates, though, told her that she was not to receive what she longed for most and she could not disobey their mighty will, though her heart told her to take what was hers and be done with it. But, like anybody who has ever had a taste of power, Carahlyn was addicted and, despite her passion for Lord Darcy, her need for power was greater.

It was with this knowledge that Carahlyn took Lord Darcy into her rooms when he appeared outside her door. His large, dark form was perfectly framed by the arched doorway. He stared down at her with cool, icy blue eyes that whispered danger and violence.

“My lord, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Carahlyn asked, a sweet smile upon her blood red lips.

“I need a charm, witch,” he replied smoothly but softly.

Carahlyn nodded silently, taking his hand and pulling him inside. The feel of his skin always shocked her. It verily hummed with power. For a moment she wondered if she wanted him or the power he commanded. With a glance over her shoulder, her eyes grazed his darkly beautiful countenance and she had her answer.

Darcy was tall, taller than most of the men of her acquaintance and it forced him to duck beneath most doorways, and well muscled, which could be seen even through his clothes. His hair was thick and black and usually tied back loosely, as was the custom of Northern nobility while Southern nobles wore their hair short. It was his eyes, though, that could capture without so much as a vague effort; they were a deep blue that and they shone cold with his ambition.

She led him through the chamber to the wall where her fingers danced over a series of stones, a magic combination to a door that didn't exist. Moments later, a section of the wall slid aside and they disappeared into the passage. The wall sealed behind them and Carahlyn began shedding her outer robes. Darcy stood back, allowing the witch to work, watching her carefully; the man in him appreciating the fine female form visible through the thin blue shift.

Finally, Carahlyn approached him, a silver dagger in her hand. She dropped into a deep curtsey before him.

“My lord, what is it that ye wish?”

“The heart of a girl.”

“Then ye might use this dagger to cut it out of her.”

Darcy grabbed the front of the gossamer gown, pulling the woman to his level roughly, paying no mind to the delicacy of her garb. Their noses met as his eyes flashed a fierce anger. The witch had seen that sort of rage in her patron many times, but had never had it directed at her. For a moment, she was frightened, but then she remembered who she was: Carahlyn, Right Lady of Netherfield, younger sister of Lord Charles, loyal Servant to the Mighty Fates.

“Speak no ill of my future bride, Lady Carahlyn. I would be loath to tell your dear brother of your somewhat unorthodox practices.”

“Ye would not dare. After all I have done on thy behalf!”

A slow, dangerous smile spread over Darcy's mouth. “There is no proof of your efforts in assisting me with ascertaining my fortune. I am High Lord Darcy; you are but a witch. Who will your ignorant brother believe?”

“Hopefully, his own blood, sir!” Carahlyn spat.

He shoved her back, her gown ripping down the front as she tumbled hard onto the stone floor. Pain ripped through her small body as it absorbed the shock of the impact upon the cold stones. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she stared up at him, wondering not for the first time what compelled her to take this kind of treatment from him.

“Cross me not, Carahlyn. I own you. We both know this to be true.”

Fury bubbled up through her, coloring her world red as her love seeped into hate. The love would return eventually, but sometimes it was so hard to know the difference between the two. Standing carefully, she smoothed her tattered gown, suppressing a shiver against the chill in the night air.

“So ye do, my lord. I am thy servant.”

He smiled triumphantly, trailing a finger slowly between her exposed breasts before putting his lips against her throat and trailing his tongue along the pulsing vein. He nipped at her skin before meeting her eyes once again. “As I was saying, I want a girl.”

* * *

"'Tis a pleasant surprise to see ye here on Bishop's Hill, my beloved," George said, his green eyes lit with the happiness of seeing Elizabeth.

"It should not be a surprise at all. I often visit ye while ye tend the flock," she said, her voice carrying a pout that did not touch her lips.

"Aye, but this is twice in one week." George laughed heartily as she held up her basket for his inspection. He took it, his fingers lingering upon hers for a moment then whispered something to Bucephelous, his dog, who obediently went about watching the sheep like a cat with a bird. Looking fondly after the animal for a moment, George removed his frockcoat and spread it over a large, flat-topped boulder for Elizabeth to sit upon. He took the spot beside her on the ground then doled out their feast. After they had had their fill of food and a little too much wine, George laid his head upon her knee, sighing as she stroked his red curls.

"I cannot wait till we are married, my beloved. A few more sheep at market and I shall have enough to build our house." There was a warm pride in his voice that made Elizabeth feel safe. He was going to take care of her. She was going to have a good life with the man she had loved since she was old enough to know how. "Shall ye like a house here upon Bishop's Hill?"

Her eyes grew wide. "But, George, surely ye have not made so much at market!"

"Nearly. I have a good herd and they pay well. I promised ye a house, my beloved, and I shall not rest until I have given ye a grand home here where we first found love."

Touched, Elizabeth bent and pressed her lips to George's forehead. When George spoke of their love, it always struck Elizabeth with awe. They had a safe, tender love that filled them with comfort and joy and both of them counted the moments until they could be one always.

"I love ye, my dearest," Elizabeth said, threading her fingers through his.

"And I ye, my beloved."

At that George stood, holding his hand out to her, a brilliant smile lighting his entire face. She took it and he pulled her into the protection of his embrace. Slowly, they swayed to the music of the birdsong that filled the air all around them. Her arms slipped up around his neck as his tightened about her waist, holding her ever closer.

"My beautiful Eliza, a thousand stars would die and I should still love ye."

"Oh, George, I fear ye are a poet at heart. Ye craft a lyric that makes a girl weak."

"If ye grow weak from my pretty words, never fear for I shall be here to catch ye."

She giggled, the wine causing the colors around her to mix and swirl as George twirled her around. Her happy future would look like this: bright and cheerful colors floating about them and charming the world for them. She was wise enough to know that things should not always be easy, but for her and George the world would be kinder to them than it would to most. She just knew it.

Elizabeth suddenly had a flash of their first day together upon Bishop's Hill when they had graduated from friends to sweethearts. She had been playing with Bucephelous and George had scolded her for distracting them from their tasks. Still playful, Elizabeth had tried running from George when he shooed her away, but slipped and fell, twisting her ankle. He was immediately by her side, his arms beneath her and lifting her effortlessly. For a moment, the world had frozen and sparkled like colored glass and he had kissed her, his soft, warm lips breathing a sweetness into her soul that she had never known.

"Then, my dearest George, I fear ye best catch me now for the wine has gone to my head and my feet might not lead me home."

"Bucephelous! Mind the flock a moment."

The dog barked in acknowledgement and resumed his duties as George led Elizabeth down Bishop's Hill and toward Longbourn Manor, where Hill, Elizabeth's faithful governess, met them at the garden gate. Her face was etched with deep lines of concern over the state of her mistress and she gave George a heavy look, made only darker by the sudden clouds that rolled above their heads.

"What have ye been about, Master George, taking Miss Elizabeth to the vines like this? 'Tis not a gentlemanly thing to do!"

"Oh, pish!" Elizabeth exclaimed, waving a drunken hand at her worried caretaker. She brushed a kiss over George's cheek before making an unsuccessful attempt at unlocking the secured gate.

George held on to her wobbling form even as he unfastened the rusty catch and smiled at the scowling governess. "Madame Hill, I assure ye I am most concerned regarding my lady's wellness. Hence, I have returned her to your care. She had a bit too much wine when we lunched and begged me to bring her home, which I have. I have left my flock and must return presently."

"Go then," Hill muttered, wrapping her arm about Elizabeth's waist. "And mind that ye get into no more trouble, young sir!"

He waved in acknowledgement and hurried in the direction of his flock. Elizabeth refused to budge until George was out of sight, her fingers clenching the white garden gate as the scent of roses caught on the newly wild wind.

Carefully, Hill led her charge to her chambers where the governess undressed her, gave her a tablet of sugar and a spoonful of milk to stave off a headache, and tucked her into bed, hoping that the girl would be well enough to share the evening meal with her father and the company they were expecting.

When Elizabeth was snoring softly, Hill slipped out of the chamber to seek out Longbourn's master, Sir Thomas. She found him in his library, studying a register with a frown on his face.

"Master, may I bother ye for a moment?"

"Madame, 'tis not a bother. Come, how is my daughter?"

"She went to visit young Master George on the hill today. Methinks she should be more careful."

"My Lizzy is a smart lass, Madame. She is promised to young George, but she would not besmirch her reputation before she has made her vows to him."

"She returned today with too much wine in her head, Master."

He frowned again, his eyes on the book before him, and then leveled his gaze at the loyal servant in the doorway. He knew that he had indulged his daughter more than he should have over the years. After the death of her mother and two sisters, she was the only thing he had left and he prized her above all else.

"Madame Hill, I shall speak with Lizzy regarding her behavior, if ye thinks it necessary."

"I do, Master."

"Very well."

"If that is all, Madame, I have figures that I need to return to."

Hill bobbed her head in acknowledgement and disappeared.

* * *

George returned to Bishop's Hill, a smile still on his face, thoughts of Elizabeth's smooth hands and cheerful blue eyes dancing in his head. His reverie was broken when he realized that he did not see Bucephelous or the flock where he had left them. He called for the dog, but there was no answer. He yelled louder, thinking his voice might have gotten lost on the wind, but there was still no sign of his beloved dog or his prized flock. Before he registered it, his feet were moving to the other side of Bishop's Hill, searching for his future. He skidded to a halt as he came to the gentle northern slope. His blood cooled considerably, like the air around him, the warm thoughts of his lovely betrothed vanishing as though they had never been there at all for before his eyes was the most horrible of sights.

There, in the cold, crisp light of day were wolves, bloodied and greedy, were ripping the flesh from the bones of his valuable flock. Panicked, George yelled once again for Bucephelous, even as his gaze settled on the loyal hound's bloodied corpse. The wolves, deeply involved in George's destruction, did not even bother glancing up as the young shepherd fell to his knees and purged the lunch that his beloved Elizabeth had been kind enough to bring him.

Chapter Two

Elizabeth stretched, the tangled blankets catching on her foot and popping one of her toes painfully. She yelped and pushed at the quilt angrily, trying to free her lower body from the mess.

"I see ye have decided to wake, though I cannot say I call what ye were doing sleep. Ye thrashed about like a fish in a net," Hill muttered, helping disentangle her young mistress.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered. "I was taken by a great black shadow and nobody ever saw me again."

"That wine went straight to thy head, young miss! Serves ye right to have such a dream."

Elizabeth scowled at the governess and threw her legs over the side of the bed, reeling as she did so from the sudden pounding in her head. She wrinkled her nose at Hill's slight, knowing smile and planted her feet firmly on the ground. With great effort and a little care, she lifted her body from the bed, pausing momentarily to adjust to the spinning world.

Hill rocked in her chair, working on her needlepoint with more concentration than was necessary. When Elizabeth had righted herself, she pulled a neat stitch through and picked at a bit of lint. Without looking at her charge, she said: "There is a bath already waiting you."

"Thank you," Elizabeth barely managed.

Slowly, she made her way to the bath, easing her queasy, aching body into the hot water. The warmth rolled through her and chased away the stiffness in her muscles. Unlike most gentlewomen, Elizabeth preferred to bathe herself. It was one of the few moments she could be completely alone and she relished the precious solitude. She slipped into the tub, letting the water lap at her chin.

Suddenly, for no logical reason, Darcy appeared behind her closed eyes. He was there, leering at her in that lascivious way he had. His dark eyes glittered like chunks of obsidian in the pale light as his hand stretched out to her.

"My lady, come and see." His words came out in a lazy, arrogant drawl that curled involuntarily curled her toes.

She stood her ground, not allowing her feet to move forward despite every fiber of her being wanting the contrary. She heard another voice and glanced around to see George, panicked and bloody, rushing toward them. Automatically, she was moving toward him, but every time she got close she seemed to be pushed back toward Darcy.

"Do not run, my lady. It is futile to resist your fate."

"George is my fate," she spat angrily.

Darcy just smiled.

Her eyes flew open and her breath came fast and jagged. Incensed that her mind was straying towards a man she so disliked, she splashed water on her face as though it would wash away that image of him, dark and smug and brutally beautiful, from her brain. She calmed her breathing, hoping to slow her heart, which was thumping like mad from the provocation of the dream.

Quickly, resolved to think no more of him, Elizabeth washed and called for her maid to help her prepare for the dinner that evening.

* * *

Elizabeth's maid, Martine, had outdone herself. She had piled her mistress' honeyed curls atop her head, laced with bluebells and baby's breath. Long ringlets trailed down her neck, occasionally slipping over her shoulder to feather the tops of her breasts. Her gown was daring and Hill, of course, disapproved, only serving to make Elizabeth more determined to dine in the midnight-colored velvet and lace confection.

"My lady, ye look lovely," Martine whispered, not daring to fall under Hill's admonishing gaze. She dropped a curtsey and quickly scurried out of the room.

"That gown exposes more than I should like, Miss Elizabeth!"

"Oh, Hill, if ye had been at the Assembly previous you should hardly think I am compromising propriety. Mary King's gown dipped considerably lower and we saw scads more of her ankles than was entirely necessary."

"It is not thy ankles I worry about," Hill replied, her tone as dry and brittle as scorched paper.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and looked in the glass once more. She smoothed the lace overlay of her bodice and grabbed her pale blue lace shawl from the edge of her bed.

"Pray I have good luck and do not embarrass Father tonight, dear Hill."

"Good luck, miss."

Carefully, she made her way downstairs to the library where she knew she would find her father. She knocked on the door and opened it gently, peering into the dim room. Mr. Bennet was bent over the desk, worried lines etched deep in his face as he scratched figures into a book.

"Father?"

He started but it his fright was instantly erased when he saw his beloved daughter. His breath caught for a moment, the realization that she was no longer a child evident on his face while his eyes surveyed the gown he had brought home from his last trip to Court with Lord Lucas.

"I see my gift fits ye rather too well, Daughter."

Elizabeth smiled, dropped a deep curtsey, and approached his side. He pulled her stool up and she settled next to him, peering at the book in which he kept track of his monies. Quickly, he closed it.

"What is wrong?" She inquired.

"Nothing. Ye know my weakness with numbers. I have forgotten a figure somewhere and it is giving me fits, but let us not talk of it now. I want to discuss our dinner arrangements this evening.

"I have already informed ye that Lord Lucas shall be here. I extended the invitation to include his house and he sent me word this midday that Lady Lucas and Miss Charlotte should attend with him so that ye may not be completely irritated with the company."

Mr. Bennet smiled even as Elizabeth scowled, despite her delight that her friend would be in attendance.

"Then there is Lord Bingley, his sister, the Right Lady Carahlyn, and High Lord Darcy."

"High Lord Darcy is coming here? To Longbourn? Whatever for?"

"He is negotiating this trade agreement with Netherfield and the route takes them directly through Meryton, which is offering protection along our roads for a small stipend."

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

"Do ye not care for him, Daughter?"

"Not at all, sir. He is arrogant and vile."

"I am saddened to hear that. The High King always speaks fondly of him. I was looking forward to making his acquaintance."

"Of course the High King speaks well of him. Are they not cousins?"

The father smiled once again and caressed his child's lightly rouged cheek. "Ye are the voice of reason, my beloved Liza."

* * *

She took her place at the foot of the table and cringed inwardly. Darcy was seated to her left while somebody had been kind enough to place Charlotte at her right hand. Lady Lucas sat between her husband and daughter and the Right Lady Carahlyn was placed between Darcy and her brother. As was custom, the women entered after the gentlemen, who were charged with seating their ladies.

Elizabeth stood next to her chair, only inches away from Darcy as she waited for her father. For one long, tense moment, Elizabeth was afraid Darcy would attempt to seat her himself, but her father arrived and handed her into her chair.

Once the ladies were situated, the men took their places and the first course, a stuffed bread pudding, was served. As she nibbled sparingly at her pudding, she noticed the way the Right Lady stared at the High Lord. Elizabeth assumed she was making every attempt to be covert, but her poisonous green eyes kept slipping in the High Lord's direction. Occasionally, they flicked toward Elizabeth, who wondered what she might have done to offend the Right Lady.

"My father tells me that Master Wickham is doing very well with his herd," Charlotte said, leaning toward Elizabeth as the rest of the table continued their business talk.

Except for Darcy, who seemed content to not speak at all.

"Yes. In fact, he told me just today that he will sell a few more sheep at market and he shall build our house on Bishop's Hill!"

"Oh, dearest friend, that is wonderful news! I am quite happy for ye."

Beneath the table, Darcy's fist clenched. Sitting this close to her, smelling her bright, flowery scent and staring at that teasing décolletage, he was only moments from snatching her away to the North and locking her away from the world. The moment the plain friend with the bad teeth mentioned Wickham, territoriality had set in. Elizabeth might not know it, but she was his. There was no way the torment she inflicted on him could mean anything else. He shifted at the sudden restriction in his breeches, catching Carahlyn's glare as he did so. Casually, he bent toward the witch, leaning a little closer than was proper and lowered his voice.

"I seem to be afflicted with a rather auspicious malady at present. It seems unfortunate that you cannot currently help me remedy this situation."

She huffed loudly, drawing the attention of the entire table and Darcy chuckled as her cheeks colored. The silence hung for a moment then drifted away like smoke. Carahlyn bit her lip and made the attempt to not leap across the table and squeeze the life out of the young girl next to the High Lord. This green chit was her competition? It hardly seemed even possible.

It was obvious that Elizabeth held no particular regard for the High Lord in any respect. In fact, she seemed to find him quite distasteful him. It was unusual to see a woman not fall all over herself to gain his attention and Carahlyn suddenly understood her appeal.

She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she maintained serenity on her countenance.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, leveling a dark, heavy gaze at her, "Lord Bingley has informed me that you are a rather renowned local artist. It would give me great pleasure to see your work."

Bile rose in Carahlyn's throat at the effort to woo the young miss. She had already worked a charm to deliver the girl to him; need he make the chit emotionally attached as well? Unable to watch any further, she purposefully engaged Lady Lucas in a conversation about the state of Meryton's enormous building project, a new cathedral.

"Then look to the wall, my lord. That is one of my works in front of thy eyes," Elizabeth replied dryly, sipping her wine.

The painting, a watercolor landscape of a lake, was delicate and bright. Reeds bent in the wind and a bird drifted along peacefully. There was a boy, bright red hair catching light and turning to flame, sitting at the edge of the lake with a large dog.

"Who is the child?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. The urge to bury his knife to the hilt within the canvas was strong, but he pushed it aside forcefully.

"George Wickham!" Mr. Bennet boomed proudly. Everybody save Elizabeth looked at him, not realizing he had been following the conversation at the far end of the table as well. "Though he is hardly a boy now. Elizabeth painted during their fourteenth summer, well before they became sweethearts.

"They shall marry before the end of the year," Mr. Bennet added, grinning proudly.

"I wish you joy," Lord Bingley said, raising his glass in a toast just as noise exploded throughout the house.

Forgetting protocol, Elizabeth recognized George's voice beyond the doors and stood quickly, her chair slamming backward into the wall behind her. Darcy was up too, his hand on the knife at his hip in reaction to a potential attack.

Mr. Bennet lunged in front of Elizabeth when she reached the doors that were flying open. Framed by the dark oak, George was a frightening figure indeed. Blood covered him from head to toe, matting his red curls into a grotesque muddy brown and his normally bright eyes were dark with a dangerous fury that made Elizabeth's heart grow cold.

She reached around her father's form, fingers stretched toward her sweetheart.

"George?" Her voice shook and tears wobbled in her eyes. "George?"

For the first time, the young man focused on something: Elizabeth. His body began to spasm, arms flailed helplessly at his sides. Mr. Bennet rushed forth and caught him when his knees gave. Bingley, ever gallant, rushed to help and Lord Lucas poured a glass of wine for George.

"Let us get him into the parlor. We need to lie him down." Mr. Bennet put his arm around George's waist and, with Bingley's support they hauled Elizabeth's limp fiancé toward the room.

The rest of the party followed, pausing outside the door.

"Beloved, stay here with our guests."

"Father, I want to know has happened! George is to be my husband. I have the right to know."

"And ye shall, but not at this moment. I need to inspect him for injuries."

"Very well," she whispered.

"Lady Lucas, Miss Charlotte, would one of ye be so kind as to fetch the physician?"

"Of course," Lady Lucas said.

The doors closed behind and Elizabeth sagged into a chair. Charlotte kneeled in front of her friend and gathered her hands within her own.

"Dearest, this looks very bad at the moment, but things shall right themselves in no time. Ye shall see."

A weak smile slipped across Elizabeth's lips and she shook her head slowly in disbelief. Just that midday, she had seen her beloved George and they had been happy. What had happened? She sigh her frustration and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

"My presence is hardly required any longer," Carahlyn said stiffly, acutely aware that the misfortunate boy beyond the doors was her doing. Drawing her lean body up to its full, proud height, she looked down at the distraught girl and pushed the small amount of guilt away. "Miss Elizabeth, I am truly sorry for any trouble that has befallen ye."

She dropped a curtsey, glared at the knowing smirk on Darcy's face, and slipped away with hardly an acknowledgement from the young lady.

"Charlotte, take care of Miss Elizabeth while I am gone for the doctor. I will return as quickly as may be."

"Yes, Mother."

The silence in the hall grew thick as Darcy hovered about them, waiting for the plain friend to disappear. Finally, when Elizabeth, her tongue thick, asked for a glass of water, Charlotte went to retrieve it since the servants seemed to think better of approaching the parlor in the least.

"My lady," Darcy said.

She barely looked up, her eyes trained on the door across the hall and what might possibly be going on with that room.

"My lady," he repeated and stepped away from the wall he was casually leaning against.

"My lord?"

"Please allow me to express my sympathies toward your plight."

"I offer thanks."

Did she know how badly she made him want her? Even with tear-stains for another man on her cheeks, she was breathtaking. His hands itched for her and his breeches were becoming unbearably tight. Three steps and he was before her, taking her hands and pulling her from the chair.

"Sir!" She exclaimed, shocked. "Please unhand me."

"I shall do no such thing until you listen to me."

Her blue eyes flared angrily and she struggled to escape his grip, but the harder she fought the faster he held. Finally, she was still.

"That child in there is nothing. He will never have you."

"Sir, ye forget thyself!"

He spun hopelessly out of control and crushed his mouth to hers. She gasped in surprise, giving him an excellent window of opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. Her taste awoke his senses and sent his brain into a spiral. Seconds of bliss flew by before he felt a spear of pain and the intense, tangy taste of blood on his tongue. Her fists were beating against his chest even as he released her.

The sharp, quick sound of her hand making contact with his cheek bounced off the walls or the corridor. "Ye should think very carefully about where thy lips are placed, sir, for now I may consider keeping my person armed."

He only grinned, infuriating her all the more. Rashly, she lifted her skirts and her foot made brief, hard contact with his shin.

"I have put people to death for lesser offenses, my lady."

"News that does not shock me, I assure ye. Ye may choose to punish me, but it would be on thy conscience, if it could be assumed that ye have one!"

He took a step back, pretending to be properly humbled by her chastising and gave her a shallow bow.

"I should not choose to punish you, my lady, for I am the one at fault. Your beauty stripped me of coherent thought and I was unable to do naught but act on my impulses. I beg forgiveness."

Before she could answer, the parlor door opened and Mr. Bennet appeared, his gentle face heavily lined with worry. He stepped into the hall and held open an arm to his daughter. Lovingly, he kissed her forehead.

"Beloved, he wants to see you."

Forgetting utterly about Darcy in the space of a single heartbeat, she abandoned him in the hall, leaving him to fume. He watched the doors close behind them, the taste of her mingling with the blood in his mouth. Never before in his life had he watched somebody, nevermind that the particular somebody was a beautiful woman, forget him so completely. He was a man who left an impression. He was a man of power and passion and people fell at his feet.

But Elizabeth had not. She had not considered his power nor had she responded to his passion. And she had kicked him! Nobody had ever retaliated against him physically before.

He squared his shoulders as Charlotte returned with the promised glass of water. She looked around for her friend and, not seeing her, left the sour looking prince to his thoughts.

* * *

What Elizabeth would later remember would be that George was bare to the waist. If she struggled, she could recall that his shirt had been ripped to shreds so its removal was logical. The blood had been wiped away and the basin next to the chair was filled with red water. She was kneeling at his feet immediately, gently kissing his palms. Propriety was the last thing on her mind now. Her sweetheart was safe and he did not look to be injured in anyway but for the blank look in his eyes.

"Dearest George? What has happened?"

Mr. Bennet turned to the lords in his parlor and nodded silently. They left without words, each of them feeling sorrow for the doomed young couple who had been so happy only an hour before. The heartbroken father slipped over to the window to allow them the privacy they needed and watched as the carriage came round to retrieve the foreign party.

Bingley handed his sister into the coach, climbed in, and was followed by the High Lord. Mr. Bennet noticed the High Lord's lingering look toward the house, though he could not make out the man's expression. Finally, he disappeared into the carriage and it rolled away.

"What happened? There was nothing wrong when I left ye this midday."

"I brought ye home," he whispered. It was the last happy moment he had had this day. He was no longer certain he would ever be able to capture that happiness again.

"Aye. What happened after that?"

"I returned to Bishop's Hill. The flock, Elizabeth, the flock is gone."

"Ye mean they ran off and ye cannot find them?" She asked hopefully.

"Nay. They were attacked. Bucephelous is dead and my flock has been—"

He could not bear to say the word for with the flock's destruction, he knew that the rest of his life had been destroyed as well.

"But they were fine," she insisted.

"I returned and wolves were attacking the flock. Not a one was left alive. I checked every single animal. They were all killed and Bucephelous along with them."

His eyes settled on Elizabeth's face. He need not tell her, the sad truth was in her eyes. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. A brave, smart smile plastered itself across her lips.

"We shall overcome this. Father can help reinstate the flock. It shall be fine."

George looked over at Mr. Bennet sadly and shook his head. "Beloved, thy father cannot help."

"What do you mean? This is not a time for pride, George. Ye must accept his help."

"No, dearest, ye misunderstand. He cannot help. He is having trouble of his own."

She stood, looking from her distraught lover to her guilty father in disbelief. Her voice was lost, but she knew that her cry was there, lurking behind the pit of fear in her stomach. How had this happened? How had she gone from a girl with a bright future to a pauper in just moments?

Unable to cope, she spun on her heel and ran from the room, from the house, from the horror that she suddenly felt. She ran outside, lungs filling with the cool night air. Her legs carried her quickly, her skirts hiked up, and her silk slippers shredding along the gravel path as she kicked up pebbles.

Finally, upon reaching the church cemetery in Meryton, Elizabeth fell to her knees and allowed the tears to fall. He father, a man who had married for love and had always wanted the same thing for her, had silently informed her that that destiny was no longer possible.

She realized she was sitting on her mother's grave and a new grief washed over her. So very young when she had died, Elizabeth couldn't recall ever having needed her before. Wailing, she pounded at the ground viciously until she was exhausted. Unable to feel anymore, she closed her eyes and curled up on the grave.

"Mama, my life is over," she whispered. "I just want to die."

Chapter Three

Carahlyn was a convenient way to pass the time. It was easy to bed her and easy to leave her. She would, of course, be angry in the morning, but she would forgive his sins soon enough. She always did. Even if he had not had the charge of witchcraft to hang over her head, he could have ruined her easily enough by destroying her chances for a good marriage with proof of their affairs, which he had made sure to have as insurance should she ever tire of his toying with her.

He remembered that he had called her Elizabeth. The moment had frozen as her body stiffened beneath his and her anger rose. He had smirked at her and finished up, leaving her in limbo. Forced to play nice after that or risk her irritation--an irritated Carahlyn proved to be a horror to deal with--he had given her the smallest bit of courtesy and brought her to climax. It was then that she fell asleep, allowing him his chance to escape.

Darcy climbed out of the bed, leaving Carahlyn to sleep, and pulled on his breeches. His physical lust sated for the moment, he slipped out of Bingley's grand house at Netherfield and headed for the stables. He instructed a sleepy stable boy to ready his mount and then, free of watchful eyes, whipped the steed to a furious speed, letting the rush of air sting him.

The horse flew over the road, through pastures, around rocks, and never missed a step, eventually slowing at the scene of Darcy's crime. A few rats were helping themselves to the meat that remained, but, in the moonlight, it was a grotesquely peaceful scene, like something out of one of the morality fables his father had told him as a child.

The horse stepped around gingerly as Darcy surveyed the damage. He had asked Carahlyn to destroy the fortunes of the men who held Elizabeth in their hands and she had done so with a flame, some paper, and a few words. For a moment, he was excited by her power and that he could use that power to his advantage. He cleared his throat and, with a smile, rode on.

His horse was cutting through the cemetery, boldly trotting over the graves of the Bennets and Lucases of the past, when he saw a shadow among the shadows in the cool light of the moon. Steering the stallion in the shadow's direction, Darcy's mouth curled in triumph at the prize on the grave.

Elizabeth, the flowers in her hair crushed and the fine gown ruined, was fast asleep on the ground. Deftly, he dismounted and gathered the girl in his arms, brushing a victorious kiss over her colorless lips before placing her over his saddle.

"Soon enough, my lady, you shall be mine. Soon enough."

* * *

Elizabeth awoke in her own bed the next morning with the thought that the terror of the previous evening had been nothing more than a vile nightmare. Her hands, though, proved her wrong. Her knuckles were bruised and her nails were in tatters. Tears welled in her eyes; a lady's hands were a sign of her station and the ruined flesh was just another symbol of her impending doom.

She sniffled and Hill instantly came awake. The old nurse fluttered about, pulling bell cords and uttering assurances to her charge. Servants appeared to draw her bath and bring her food, but the girl would take neither. She just stared at her battered hands as tears trailed silently down her cheeks.

"Please, my love, eat something," Hill pleaded and wiped gently at the tears.

"I am not hungry, nurse. Leave me be!" She looked up at Hill with tired eyes. "Please."

A knock fell on the door and the old nurse answered it quickly. Mr. Bennet appeared, his face pale and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked several years older than he had appeared last night.

"Beloved, how are ye feeling? Ye were an unnatural blue color when ye were returned to us."

"Tired. Please, do not trifle with me, Father. How bad is it?"

"I shall not lie to ye. I have gone over the books time and again and each time another figure seems to be off. I cannot explain it. In just a few days we have lost over three quarters of our holdings."

She sobbed then. Her life had been ripped away. If George's flock had not been destroyed, she could have married him and they might have been able to save Longbourn. Even then, if they had not saved her father's house, they still would have been able to care for him. But now, she had not the smallest hope.

"How did I come to be in my bed?" She asked finally.

"Ye do not recall?"

"Would I ask if I did?" Even in the direst of situations, her flippancy did not abate.

"Quite right. High Lord Darcy was out riding and unaware that ye had gone missing. He found ye by chance at thy mother's grave."

"How providential for him," she muttered, suddenly remembering the kiss he had imposed on her.

"He awaits belowstairs for news of thy condition."

"Ye may tell him that I am fine and he may return to that from whence he came, likely the pits of hell will take him back."

"Elizabeth! That is a severe lack of gratitude on thy part. The man saved thy life and, even if he had not, his station in life deserves a trifle more respect than ye have previously bestowed."

She sighed heavily. "I cannot agree with ye, Father. There is something vile about that man. He is not good and I fear he has no good in him."

"I am pained to hear ye say that."

"Why ever so? Have ye not always taught me to speak the truth? I have no particular regard for the High Lord. I care nothing for his station and should I be set to sway for saying so I would still not be sorry that I pronounced my truth."

"Perhaps I was wrong in letting ye run so wild for so long."

"Father, why should ye regret letting me have my own mind?"

"To lessen my own guilt in the matter, I suppose," Mr. Bennet replied almost absently. He patted her hand, flinching ever so slightly at the tattered knuckles.

Embarrassed, Elizabeth pulled her hand from his and slid it beneath the blanket.

"What guilt?"

He looked at her then as though he were seeing her for the first time. His blue eyes grew watery; he quickly diverted his gaze to the window. Pretending that the lump in his throat was preventing him from speaking, Mr. Bennet remained silent too long and his daughter sighed impatiently.

"What guilt?" She repeated, her voice hardly steady despite her forcefulness.

"I may have to marry ye off for a bride-price, beloved."

She shook her head even though it had been her only thought for the last several hours now. Her bright, happy future with George was gone and she thought herself a fool for ever thinking she might live in bliss. Lower people made tough choices everyday and were better for it; she would simply have to do the same. It was to save her family, her home. Her sacrifice was hardly in vain.

"I understand," she whispered just as a realization flashed through her mind. "Is Lord Darcy unaware of my being on the block?"

"I have not spoken of the matter with anybody but ye, my daughter, but I fear that if he becomes informed and makes the best offer for thy hand I shall have no choice but to accept."

"Ye cannot be serious! Ye would marry thy only child off to a man she despises to save thy own hide! That is deplorable behavior, Father!"

"I like it not, either, child," he said softly. "And ye will not speak to me in such a manner. I am still thy father and ye shall show me the proper respect. I shall tell Lord Darcy that ye have returned to thy former humor."

With that, Mr. Bennet retreated, leaving Elizabeth to fume.

* * *

"She is awake and feeling better, Lord Darcy. I thank ye once again for thy kindness."

"It was no trouble, sir. Your daughter is a fierce creature, is she not, to have simply taken to the road at such an hour? I wonder that her sweetheart did not go after her. Regardless of my own condition, if your daughter were mine, I would trail her to the corners of the world."

"Perhaps ye would think twice if ye spent more time in her company. She is a trying one, my beloved Liza."

"She is but a girl."

Mr. Bennet chuckled ruefully. "Ye obviously have no ties to a sister."

"Nay. My mother died whilst birthing my sister. That babe died shortly after her birth."

"I offer my sympathies."

"Many thanks."

"Well, without a girl-child around, ye would never have truly learned how willful and obstinate they might be. My Liza has ruled this village since she was old enough to walk its streets. There is not a soul here who would see her come to harm, nor is there a soul who would refuse her anything she asked. Even Miss Charlotte is not as beloved as my Liza."

The proud father beamed and Darcy nearly felt sorry for the wretched old man as he took a seat at his desk. During his absence from the room, the deceitful lord had thumbed through the ledgers, marveling at the speed of Carahlyn's charm. It would almost certainly be traced back to a thieving servant or some such, but it would take weeks, perhaps months, to untangle the mess and then it would be too late. The poor sod's daughter would already belong to Darcy.

"Your daughter's beauty is legendary in this area. Perhaps it is what endears her so."

"There is more to her than mere beauty, my lord. Liza is kind and generous and witty. She is as smart as any man. I should call a man out who dares dispute me on that front."

"You need not exert yourself on my behalf. I would hardly disagree with you. Still, it must have been hard to arrange that match with Master Wickham."

"It was a love match. I never intended Liza to marry for anything but love."

"I notice your words are of the past, Sir Bennet."

Mr. Bennet blinked his eyes rapidly, clearing away the less than masculine tears that stung them. He remembered Elizabeth's words of dislike for the powerful man before him, but if his power could protect his only child then perhaps honesty was his only recourse. Deep in his heart, he knew that he might lose her if he sold her off, but he had no choice. If he could not match her well, he would lose his lands, his house, and his livestock and then what would either of them be left with?

"They are indeed. With George's flock destroyed my financial situation cannot allow Elizabeth to marry him."

Darcy fought the urge to gloat. He bit his lip, mocking sorrow viciously while hiding a triumphant grin. He sat down in a chair, cradling his chin in hand as if he were thinking.

"My apologies, my lord," Mr. Bennet said suddenly. "I fear that I have laid too much trouble upon thy door. Forgive me."

"It is no trouble. I assure you. I fear I have fallen into that group which would not see Miss Elizabeth come to harm. She might very soon also have me at her beckon call."

Startled by Darcy's words, the newly acquired pen fell from Mr. Bennet's hand. "What do ye mean?"

"I have admired your daughter, good sir, since I met her at the Assembly some while ago. I dread the nearing days of my departure when I shall be remiss of her company."

"Ye have spent much time in Liza's company?"

"Nay, but every moment is precious."

Inside, Darcy chuckled at the old man's hope. It was only too obvious that he was more than willing to sell his daughter too save his house. Pretending that he wanted Elizabeth's love instead of her body was not difficult considering the rewards his feigned love would bring: a tempting, fiery tart to keep his bedclothes warm.

"Ye have feelings for my daughter then?"

"Aye. The deepest feelings of affection and admiration, sir." The earnestness in Darcy's voice surprised even him.

"I am surprised. Ye are aware that Liza's regard for ye is hardly more than her regard for day old fish?"

False sadness filled his eyes. "I cannot pretend that her apparent dislike does not gall me, but that hardly effects my own feelings. I would like nothing more than to request her hand, sir."

Mr. Bennet was silent for a long while. He pushed the stylus back and forth along the logbook as he considered Darcy's proposition. Either way, he was bound to lose his daughter, but if she were married to the High Lord she would be secure.

"I am afraid I must insist on a proper engagement. I will not let her go before the three months is past. She deserves that much from me, I'm afraid."

"I can only be away from the North for another month at most. If we can settle the bride-price immediately, I will court her properly during my remaining time here. However, we must be married from Pemberley. My court and my people are the priority. They must see their High Lord's wedding."

Grudgingly, Mr. Bennet nodded. "I shall contact my barrister to draw up the contract."

Darcy stood and offered his hand and they shook on their bargain. The young prince turned and showed himself out, glancing up at the window of Elizabeth's bedroom, which he knew from carrying her to her bed. She was at the window, staring down as he mounted his horse.

Her hair was unbound and her white shift uncovered. Even from this distance, her eyes were full of misery.

He tilted his head toward her and those miserable eyes narrowed and suddenly flashed with anger. She was gone in the next moment and Darcy grinned, anticipating that angry passion once she was in his bed.

* * *

Elizabeth took dinner in her bedchamber that evening, refusing to admit her father into the apartment until he finally demanded entry in an angry tone that she had never heard before. They stared at each other for a long moment as Hill slipped away, to upset to witness what was about to happen.

"When I am to be taken as his slave?" Elizabeth asked, her voice venomous.

"Ye need not be like that. What is done is done and there is no use in fighting it."

"I am not fighting it. I am merely asking how long I have in preparation of losing my soul."

"He is not the monster ye think him to be, Liza."

"Hell could open beneath his feet, Father, and still he would walk the earth for the demons below would fear his wrath!"

"Ye are making too much of thy initial impression. He seemed a pleasant enough chap when we spoke this midday."

She shook her head and turned away from her father. He was blind with guilt and greed and trying like a madman to justify his decision to sell her maidenhead. There would be no tears, though. She would not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her broken heart.

"Ye have said all ye need to say. Inform me of the plans and I shall follow. I ask, though, that ye not be present on my wedding day. I do not think I could bear to look at thy face, knowing that I once loved ye so dearly."

"Liza-"

"Go."

He hovered for a moment, his arm stretched out toward her, wanting to pull her into his embrace. Heartbroken and stinging from her rejection, Mr. Bennet slowly realized that she saw him as having betrayed her. Silently, he slipped away and when Elizabeth turned around, wanting to beg forgiveness, he was gone.

* * *

Dearest George:


O, my bonny boy! It did not take long for my marriage to be remade from something good and pure to this mockery. My father has sold me for a bride-price to High Lord Darcy, that arrogant, vile prick who has looked upon me as his property from the moment that we met.



If I had proof, I would say that he has arranged this somehow. He has power enough. Damn him to hell.



Ye are aware that we are forbidden to see one another now that Darcy is to be my groom, but I cannot bear the thought of traveling North and never seeing ye again. Hill is our only ally; she will make certain ye are given this letter and she will see that I receive the letter ye write for me.



Devise a plan, my dearest, bonny George, so that we may meet again before I am banished to the wild, forbidding country to the North. Where ye go, I go. Where ye demand, I obey.



I must go. He is here to pretend that he loves me so that my father might ease his own conscience.



Love forever,



Elizabeth

In the garden, Elizabeth walked next to Darcy. Her body was stiff and her demeanor, as always was distant. Her arm was tucked through his because he insisted on walking that way, but her mind wandered to Hill and the letter she was carrying to Elizabeth's sweetheart.

The scandal of the broken engagement and subsequent new marriage contract had rocked the sleepy little town. Elizabeth, still a favorite, was treated as though she were a broken doll, which irritated her more than anything else while Mr. Bennet had had to retreat to his study to avoid the admonishment of the entire burg. His daughter was so clearly unhappy, yet he refused to budge from his decision and it angered those who adored the girl. Many thought blackballing Mr. Bennet would browbeat him into submission, but his daughter knew that it would only keep his mind set. She supposed she was like him in that way.

"My sweet, you are very quiet today," said Darcy.

"I am very quiet everyday, my lord. Ye talk enough for the both of us. I am surprised ye noticed. Have ye run out of stories about thyself?"

"Are you implying that I have limited conversational skills?"

"Not at all. I am simply remarking that ye have a great deal to say on one subject. Ye should keep in mind that not everybody is intrigued by thy particular choice of topic."

She made him want to hit her, kiss her, shake her, and fuck her all at the same time. He stopped walking and looked down at her. Her face was a pale, emotionless plane that had not changed in the two weeks since their official engagement. He only had two more weeks with her before he had to return North and he had made no progress in his seduction.

"You are very free with your speech, my sweet."

"Perhaps ye would care for a wife who is more obedient."

"I think I shall assume the risk you pose."

"It is thy life. I suppose I cannot stop ye from risking it."

"Is that a threat?" He was amused.

Elizabeth steely blue eyes met his. She was unflinching. "When I make a threat towards ye I promise it will not be so veiled."

He threw a glance toward the house and confirmed they were out of sight. Quickly, he grabbed her by her shoulders, nearly lifting her off the ground as he crushed his mouth to hers. Unable to fight him with her arms trapped at her sides, she refused to give into his hungry demands. Finally, he pulled away, angry.

"I have paid for you. There is no escape. And if you are as unresponsive on our wedding night, I shall cast you aside after I take you and no man, not even your dear Mr. Wickham, shall want you."

She took a deep breath to steady herself and met his eyes once more. "Perhaps no man will want me, but I shall at least be free of thee!"

Turning upon her heel, she stared away only to be grabbed roughly by her arm and spun around.

"You should think heavily upon ridding yourself of me, my sweet. The contract is completely dependent upon your behavior. I am well within my rights to cast you aside, but if I do or if you renounce your vows in anyway, the contract is forfeit. Dear papa loses everything. To me."

Fury and unhappiness exploded at that moment and Elizabeth went forth in a rage, beating at his chest in a frenzy of small fists and heated words. She railed against him, against her father, and against the fate she had been given. Emotions poured out, everything she had bottled up came bubbling up and frothed.

"I hate ye! Monster! My father has betrayed me! I have lost everything and yet ye threaten and mock! I am to pass my days with a cold, vicious man who has no heart!"

For the first time in his life, words hurt Darcy. Never before had somebody said such a thing to him and they shook him to his core. Unsure how to react to this new pain, he settled on something he more familiar with: anger.

"You are like a child who has not gotten her way!" He bellowed. "I have offered my home to you, my lands, my gold to any children we might have and yet you are ungrateful and raging about the life that you have been denied! I see nothing so very wrong with what you are receiving in its stead."

They stopped for a moment and stared at each other. His hands were still on top of her shoulders where they had gone during her attack and hers were resting against his chest, her fists unfurled when she had needed to steady her body. Slowly, they stopped touching each other, each of them realizing that they had hurt one another and each trying to comprehend what that infliction meant.

Darcy was suddenly aware that he did not like to see her hurt. He wanted her in his bed, but he wanted her there willingly. He wanted her to want him, but he had not realized what it was costing her. Pushing his concerns aside, Darcy once again focused on what he wanted. That is all that truly mattered, was it not? He was the one with the power.

Elizabeth, though, saw the pain her words had inflicted and suddenly she realized she was the one with the power. He was in pursuit of his treasure, but she was ever so slightly out of reach. Not for the first time in recent memory did Elizabeth wish her mother were alive to offer a bit of advice on the workings of female wiles.

"I offer my apologies, Lord Darcy. It was wrong of me to let my emotions get the better of my judgment. I beg forgiveness."

Pleased that she was contrite, Darcy nodded. He offered his arm once again, which she took without argument, and they walked back to the house.

Chapter Four

Just before dawn, Elizabeth slid through the shadows to a thicket deep within the woods just on the other side of Longbourn's southern border. Hill, angry at her employer for breaking her beloved girl's heart, had helped arrange a rendezvous between the shattered lovers. She had made a fuss over Elizabeth's paleness and sent her bed with strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed. She gave the girl a tonic to calm her nerves and Elizabeth had indeed slept for a short while before the old nurse had woke her and sent her on her way.

She moved a branch away from her face and dipped low to avoid being hit with it as her fingers slid along the rough wood. It was very dark since there was no moon and Elizabeth felt along the path with her feet, the tiny light from her lantern barely helping at all. Finally, she reached a clearing.

There was a soft glow throughout from the many lamps that George had lit. In the center, a blanket was spread over the needle-strewn ground. George leaned against a tree, his tight face softening upon seeing his beloved Elizabeth. She nearly dropped her lantern running toward him, but managed to not set the woods ablaze. Moments later they were wrapped in one another's arms.

George covered Elizabeth's face with kisses, his lips warm and soft against her night-kissed skin.

"I have missed ye fiercely, my love," he cried, his hands slipping through her loosed curls to grasp the back of her head.

"Not any more than I have missed ye." She pressed her mouth to his once again, tears escaping her eyes.

Finally, they slipped down to the blanket, their hands locked together as though they had been adhered with tree gum. One arm snaked around Elizabeth's shoulders and pulled her close. Sighing, she rested her cheek against his chest, happier than she had been in weeks.

"My dearest love," said George, brushing a kiss over her forehead, "I have a plan."

She stared up at him, unsure of what he might mean. During their time apart, she had thought and rethought how she might not marry the dread High Lord Darcy, but she had not succeeded. Nothing short of death would allow her to escape and she was not willing to let him win. She would live long enough to make his life miserable and if that ended up being five years or five and twenty, then she would apply herself to the best of her ability.

"I managed to sell off some of my more valuable belongings. It is not a lot, but it is enough to steal us away from here and go where nobody knows us. I am certain I can convince the vicar to marry us in secret before we leave."

She sat up, pulling out of his embrace. Her brow crinkled in confusion.

"Vicar Hambley would marry us without my father's approval? That hardly seems very like him."

"He vowed to me that he would do whatever it was that I required of him in my desperate time. Situations, my dear, hardly get more desperate than they are currently. I would not dare ask ye to run with me if I could not offer ye marriage."

"But what of my father's contract with Lord Darcy?"

"What of it?" Irritation rang through George's voice. "What has thy father done but betray us and sell ye off?"

"George, he is still my father and Longbourn, however unhappy at present, is still my home."

"Thy home is with me, Liza! Ye were to be my wife and we were to be happy! Those dreams have been shattered by the meddling of old men!"

"Father loves me, George. And he loves ye. He did not want to hurt us." Elizabeth realized the truth even as she spoke it. For the first time, she saw past her anger and realized that Mr. Bennet was as pained as she was, perhaps more so since she had turned against him. "He had to do what was best for Longbourn. People depend upon us for their bread and butter, George. Surely, ye must see that."

"I do not see that! Why must I see that? I see a greedy old man auctioning his daughter's hand to the highest bidder. I see a devious man stealing another man's intended. I see a girl caught in a ill wind she did not wish to catch but must ride."

Elizabeth stood and walked to a rock formation that looked a little like an open book. When she and George were younger, they had come here with chalk and had written stories on the stone. Rain would always wash it away and they would return again, sometimes with a new story, sometimes with an old favorite, but they had always had this clearing, this rock, and each other.

"I cannot run with ye."

"What?"

"I cannot run. It is clear that one of us must stop acting like a child and I offer my resignation. There is duty involved, my dear, bonny George, and, while I may not like it, I cannot ignore it. We were fortunate to have the time we had, but my path lies in the North."

"Liza, ye cannot be serious."

"But I am. If I do not marry Lord Darcy, my father loses Longbourn. He would become a tenant on his own land, my land. The people that depend upon us would be frozen out. I cannot in good faith let that happen. I cannot be responsible for the heartache of so many, not when it can be spared with the small cost of one broken heart."

"And what of my heart?"

She smiled sadly. "It shall mend and ye shall find a lovely girl to smile upon."

"There will never be another. That is just a lie ye shall whisper so that ye may sleep more soundly."

"Think not for one moment, George, that this is full of ease for me. Mock me not! I am dying! Ye! Ye can stay here, in our home, with our friends, but I! I am being sent beyond the border of our region! I shall have no friends, no loved ones, and yet ye mock. Inform me, bonny George, when did ye become so damn cruel?"

He caught her face in his hands and delivered a kiss to her stubborn mouth.

"A thousand apologies, beloved. I was thinking only of my heart and forgot that thine is more precious."

"I must go. This was a mistake. Forgive me, my dearest George, for any past and future sins I make against ye. I love ye."

She kissed him once more and ripped herself from him before he could utter another word. Grabbing a bigger lantern from the clearing, Elizabeth's trek through the woods was a little bit easier this time. The sun would be rising soon so she made a beeline for the cemetery to pretend that she had been visiting her mother's grave.

Up ahead on the left side of the old dirt cart path was a house. Even from this distance, Elizabeth could see horses tied to posts in front and a light or two glowing from behind the frosted glass on the first floor. The house, affectionately known by the male residents of Meryton as Queen's Knees, was infamous. Elizabeth knew it offered gaming, spirits, and, the most popular attraction, whores.

She had seen one of the ladies once, when she had been a child. The woman had had the brightest red hair she had ever seen. Her skin was pale, like paper or snow, and her cheeks had been streaked bright with rouge. Her gown was cut so low that Elizabeth had fancied she had seen more flesh than fabric.

Lost in her memories of the fallen woman, Elizabeth jumped when she heard her name.

"I say, Miss Bennet, I did not expect to happen upon you quite so early today or late this evening. Whichever, I suppose, you prefer."

Darcy was just on the other side of the gate, unhitching his massive horse. He had a grin on his face that Elizabeth found her hand itching to smack away.

"I can see thy commitment to me is only certain in the presence of my father."

"Oh, I am committed to you, my lovely future bride. A man, though, has his needs and we are not married yet."

"I shiver with anticipation for the arrival of our wedding day when ye shall bed thy wife then take up with thy whores. I shall be so very honored," she muttered dryly.

Irritation rippled through him. He fought the urge to shake her senseless until she obeyed him.

"Pray, what has you out wandering so late? You are not coming from the direction of your house."

She bit her lip. Should she say she was on her way to the cemetery she would surely be discovered and saying she was out for a walk would be a lie. Offering a pleasant smile, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and said: "I was just returning from a visit with George."

Despite the darkness, the rage in Darcy's eyes was plain and the speed with which he was over the fence was frightening. Instantly pain shot through her arms as his fingers dug into the muscles. She yelped but he did not seem to notice.

"You were with him? Alone? I should take a switch to your hide myself!"

"If only ye had the right to do so, sir. I am not yet thy wife."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "If it is proven that you have been spoiled then ye shall not be my wife at all and your bride-price has just been forfeit. I will own your father."

"Ye would not dare."

"You know nothing half so well as my will, Elizabeth. Have you not yet learned that I am capable of anything? If I doubt your purity, I am well within my rights to have you inspected."

"Ye have just stepped from a whore's bedroom and ye speak to me of purity? That is rich. Ye are a fool and a hypocrite, Lord Darcy."

His grip tightened on her arms once again as he glared at her. In his many years taunting and using the opposite sex no woman had ever infuriated him as much as his fiancé. She had poor connections. She had little money. Yet, she possessed a power to slice him deep with her tongue. It was part of her charm and the talent which he most wished she would suddenly lose. She, unlike everybody he had ever encountered, never failed to tell the truth. He realized now that he enjoyed more so the company of liars.

"Ye are hurting me," she said softly, her voice icy.

"A thousand apologies," he offered, removing his hands. "Will you swear that nothing untoward occurred between you and Mr. Wickham this evening?"

She thought for a moment then smirked. "Pray, define 'untoward.'"

His temper boiled again, but she dodged him before he could grab her.

"Do not trifle with me, Elizabeth."

"Kindly refrain from throwing my name about. Ye do not own me yet, my lord."

"I doubt any man would truly ever own you or wish to."

"Liar. Ye wish to own my very soul. Collecting them for the devil himself?"

"Shall I send for the village physician then? I believe he is nearby." Darcy threw a glance towards the Queen's Knees.

"I kissed George this evening. Nothing more. I kissed him good-bye." There was a hint of sadness, but Darcy could detect nothing more from the tone of her words.

"That is all the evidence I am to receive?"

"What more do ye require, sir?"

"A kiss."

"After ye have been inside that house? I will not."

"Then I shall fetch Doctor Fox."

"Fine!" She cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Darcy wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"Sir, we are in plain site. I would prefer the whole world not see that I have allowed ye to molest me."

He released her, shaking his head. "I no longer want to kiss you. There is no romance to it."

She grunted in frustration and started to walk away. Quickly, he commandeered her hand, spun her around, and embraced her. His mouth covered hers completely, crushing and bruising. There was no taste but that of Elizabeth and Darcy decided that either George Wickham lacked passion or was a dandy. How could a man not taste her the way she was supposed to be tasted? His tongue forced its way into her hesitant mouth and Darcy knew she had not been spoiled.

He broke the kiss and let her stumble backward. Casually, he sauntered back to his mount and was up in the saddle in moments. Slightly confused, Elizabeth took two steps in the direction of her house before Darcy easily lifted her up and placed her body in front of his, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

His breath tickled her ear and she shivered, forcing her body to relax. She did not enjoy horses and knew that this massive steed would be able to smell her apprehension. In an effort to maintain her seat, she put her hands over the one across her belly and tried to ignore the warmth that was spreading through her stomach.

Just before they reached the bend in the road that led to Longbourn, Darcy brought the horse to a halt and tightened his hold on his fiancé. He had sensed a change in her person, something had distracted her enough to lean against him, hold on to him and he found the heat from her body more pleasant than he had even imagined.

"Why are we stopping?" She asked quietly.

Darcy noticed her hands were cold and reluctantly removed his from her stomach to cover hers. She was so close he could take in details he had missed before; the way her hair, in certain light, glowed like a dying fire, how she smelled clean and bright, and the way she held herself on the horse despite the obvious fact that she disliked the beast. His stomach rolled in a sick way as he thought about what might have happened with that boy. She was a conquest, a challenge, and he was worried about his property.

"Sunrise," he whispered, pulling the horse toward the rising sun. "I could let you go now and we could forget this incident happened or I take you to the house where your father is informed of your activities."

"I see." She shifted in the saddle. "I suppose it is thy decision. Which do ye plan to do?"

"I shall forgive you your trespasses this morning provided you do one thing for me."

"It is to be a pound of flesh then? Very well. What am I to do?"

"I want a kiss."

"I have kissed ye once already!"

"Wrong answer." Darcy clicked his tongue and the animal began moving.

"Wait!" Elizabeth cried.

"Too late. You have lost your chance for redemption. Count on my wrath being ample."

"Ye are a bastard."

"Language, Miss Elizabeth! Does your father allow such vulgarity?"

Darcy gave the horse a kick and the beast sped up, Longbourn coming into view more quickly than she suspected it should have. It was probably Darcy's black magic messing about with her eyes. At the door, Darcy dismounted then pulled Elizabeth down just as the front door opened.

Mr. Bennet's mouth was pressed into a thin line. "Pray, where have ye been?"

"I found her along the roadside, sir. I believe she was with her former fiancé."

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open in shock at the ease with which Darcy implicated her. Though she could not deny it and she had planned to tell her father, this was going to look so much worse.

"Elizabeth," Mr. Bennet muttered, shaking his head.

"Sir, I have lost faith in your ability to control your daughter and her impetuous actions. I must demand that when I return North at the end of this week, my fiancé accompany me so that I may protect myself and our contract."

"Like hell!" Elizabeth wailed, turning on Darcy and beating at his chest. "This was thy plan all along, was it not?"

"Sir, control your daughter." Darcy's tone was deadly.

Defeated, Mr. Bennet stepped forward and grabbed Elizabeth about the waist, pulling her away.

"Have her things readied by dawn on Fifthday. My party is to leave then." Without another word, Darcy returned to his horse and kicked him up to speed, a billowing cloud of dust obscuring him from view.

* * *

In his anger at being ordered about by Darcy, Mr. Bennet terminated Hill's tenure as Elizabeth's nurse so when dawn came about on Fifthday, Elizabeth was loaded into a carriage and was quite alone. She was allowed to travel with one lady's maid, but the girl was forced to ride in a separate vehicle. She had said her terse good-byes to her father and tried not to weep as household servants she had known all her life broke down.

Darcy watched the partings with disinterest, only dismounting when Elizabeth was ready to be handed into the carriage. He barely looked back as the carriage and coach containing Elizabeth's belongings began the long journey. Somewhere in the back of his head, he was celebrating. He was closer to making the girl his, closer to bending her to his will now. Soon she would be hungry for his kisses instead of shying away from them.

They met the rest of the traveling party, including two more coaches full of supplies and goods, at the main road heading North. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of her future husband as his horse trotted past the window of the carriage. There was no denying that he made an impressive figure on the steed with his sword glinting dangerously at his side and his long hair trailing down his back in a thick, loose braid, but his grey-blue eyes were cold and she bit her lip at the thought of spending the rest of her life with such a man.

After several attempts, she found she could not read. The road was too rough and the words became jumbled after a short time so she put her book away and watched the familiar dissolve into similar. She knew that all to soon even the similar would disappear and her world would never be the same.

Finally, when the sun was high, the company stopped. The carriage door was opened and cool air flooded the small compartment. She started when she felt a hand on hers and was embarrassed to realize she had fallen asleep.

"Miss Elizabeth, we are stopping for luncheon. May I accompany you?" Darcy asked, extending his hand to assist her from the carriage.

Slowly, she offered him her gloved hand and blinked as the sunlight overpowered her senses. He steadied her by gently touching her forearm and waited while she recovered.

"What do ye want?" She whispered as they passed milling servants on their way into an inn.

"Soup."

"Ye know what I speak of. Do not be coy."

"And ale."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"I suggest you get some bread, cheese, and wine to put in the carriage with you. The red at this inn is particularly good."

"What game are ye playing at, sir? Why are ye suddenly the milk of human kindness? Or, perhaps, the milk curd."

"You never tire of hearing your own cleverness, do you?"

She shrugged.

"My servants are present, my lady. I will not set their tongues to wagging by quibbling with you before them. I would appreciate if you would apply the same effort since you are to become their mistress shortly."

He excused himself to seek relief and left her to order their lunches. When he returned, he was shocked to find his soup and ale awaiting him. He had heartily expected to find raw eggs and skunked cider at his seat.

"You must eat something," he said when he noticed that she had barely touched her food. "We shall not stop again until dark."

"Are ye going to ride thy horse the whole of the way to Pemberley?"

"I planned to. This road is not known for thieves, but it does occur."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

She looked down at her bread and poked at it with her fork. "I suppose I am listless. There is nobody to talk to and I cannot read my book for it makes my head spin."

"Are you asking for my company?"

"Not particularly, but ye are the only person I know on this trip. Ye do not expect me to converse with the coachmen, do ye?"

"Nay, I do not. You are entirely too vulgar for them."

Despite herself, Elizabeth smiled. "I deserve that."

The coolness in his eyes melted away and Darcy smirked, appearing almost handsome for the first time since she had met him.

"I will ride with you in the morning. We should reach Pemberley shortly after dusk tomorrow. Does that sound fair?"

She nodded. "Ye are a puzzle, my lord."

"Nay," he replied, standing and offering his hand. "I am a powerful man with people watching me and my future bride. We are a show for all who surround us, my sweet, and I intend to give them what they want to see."

"Playacting?"

"Aye."

"I see."

He led her back to the carriage and handed her in. He did not notice her tears.

She was asleep again when the group stopped for the night. Once more, Darcy woke her and escorted her inside and Heather, her maid, followed behind. Heather went off to ready Elizabeth's bed while the couple ate in a private dining room.

"You are unusually quiet."

"I am tired," she replied, sipping her wine.

"This journey is exhausting. At least you were able to get some sleep in the carriage. I had no such luxury."

"Then ye shall sleep well tonight. Would ye mind if I retired now?"

Darcy eyed her for a moment, unsure why her distance was bothering him so. Her eyes were tired and sad and she seemed rather far away. It nearly pained him to see her so despondent.

"Is something the matter?"

She sighed, wishing he had not asked her, wishing that she was capable of sidestepping the truth just this once. Never in her life had she been so alone and so hopeless. Settling her gaze on him, she nodded and set her fork down, her meal still nearly untouched.

"I am bothered by this afternoon."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I thought ye were being kind because, well, I am not sure why. Perhaps it was because we were alone and ye did not feel the need to preen or because ye genuinely wanted to make an effort, but then ye said it was for the benefit of thy servants and that hurt.

"I know I should not care, but ye are the only person, however vile, I know and I cannot bear to think that this is what my life is going to be like; false and cold.

"I do not love ye, but, my lord, ye are all I have at this moment. Could ye please find it somewhere in thy heart, if ye have one, to not feign thy kindness? Could ye perhaps be truly kind? I shall ask ye for nothing more than that."

Stunned, Darcy let go of his tankard, the heavy pewter landing on the cloth-covered table with a thud. He stared at her, his mind nearly undone by her honesty. He had been asked for countless things in his lifetime, but never had the plea been so heartfelt, so real. He reached across the table and sought her hand, squeezing it. She relaxed visibly then drew her hand away.

"I do not want thy sympathy, my lord. I simply want understanding. I am ignorant and lost and I beg patience and a little kindness from ye."

"Then you shall have it. You shall have anything you need or want."

She bit back asking for release and smiled sadly at him, retreating without touching her meal. He threw back the rest of his ale and called for a servant to make a plate of food for Elizabeth and take it to her room.

He watched the fire dance in the hearth for a long time, mulling over his bride's request for kindness. For the first time, he considered her and what his need had done to her life. It would not cost him much to grant her what she had asked. He had been merciful on the battlefield and at court. How hard could a bit of compassion be?

* * *

The morning came fast for Darcy, whose sleep was bombarded by bits of Elizabeth's sad eyes and frowning mouth. She was like a ghost floating throughout his dreams; darting down corridors of Pemberley to escape him or hovering near to inflict guilt. Wherever he turned, a sad bride was there and he woke with a heavy heart.

His valet readied him and he went out to speak with the coachmen and footmen regarding the day's ride. He instructed them where to stop, though it was unnecessary since they stopped at the same inns on every trip between Pemberley and Netherfield.

As he finished talking to the lead coachman, Darcy looked up and saw Elizabeth exiting the inn. He stopped in mid-sentence and dismissed the servant with a wave while he started toward her. She paused when she spotted his approach.

"My lady," he said, offering his arm.

"My lord, how goes it with ye this morning?"

He looked at her pointedly. "I passed the night with fitful dreams."

"I am pained to hear it, though ye may be able to nap within the confines of the carriage."

"That would defeat the purpose of my riding with you, would it not? You did request my company."

"I might have been quite mad yesterday, my lord. I cannot claim to remember what I said," she replied haughtily, but there was an amused light in her eyes. She was teasing him and it shook him more than her sadness had.

"Then we shall work to improve your memory," he informed her and was surprised when she chuckled.

He handed her into the carriage and knocked on the top to signal their readiness. Sitting across from her, Darcy noticed how very small she was. She barely took up an entire seat. Her gown, a pale blue sheath, pooled at her feet so that even the tips of her slippers were hidden.

"You will like the North country, I think."

"We shall see. I do generally like being out of doors, but I fear thy long winters will drive me mad."

"The winters are not so bad as that."

"I am only speaking from what I have heard. I have never experienced a North country winter."

"It is a beautiful time, but then I enjoy the cold and the snow."

She smiled as if she had expected as much. Feeling a little unnerved, Darcy bit his lip and stared down at his hands.

"I prefer the fall. I love the colors."

He glanced out the window and saw a tree that had almost shed its red leaves. Thinking about that tree and how, just weeks ago, it would have been full and green and then suddenly a brilliant red, Darcy sighed. That tree was very much like Elizabeth, full of life and on fire.

The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable. Slowly, he was becoming aware that she was testing him. He racked his brain to try to find topics to discuss.

"What book were you trying to read?"

She opened her reticule and pulled out a thin volume. He looked it over and thumbed through the pages then handed it back to her.

"I did not think ye would like it."

"I did not say I did not like it."

"Ye wrinkled thy nose."

"I did not."

"Yes, ye did. It is fine, though, I have not met a man yet who enjoyed poetry. They write it in hopes of wooing or sounding intelligent, but not a man amongst them actually enjoys it."

"That is a rather broad assumption."

"Do ye know of a man who enjoys reading poetry?"

He thought about it for a moment.

"Precisely."

"Then how do you justify reading what could very well be considered lies?"

"They are very pretty lies."

"That is amusing. The most honest person of my acquaintance and she enjoys pretty lies."

She blushed and looked at the book in her lap. "I cannot apologize for that which I attracts me."

The words spoke for more than poetry and they both knew it. She was not going to let him forget that he had not won her but bought her and that her heart belonged to another man.

"The same could be said on my behalf," he protested rather unconvincingly. "I will not pretend to think you love me. I am not looking for that, Elizabeth, but know this. As my High Lady, I can offer you a world that you never dreamed of when you belonged to the boy."

"I remind ye yet again that I wanted no other world than that of the world I shared with George, but it is done. Let us not dwell on it. I shall do my best to fulfill my duties as your wife."

"Speaking of which, I have sent ahead and readied your bridal apartments. When we arrive at Pemberley you shall be introduced to your lady-in-waiting. She is the Honorable Lady Jane Gardiner. I believe her mother served mine. I think she might have served an aunt of mine as well. Whatever, she is well qualified for the job."

"I thank ye." Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. "I fear the air is beginning to chill already."

Darcy leaned across and reached beneath the seat, producing a blanket. He moved to sit next to her and wrapped her in the heavy cloth, rubbing her covered arms to warm her. When he met her eyes he felt a pang in his chest from the shock.

"There are no servants to bother impressing," she whispered.

"Your words this last evening made an impression. I had not thought of how this situation had affected you. The least I can do is spare a bit of kindness for my bride just as she asked."

"A thousand thanks."

She turned to the window and leaned back. Darcy contemplated returning to his side of the carriage but she had not protested so he remained where he was. Lost in his own thoughts, he was surprised when she nudged him. He looked over and found that she was asleep and had slipped against his shoulder.

"You longed for my company desperately, did you not?" He asked wryly but she did not respond. Instead a tiny little snore escaped her.

He moved to straighten her up and return to his own seat. Briefly, he thought about bringing everybody to a stop and mounting up, but then something happened. His arm was around her shoulders and she snuggled in the crook, her cheek resting solidly against his chest. Her scent wafted through his nose and her warmth radiated into him.

Her face was smooth and perfect. There was no sadness, no anger. Her lips were not pursed nor were they turned down; cheeks glowed and the tip of her nose was the faintest shade of pink from the cool air.

As she was, Darcy wanted to protect her, though he knew she was the last creature on earth that needed a champion. Involuntarily, his arm tightened around her as he marveled at her incomparable beauty. This was not the beauty that tempted him and set his groin to blaze. No, this beauty was pristine and holy, as though she were a goddess stepping down to walk among mortals for just a moment and he was the lucky mortal who was to be her guide.

He basked in the soft warmth of her body nestled against his. It was as though he had always been cold and this was the only way to melt the ice that had encrusted him. Before long, Darcy found himself smoothing her soft hair, his fingers itching to unbind it.

"What are ye doing?"

He froze and stared at her. She blinked at him sleepily.

"You loosened some hair while you slept. I was attempting to repair it."

She smiled indulgently. "How much longer to luncheon?"

"More than an hour."

Elizabeth leaned against him again. "Wake me when we arrive."

Chapter Five

Elizabeth wished her first view of Pemberley would have been during the day, but she accepted that a hot bath and a warm bed would be just as welcome. Darcy, having declined his mount after luncheon, had nudged her awake gently as they rounded the bend of the lane leading to the great house. Slightly surprised that she had slept once again in Darcy's arms, Elizabeth righted herself and pinched her cheeks.

"Do I look well enough to make a good first impression upon thy household?"

"My lady, you would look well had you been asleep for a thousand years."

"Remind me to work on thy ability to flatter. That turn of phrase sounds so very desperate."

He caught her smile in the dark and saw that she was teasing him yet again. It made him wonder what her game was. She purported to be reviled by him, yet she saw fit to flirt and tease. It just confirmed his suspicions that she was a minx in the making. Offering his arm, he led her toward the line of servants gathered within the courtyard.

Swiftly, he introduced each of them. At the end of the line stood Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, Mr. Timmons, the butler, and the Honorable Lady Jane Gardiner.

"My lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Jane said, smiling as she dipped a deep curtsey.

Elizabeth felt slightly uncomfortable with Jane's action. She herself had curtsied many times to women of higher rank, but obviously had never been the recipient of such a grand gesture. Briefly, she bit her lip but smiled graciously nonetheless.

"Likewise, Lady Jane. My lord tells me that thy mother was employed by High Lady Anne."

"Aye, she was and taught me everything she knew for my time. We have a proud heritage of service to the noblewomen of the North Country."

"I would think so. I look forward to getting to know ye, madam."

"And I you, my lady. Shall I send a maid to your room to help you undress?"

"Nay, but many thanks. I have brought a maid my own. Shall we meet in the morning for breakfast tea?"

Jane curtsied again. "Yes, my lady. Very good."

Darcy once again offered his arm, taking her into the house. Compulsively, he dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"What was that for?" She asked quietly.

"You did well, my lady. It was my way of congratulations."

"Many thanks then, but I would prefer the reward of a long, hot bath and a soft bed."

"Then you shall have it. Your apartments are in the east wing. Would you like Timmons to escort you?"

"Where will ye be?"

"In my own rooms. In the west wing."

She nodded and stared down at her feet. Darcy snapped his fingers and Timmons appeared.

"Show the Lady Elizabeth to her apartments, Timmons."

"Yes, my lord."

"I bid you good night. Sleep well."

"Good night, sir."

Heather and her trunks were already in the apartments when Timmons opened the door. Never in her life had Elizabeth seen a more opulent bedchamber. The bed was draped with what seemed like a thousand bolts of velvet that were pulled back to reveal a high, fluffy bed. There were thick, warm-looking blankets piled on top of the mattress and Elizabeth wondered if she had not died and gone to heaven.

"My lady, I have ordered hot water already," said Heather. "It shall be in as soon as may be. We should prepare for thy bath."

Elizabeth looked at Timmons, her mouth screwed up a little. Her father had never had a butler and she was unsure of the protocol.

"I believe, my lady, that all you need do is dismiss me."

She bit back a nervous laugh and saw amusement light the servant's dark eyes.

"Many thanks, Timmons. I believe that shall be all," she said, drawing her body into its full height and sounding as commanding as she could manage.

"Very well, my lady." As he turned, he gave her a quick wink and nod of approval.

When the door had closed, Elizabeth flopped ungracefully into chair and let out a long breath. Heather came behind her and began working the pins and ribbons out of her hair, drawing the brush through gently.

"'Tis been quite the day, has it not, my lady?"

"Oh, come now, Heather, ye and I played together as children. Ye need not be so formal when we are alone."

"I am fearful that we might be watched."

Elizabeth sat up, eyeing her maid closely. "What have ye heard?"

"That the master plans to put a guard at the stair of the wing. That is all, but it has me cautious."

Snorting in disbelief, the future princess crossed her arms over her chest. A guard at the foot of the stairs! How would she escape? Where in the world did he think she might run? She did not know this country, its customs, or its people and they did not know her. She very much doubted that she would find an ally close by.

Incensed, Elizabeth rang for a servant while sending Heather in to check the bath. A few minutes later, a young maid appeared.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Would ye please fetch my Lord Darcy? There is something which I need to discuss with him." She ignored the title the girl had given her, assuming the reason Timmons did not label her as such was because there was a hierarchy within servants' ranks everywhere. She would have to wait to discuss the region's pecking order with Jane.

The girl colored and looked at her wringing hands.

"What is it?"

"The master has left the house."

"He has? Did he leave word as to where he was going?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mistress."

"And what is thy name?"

"Brigitta."

"Many thanks, Brigitta. Ye may go."

Elizabeth closed the door behind the girl, seething. Guards and whores. She had a sudden, cold glimpse of her future; her heart aching despite her luxurious surroundings and the hot bath that was awaiting her. Disheartened and grieving once again, she slipped into the bathing room and tried to forget how much she dreaded her fate.

{doHTML]

* * *

When she woke in the morning, she felt better than she had in weeks. The sun was out, though she knew the air was chill, and her bed was warm and cozy, even if she had not bothered to draw the drapes before she had gone to sleep. Suddenly, though, the previous evening's events came rushing back to her and she pulled the blankets over her head in an effort to hide from her newly minted bad day.

Disgusted, she threw them aside and was jolted awake by the rush of cold air that immediately surrounded her body. She grew increasingly more irritated and by the time Heather had readied her and a waiting servant led her down to breakfast, Elizabeth was in a foul mood indeed.

Darcy sat at the head of the table, gnawing at a piece of jerky thoughtfully as he skimmed a ledger. He barely looked up as she entered the room, which set her blood to boil. She stormed in, headed for the buffet and began heaping rolls, bacon, and sausages onto her plate. Dramatically, she flopped down into her seat at his right hand.

"Are we hungry this morning?" Darcy asked, a bemused look in his eye.

"Go to hell," she hissed, pitching a roll at his head.

"Leave us," Darcy commanded the servant standing near the buffet. Once he was gone, the menacing prince leaned forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You will not speak to me like that in front of our staff. Servants talk. People listen. Listening leads to doubt in my abilities to govern once it is assumed that I cannot control the tongue of my bride."

"Go to hell," she repeated though her voice lilted and purred in a sweet singsong manner.

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her into his lap, rubbing her skin so it burned. Despite his anger, her proximity teased his need for her and he felt desire roll through his belly. Pushing it aside, he pressed his nose was level with hers and his eyes blazed.

"I shall not tolerate this behavior, my lady."

"And I will not be spied on!"

He released her wrist and his head jerked in confusion. "What? Who was spying on you?"

"Do not play coy, my lord! Falsehoods, however good at them ye are, do not become ye."

"I am not lying. Who was spying on you?"

"The guards ye set at my door last night."

"Then I shall see that they are punished forthwith."

It was Elizabeth's turn to be confused. She stood slowly, watching him suspiciously. He seemed earnest in his offer to punish the guards. Could he merely be covering his tracks and blaming innocent men for his black deeds?

"They were guarding my room last night. Ye did not send them to spy on me?"

He shook his head. "If they were at your door and not their post upon the stairs, I shall see to it that they are put into the stockades in the village square. I will personally lock them in."

"They were not at my door. They were on the stair."

"Then why would you think they were spying on you?"

She was silent as she resumed her seat and stared into her plate, refusing to meet his eyes.

"You thought I had sent them to spy or to keep you prisoner. That was a foolish assumption, Elizabeth. I am a powerful man with many enemies and not all within these walls appreciate my place next to the High King. The men I placed on guard last night are two of my finest personal guard. I set them there to protect you. Had you wanted to wander about the place, they merely would have escorted you."

"Then why did ye not tell me ye were assigning me a personal detail?"

"I had not thought it necessary when you were so tired. I merely wanted you to have your bath and get some rest."
"That does not explain where ye were off to last night."

"Were you spying upon me?" He asked, his mouth curled up at the corners.

"No," she muttered. "I wanted to ask ye about the guards and Brigitta, a servant girl, said that ye had left the house."

"I did, but I was not gone all night."

"That does not change the fact that ye were whoring about. I do not think I can live like that!" Her voice wobbled with anger and fear at the thought of such a bleak marriage.

"Who told you I was whoring?"

"What else would ye have been doing in the middle of the night? Have ye forgotten that I saw ye leaving the Queen's Knees?"

"I have not forgotten, but might I remind you, my lady, that I have been away from home for an extended period of time? There were immediate matters that needed to be tended to. I had a meeting with Sir Finnobar, Lady Jane's husband, who is my most trusted knight. He governed by proxy and apprised me of current situations. Shall I have him write you a letter of authentication?"

"As if I would believe any man who has sworn allegiance to ye."

Darcy sat back in his seat and quietly closed the ledger before him. He thought about what lie ahead that day; there was much work to do to reacquaint himself with his realm and having a fight with his intended first thing did not bode well for the rest of it. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed then leveled a dark gaze at her.

"Lady Jane shall be here soon. Believe whatever you may believe. I am slowly learning that your mind does not see what it is not willing to. I have much work to do so if I do not see you until breakfast tomorrow have a pleasant day with your studies."

He stood, paused next to her for a moment as though he were contemplating, and brushed a kiss over her forehead.

"Another reward?" She asked bitterly.

"No. Apparently, it was a punishment," he muttered and left the room.

Elizabeth was absently stirring her tea when Jane entered. The lady-in-waiting coughed softly, bringing the thoughtful Princess Intended out of her reverie. She smiled and motioned for Jane to take a seat.

"Would ye like some tea?" She asked, beginning to stand.

Jane quickly stopped her. "First rule, my lady. You wait upon no one."

The woman quickly went about making her own cup of tea and took the seat across from Elizabeth.

"May I confess something?" She asked. Jane nodded. "I fear that I shall be useless at the High Lady business. I am the daughter of a gentleman 'tis true, but he is not near the station to which I am marrying. This is going to be a wretched mess indeed, Lady Gardiner."

"My lady, call me Jane. Lady Gardiner is my husband's mother and she is a dreadful, frightening old bat. And, as for this wretched mess you fear, pay no mind to it. You have a very valuable resource: me. I understand that you are lost right now, but I am here to help you with whatever you need, my lady."

"Can ye fix everything?"

Jane smiled an angelic, wise smile. "My lady, I shall try."

* * *

The hierarchy of servants went something like this: Higher Servants—butlers, housekeepers, and land managers—were given the privilege of referring to their employers by their common titles like 'lord' or 'sir' and 'lady' or 'ma'am' while Lower Servants—chamber maids, footmen, and livery—were kept in their place by the 'master' and 'mistress' of the estate. It was almost nothing like the household in which Elizabeth had grown up, where she had simply been 'Miss Elizabeth' to everybody all her life.

Jane and Elizabeth had retired to Elizabeth's apartments to begin her introduction into North Country life and by noon the young woman's head ached with new information. She leaned back in her chair, staring at Jane's patient face. She moaned.

"I feel utterly hopeless, Jane."

"My lady, you worry too much. Lord Darcy will help you. I doubt very much that he wants his High Lady to fail."

A harsh snort erupted and Jane was confused.

"Ye have more faith in thy prince than I have in my fiancé."

"Why would you say that?"

"The man is cruel and arrogant. As an observer of people, Lady Jane, surely ye must have seen."

"Nay, my lady. Lord Darcy is not an easy man, mind you, but he is a good man."

"Oh, dear! He does have ye fooled. Has he hoodwinked all of his subjects so well as he has ye?"

"Careful how your tongue wags, my lady. Treason is a horrible reason to be brought before the High Lord."

"Are ye threatening me?"

Jane shook her head. "Ma'am, I am here to educate and assist. Consider my words part of your schooling.

"Lord Darcy is a proud man, but he has ruled these lands to great prosperity. Sometimes he can be harsh and unfeeling, but that is the price one pays for the power he has. He is a man second only to the High King, but he did not become a High Lord by luck alone."

"Nay, I am sure there was black magic involved," Elizabeth muttered.

Sighing, Jane stood and poured herself a glass of water. She wanted to like the Princess Intended and, indeed, she did, but she had known Darcy since childhood, knew him probably better than most people. All her life she had encountered people trying to usurp him, but she had remained loyal. Lord Darcy was the closest thing to a brother she had.

"My lady, may I speak freely?"

"Until I am married, Lady Jane, ye are of a higher rank than I. I hardly think I should stop ye."

"William has always been hard, very much like a rough diamond. We used to play together as children. At one point, I believe his father wanted us betrothed, but I met my Finn and old Lord Darcy realized I would never make William happy.

"I believe in William's heart, my lady. It is buried so deeply within that I think he has forgotten that it is still a part of him. He has lost much in his short life. He was ten when his mother died and took his sister with her and he never recovered. When old Lord Darcy died, he barely mourned. I doubt he ever learned how.

"He had to battle a wretched upstart for his place as High Lord. There was a ferocious fight and he did not come away unscathed.

"I do not think it is too much to ask to try to be patient and show William a bit of kindness now and again. I am a married woman, mind you. I know that men rarely deserve the kindness they do receive, but, please, make an effort."

"His name is William?"

"You did not know that?"

"Nay."

"Well, now you do. I think you've had enough education for today."

"A thousand thanks, Lady Jane."

"You are very welcome, my lady."

When Jane was gone, Elizabeth rang for a servant, who appeared with uncanny swiftness. She sent the servant off with her orders and tidied her hair and dress, splashing some tonic below her ears and on her wrists. She sat down and waited.

And waited.

Elizabeth was dozing when a knock fell on the heavy wooden door. Quickly, she answered it, finding her obviously irritated fiancé on the threshold. She smiled, but his scowl did not disappear.

"Come in, please."

He brushed past her and whirled on her as she closed the door.

"What is all this about? I was speaking with one of the farmers."

"We need to talk."

Clearly frustrated, Darcy threw his hands in the air. "Bloody hell! Another lecture could not wait until breakfast tomorrow? Are you going to feel the need to abuse me hourly?"

"I truly upset you this morning, did I not?"

"I awoke in a foul temper."

She smirked. "Somehow I doubt that, but pay it no mind. I did not ask ye here to lecture ye or to fight with ye."

"Wonders never cease," he mumbled, taking a seat.

"We cannot live like this, my lord."

"My parents did. My mother birthed me and lived separately from my father for most of the rest of their marriage."

"I cannot say that I am capable of living the same way. I want to learn about thy lands and thy people. Jane will help me with the basics, but ye must aid me as well. I want to learn the government and I want to help. I refuse to be useless."

"You are asking to rule?" Shock weighed heavy his words.

"Nay. I am asking to assist. If I am to be thy princess then I should not have that title in name only."

He tilted his head thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand as he studied her. More relaxed than she had been in weeks, she moved about the room as though she were gliding. His breath seemed trapped in his lungs. Could she actually be accepting her fate? Was she going to make things easier now?

"Where is all this coming from?"

Shrugging, Elizabeth took the seat across from his. "Lady Jane said some interesting things this afternoon."

"Jane always has something interesting to say. Would you care to tell me what she spoke of?"

"Not particularly, but I will say she gave me many things on which to ponder." She leaned forward. "I want to call a truce between us, my lord."

"Do you?"

"I do. I am not made to be angry every moment of the day and ye cannot appreciate my foul mood, as ye well demonstrated upon entry into my rooms. We are to be married and nothing can change that now."

"Indeed."

"Are we agreed? Is there a truce?"

He nodded. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You not leap toward a conclusion without sufficient facts to support your claims. Do not assume the worst of me. Perhaps I am not a good man, but, at the very least, I am fair."

Her eyebrow climbed up and she bit her lip, trying not to argue about his definition of 'fair.' She had seen snakes more fair to the rats they devoured, but that was beside the point. Now she was making an effort and, apparently, he was going to follow suit and do the same.

"I shall not make assumptions," she promised, offering her hand.

They shook and he stood. "Forgive me, Elizabeth. I must return to that farmer. He believes he has a problem with foxes in his henhouse."

"Will I see ye at dinner?"

"Do you want to see me at dinner?"

"I would look rather pathetic eating alone, would I not?"

"Most likely."

"Then, yes, please, eat dinner with me."

He smirked. "I shall be home then." He started for the door.

"My lord?"

He sighed, pausing and trying to maintain his limited patience. "Yes?"

"Does the farmer have a dog?"

"No. His wife, who died last year, did not care for the animal."

"Then he should get a dog. That would keep the foxes at bay."

"Brilliant idea, Elizabeth!" He kissed her on the cheek and rushed for the door. "I shall credit you to Mr. Bentley."

"I need no credit. Ye would have thought of it on thy own."

He looked at her sternly. "You shall have your credit. The people need to know that their future princess is minding them."

"Ye have not yet announced our engagement."

"My sweet, this is a small community. How many people do you think it takes for news to spread? I will indeed make an official announcement, but Mr. Bentley already knows there is a Princess Intended within these walls."

"Oh. Then please give him my regards."

"He will love that."

They stared at each other a moment. Elizabeth felt sweat bead against her skin as warmth seeped over her, drowning her. His gaze was so intense that she suspected she might melt beneath it. Her cheeks colored and she looked away, putting the back of her hand to her mouth.

"I shall see you at dinner, my lady." His voice was strained and he shifted uncomfortably. "I am sorry for my earlier curtness."

"Apology accepted as long as ye accept mine for my wretched behavior these past weeks."

He nodded and disappeared, leaving Elizabeth with the unwelcome thought that she was affected in some way by her future husband. Ruffled at the thought, she summoned Heather and began preparations in dressing for dinner.

Chapter Six

It seemed no time had passed when Elizabeth awoke to realize it was two days before her wedding. The truce between them, though tenuous, had lasted the month and Elizabeth found herself accepting and even, on occasion, looking forward to being High Lady Darcy. She and Jane, with occasional help from Darcy, had covered the entire history of the Darcy line, the intricacies of Northern culture, and the aspects of royal life that would all be prudent to Elizabeth now. There was a rich culture and history that she had never imagined and, combined with the breathtaking scenery around Pemberley, she was falling in love with her new home and its people, who, in turn, were quite smitten with the Princess Intended.

When she was not studying, she was painting. Darcy had shown her the atrium with its high glass ceilings and luscious green plants, giving her free reign to use the area as she saw fit. He had given her a new paint set, with the finest paints and brushes she had ever seen, after dinner one night and Elizabeth remembered having been so surprised and excited that she actually threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"What was that?" He had asked warily, pushing her back at arm's length.

"I cannot know. Perhaps gratitude?"

He had nodded, bent his head, and walked away. She was unsure of what she had wanted from him, but the canvas beneath her brush told her soon enough. Soon Darcy's likeness was forming across the blank expanse. Jane had explained to her the royal tradition of exchanging wedding gifts before the bridal couple retired that first night and she thought the painting might make a good offering.

She bathed and dressed, letting Heather arrange her hair into a simple braided bun. There was no need for fancy presentation. That would come soon enough and she simply did not feel the need to be a showpiece. After she was ready, she made her way to the atrium. Sunlight spilled through the thick glass above her, flooding the encased wilderness with unseasonable warmth. Her easel and paints were there, but she went to the cabinet she had had installed, unlocked it, and brought Darcy's image into the light.

It was impressive that she could paint him so well simply from memory, but she did not see it as such. What she thought was unusual was that she had so perfectly captured him. The lines and angles of his face were so realistic it was as though he was sitting before her. The deep, dark midnight of his eyes seemed to glitter and never quite reveal what he was thinking. She placed the canvas on the easel and was securing it as Darcy walked in.

"Am I intruding?"

Quickly she threw a dropcloth over her work and smiled warmly. "No."

"Are you ever going to let me see what is beneath that blasted fabric?"

"All in good time, my lord."

"Are you not coming to breakfast this morning?"

"I offer my apologies. This painting has taken priority. Has Mrs. Berne given birth yet?"

"Nay."

"That poor woman. She is going to have a dreadful go of it."

Nodding absently, he walked further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding absently in agreement. His eyebrow popped up inquisitively when he looked at his bride.

"Ye walk like that when ye have something to ask, my lord."

"You are an astute observer, my sweet."

Over the last few weeks, he seemed to have forgotten her name and replaced it, but she hardly noticed anymore. They had become comfortable--or perhaps accustomed--to one another and endearing epithets were as much for the crowd he still played to as they were for her ears.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he paced about the room.

"What is it?" She pressed.

"Are you sure you do not want breakfast?"

"Lord Darcy!" Elizabeth wailed. "Would ye please just tell me what is bothering ye?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. They had gotten on well since they had declared their truce. A tiny part of him even suspected that Elizabeth might be growing to at least like him, which made him happier than he cared to admit. However, their peace was fragile and he knew that with a few words, he could shatter it. It pained him to know that, but he proceeded anyway.

"I have to go away until the wedding."

"Why?" She asked, looking up at him as she mixed paints on a palette.

"I cannot tell you."

"Some secret mission into the wilds?" She asked, slightly amused.

He remained silent, eventually evoking her long-checked temper.

"Ye are quite serious, are you not? Ye are really leaving before we are to be married?"

"I am afraid I have no choice."

"There are always choices, my lord. Unless-" she snorted in disbelief and threw her mixing tool down. "Unless ye have decided that ye are above choices or, perhaps, more to the point, need to maintain choices."

"Elizabeth, of what are you speaking?"

"Ye are still keeping thy whores, are ye not? My god, sir! It is but two days before we are to wed and ye are bending to the will of a common prostitute. Make arrangements for thy wedding night. Ye shall not be sharing my bed!"

Her anger ignited his own temper and he crossed the room to grab her shoulders.

"You think I do not know what is beneath that cloth? It a portrait of your beloved Saint George, patron of perfection! You speak of choices, Elizabeth, and fidelity and yet you make no effort to forget your past. I cannot apologize for your fate anymore."

"As if ye did not have a hand in my fate, ye ruthless cad!"

"I am going now before I say something I will regret. I had hoped you might give me the benefit of the doubt, but I can see this past month has been nothing but your version of the pretty lies you fill your head with."

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it immediately. Never before had she been accused of being a liar and it made her stomach turn that anybody, even the wretched High Lord Darcy, could think such a thing.

"Please leave. I will see ye at the wedding."

He sighed. "Damn it, Elizabeth. I just wanted to give you the courtesy of informing you of my absence. I did not want to argue about it, though I suspected you may be put out."

"I cannot talk to ye anymore. Please leave," she repeated.

"Fine," he spat.

She watched him storm away. Slowly, she uncovered the painting, wondering whether she would finish it now. The painted Darcy's eyes were much kinder than the ones that had just looked upon her, his mouth set more sweetly than the irritated one that had been pressed into an ugly frown. Her heart ached when she thought of him considering her a liar.

She picked up her brush and began to work.

* * *

"I am charging you with looking after her while Finn and I are gone," Darcy said, examining his sword before sheathing it. His voice was cool, as if he were telling Jane to mind his favorite hound.

"I would have regardless, my lord."

Darcy glanced at her then grabbed his pack. "Very well." He started for the door.

"Are you arguing again?"

Darcy froze for a moment before resuming his path. "Hold your tongue, Jane."

"I shall not, William, and if you ever use that tone with me again I shall have Finn serve you a cold dish of horseshit."

"I am incredibly tired of strong-willed women," Darcy muttered, facing his friend.

"We are not half as exhausting as childish men. What was the latest quarrel about? Things have been going so well of late."

"They were going well until Elizabeth made more assumptions. I told her I had to depart until the wedding and she simply knew I was leaving to be with another woman."

"For a woman who does not care whether you are alive or dead she certainly has a problem with the possibility of you being with another."

Darcy shrugged, leaning against the wall near the door. "I do not care."

Snorting in disbelief, Jane took a seat and stared hard at him. He shifted uncomfortably, finding that he disliked the being under the intense scrutiny of the first woman he had ever noticed. Jane knew some of his secrets, the ones that would not tarnish his image in her eyes. To Jane Gardiner, High Lord William Darcy was the same gangly boy she had kissed under the Spinning Oak by the lake. Suddenly, he realized how completely disappointed in him she would be if she knew how Elizabeth had come to be his bride. In moments the ruthless prince that regretted nothing knew he could never let his oldest friend learn the truth.

"You do care or you would not be feigning otherwise."

"Jane, watch her and quit asking questions."

"You are not my prince right now. You are my friend and I want-"

His gaze narrowed and he glared at her. "This has nothing to do with what you want, Jane."

She flew out of the chair and leveled a finger between his eyes. "How would you like your horseshit served, old friend?" She pushed him roughly toward the wall and put her hand on the door handle. "In moments like these, William, I can plainly see why your bride hates you. You need to understand that she is not a possession, but a person and should be treated as such.

"I have watched you harden over the years and have bit my tongue and tried my best to be there for you, but, damn you, you make it impossible for me on occasion. Either you tell me why Elizabeth is angry or I withdraw my friendship."

He looked away. Jane had never been so angry with him before and he knew he had given her plenty of reason and opportunity. He wrapped his arms around her small form and kissed the crown of her head.

"Do not threaten so. I apologize."

"I am only trying to help, William."

"She hates me and it bothers me, Jane, more than I care to admit. The truce was working and now it is not."

"Be honest with me. Are you going whoring? You are taking my husband with you so you had better have the correct answer."

"No. I swear on my father's grave. Elizabeth is not a horsewoman and I have been searching all about for the best piece of horseflesh I can find. We found her finally, but she is a day's ride and I want to escort her personally."

"She thinks you are leaving her for another woman and you are getting her wedding gift. Why did you not say as much?"

"At first I wanted it to be a surprise and then she, god, Jane, she made me so angry that I did not want to tell her the truth! If she has been this long in my company and not realized that I have not been in any bed but my own she is mad!"

"William, she is young. She does not understand men. From what I have gathered her former fiancé was nothing more than a boy."

"I suppose you are right."

"When have I ever been wrong? This girl has a spark, my friend. I knew you would find the perfect girl to marry when I told you to go to hell. I did, however, think you would seek a woman who loved you."

"Women who love me are a dime a dozen, Lady Jane," he muttered.

"Indeed they are and I have never known you to shy from a challenge."

"I must go. Do not tell her the truth."

"Because she deserves to be punished or because you want to surprise her?"

"Perhaps a little bit of both."

"You are a despicable man."

"More than you realize," he replied cryptically and was gone.

* * *

She stared at the painting, tears seeping into her eyes. It was very likely the most beautiful portrait she had ever done. The one she had painted of Hill had not captured the nurse remotely and the portrait of Mr. Bennet had not been of his face, but of his back as he stared out the window of his library and into the gardens. The portrait of Darcy, though, was magnificent. She had worked feverishly and had not even realized it was evening until Jane appeared.

"My lady Elizabeth?"

The girl started and looked around her easel. She smiled sadly when she saw Jane.

"He is gone, is he not?"

"He left hours ago, ma'am."

"We have fallen back to the beginning, Jane."

"I doubt that, Elizabeth," Jane replied, holding her arms open for the girl. "If you had, you would not be nearly so upset."

"I am not mourning his leaving, but to go to another woman before making vows to me! My god, does he not have an ounce of decency?"

Jane bit her tongue, knowing that Darcy would have to resolve this on his own. Nothing she could say would change Elizabeth's mind. It hurt her to hear her friend referred to as such, but things between Darcy and Elizabeth were well beyond her control. She let go of her mistress and walked behind the easel. In the dim candlelight, which she had commanded once she realized Elizabeth had not noticed the dying light, Jane's breath caught.

"What do ye think?" The artist said, joining her.

"I think you have reminded me of the man I knew ten years ago, before he became High Lord, before he grew distant."

Elizabeth studied it then looked at Jane again. "Really?"

"This is the man that asked me to marry him."

"He proposed to ye?"

Jane nodded, smiling at Elizabeth. "It was a long time ago and he never loved me. You have to understand, Elizabeth, that greedy women have been pitching themselves in his path all his life. They knew he had power even before he was a man.

"He asked me to marry him because he knew he could trust me. I wanted to marry for love, which I did, but William has been wary of the blessed union ever since."

"Then why do ye think he is marrying now?"

"Any number of reasons, but I will not answer for him. You may ask him yourself."

"He did not propose to me."

Jane remained silent, waiting for Elizabeth to finish. When she did not, the lady wrapped her fingers through the princess's and led her from the room. When Elizabeth was tucked away safely in her bedchamber, Jane stole down to the atrium and locked the painting away as she had seen the artist do on so many nights. It was a good painting. Darcy would be pleased.

* * * * *

The Wedding

Bells rang at dawn, signaling the beginning of the pomp and circumstance that would fill the wedding day of High Lord Darcy and Princess Intended Elizabeth. The short road from Pemberley to the village chapel was lined with people from near and far, all holding nosegays of holly, which was considered good luck.

Even if Darcy had been there, Elizabeth would not have been allowed to see him, which she was glad of. It would have been too hard, especially knowing where he had been. She had no idea how she was going to make it through the wedding.

Sighing, she reached under her mattress for a small wooden box. Her father had made the box for her back when his hands had been steady enough to carve the intricate ivy design that covered every inch of it. Carefully, the box was opened, revealing Elizabeth's dearest treasures; a ring her mother had worn as a girl, a patch of cloth from one of her father's famous grey greatcoats, a lock of George's fiery hair. She lifted the velvet lining and withdrew the miniature of her beloved bonny George and traced his features with her fingertip.

"I should have been married to ye on this day. Those bells should have been ours."

She put the contents back and replaced the box. Today was her wedding day.

"And I hate him," she whispered to Fate, though she doubted it was listening.

* * *

Shortly after dawn, Darcy and Finn returned with a beautiful cinnamon mare that had a blond mane and bright eyes. The horse had spirit, but was sweet-tempered and she was just the perfect size for Elizabeth. When Darcy saw the animal, he had wished Elizabeth beside him so badly that he thought he had seen her, but it was a trick of his tired eyes.

"Sir, shall you need me any longer?" Finn asked, dismounting to stretch his legs and crack his back.

"Just meet me at the chapel."

"Certainly," he replied then paused, the silence growing heavier by the moment.

"What?" Darcy asked.

"You should have been truthful from the start. I have been married for a very long time, sir. Women do not forget."

"Finn, things shall work out. I have faith."

"If I were you, William, I would see about a charm to make the girl forget your transgressions."

"Not amusing."

"My wife thinks otherwise."

"Your wife is nosy. One day I shall try her as a busybody and put her to work in the scullery."

Finn chuckled and remounted. "I would very nearly pay a pound of gold to see that. Of course, later I would be forced to call you out and make you pay for humiliating my beloved wife."

Darcy shook his head, trying not to smile at his friend's easy manner. Part of him wished he could be like that, but he was more than satisfied with his life and the urge passed quickly, especially when thoughts of Elizabeth meandered through his brain. He knew she hated him right now, but she would have to forgive him eventually. At least, he hoped she would forgive him, especially after he explained to her why he had really gone and showed her his beautiful gift.

Upon entering the house, his valet ushered him to his apartments, where he was served breakfast. The staff of Pemberley, a superstitious lot, were taking no chances with the fate of the fragile couple. Mrs. Reynolds had sewn hand root into sachets for the couple to carry with them. Timmons had lighted green candles to insure luck and prosperity. The whole household knew something was off kilter between the master and mistress and they were trying to bring the good will back in force.

In his study he found a note on his desk. Jane's hand curled and swirled around the heavy paper like a stream through the woods.

William:

On this day my oldest, dearest friend is to be married. When you see him, could you relay to him to do nothing else wrong?

Jane

It was typical of her to be snide, even when the occasion was solemn. She had nearly had him in a fit of laughter at his mother's funeral. Neither of them had ever particularly cared for the former High Lady Darcy and when they marked her passing with ceremony, Jane took every opportunity to mock the clergyman delivering the eulogy. Whenever a kind lie was spoken as a way to honor the spoiled, selfish, cold princess, Jane would pucker her lips and pretend to wail in grief. As children, they were not allowed to sit toward the front of the chapel and the mocking ceased only when Darcy's nurse scolded them loudly enough to cause heads to turn.

He smiled, folded the note, and placed it in the breast pocket of his wedding clothes. His recently damaged confidence began to return as he looked himself over in the glass. Still tall, strong, and handsome, he knew that Elizabeth was lucky he had found her, lucky that he had taken her from a life of uncertainty and hardship. He was making a princess, a princess that would be his in just a matter of hours. It was a small price to pay to finally capture that spirit of hers and bend it to his will, to know that her fire was at his command. She would be his wife and, finally, his lover. His breeches tightened simply thinking about it.

The tiniest part of his brain knew that even with vows, Elizabeth was not going to acquiesce to his demands. She would fight him, hate him, and torture him for merely existing on her plane of reality, but he could not bring himself to care. He ignored the voice until it surrendered and went silent from neglect. He had not come this far to let shame, guilt, or battle weariness defeat him.

"I have won," he said to the dashing man in the glass. "She is mine."

* * *

The chapel doors opened and the guests stood. Nearly all caught their breath at the sight of the bride. In later years, many would recall the day and remark upon the utter beauty the Princess Intended possessed and the magic that it added to the day. To say she glowed was an understatement, but some said that if one looked very closely there was an extreme sadness in the lady's eyes.

At the end of the aisle, Darcy's reaction was similar to the rest of the crowd. He had always known his bride to be a great beauty, but today she was more stunning than a full moon over the silver-black water of Pemberley's lake. Her gown, the brightest white he had ever seen, seemed to shimmer and radiate its own light. Her dark hair was a stark contrast to the pale brilliance that surrounded her. It was piled onto her head and woven with white ribbon and flowers. A curl or two may have slipped down her neck, but nobody would dared to have thought they were strays. She was simply too radiant for that.

Elizabeth, remembering that this ceremony was for the people she had come to love as much as it was for the man she disliked, smiled and slipped down the long aisle as though she were the High Queen herself. She was slightly surprised when she reached the end of the aisle and saw the imitated Queen next to her husband, the High King, in the front pew. She paused next to the pew and offered a deep, unexpected curtsey to the royal couple and finished her trek to the altar.

The ceremony, with its words and presentations and crowns, dragged on. Mechanically, but with the warmth and spark she knew she needed to maintain, Elizabeth made her vows to Darcy, to the North Country, and to the High King and Queen. She accepted her wifely duties, her new people, and her crown with a grace and dignity that would one day slip into legend.

"Ladies and gentlemen, countrymen, your Highnesses, may I have the honor of presenting High Lord William Darcy of Pemberley and High Lady Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley? The Prince and Princess of the North Country!"

The church bells rang and were suddenly drowned out by the din of the crowd outside. Darcy, smiling only slightly, offered his hand to his new wife who beamed as she took it, and escorted her back up the aisle to the waiting carriage. The crowd pushed and shoved to get a glimpse of the newlyweds, but the carriage cut an easy path through them.

"You are so beautiful, wife." Darcy whispered, pulling the back of her hand to his lips.

"A thousand thanks," she replied coolly.

"You are still angry with me?" He asked, looking squarely in her eyes.

"Ye just made a vow to forsake others. Do ye plan to keep it?"

"Ye just made a vow to love me and yet you do not hear me questioning your sincerity."

"This is going to be impossible. I wish I were dead."

"Keep it up, my sweet. We might be able to arrange it."

Her mouth dropped open and he chuckled. "Do not fret, wife. You are entirely too stubborn to die. You would choose to survive just to spite me, I think."

"Ye think? With thy head? I was not aware that was possible."
He sighed, giving up.

"We have guests to attend. Are you planning to behave?" He asked.

She smiled sweetly and blew a kiss to him from her seat. "Of course, husband. I learned to act for the crowd from ye."

Her words stung him and he flinched before he even knew it. She smiled in triumph.

The mob followed the Darcys' carriage, trailed by the noble wedding guests from the church, through the gates of Pemberley to the adjacent Great Hall, where Darcy held court. The Great Hall had stood for centuries and Darcys had ruled from within its walls for generations. It had been the site of celebration for Darcy's parents' marriage as well as his Presentation after his christening.

The throng of people gathered outside the balcony of the Hall despite the cold to await the royal couple, who always announced the start of the festivities. As the High King, with his Queen by his side, gave a speech, the Darcys stood inside, silently and slightly apart from one another.

"We are expected to kiss, Elizabeth."

"I am aware of that, my lord."

"Fine."

King Richard announced them and the mass erupted into cheers.

"Come, my lord, we have a performance."

She took his hand and smiled at him radiantly as they slipped onto the balcony. They waved and threw coins into the gathering below. "Kiss!" They bellowed.

Darcy, pushing aside his anger and disgust, pulled Elizabeth into his arms, circling her body firmly. It did not matter that she was playacting for the crowd. He was going to kiss her and leave her in no doubt that their marriage was going to be as physical a joining as he could make it.

He went slowly, driving the crowd below mad with want. Just before he reached her lips, he paused, forgetting they were being watched.

"I am not pretending. This is the first time I am kissing my wife. I intend to make it memorable."

She opened her mouth to reply and he pressed his mouth to hers. Suddenly, they were the only two people in existence. He felt her anger bubble and rise, but she was helpless to act on it. Her soft mouth beneath his was nothing short of ambrosia and he tasted her like a man who had been deprived of sustenance for weeks. He pulled her closer, hearing faint cheers from somewhere far away, pressing his mouth harder against hers.

Helpless and confused by the pleasure her mouth was taking from her husband's attentions, Elizabeth's arms slipped around his neck and she felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her. The pit of her stomach suddenly felt wobbly so she held fast and let him lead her through it while his tongue slipped into her.

Finally, his mouth left hers and they stared at one another for a long, heavy moment before he stole another quick kiss and set her back on the stone floor. She licked her lips, catching his taste there, and she wondered at how she could hate him so much and still want him to do that to her again.

The crowd below them was mad with excitement and happiness. Neither of them willing to let their people down, the royal couple kissed once more when it was demanded of them. Finally, Darcy raised his arms in the air. "If you keep requesting kisses I am afraid there will be no celebration! So, ladies and gentlemen, let us begin!"

Once inside, they were alone. He stared at her for a moment, his hands behind his back.

"I meant what I said earlier. You are beautiful. I wanted you to know that."

"I thank ye. I must change."

"Of course. Let me escort you."

They went down the corridor to the temporary dressing room where Heather awaited to assist Elizabeth with her new blue silk Reception Gown. Several minutes later, she emerged still stunning. She slipped her arm through Darcy's.

"Shall we go?" She asked, staring ahead, not trusting herself not to either kill him or kiss him.

"Aye."

Chapter Six, Part II

Dear Reader: Okay, so there's a part here that, while I was tweaking what had already been written, reminded me of that scene in "Gone With The Wind" where Rhett absconds up the stairs of the Atlanta mansion with Scarlett and she wakes up all cheery the next morning. This should give you a clue that A) I did indeed include the wedding night in this chapter and B) Elizabeth's biggest problem is that she might have just needed to get laid. Okay, perhaps that's not it at all, but it makes for a damn interesting read. Enjoy. Much love, Amber

* * *

The Marriage Bed

When they entered, the room fell silent and people bowed and curtsied as they made their way to the dais where the High King and Queen were already stationed. The Darcys paid their respects to the ranking couple and took their place to receive their guests. It was long time later when they danced their first dance, drank their first wine, and partook of their first meal. Finally, with children falling asleep in corners and drunkards tripping over air, they excused themselves to retire for the evening.

Because of the cold, the traditional open carriage that took them the mile and a half to the Great House was closed and they rode in silence. Elizabeth's confusion and melancholy, made worse by her exhaustion, was palpable by the time they reached Pemberley proper. He handed her from the carriage, feeling his impatience at her lack of understanding and forgiveness bubble up in retaliation.

"Our new apartment has been set up already. It is in the west wing. Your things have already been moved in."

"Of course. I expected nothing less," she said quietly.

Darcy watched her form ascend the stairs from behind, his heart suddenly racing in anticipation at the thought of finally possessing his longed-for prize. Her steps were agonizingly slow, though, and heavy and he could smell the stench of sorrow emanating from her. More than a little irritated by her stalling, he skipped the few steps separating them to catch up with her, their arms pressing together as he crowded her on the staircase. He glared.

"You could at least feign happiness, my lady. This is, after all, your wedding night."

"And ye are not the husband of my heart. He is in mourning as is my father. Ye are a cruel man to covet that which does not belong to ye."

"If I did not covet you then you should not be a princess."

"I was quite content with my future as a shepard's wife, my lord, lest ye forget."

"Then you are a fool."

"No more than ye."

He grabbed her forearm, yanked her up the remaining stairs, and down the candle-lit corridor. With a snap of his wrist, she was inside the refurbished apartment and he stood before the closed door, wondering if she would run if given the chance.

She saw the question in his midnight eyes and sighed her frustration. During the daylong celebrations, Elizabeth had had ample opportunity to escape, but she had not. Did he not realize that she was without choice? Her disappearance would forfeit her wedding price, which would cause her father to lose Longbourn and she could not allow that.

"Ye may move away from the door, my lord. I shall make no attempt to flee." She turned toward the bedchamber and began to walk.

He followed.

His shoulders eased visibly once that door was also closed and he began to loosen his belt, pausing long enough to look at her expectantly. She stood dumb as she had never imagined having to watch him disrobe. Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, she approached him.

"Forgive me," she said softly. Silently, she assisted him in the removal of the sword that hung at his side and carefully placed the sheathed weapon on the round table near the fire. It was heavy and long; the kind of sword that took great strength to wield. "Have ye seen many battles?"

"Enough and probably more still," he replied, his voice suddenly tired as he joined her to gaze down at the weapon.

His fingers brushed the hilt as she slowly realized he was bare to the waist. Curiosity getting the better of her, Elizabeth's eyes drank him in. Lean and muscled, he was indeed a man who had seen battle. A long, white scar puckered the flesh of his flat stomach and another teased his mortality on the skin over his heart, a reminder that even this hardened warrior was still a mere human.

"Do they hurt?"

He shook his head, hating to be reminded that he had let his guard down even briefly. The scars had not been painful for a long time, but he still flinched when Elizabeth tentatively reached out and ran her fingers along the imperfection on his abdomen. She immediately withdrew.

"Forgive me. I should not have presumed to be so bold. I have never seen such a thing before."

"My body is yours, my lady. Your boldness, while unexpected, is certainly most welcome."

Regaining herself, she took a step back, unsure why her heart was beating so rapidly. "Why me, my lord?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why choose me as thy wife? I do not, nay, cannot love ye and yet here I am, preparing to bed with ye."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," he replied, a smug grin lighting upon his dark face.

"Aye, but I fear, my lord, that it is another part of thy anatomy that is wanting."

He surprised her by laughing outright.

"And you ask why I chose you. It is for that very candor, my lady. Your constant irritation with me draws me in."

"'Tis an unorthodox way to choose a spouse."

Suddenly, his arms were around her and his mouth was over hers. At the shock of his latest attack, she opened her mouth in a gasp and his tongue slid in to explore and taste. Her body, stiff and wary at first, eased as his hands roamed her back. Uneasiness melted away and her arms snaked about his neck, clinging to the one thing she knew in this strange, cold unknown place where she once again knew nothing and had no Jane to guide her.

Her body trembled beneath his touch and he pulled back to stare down at her. Darcy was surprised to find her mouth swollen and her eyes heavy, but thought better than to make mention of it. He ran his hands up and down her arms, but was unable to gauge her temperature through the pale blue silk of her Reception Gown.

"Elizabeth, are you cold?"

She did not hear him for the blood pounding in her ears. Shock seeped into her bones at the way her body had reacted to the pleasurable feelings his kiss awoke in her. She was giving in to the prince's vulgar demands and, curiously, she wondered how something that felt so good could be considered vulgar.

"Elizabeth?"

She blinked. "My lord?"

"Are you cold? You are shivering."

"I, I do not think so."

He released her, his head spinning. Looking into her dazed, distant blue eyes, Darcy suddenly realized with not a little horror that she was not some temptress that had been unleashed upon him to drive him mad, but an innocent, simple girl who had aspired to nothing more than being that but the wife of a shepard. She had not bedded a man before and, in an instant, it became his duty to guide her and keep her safe through the night. It was his responsibility to worship her and accept the sacrifice she made with all the tenderness and honor he could give. He had won her in a dark manner and being good to her now was the least he could do to repay her for the sins he had committed against her heart.

Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned away to add to the fire. As the logs settled in the fireplace, he realized that, for the first time in his life, he was terrified. What if he failed her again? The thin line he was walking now seemed to shrink before him and he teetered precariously on the edge, waiting to disappoint her. He poked at the fire angrily, attempting to regain control over these foreign emotions but was undone when he stood and turned around.

She was there, nude and bashful, her hands falling in front of her sex unconsciously. Her skin was pale and smooth like a pearl, which, he mused, was very much like a badge of her innocence. Her eyes were on the floor and when she bit her lip, his heart skipped within his chest. His need to possess her physically subsided to his drive to keep her from harm.

"I cannot unfasten my hair. Heather used too many pins."

He came to her, taking her hand and pulling her closer to the fire. She looked up at him then, embarrassed, quickly looked away.

"I can see your skin prickle. I shall not allow for you to be cold," he whispered gently. He pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her and, with a light touch, he pulled the jeweled pins from Elizabeth's hair, letting her caramel curls tumble loosely down her back. Sparks of red flashed bright in the firelight. When the last lock was set free, she moved to the bed wordlessly and sat down on the edge, clutching the blanket to her.

Still in his breeches, Darcy settled next to her, taking her hand gently. "Are you frightened?"

She was shocked that he should show concern after all the gloating and arrogance that he had previously displayed, but it was not in her nature to be false, despite that he thought her capable of it. Silently, she nodded, her fingers instinctively tightening around his.

"Did you ask no questions of Jane?"

"We spoke a little. Frankly, I was too embarrassed to ask more of her. She knows from experience and I know her experience is with Finn. It is simply too odd. I cannot think of either of them in such a way."

He smiled at her nervous babbling. "Then why did you undress?"

"Is it not expected?"

"Aye, it is, but I expected to have to fight you."

"I have a duty as a wife." She nearly choked on the word.

Something in his heart tightened at the cracking sound in her voice. Darcy leaned into her, his lips skimming her shoulder as he tried to erase her pain and calm his budding guilt. His eyes met hers and held them for a long moment while his fingers skimmed her round cheek. They slid around her neck and pulled her gently across the space between them so that their lips met again.

Once again, the kiss was different. It wasn't urgent and forced, but tender and slow, heating their bodies to a slow, bubbling simmer. He grasped her shoulders and gently laid her back on the bed. His lips skimmed her sweet face; feathering kisses over her eyes, nose, cheeks, and mouth, which made her stomach thrash about like an animal trapped in a net.

Instinctively, she returned the kisses that fell on her mouth and she forced George to become a vague shadow in the back of her mind. The part of her brain that still worked knew that she could not lie with another man as long as she thought of her beloved, so she pushed away thoughts of his grief and her betrayal and let her body guide her and react for her.

His mouth was at the hollow of her throat, licking, nibbling, and kissing her lightly with all the skill of a learned man. Her hands threaded through his thick dark locks, which had somehow become loosed from its leather tie. With surprising delicacy, Darcy delivered a soft kiss to the flesh between her breasts and she froze.

Elizabeth looked at her husband, who was drawing his tongue across the untouched skin. Her belly rolled again, like it was full of hot iron, as his hands moved up her sides, twining with her fingers, and squeezing lightly.

"Elizabeth, I have wanted you for so long."

She said nothing but her body issued a shuddering sigh that Darcy translated immediately. He rounded her nipple with his tongue, delighting as it grew hard. When it was swollen and taut, he drew her in and sucked. Her back arched and she whimpered, squeezing his hand as the pressure within her body began to build.

Her whimpers gained strength, tumbling into helpless moans while he nibbled at flesh she had not known could respond in such a manner. He paused, catching her eye, then pinched her other hardened nipple between his fingers. She yelped and heat flashed through her. It was then that she realized the heat had not left her but was flooding to a single place within her body. Breathing fast, she searched his face, hoping he would have some sort of answer for her, but he only gave her a sweet, understanding smile and leaned toward her mouth once again.

After stealing a quick kiss, he trailed his tongue across her jaw and caught the lobe of her ear with his teeth.

"My lord," she breathed. "I fear I shall melt."

"Elizabeth, we are wed. Will you not call me by my name?" The whiskers on his chin scraped the tender flesh behind her ear.

Panting and thoughtless, she grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked him back so that they were face to face. With a need to torture him as he tortured her, she pulled his face close and drew his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently and nipping when his eyes grew wide. People rarely surprised him and Elizabeth had definitely caught him offguard with her brazenness.

He drew his callused hands down her body, feeling the slick sweat cover his palms. His heart thumped madly before he reigned himself in. He could not, would not plow into her savagely, despite his desire. She was pure, untainted, and would be just as much his if he claimed her gently.

"You must be patient, my sweet," he warned softly. "I am, after all, merely a man. To encourage my passion might be unwise."

She opened her mouth, but he placed a single finger over it, effectively stilling her words. Moments later whatever had been on the tip of her tongue erupted as a incoherent groan when he pulled his rough chin over her belly and blew a cool, lingering breath on her hot center.

Realizing where he was, Elizabeth's modesty came rushing back and her hands flew to cover herself, but he gently stopped them before they reached their destination. He brought her palms to his lips, placed a kiss on each one, and laid them to her sides.

"There is no shame in this. I am your husband and it is my prerogative to displace your modesty." He grinned and placed a kiss at the top of her sex where she could see his lips touch her skin.

The heat flared through her body, threatening to consume her. How could this man make her feel like this? At the thought of another kiss, she found she only wanted him to shower them upon her. His dark hair fell like a curtain and blocked her view of his handsome face.

"Stop," she gulped, nearly panicked. "My lord, stop."

He paused, sighed heavily, and sat up. With all the strength she could muster after being reduced to a quivering mass, Elizabeth pulled her body up and scanned the bed. Snatching her prize when she espied it teetering on the edge, she rose to her knees and slipped behind him, gathering his thick black hair and tying it off securely with the leather band. She ran her fingers through the mass that fell down his back to the middle of his shoulder blades and, impulsively, brushed a kiss across the back of his shoulder.

He turned to look at her, finding her nibbling at her lower lip with a worried look on her face.

"Whatever is wrong, my lady?"

"My heart is slower and my thighs are damp. Did I do something wrong?"

He chuckled, reaching out to stroke her unbound curls, and shook his head. "No, my sweet, you have done nothing wrong. Lie back."

"I could not see thy face through thy hair."

"Then that is my fault. I would cut it off if it pleases you."

She gasped. He was a highborn warrior and hair was a sign of birth and honor. She also knew that it was, in this part of the Country, a statement of a wife's commitment to her husband. A proper wife took pride in grooming her husband. To cut his hair would have been a sacrifice for him and a humiliation for her.

"No! I would not have ye do such a thing," she cried. "It is fine."

He dropped another kiss between her legs, his eyes holding hers. "You are mercy itself, my sweet."

Her breath grew faster once more as his soft lips pressed against her thighs and her sex, igniting her body once more. She watched him withdraw slightly to lay his hands over her knees, which he pushed further apart. Air met the wetness inside her, giving her a strange coolness within her molten core and she sucked in a breath. He ran a finger along the moist folds and her whole body convulsed. Elizabeth yelped in surprise.

He ran his tongue over the tip of his finger then smiled at her.
"You taste wonderful, Elizabeth."

She felt her skin flush from head to toe and looked away. He caught her chin with his other hand, returning her gaze to him. Carefully, he leaned over her, joining his mouth with hers. She caught the trace of a heavy flavor on his lips and realized that she tasted herself. Disgusted, her hands pressed against his chest. He broke the kiss.

"That is vulgar!"

"It is natural," he told her, commanding her attention with the tone of his voice. It was the same tone she had heard him use when he held court. "We belong to each other now and there is nothing vulgar in knowing the taste of the woman who shares my bed."

She looked at him doubtfully.

"My sweetest Elizabeth, does it not give you pleasure when I touch you?" He demonstrated by sliding his finger across the slick flesh once again and another shudder racked her body. "I can see that it does. There is no shame in the demonstration of passion."

He sucked his finger clean once again and asked permission with a look. Gulping she nodded and he kissed her tentatively. She grew hungrier the longer the kiss lasted and soon her nails were scratching welts down his back. Finally, needing air, Darcy pulled away, satisfied that his pupil had learned an important lesson.

"I want to taste more of you. Will you allow it?"

"Yes," she cried. She wanted relief from the fire in her stomach and the tightly tuned muscles that were humming throughout her body, but nothing could have prepared her for his invasion.

Once again he opened her legs, fingers dancing over her sensitive flesh as he neared her sex. The air rushed her again, but was followed by a foreign feeling. She looked down and saw him lapping at her like a kitten to fresh cream. Her timidity immediately fought to crush his head between her legs, but her body forbade it. Indeed, her back arched and his hands caught her bottom to steady her.

It was a gentle invasion, his lips brushing against her, his tongue traveling over her, his fingers rubbing and rolling some tiny bit of flesh that made her forget everything. She felt his touch a little deeper and tried to draw him in, where something told her he needed to be, but he held back, refusing to cooperate.

Finally, he stopped, his eyes holding hers. He looked solemn and almost regretful.

"I cannot restrain myself any longer, Elizabeth. This may hurt."

How could anything hurt now? Not when every touch sent her spiraling in bliss.

Darcy finally removed his restrictive breeches and positioned his body, holding his tip to her core. He closed his eyes as he eased himself in, barely able to meet her gaze when he was within her. Her eyes grew wide and he placed a hand on the side of her face.

"I would not let anything happen to you. Remember all the pleasure I have brought to our bed tonight. After the pain, you shall feel that again. I swear."

"Do it quickly," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tight.

Biting his lip, he followed suit, not wanting to see her blanch and pushed his body into her tight, wet core. She sucked in a sharp breath and whimpered, her nails digging at him for a spilt second.

"I am sorry. I am so very sorry," he whispered, leaning close to her ear. He kissed her cheek. "The last thing I want is to give you pain."

"It is over. Apologize no more."

He opened his eyes to find tears begin to tumble out of hers. With a sorrowful shake of his head, he kissed them away, taking her salty tears like a communion.

"Can you forgive me?"

"It is my duty, is it not? There is nothing to forgive. Think of it no longer," she added firmly. "Now, bring back the pleasure lest I go mad."

He moved slowly at first, letting her stretch around him. With careful, controlled strokes, Darcy drew his length out and pushed it in so that she could accommodate his assault on her fragile body. He had never felt more miserable in his life, even as he knew he should be happy. The passion that he had awakened seemed to have evaporated as she lay silent and nearly still, sometimes flinching.

"Perhaps if ye quicken thy pace?" She suggested, seeing his misery and not sure why she cared that she never wanted to see it again.

"I do not want to pain you."

"I am not made of glass."

Obligingly, he did as she bade and slowly found her to respond as the pain melted away and the friction that replaced it became her focus. He was a man and, of course, had been trained by the finest whores in the country in the art of lovemaking. He knew a woman's body, knew how to play it like a violin, and he knew that the woman below him was going to forgive him the unpardonable sin of ripping her apart for his own damnable pleasure; her back arched now, giving him access to her deepest, most hidden spots and her voice rang holy, like the church bells they'd each dreaded that very afternoon. Her hands wandered about his body, drinking in the slick, hot texture of his flesh. For a moment, he forgot that she had been innocent and pure and he pounded at her body in his ecstasy, finally finding his release deep inside her.

After, he realized her body was still humming with energy and he placed his palm over her core, rubbing and stroking her into a frenzy. He watched her pant as she recovered and he settled back onto a corner of the bed, giving her space as he collected his own scattered, unsettling thoughts.

She belonged to him now, but it did not satisfy him in the way he thought it would. Her body was his, her vows were to him, but her heart was not and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. He had everything he wanted and it was not enough.

"Husband?" She asked in the dim light of the barely burning fire.

"Elizabeth?"

"Would ye please add more logs to the fire?" Her voice was soft and timid and so very unlike her.

He did as he was bade and returned to the bed, sitting on the corner again, still disconcerted. Elizabeth propped her body up on her elbows and leveled her blue eyes in his direction.

"Does the great Prince Darcy not sleep?" Her beautiful mouth held the trace of a smile that he did not see. At his sudden distance, Elizabeth's brow furrowed.

"I do," he replied absently.

"Then think no more on what is on thy mind and come lie down. If ye passed last evening in any manner similar to mine, I am certain ye did not sleep. The morrow shall be just as busy as today and we need our rest."

She held out a hand to him, which he took, and pulled him toward her. They fought the woolen blankets until they were both beneath them, Elizabeth facing her scowling husband. Her stomach clenched when he remained on his back, looking up at the cloth of the canopy above their heads, as far away from her as could be.

Though she had no desire to love him, she had just shared her body with him and was feeling forgiving. Fear flashed through her that, now that his quest to possess her was complete, he would cast her aside and never touch her again. After the bliss she had just experienced, Elizabeth was not certain she could spend the rest of her days not knowing it again.

"What troubles ye?" She asked tentatively.

"Nothing."

"Did I not please ye?" She inquired quietly after a moment. "Shall ye abandon me now that ye have had me?"

His face softened as his eyes finally focused on her. "Of course not! You pleased me a great deal and I find myself forming the belief that I may be in great danger of being unable to live without you. I am sorry, though, that I hurt you."

"I told ye to think no more on it," she whispered, a lump forming in her throat. He spoke with such tenderness, such sincerity that she could nearly take his words as truth and forget all the anger and hurt he had caused her. Nearly.

"I cannot help it."

She sighed, her body still needing to be close to his, and grabbed the hand resting upon his hard, flat stomach to pull him onto his side. She wrapped herself in his embrace and tucked her head beneath his chin. Her lips inadvertently brushed his flesh for just a moment before she shifted again.

"The pain was but temporary, my lord, and as long as thy affections are not, I am thy willing wife. Ye have awakened a part of me that did not exist before this night. Please let that mean as much to ye as it means to me. I am not easily won, nor am I made of stone."

He was shocked, but made no protests and pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head. Her breath was warm and soon fell into a slow, steady rhythm against his chest as she was drawn into the deep sleep of one who is utterly exhausted. He pulled her closer before he realized what he was doing.

His wife was in his arms. In one instant that word meant something to him as his claiming of her body had meant something to her. She was more than a possession to be had, more than an amusement for his pleasure. No, she was his princess, the woman he had chosen to rule by his side, to give him sons, nay, children.

Darcy suddenly realized, with a mixture of horror, elation, and guilt, she was what had been ignored, forgotten, and locked away for all these long years. The creature in his arms, sleeping and still so innocent, was his heart. For a moment he scoffed at the idea, knowing that part of him had long been dead, but, as she sighed in her sleep and put her small hand over his scarred chest, he knew it was true.

Yes, he had wanted to fuck her and he had stopped at nothing to achieve that end, but he had not fucked her. He had fallen in love with her and he had made love to her. Feeling unworthy of the woman in his arms, Darcy choked down the bile that rose from deep inside.

"I shall try, Elizabeth. I shall try to be the man who deserves you. I will be better for you."

Chapter Seven

The first thing Elizabeth became aware of was a pressure around her middle. It felt as though she were trapped under a log. She tried to move and wondered briefly why she was not in her own bed, with the sun shining brightly in when she realized that she was in her own bed and the sun was never going to greet her upon waking again. Behind her, Darcy stirred as she shifted and his breath caressed her neck like a warm, soft breeze. His skin was cool to the touch, which surprised her, though she was not sure why. It was a sensation she had not anticipated, his bare skin against hers and she could not say it was entirely unpleasant.

She let her mind drift to the events of the previous evening. Her body had forced her to acknowledge what she had been denying for months. Darcy was a beautiful man physically and Elizabeth, while naïve about many things, was aware enough to realize that she was attracted to her husband. It certainly did not mean that she loved him. She was not even sure if she liked him, but she wanted him, especially now that she had had a taste of him.

"I suppose you want me to release you?"

"If ye could just let me move," she suggested, rolling onto her back when his grip went lax.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am a little sore, but otherwise fine." Her voice was soft.
He brushed a sympathetic kiss over her cheek. "Are you still angry with me?"

"I shall probably be eternally angry with ye, my lord, but at present I can live with it and with ye." Some of her teasing tone had returned, but it was not enough to make him comfortable.

His fingers traced delicate paths along her belly and her body stirred. Right now, with his long, dark hair mussed and his eyes relatively unguarded, looking so very much like her painting, the way, she now knew, that she wished him to be: a more genteel version of who he currently was. Elizabeth wondered what it would be like if they had married for love.

"What time do ye think it is?"

He drew her close. "Early still. Not yet five."

"And we have other people to receive today," she muttered, burrowing under the blanket and, inadvertently, against her husband, who was more than happy to oblige her.

"Not as many as yesterday, I should think, but royal weddings are always tedious events. When Richard and Jude married, their celebration lasted for days. Poor Jude's hands were as calloused as a field hand's."

"So, I suppose I will not have a moment to go into the atrium today then."

Darcy stiffened for a moment, wondering why she felt the need to work on George's portrait. His stomach knotted at the thought that the previous night's activities had not swayed her in the least. It sickened him to think he was in love with his wife and she had no regard for him. A wave of nausea crashed over him as it occurred to him that he was being punished for all the misdeeds he had performed to secure her.

"You may if you rise now," he said softly, causing her to cast a strange glance at him. "Why do you look at me so?"

"Thy voice sounds sad. Having regrets about marrying me?"

"Not yet," he muttered dryly. "I just wish you would stop work on the painting of George."

She sat up and stared down at him, struggling not to lose her temper. It was ridiculous to live in a state of constant irritation and she vowed to refrain from growing angry as much as possible. She simply did not have the energy to face every day in such a manner. Of course, she thought logically, he would have no reason to suspect what she had really painted. Why would he? Without speaking, she left their bed and found her Reception Gown. Aware that he watched her every move, she took her time pulling the layers of silk over her head and twisting them into place. When she was dressed, Elizabeth looked at her husband.

"Are ye coming?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are ye going to accompany me to the atrium?"

"Why?"

She just stared at him until he got out of bed. He pulled on his breeches and linen shirt, but neglected to acquire his stockings.

"Thy feet are going freeze."

"Do not worry about my feet," he replied, pushing at the small of her back to get her going.

Down in the atrium, after setting Darcy in a chair, Elizabeth unlocked the cabinet, checking the painting. She remembered that she had not put it away and assumed Jane had had it taken care of. The paint was still slightly tacky, as oils generally tended to be, so she was very careful as she removed it. Gingerly, she placed it on the easel, gave it a quick look over, silently comparing it to her subject, and went to stand before her husband.

"Close thy eyes."

He sighed in frustration.

"Close thy damn eyes, my lord."

He chuckled and did as he was bidden. She took his hand, led him behind the easel, and stepped away.

"Ye may look now."

Dreading what was to come, he shied away as his eye fell upon his own likeness. He stared at his face, wondering how in the world she had done it, how she had matched him exactly without the benefit of his sitting for her. Taking a step back, he held out his hand to her. She took it and her mouth twisted a little, trying to gauge his reaction. He was shocked. That much was obvious, but there was something else there too.

"When did you begin this?" His heart felt heavy, as though it were made of cloth and soaked in oil. He had been so wrong about her gift and the irony that she was wrong about his was not lost on him.

"The night ye gave me the paint set."

"When you kissed me," he whispered, almost to himself. "Why paint me?"

"The canvas called out for ye. I simply obliged."

It seemed that she had never even thought to paint George and his joy at that thought was very nearly overwhelming. Trying to remain steady, he held fast to her hand, hoping that she felt every bit of what the gratitude, elation, and wonder that he was feeling. "You have an incredible talent, Elizabeth. I am honored to have been the first subject you painted in the North."

"This is your wedding gift."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This is my gift to ye."

"I cannot accept this! My gift is not nearly as good."

"I was not aware that we were engaging in competition, my lord. I shall make a note of it, but, until then, this is thy wedding gift and I shall be most offended if ye do not accept with the grace befitting a prince."

He squeezed her hand and chuckled. "I must say I figured a portrait of me by you would have been in a different light. The sort of light, I suppose, that gives me horns and three eyes."

"I did consider a third eye upon thy abrupt departure the other day, but I could not bring myself to mar thy countenance. It is a lovely face."

"Did you just pay me a compliment?"

"I did," she replied, turning to him. She placed her hand on his cheek, her fingers dancing over his cheekbones, eyes, and lips. "See, ye have the most incredible angles here and here and the way your mouth curls when ye smile, which is all too rarely, is fantastic. Ye are handsome when ye are not being ugly."

Overcome, Darcy pulled her into a hug and held her for a long time, staring at his visage over the top of her head, still incredulous that she had captured him in such an easy manner and that she had chosen to paint him at all. Finally, he pulled away, dragging her behind him. They were at the door to the courtyard and he was on the verge of exiting without footwear when Elizabeth dug her heels in and refused to budge.

"What is wrong?" He asked.

"Ye have no shoes and it looks very much to me as though ye are heading outside."

He looked down at his feet as though he were seeing them for the first time.

"This obsession with covering my feet is a bit disturbing."

"I will not have ye catch thy death and make me a widow so soon."

"Just think of the advantages to being such a young widow," he replied sardonically.

"I have never wished death on another person and will not start now. Ye are still a human or, at least, ye show characteristics of my species."

He laughed outright and pulled on a pair of boots that he kept in the mudroom. Quickly, he lifted the hem of her gown. Her satin slippers would be destroyed in the stables. He looked around and found another set of leather boots. Sitting her down on a nearby bench, he slid them over her slippers.

"Do they fit properly?"

"They fit fine, but they do not go with my dress."

Darcy laughed again and held his hand out to her. He led her through the courtyard and down the short lane to the stables. The stable boy was already mucking stalls and dispersing fresh hay, grain, and water. He made a note to reward the boy as soon as possible. He cast a glance at Elizabeth, who was uncertain and a little nervous. They stopped in front of a stall and he beamed down at her, pride showing plainly in his eyes, like a child who has done something special for a parent. She could not help but be moved.

"Why are we here?" She whispered, afraid of disturbing the caged beasts.

"I know you do not ride, but I think it is because you have never had a good horse. I searched all over and found the perfect mare for you. She is why I was gone. I wanted to bring her home personally for you."

Elizabeth took a deep breath, staring into the stall. The horse was indeed beautiful, but she was stunned by her husband's gushing words. He had not been out whoring and she should have known better! Jane would not have allowed Finn on such an expedition, regardless of Darcy's rank. No, he had gone out and found her a horse because he wanted her to ride. She did not have the heart to tell him that she had been thrown and severely injured as a child and had not been on a horse since, but, she looked at the animal and determined to attempt to overcome her fear.

"I am an ass," she muttered.

"No! It was my fault. I got angry and let my temper get the best of me. You thought you had reason to doubt me."

"No, I was looking for a reason to doubt ye. Ye have not so much as looked at another woman since I have been here and I picked a fight with ye. I am naught but a child and I would not blame ye for treating me as such."

He slid his arms around her waist, lifting her so that they were eye to eye.

"You are my princess, my wife, and my lover. I will not treat you as anything less than an equal."

She smiled sheepishly. "Do we have to formally declare a truce this time or should ye just kiss me and make it all better?"

"Are you actually asking for a kiss?"

"I believe I am."

"It is a most pleasant way to seal a pact," he whispered, bringing his lips close to hers. Their mouths met and most everything was forgiven.

When they finally parted, Elizabeth looked at her gift, appreciating her size and form, agreeing that she was indeed a fine piece of horseflesh. She even liked the animal's coloring.

"Where is thy horse?" Elizabeth asked.

"My favorite is Caddock and he is over there." He pointed down and over to a stall where a great black gelding was housed.

"Caddock? Does that not mean 'eager for war'?"

"Yes."

"Well, I hope he is not too terribly eager and rides the opposite direction in battle."

"You are very concerned about boots and becoming a widow. We are going to need to work on this."

She rolled her eyes and stared back at her horse. "She needs an equally powerful name then." She paused, turning in a semi-circle, her eyes closed as she thought. "Thora!"

"That is a good name."

"Then it is settled. Thora and Caddock."

"Thora and Caddock," he agreed, took her hand, and they went back to bed.

* * *

After her husband's kisses led to other more pleasurable activities, Elizabeth had fallen asleep. When she next woke she was alone in the bed. She wondered at the time, grumbling to herself about being on the west side of the house, and stared up at the ceiling. She heard a slight commotion in Darcy's outer chamber where his wardrobe and bath were located and she propped herself up on her elbows as he reentered the room, dressed and readied for the day.

She frowned that he had allowed his valet to assist him and cleared her throat when he paid her no mind as he attached his knife to his boot. It was mostly ceremonial, but he was always armed. The sword came out for more formal occasions and the dagger for everyday.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gruff and irritated.

"Whatever is the matter? Ye were fine just an hour ago."

"I was just informed that there is a land skirmish a little further north. Apparently, they need a royal arbitrator to settle it. It is part of an ongoing feud between two families and, frankly, I am tired of dealing with it. I have half a mind to claim their territories for the Crown and toss them off their lands."

"I would like to go."

"My sweet, it is no place for a woman."

"I am a princess now or so ye keep saying. A princess tends to her people and her people live on her lands, do they not? I want to go. I want to learn what ye do and how ye do it."

"We cannot take a caravan of carriages."

"I take less time preparing myself in the morning than ye do, my lord. I think I might be able to travel lightly."

"I am speaking of horseback, Elizabeth. Living out of a pack."

"It sounds as though ye are trying to convince me not to go."

"It is cold outside. I fear you becoming ill."

"I am not a fragile, sickly thing, my lord."

"You want to travel with me that badly?"

"I do, but on one condition."

"What would that be?"

"I will wear breeches."

Darcy crossed his arms over his chest, trying to picture his beautiful, feminine wife in a pair of breeches. His mind had trouble at first, but then the tight kidskin molded to the curves he had acquainted himself with only recently and his breath caught. He gulped down the moan that was building in his throat.

"Wherever would we find breeches to fit you on such short notice?"

"The stable boy is no bigger than I am."

"I doubt that child has trousers to spare."

"There must be breeches somewhere about the place." She stood and began to pace. Suddenly, she realized she was nude and quickly pulled a blanket around her body.

Her husband laughed.

"What?"

"You are brazen enough to want to ride north wearing breeches and you will not go about nude in your own bedchamber with the man who spent most of the last few hours inside your body."

She raised an eyebrow, sensing his challenge. He would not ruffle her feathers, though. "Do ye not have anything better to do? Should ye not be planning our departure and finding me breeches?"

"You will have the whole of Pemberley knowing that I allow my wife to run about in breeches?"

"One of us must be the man here, my lord, and if it falls to me then so be it." Playfully, she winked at him and giggled when he scooped her into his arms and pressed a thousand kisses to her mouth. "Go find my trousers!" She yelped finally.

"Yes, my lady. I am your servant."

She watched him go, excited about their trip, and rang for Heather to ready a quick bath. By the time she was finished and her long hair was tucked into a firm, neat braid, Elizabeth had worked herself into an almost fevered pitch. She returned to their bedchamber and found buttery kidskin breeches and a fine linen lawnshirt folded neatly on the bureau. There was a note.

My liege:


I hope these are suitable. I have rolled the only other known set into your pack. We shall depart as soon as you are prepared to leave.


Darcy, Squire

Elizabeth laughed at the note and dressed as quickly as she could, having dismissed Heather already she fumbled with the fastenings on the trousers and was disappointed to find her boots were hardly made for riding.

She went belowstairs, feeling slightly ridiculous and wondering why she had insisted on the breeches to begin with. Mrs. Reynolds was by the door with her fur-lined cape and yet another gift from Darcy: black riding boots that traveled up her leg almost to her knee. Quickly, she exchanged her footwear and exited the house, amid Mrs. Reynolds' protests.

Darcy was already in the courtyard with Finn and Jane and a few members of his guard. Jane was talking to her husband and friend and she was frowning. When she saw Elizabeth, her frown became heavier.

"Please tell me you are not really going to do this."

"I must. I will be fine, Jane. Ye have taught me well."

"Apparently not well enough to avoid trouble in the first place."

"Lord Darcy will be there. He would not let anything happen to me."

Jane shook her head and Finn drew her into his arms to comfort her. Darcy pulled Thora over and boosted Elizabeth into the saddle. It took her a few moments to remember what it felt like and how high up she was. She swallowed her fear to the best of her ability and, to Thora's credit, the horse did not act on Elizabeth's unease. Darcy squeezed her knee reassuringly and hoisted himself onto Caddock.

Elizabeth waved to Jane and Finn, who as Darcy's second, was in charge while he was gone, and swallowed her fear, pulling Thora's reigns and following her husband and his men.

* * *

With Darcy and the four other men surrounding her, Elizabeth watched the countryside pass to stay distracted from the fact that she was on a horse. Thora's gait was as smooth as it could be, but nearly three hours into the ride, Elizabeth was sore and was cursing herself for being so determined. Darcy, though, was ahead of her and rode with strength and confidence and she envied him a little.

He fell back, letting one of the men take the point position, to ride next to her. She tried to smile as Thora decided to trot a bit faster and she bit her tongue.

"Ow!"

"Halt!" He called out, pulling Caddock along side Elizabeth's mount. "What happened?"

"I bith my towng," Elizabeth replied carefully, flinching again when her injured tongue tapped a tooth.

"Do you need a break?"

Grateful, she nodded and let him help her down once he dismounted. Legs stiff and wobbly, she nearly tumbled, but Darcy caught her. He lifted her up, carrying her to a boulder and sat her down, rubbing her thighs and calves.

"Thy men are going to think me a weakling."

"My men think you are the most insane, brave woman they have ever met. There have been no other women who have had the audacity to ride out with us."

"The insane part I agree with. What woman in her right mind gets on an animal she is petrified of and rides for hours to make a point?"

"You are scared of Thora?"

"Well, yes, but it is better now than it was when ye first pushed me up on her. I was thrown when I was younger and have not ridden since. I was hurt pretty badly. Father told me that I nearly died."

He pushed a stray lock of hair from her face, wondering at his stupidity for not asking why she was not a horsewoman.

"Do not look like that. It was time for me to put aside childish fears and learn to ride properly. I am married to a horseman, am I not? It would be silly of me to allow my fears to better me, do ye not think?"

"Still I should have known that."

"Ye could not have known. Ye were not aware that ye needed to ask. Remember, my lord, that we are virtual strangers to one another."

"I know."

She stopped his hands and held fast. "Let me make a vow to ye that I did not make yesterday. I am an open book, sir. If there is anything ye need to know of me please ask. All I require in return is the same courtesy."

He had so many things to hide from her, but he made the vow regardless, hoping against hope that her questions about his involvement in George's downfall would never come to pass. With as warm a smile he could muster, he offered her a hand. She took it and they went back to the horses, arriving at their destination another hour later.

"High Lord Darcy, how glad I am you could make such a journey. I apologize for not being at your wedding, but you must be well aware of the circumstances that kept me at this point."

"Foster, I have not the time for your incessant groveling. Where is Hargrove?"

"He is in the Hall."

"Enough, Foster."

Darcy, who had insisted that Elizabeth be surrounded yet again, was led into the Hall of Nanningbrook Manor and immediately stepped toward the front of the room, where a large chair had been centered on a dais. He frowned for a moment, motioned to one of Foster's waiting servants, and whispered in his ear. Suddenly, another chair appeared next to Darcy's and he returned to the group of men.

"Foster, Hargrove, may I present High Lady Darcy, Princess Elizabeth?"

Immediately, Foster dropped to one knee as Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the dais. The High Lord handed his wife into her makeshift throne and faced the squabbling men. Foster was still bowed; Hargrove could not hide his look of disgust.

"Hargrove, have you a problem with High Lady Darcy?"

"She is a woman in breeches!" He exclaimed.

"Yes, she is," Darcy replied as if it were the most normal attire in the world.

"It is not right! Why should she be allowed here in any case?"

Darcy leaned forward in his seat. "You, Hargrove, are walking on dangerously thin ice for a man in your position. Continue to insult my wife and see how fair the outcome of this hearing is."

"Sir, if I may interject?" Asked Elizabeth.

Every person in the room looked at her. Hargrove, nearly bubbling over, turned red and began to sweat. Elizabeth stood and met her critic, offering her hand to him. He did not bow nor did he kiss her hand, a direct insult. Darcy flew out of his chair, but Elizabeth held up her hand, stilling her furious husband.

"Pray, Mr. Hargrove, why do ye not care for a woman in breeches?"

"It is not right!" He repeated. "A woman's place is where her husband demands her to be and she should be clothed in a gown when she is commanded."

"Are ye married, sir?"

"Aye."

"'Tis a wonder thy wife has not cracked thy skull with a pot, but it is not my place to judge. Have ye ever ridden a long distance on a horse, sir?"

"Aye?"

"And ye were wearing a gown when ye took this ride?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"The kind of question that, if ye do not answer, will insure a place in the stocks."

"No, I have not ridden in a gown!"

"Then ye would not know how impossible it is to manage a long ride, side-saddle, in the cold, in a gown. Until ye have ridden a mile in such a state, kind sir, do not presume to understand."

With that Elizabeth returned to the dais, smiling at Darcy broadly. His face did not change, but she caught the smallest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He was proud of her and, somehow, it meant something to her.

"You brought your Southern wife to bad mouth your people! You are a traitor to your territory, my lord." Hargrove spat.

"I think it is safe to assume that Hargrove will not be swearing his allegiance to the Princess any time soon," Darcy said to his nearest guard. "As a punishment for his traitorous ways, we shall confiscate his lands and divide them among the Foster and Burris clans."

"You cannot do this!"

Darcy approached Hargrove as the guards took hold of him. "I just did. You have been a thorn in my side for entirely too long, Edgar, and I am finished. I warned you last time I was called in to settle your ridiculous claims that I would not be so understanding if they were brought up again.

"Take him to the stocks."

"You have betrayed your own people, Darcy! You will not get away with this!"

The guards dragged him away, his screams echoing. The High Lord returned to the dais and accepted Foster's allegiance to the Princess and congratulations on their marriage.

"My lord, please feel free to bed here tonight. It is far too late to return to Pemberley this evening."

"Thank you, Foster. If you would be so kind as to have a servant take us to our rooms, I would be most appreciative."

Once they were ensconced in their chamber, Darcy lying upon the bed and Elizabeth curled up in a chair by the fire, the questions began. She had apparently taken to heart the vow she had made to him earlier.

"Were ye really so very angry with Mr. Hargrove?"

"Aye. The man is an utter bastard. I have never had an opportunity to dispatch him before. When he refused to acknowledge you, I saw my chance."

"Are ye truly taking his lands from him?"

"I shall leave him his house and the land around it, perhaps a few tenants, but the rest will be divided amongst the two other landholding clans in the area.."

"Ye could have taken them for thyself."

"No, that would have been a tricky prospect. You heard him. He was very angry about you being from the South Country, despite the fact that Richard governs the entire Country from there. There are others like him and if you attack one, you attack all. I will have enough to deal with by just breaking up his property.

"You were amazing down there today, though."

"I was simply being logical."

"You were simply being brilliant," he beamed.

"I was not so very brilliant. I was irritated that he had the gall to pretend I am less than he because I am a woman."

Darcy slid off the bed like a snake preparing to strike a blow and stood in front of her chair. Her eyes traveled up his body slowly, remembering the pleasure he had brought her the night before and her stomach tightened with anticipation. He offered his hand and in moments she was caught up in his powerful embrace.

"I have come to understand only very recently," he began, punctuating each word with a kiss along her jaw to her neck, "that you are less than nobody."

"That is very kind of ye to say," she replied breathily, wondering how much longer she could hold on to her dislike for him when he made her feel like this, and, once again, the past was forgotten as he plucked her from the ground and carried her to the bed.

"I do not think I had the pleasure of undressing you last night, my sweet. I must say I am glad for the delay. I have never divested a woman of her breeches before."

"A first? And here I was certain I would present a deviant such as thee with no new challenges."

"I have a feeling, my sweet, beautiful wife, that you will challenge me in ways even I have not imagined." He pulled the hem of her linen shirt from beneath her trousers, lifting the fabric away to lay kisses to her smooth, white belly.

Shockwaves rippled through her body at the contact and her fingers snaked through his hair, pulling it free from its leather binding. It was soft and thick and heavy. It fell over his shoulders and tickled her abdomen. She giggled.

"Do you like that?" He asked drawing his tongue over her skin.

She nodded silently and the stubble on his chin rubbed her roughly. He disregarded her stomach, sliding up her body, half-lying on her, and pressed his mouth slowly against hers, his long hair shielding them both from the world beyond the edges of their bed. Their tongues met to taste one another languidly. Everything slowed down; hands touched and dragged, kisses seemed to last forever, pressure took its time to build and they were both still clothed.

Finally, he pulled her up and brought the shirt over her head, revealing her completely. She had not even bothered with a corset and knowing that only a layer of linen had separated her from the world all day made his body ache. He circled her nipple with his tongue while cupping her other breast and massaging it ever so softly. A moan rolled through her and erupted into the air, stoking the fire inside him.

He pressed her body into the bed and stared at her for a long moment, committing her angles to memory. He let his index finger start at her shoulder and trace its way very slowly down her arm, up her side, and back down to the fastenings of her breeches. As he fingered the leather, Darcy watched her eyes, looking for a clue to what she was feeling. Her eyes were heavy and she was biting her lip.

"He could not make you feel this way, you know," he said softly, unhooking the trousers. He dropped a kiss on her skin as he parted her fly. "He could not."

"We shall never know, shall we?" She asked, not wishing to consider George's existence any further. "It is ye who is here. Why cause thyself pain thinking on it?"

"I cannot help it. I cannot stomach the thought that you might be thinking of him when I am the one touching you like this." With that he slipped a finger inside her and stroked her deep and slow. Her scent filled his nostrils and was more intoxicating than any wine he had ever had. His lips brushed over her and she bucked.

"Then take heart," she groaned, "that ye are the one doing the touching, my lord."

"Aye, my sweet, so I am, but I cannot help where your mind goes."

She sighed and sat up, wondering why he was determined to undermine her pleasure. Propped up on her elbows, she leveled an impatient gaze at him, making him feel more like a child than a man lying in bed with his half-nude wife. Embarrassed more than he could say, he instinctively buried his face in her belly. She felt sympathy for him, though she hardly knew why, and stroked his long locks with care.

"Ye cannot know what I am thinking and never will. I can only say that when ye do those things to me, there is very little in my head to contend with at all." She tugged at the bit of hair in her hand. "I will tell ye, though, that I am in no mood for further interruption."

He chuckled, pressed his lips against her stomach, and blew a loud, wet raspberry against her skin. She laughed outright, a sound he had never heard before in his immediate vicinity, and tried to roll away. With a firm grasp on her hips, he held her in place and delivered another and another until she was gasping for air and tears were slipping out the corners of her eyes. He brought his face close to hers while she struggled to calm her breathing and brushed the wetness away from her eyes with his thumbs.

"That is a beautiful sound, my sweet. I long to hear it more often." His lips touched hers lightly, lingering there for just a moment. He began to pull away, but she lifted her head and caught his bottom lip with her teeth, pulling carefully.

"Do not tease me any further, husband. I am growing impatient." With that she smashed her lips against his and yanked at his shirttails roughly. Fabric ripped and his shirt came away in her hands. He rolled over so she could pull the remains of the tattered cloth from his arms. She hovered over him, her knees pressed firmly against his hips. Her eyes drank him in, marveling at her sudden need for him. "Yesterday I hated ye," she whispered.

"And today?"

"Today I hope ye never stop touching me."

"I think you could hardly escape that fate, my sweet," he replied, running his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

She fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches, managing to get them open and free him. Her hand brushed over him as she examined the curious bit of his anatomy. It was warm and pulsing beneath her fingers and when he moaned she smiled wickedly.

"Elizabeth," he cried.

She lifted her head, her eyes burning with passion and need. Boldly, she imitated his behavior from the previous evening and pulled her tongue along the rippled, veined flesh of his organ. His body jerked even as his eye grew wide in disbelief.

"How odd," she remarked, breathing slowly against his tip. "I was not aware I could produce such reactions. I rather enjoy it."

"Elizabeth," he moaned again. "Please."

She nodded and he yanked her trousers away then grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him. The sensation was different that it had been before. It was like she felt more of him and not just deeper, but all around. He filled her, surrounded her, crashed over her like waves in the sea and then she was still. Slowly, silently, she rocked against him, his hands firm against the flesh of her hips. The friction between their bodies gained, driving each of them to the very edge of consciousness. Finally, Elizabeth's mind flashed and her body flared and she collapsed against his chest as her insides became full of him.

He stroked her hair, pushing sweat-dampened locks away from her lovely face. His lips pressed against her cheeks and forehead again and again.

"My lord, Elizabeth, that was unbelievable."

"Ye enjoyed it then? I am so glad I could be of service."

"You maintain this brazen behavior and I am very likely to give up all my duties just to keep you in bed."

"But, sir, whatever would that accomplish?"

He smiled, placing a soft kiss upon her mouth. "I think it might accomplish a great deal. It would preserve that delightful swelling of your lips after you have been kissed for hours. You would keep my mind and body more agreeably engaged than most of the goings-on at court. And, perhaps, the most important reason of them all; you would never again be in clothes."

"Ye hardly treated my attire as an impediment, my lord."

"Well, in some instances, my sweet, clothing is a useful tool of seduction, but most of the time, it is an irritating barrier to the much longed for prize."

"And I would be that much longed for prize?"

"The one I have looked for my whole life."

He kissed the tip of her nose and wrapped his arms around her. They fell asleep and clung to each other all through the night.

Chapter Eight

With no desire to return to their world of court and duty, the newlyweds hid within the confines of their bedchamber at Nanningbrook, delighting in their physicality and newfound intimacy.

Elizabeth had stayed away from the hard questions, though they were both more than aware they existed. She learned about his mother's indifference to him and his father's absolute devotion and that Jane had been the one playmate who had been there his entire life and when she married Finn Darcy was angry to have to share her. Despite having liked Finn from their first meeting, Darcy had banished him to the lowest ranks of the Royal Guard and had not spoken with Jane for months. It had only been after he had learned of Jane's pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage that he had put aside his grudge.

Darcy learned just as much about his bride and, when evening rolled forth, could easily inform somebody that she had started painting at a very young age—seven—and that her first pet was a hare that she had called Jump. He discovered that she had also had a sister who, like his, had died but not as an infant. She was good with numbers and happiest when she was in the company of a small party rather than huge gatherings. The conversation was easy and open and he found himself happy to indulge her.

They were curled up in bed, Elizabeth examining his hands, when the tone of the questions changed from light curiosity. She shifted, rolling to face him and her fingers lightly touched the waxy scar over his heart.

"How did it happen?"

"In battle," he replied curtly.

However, she was far from satisfied. "No. I want the whole story. Jane mentioned that ye had to defend thy right to rule. Is this a result of that battle?"

"No, the one on my stomach is from that battle."

Her touch trailed over that long, jagged mark and he bit his lip, trying not to recall the horror he had felt when it had happened.

"Who was he?"

"The loser."

She shook her head. "Jane says that battle changed ye, that ye came back colder and more cruel."

"Jane talks too much."

"My lord, please tell me," she begged, her eyes searching his.
He sighed and looked over her head. "I was nineteen when my father passed, barely old enough to grow a beard. Father's most trusted advisers assured me that my ascension to the throne would be smooth as Father was a well-liked and popular leader. Those very same advisers neglected to mention that my mother's nephew, my own cousin, aspired to seek revenge against the slight he thought my father's family had performed against my mother's memory.

"My parents' marriage was marriage of station. Father gained several parcels of land when he took my mother to bride. Her family, or, rather, several members felt insulted when Father refused to give them positions of power, especially after Mother died. They said Father sullied Mother's reputation with tales of infidelity and that he had painted her as a cold, unfeeling rock of a woman.

"I knew this to be true; my mother, as I have told you, was a callous and hateful woman, but I had very little dealings with Mother's family and was not aware of the severity of the accusations until Father passed.

"My cousin, Griffith, challenged my place, which meant that we were to fight to the death. I was not thinking clearly since I had just lost my father and had not been prepared to lose my throne. We fought a long, hard battle and Griffith nearly defeated me. He managed to inflict this, which did not fail to gain my attention. It was only then, exhausted and nearly willing to die because of it, that I understood how serious his challenge was.

"He let his guard down for a single moment, thinking his victory was at hand, and I plowed my blade deep into his gut. Sliced him from belly to chest. So, yes, it did change me. I saw blood, the same blood that ran in my veins, spill to the ground and I knew I could never take my place for granted. So I did what I needed to do to secure my throne."

"Ye poor man," she whispered, her heart aching for him and the loneliness he had to have felt all these years. She pressed closer to him.

"I do not regret my decision, Elizabeth. I ask no pity." He twisted away from her, leaving the bed to tend the fire. "I was raised to rule and knew no other life. If I had allowed Griffith to beat me, to steal my throne, I would have dishonored my father. So, I killed my cousin and trained with the best swordsmen in the Country to make sure others knew I would kill them too."

She kneeled behind him, wrapped her arms around his torso, and ran her hands up his flesh to his broad chest. Her mouth pressed against his shoulder.

"Ye are not a killer by choice, my lord. Ye do what is necessary. I understand that. There is no shame in it."

"I never said there was."

"Then why will ye not look me in the eye?"

He remained silent for so long that she was sure he was trying to decide how to best rid himself of her and her impertinent questions. She bit her lip, stood, and started for the bed. His cool, hateful voice froze her in place.

"Griffith was the first man I killed, but not the last. The man you see before you barely deserves to stand in a single ray of sunlight let alone bask in your glow. I am not a good man, Elizabeth. I am a cold-hearted, brutal warrior who knows no limits in securing what I want when I want it. Do not paint some picture of me within in your head that suggests I am a soul in need of saving. You cannot absolve me of all my past wrongs."

She faced him squarely, her soft curves fuzzy in the firelight and she glowed in an unearthly manner as though she were trying to prove him wrong regarding her divinity.

"I know ye are a warrior, my lord. I have no illusions about who or what ye are, but there is something within ye that whispers of goodness. If it did not, I could not lie with ye whatever my duties and vows required. No man is perfect and nor should he be, but ye are what ye are and there is no need to apologize for that. Saints and sinners alike still bow before their makers. We all answer for our misdeeds, but that it at the end. Ye cannot hate thyself for things that are beyond your control."

"Do you not understand?" He asked, desperation like lead in his voice. "I made justified choices in the beginning, but I have long since been corrupt."

She kissed his cheeks, sensing that his need for reassurance.
"Thy corruption has been realized, has it not?"

He nodded.

"Then ye have time to make amends." She smoothed his hair as she would to soothe a child. "I cannot fault ye for defending thy father's memory or thy throne. One does what one needs to do or have ye forgotten why I am thy wife?" She smiled gently, holding her hand to him. "My lord, there is a bit of good somewhere within ye. I have decided to make it my goal to unearth him."

"Your optimism is frightening, Elizabeth."

"I would not deem it optimism, my lord."

"Oh?"

"No," she replied, grasping his hand. "I would call it more a morbid curiosity."

"Really? Why?"

"Because there is more to ye than ye think. I want to know why ye think there is so little in the first place."

He rolled his eyes. "Then I am to spend the rest of our marriage being analyzed by my increasingly curious wife?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything I might do to distract you?"

Without hesitation, her eyes gleaming wickedly, she grinned. "Yes."

* * *

Early the next morning, the Pemberley party mounted up. Darcy had given strict instructions to Foster about the division of Hargrove's lands and informed him that an emissary from court would be arriving to see that it was done properly. On the way to the road, the group rode past the stocks where Hargrove, having been captive for two days, stood in soiled clothes. Children were throwing bits of rotten vegetation at him and drunkards were taunting him. As the horses trotted by, Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt at his plight. She slowed her horse causing her husband to do the same.

"My lord, is there nothing that can be done for this man?" She asked loudly enough for all nearby to hear.

"My lady, this man insulted you and refused to swear allegiance to your throne. What would you have me do?" Darcy asked, astounded by the real concern in Elizabeth's eyes.

"I realize that, but two days in the stocks is quite harsh. Is there not a gaol to put him in?"

"My lady, your lenience is most kind," Hargrove rasped.

"Quiet!" Darcy commanded. "Would it please the High Lady Elizabeth to see Edgar Hargrove imprisoned?"

"It would very much indeed, though I have one request, my lord."

"Aye, my lady?"

"No fresh clothes. Let him sit in his own filth in the privacy of a cell."

Hargrove sputtered and wailed as he was released from his bindings. He reached toward the princess, but was pulled back and she could not tell if he wanted to harm her or hug her. Unnerved by the scene she had caused, she bent toward her husband and whispered in his ear. He nodded and tossed a few pieces of silver into the small crowd. The children scampered beneath the feet of the drunkards and gained as much booty as was to be had.

The Pemberley party resumed course and the royal couple rode in the center.

"I am sorry I did that," she muttered.

"Why?"

"I disputed thy authority amongst thy subjects."

"No, you proved yourself a caring and compassionate ruler toward the people. I would have left him in the stocks another day, but you took pity upon him. That is a good sign, just take care to remember that pity has its place."

He watched her ride, noting with surprise how easily she sat upon the horse now. She seemed to him the most fearless creature in all the world and he wondered that she had fallen in love with George, who had seen nothing of her spark, of the life that she bubbled with. He knew, with the tiny doorway open to him, that he could draw her out and make her the happiest woman in the world. Looking back over the last few days, Darcy was convinced that he was well on his way.

Suddenly, Caddock lurched and Thora's hoof slipped causing Elizabeth to twist in her saddle and nearly slide off. Darcy's head whipped around, trying to find the source of the ruckus and saw eight armed men riding at them full speed. As quickly as he could, he grabbed Elizabeth and steadied her.

"Ride for those trees!" He commanded.

"But-"

"Do not argue! Ride!"

She sped off, gripping the rains tightly, bile rising from the fear of nearly losing her seat. The animal and rider ducked into the copse, hoping against hope that the attackers would be dispatched quickly. Through the leaves, she saw two men come upon her new husband and then the furious flash of swords. The horrible sound of crashing metal wobbled through the air like a foul disease searching for its next victim.

A bloodstained man, one of Darcy's attackers, fell from his mount, who trotted on, unmindful of the body beneath its back hooves. The other man fought on, matching Darcy blow for blow until Darcy's dagger appeared and ripped an unnatural canyon across his throat in a fatal mock-up of a joust.

The other men were engaged just as brutally and Elizabeth noticed that one of the royal guards had fallen.

"And look what we have here. A Southerner miles away from home."

She looked up to see a man only a few years older than she leering at her. His teeth were yellowed and his hair was heavy with grease. Elizabeth choked on his stench.

"Sir, I warn ye, harm me not!"

"'Ye'? Oh, that is pathetic! They neglect to teach you toads anything, do they not? You cannot even speak properly." He pulled his horse close to hers so that they were eye to eye. "But I suspect that you are a sweet bit of ass to have driven our High Lord so mad."

She struck him hard enough on the cheek that her palm stung and tears sprang to her eyes. He was knocked back, but not down and the horse moved with him.

"You shall pay for that, Sweet Bit," he hissed.

"And you shall hang for treason. Move away from my wife."

"She is at the tip of my sword, Darcy. This bit is going to die no matter what you do."

"Move away from my wife. I will not tell you again."

Elizabeth stared down, frozen, at the blade hovering against her belly. Slowly, it slipped into her mind that she had spent hours with her husband in the marriage bed and she might, even now, be with child. The thought of somebody harming her suddenly paled in comparison to the possible destruction of her innocent babe. She was unarmed, but she was not stupid. Willing him to understand her, Elizabeth met Darcy's eyes, took a deep breath, and gave a nearly imperceptible jerk of her head. Before the toothy man knew it, Thora had been yanked backward and Darcy was descending on him.

Once again swords clashed hard enough to cause sparks. The men fought hard and the traitor seemed to be able to match his opponent in every way. Unexpectedly, the greasy man switched hands and managed to slice Darcy's sword arm from shoulder to elbow. Elizabeth screamed, not knowing how bad the wound was, and grabbed Thora's reins.

"Stay back!" Darcy yelled at her, wishing she would ride for Nanningbrook. He took his own sword in his right hand and played on the traitor's surprise by running him through just as more riders appeared. He maneuvered Caddock in front of Thora and his three remaining guards followed suit, surveying the dead, the dying, the injured, and the new party.

"My lord! I rode as fast as I could. One of my spies learned of the plot to abduct and kill the princess and informed me. I was hoping to reach you in time."

"You have. I have injured men and I fear my wife is going to go into shock."

"You are injured too, sir!"

"Pay no mind to me. We must get back to Nanningbrook now."

Swords drawn, the new riders surrounded the Pemberley party. Elizabeth drew Thora next to Caddock and cautiously touched the blood on Darcy's arm. Without thinking, her eyes wide and tear-filled, she touched his cheek.

"I thought I had lost ye," she whispered.

With his good arm, he took her hand and then wrapped his bleeding arm about her waist, pulling her over to his saddle. He relished her scent for a moment, wondering how mad he would have gone if that blade had penetrated her. He decided he did not really want to know so he stopped thinking about it. With his good arm wrapped around her waist, she whispered for her to take the reins.

"You shall never lose me, my sweet. Even when you most want to."

"Tease me not," she said in a solemn, hushed tone as the riders began to move. "Without ye, I am an unwelcome stranger in an unfriendly place."

"You have made friends enough at court. This is isolated."

"Aye, it makes me feel isolated."

"Take heart, Elizabeth. The survivors will hang and the traitors died pitiful deaths. This will set an example to those who do not accept you."

She shook her head. "That is what I am afraid of."

When they reached Nanningbrook, Darcy wanted to tend to his wounded men, but Elizabeth insisted that he be looked at first. The physician met them in the same bedchamber they had previously occupied and carefully inspected the ugly gash on his arm. The blood had crusted over and the flesh was a swollen, angry purple, but the wound was not deep. The physician moved to clean it, but Elizabeth ordered him out to tend to the guards.

"You were worried about losing me. Are you now hoping an infection will set in?"

She snorted in frustration. "Nay, ye dolt. I will clean thy wound myself." Carefully, she washed the dried gore away and wrapped it in a soft, clean cloth. When the wound was dressed, she pressed her lips to the gauze then to her husband's forehead.

"A thousand thanks for saving our lives."

"What?"

"It occurred to me when that blade was against my stomach that I may already be with child. If I am I just wanted to thank ye in advance. Not every man would spill his own blood for his wife."

"Then that man would be a fool. Or he is not married to my wife, which is a good thing because his blood would spill regardless."

It was then that she began to cry, fat, heavy tears slipping down her round white cheeks. Her shoulders shook and her nose ran and Darcy watched it all in a fascinated sort of horror. He had caused many women to cry, but none had ever sobbed in his presence. Unsure, he gripped her shoulder and squeezed.

"My sweet, all is well. I am still here."

"I know," she wailed, weeping harder.

He bit back a witty observation and pulled her into his arms, sensing that she needed physicality instead of banter. Immediately, her breathing calmed though she still sniffled. Gently, he rocked her, smoothing her hair and whispering soft, sweet words.

"Surely, you cannot be this upset over me."

"Why not? Are ye not my husband? Are ye not the man I have lain with? Might ye not be the father of my child? Do not tell me that I cannot mourn or be scared."

"You loathed me two days ago."

"I did not."

He looked at her doubtfully.

"Perhaps I did, but I loathed ye under false pretenses as I have already explained. I will not have my sincerity questioned!"

She tried to pull away but he only held her tighter.

"I am not questioning you. I am attempting to understand why you are so frightened and upset. You have wasted many tears on a man you do not love."

"But ye are still my husband. I do not want to be left alone."

He kissed her forehead. "It would take more than an angry mob to pull me from your side, my sweet. I have already admitted to not being able to live without you. I shall not go anywhere."

"Do ye swear?"

"I do."

Elizabeth bit her lip, fighting back another wave of tears. "Go be with thy men. I would like to lie down."

He cupped her face for a moment, brushing another kiss over the tip of her nose. They stared at each other for a few silent, precious moments; he delivered one last kiss and left her to try to figure out her heart on her own.

* * *

It had been decided that the party for Pemberley would have a safer return in a caravan. Foster had insisted that they be taken back to the seat of the North country in his finest carriage with his most fierce guards. Darcy would not have accepted, but he was worried for Elizabeth and did not dare put her further into harm's way. After dinner, which she had foregone by saying that she felt ill, he was quietly informed that the two traitors survivors had been hanged and were both dead. He decided not to tell Elizabeth.

They retired early, deciding that it was best to start out early the next morning. Foster's wife, who had a similar figure to Elizabeth but was far less beautiful in Darcy's eyes, gave the princess a gown to wear for the journey and Elizabeth was staring at it when Darcy returned from his bath.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I wanted to make ye proud. I thought if I rode and dressed like a man, showed courage like a man, and was stubborn like a man that ye would be proud of me. Instead, I offended thy subjects and made a mockery of the throne. That is hardly behavior to make note of."

"Oh, lord, Elizabeth, do you not realize you make me proud just by waking beside me in the morning?"

Her eyes were glued to the dress. "What?"

"You might not have chosen to be there, but you are and it makes me proud to know that my wife is a thousand times more honorable than I. You are kind and fair and I take great pride in that.

"The events of the last days were not a test, my lady."

She stood, her fingers falling across the lovely white silk. "Then why do I feel as though I failed?"

"Because you hoped things might go another way? You wanted to see all parties get what they wanted and make sure all involved played nice. That is the nature of the beast, my sweet. Politics boils down to one thing: hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and never assume anything."

"I have so much to learn," she whispered.

"I shall teach you," he promised. He lifted her still mussed braid and kissed the back of her neck. "I will teach you about your place in my realm, in my court, at my side. Have you any questions and I will answer them. Have you any fears and I will calm them. Have you any desires and I will quench them."

He turned her around, pressed his mouth to hers, and lifted her from the floor. When he set her down near the bed, he offered no pretense to his need and simply ripped her ruined garb away then disposed of his own.

"This, Elizabeth, this is what it is. You and I together, bare and in need of each other. You need me to guide you through what it means to be a leader. I need you to show me how to be worthy of you. We must learn or we will fail and I have never failed at anything. I suspect I might not like it."

She touched the dressing on his arm, her hand running up the cloth to his bare shoulder then around the back of his neck, pulling him into a searing kiss unlike anything they had shared previously. It ignited both of them, the urgency of their need apparent to both from the onset. Elizabeth had to make sure he was real, that he had not met the end of a blade and she was not dreaming of his pretty words and Darcy had to show her how much he loved her, even if she could not feel the same.

They tumbled to the bed, clawing and panting and licking and groaning; their ferocity gaining as quickly as their desire. When he pushed into her, Elizabeth no longer felt pain, only joy and happiness that proved he was still with her. He poured into her all his love and wonder, wanting at that moment to confess himself to her, to tell her that he loved her.

As he wrapped his arms around her, his hands fell upon her belly, unconsciously stroking her soft skin. Silently, knowing that she was drifting into a heavy sleep, Darcy wondered, not for the first time, about what it would be like to father a child in Elizabeth's womb. He imagined the moment she would tell him she was pregnant and the joy that would fill his heart. His mind formed a picture of her with a swollen belly and he delighted in it. Ever mindful of the pregnancy and subsequent birth that had killed his mother, he maintain a healthy dose of fear, but let his fantasy progress until he was holding a sweet-smelling, gurgling girl-child in his arms. She was the very picture of her mother and Darcy had never loved anything more.

She stirred in his arms, her fingers twisting a lock of his hair, a habit she had already formed, and he smiled.

"Not only would I spill blood for the both of you," he said to his wife and unborn child. "I would die for you."

The twisting paused then she snuggled closer to him. Before he fell asleep, Darcy fancied he felt a tiny kick beneath his heavy thumb.

* * *

The journey back was uneventful and they were both glad for it. When they finally reached Pemberley proper, Jane met them at the gate and demanded to know what had happened. Patient and careful, Darcy revealed the gruesome events and tried his best to calm his friend. Unable to pacify her, he called on her husband, promising to receive a briefing later.

"How is Jane?" Elizabeth asked when Darcy entered the atrium.

"Upset. I left her with Finn. There is no use in pointing out that both of us are still alive. She tends to react badly to violence such as this. What are you doing?"

"I am starting another painting. I am waiting for thy portrait to dry completely before having it framed and thought I would paint Nanningbrook for Mr. and Mrs. Foster."

"That is very sweet."

"I suppose. It seemed a good way to thank them for their help and hospitality. We were rather rude if ye think about it."
"For using their home as a house of ill repute?"

"If ye want to put it that way then I would be owed quite a few gold pieces, do ye not think?"

"Gold pieces? Do you know what a man pays a whore? She would have to be of divine coital origin to rate a single gold piece let alone several."

Her eyebrow arched.

"But, you! You, my dear, are worth ten times more than that."

"Good recovery."

"Thank you."

"How are you feeling today?" He asked, suddenly turning serious. His hand was at the small of her back, rubbing gently with his thumb.

"Better. Not so scared. I think it is good to be home. That should help."

He nodded. "I think so also."

"Are we to greet guests tomorrow still?"

"No, I left word that any wedding guests should go ahead and take their leave. Richard and Jude departed while we were away and Finn has already dispatched a messenger to inform him of what occurred. We will hold regular business in the morning, if you wish to sit in."

"Thank ye."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Ye may stay if ye want, but I assume it might be rather boring for ye. I cannot imagine anything more dull than watching paint dry."

Darcy settled in a chair behind her and well out of her way. The form on the canvas slowly began to take shape, a soft, pastel look made fuzzy by the watercolor paint she used. The house was set far back in the landscape and Darcy slowly realized that she was painting her first visual of Nanningbrook. The stream that cut the property seemed to pulse and bubble in the foreground and, once again, Darcy was astounded by her talent.

Proud and not a little envious of her gift to create, he quietly slipped out of the atrium, leaving her to her craft and offering up a prayer that the nagging terror that he might still lose her would eventually disappear.

Chapter Nine

"Jane, how shall I know when I am with child?" Elizabeth asked as she and Jane sat in the atrium and darned socks for some of the village children. "I was at the birth of Mrs. Berne's babe and it was frightful, but he was large or so the physician said. I pray I do not have such a child. I might burst."

Jane smiled and set her work in her lap. There were times when Elizabeth was so cool and mature and then there were these moments when she was reminded of how young the High Lady really was.

"Your cycle shall stop," Jane replied.

"Oh! I am near to my beginning. Do ye think I shall know soon?"

"Very possibly."

"Wonderful! It would be such a gift for my lord."

"What about yourself? Would you not welcome a child?"

"I think I would. When we were attacked there was a sword pressed into my womb and all I could think of was what if it hurt my babe? How would I live with myself knowing I could not protect him?"

"I think you shall make an excellent mother," Jane said, smiling sadly.

Horror washed over Elizabeth's features and her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, lord! Jane! How sorry I am! I did not mean to dredge up those awful memories for ye. Please, forgive me."

"Already achieved, my lady. It was a long time ago."

Elizabeth bit her lip, her unspeakable question plainly pasted over her face.

"No, I cannot carry a child. It is fine, though. We have long since accepted our fate, my lady. It is difficult at times, but I manage. When my sister, Mary Collins, had her son, I was a bit jealous, but Alexander is such a lovely child that one cannot help but adore him."

The princess held out her hand. "Ye are a goodly woman, Lady Jane. I am proud to call ye a friend."

"Pardon me, Mistress, but the Master requests your presence in the Hall," one of the maids said from the door.

Elizabeth nodded and she and Jane made their way through the corridors of Pemberley to the large, drafty Hall where the business of the realm was conducted. The three huge fireplaces were all burning with great fires, but there was still a chill in the air as the banner with the Darcy family seal fluttered lightly above. But for business and the occasional reception, Elizabeth avoided this room like the plague. It was the place where she saw Darcy as the man who had conquered her instead of the man who held her tenderly.

Over the last two weeks, she had noticed the distinction between the two men that seemed to reside within the same body. When others were present he was the man she had met at the Assembly oh so very long ago; the cold, trying man with the iron will, but when there was no chance of others seeing him, he coddled her, smiled, even occasionally laughed with her and showed infinite patience. He was a conundrum, a puzzle that she was pained to have to solve, despite knowing that the resolution would have incredible results.

"My lord, ye called for me?" She asked.

He was bent over a parchment, his steward hovering nearby. He looked up, his eyes briefly flashing warmth before resuming their flinty stare. Curtly, he held out his hand and waved her over.

"Yes, my lord?" She asked once she beside him.

"Your throne has arrived, my lady."

There, on the dais next to his large, gilded, intricately carved throne was a small, cushioned seat that barely compared. It was elegant to be sure, but it lacked the same command, the same power that his seemed to present merely by existing. She realized he outranked her and that was fine, but, having become quite used to her high station, Elizabeth had to admit she was disappointed.

"That is it?"

Darcy looked at her sharply upon hearing the disapproval in her tone.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"It is a bit, I do not know, plain perhaps?"

"Plain?"

"Well, my lord, thy chair is so grand. I suppose I expected something similar."

Darcy cast a look about the room. Jane was smirking as she was prone to do when he was put on the spot and his steward was busily looking everywhere but his direction. There were footmen placed randomly throughout the room. He could not dismiss them all without causing a scene.

"I am sorry that you do not like it."

"It will do," she replied, sensing his irritation. "It is not as if I spend a great deal of time in here. Just the mornings when I tend to business."

He crooked an eyebrow to let her know that he understood that complaint too. With the skirmish between Hargrove and Foster, he had not had opportunity to explain certain things to her, especially once Hargrove was connected to the ambush and hanged for treason. It was the daily running of the realm that he had neglected to inform her of. She had done her best to learn by watching, but, he could see that she was getting frustrated and she was spending less and less time each morning in the Hall. Instead she preferred to be out amongst the people: attending births, the poor, weddings, and funerals. She wanted to show that the people meant something to her and she found a way, even when he had protested out of concern for her safety.

"Is that all, my lord?" She asked, her eyes wide, mocking him with her not quite innocent stare.

"Not quite, my lady. Will you accompany me?" He offered his arm and he escorted her to one of the parlors where he proceeded to lock the door behind him.

"Am I to be scolded by the master of Pemberley for my impertinence?" She asked, the corner of her mouth curling in a wicked smirk.

"You cannot behave like that in front of our subjects," he muttered, trying to ignore the sudden tightness of his breeches.

"Behave how? Like a spoiled child or a demanding princess? Ye have never deigned to inform me of my role, sir. Am I a princess in name only? Do I have duties other than keeping ye occupied in the bedchamber?"

He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his frustration to keep his arousal at bay. He was at fault, but he did not need her to point it out to him. There were worries enough without that. His concerns that he was going soft were growing steadily and he wondered if his people were noticing his newfound lenience. With all that had happened in the last few days regarding the traitors, he knew he was once again ruling from a precarious spot.

Suddenly, Elizabeth's mouth was covering his. He held her face and pulled her back, his eyes crinkled in a question.

"Ye looked worried. Ye never look like that."

"I am worried," he admitted. "The traitors have been punished and I dread a backlash."

"Ye will survive it as ye have survived in the past."

"In the past I did not have somebody else depending on my survival."

"Are ye implying that living for me is a hindrance to your form of government?"

Guilty, he looked away, his thumbs caressing her cheeks gently.

"Ye did not take into account that thy life would change when ye married did ye? Neither of us expected that things would change so drastically, but they have and we must accept them. Rule, sir, as ye have always ruled; with ferocity and certainty and know that I will support ye."

"Even if you do not agree with me?"

"Oh, ye shall know when I do not agree with ye."

"There was very little doubt in my mind regarding that actually."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her lips once again. The kiss was long and slow, each of them seeking comfort in the other as their lips were crushed together and their tongues tasted the exquisite sweetness. Neither of them knew how she came to be cradled in his arms or how they came to recline on the sofa, but when their mouths finally parted, Elizabeth was panting and Darcy was unfastening ties to loosen her gown.

"Surely this is no way to rule a realm," she whispered, moaning even as he pushed his hand beneath her skirts.

"Have you not found by now that I do as I please?" He asked, his lecherous grin causing her stomach to tighten. He dipped into the valley between her legs and stroked her softly.

"And ye certainly please." Her backed arched and her knees fell open.

He managed to free her of her gown and, for a moment, he was stunned. In all his years, he had never imagined that his own wife would be the kind of woman he would be able to have anywhere, but she had proved him wrong. She was lying there, skin flushed and lips swollen, waiting for him on furniture that had entertained visiting dignitaries. Fumbling a little, Darcy undid his breeches and leaned down.

"I never expected this, my sweet," he whispered.

"Expected what, my lord?"

"That I would never get enough of you. That I would count the minutes until I was near you again or hate the world for diverting your attention. I never expected that I was not and never had been whole."

"Hush," she whispered. "Come into me."

He did and things were suddenly clear. All his uncertainty melted away with the sound of her pleasure riding the air like high tide. They moved together, dipping and grinding, filling each other with security and joy. It was terrifying how much he had come to love her in such a small space of time and, as he watched her bite her lip, he felt dread sink into his heart and poison his all too brief happiness. If she ever learned the truth about him, she would leave him and then where would he be? Lost? Dead? An angry soul looking for a victim to haunt?

"Stop scowling," she commanded breathily. "Ye look as though ye are not enjoying thyself."

"You are quite wrong, my sweetest wife," he replied, coming back to her as always. "I am enjoying myself immensely."

"Show me."

He lifted her leg and shifted her slightly to drive deeper into her than he had been. She yelped in surprise, but eagerly moved against him to welcome his invasion. Her body tightened around him and he flicked her nipples beneath his thumbs, knowing that she loved when that sensitive flesh was taunted and manipulated by his skilled hands. He filled her even as she began her climax and then they were still; Darcy collapsing atop her shaking body.

Her breasts pillowed his head and he kissed the plump mound closest to his lips out of gratitude.

"I am not sure how to take this, my lord."

"What do you mean?"

"Ye display such ferocity in thy possession of me and afterward ye lie about like the world has put all its troubles upon your door. The change is quite obvious that ye are not as happy as ye were mere moments ago." Her hands ran along his back, through his hair, down his arms. "Do not hide from me. Remember the vow we made to one another."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He always remembered the vow and lived in fear of it. If he told her, he would lose her and he did not know how he would survive that. Cupping her face, Darcy sprinkled kisses over her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, and the tip of her adorable nose. She was his world. Suddenly, he realized he could lose everything and he would not care as long as she was at his side.

"I simply do not trust myself to be happy."

"Why?"

"Because what if you are suddenly gone?" He whispered, letting himself get the closest to the truth that he could.

"I am not going anywhere. We are wed, my lord."

"And that is the only thing keeping you at my side," he hissed, suddenly angry with himself, with the situation. He began to pull away from her, but she grabbed his hands and tugged harder than he had imagined she was capable.

Her blue eyes glinted like the steel of a blade. "Do not presume something so vulgar, my husband. I took vows, yes, but that is not the only reason I am here."

He looked doubtful.

"I have an obligation to the people of this realm, to my father, to my vows, but there is something else. Ye need me, High Lord Darcy. Ye need me as nobody has ever needed me before and I would never walk away from that."

Silently, he sat up and pulled her into his lap, skimming her neck with his lips. Tucked into his arms, Elizabeth wondered at how safe she felt, how protected and cherished. It was hard to believe that she had loathed him so much now that she found herself caring for him and wanting to assure him that he meant a little more to her than he assumed.

"My lord, ye are my husband and the only man I have lain with. That means something to me. Will ye try to understand that?" She pulled her finger along the side of his face. "I care about ye and what happens to ye."

He gave her a weak smile and nodded before clearing his throat. "We should get back. I am afraid I cannot help you right your hair."

"Pay it no mind. I am quite positive the whole of the household is aware what occurred in here. I hardly bothered to hide my pleasure and we both know I have that tendency to scream."

He laughed and chucked her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I cannot regret that I have such a vocal wife."

"Well, keep up the offending behavior, sir, and I may develop a severe case of laryngitis and then where shall we be?"

Smiling, Darcy helped her dress and, after a few more kisses that threatened to divest them of their hard-won clothing once again, he pulled himself away. He escorted her out of the room, longing to follow when she informed him that she was going out to the stables.

"I will see ye at dinner, husband," she said softly and held his hand tight for just a moment.

"At dinner, my sweet."

* * *

He missed the evening meal upon learning of a missing child who turned out to be hiding in a barn. Having gone out to search for the misplaced boy, Darcy was late in returning to Pemberley proper and when he entered his bedchamber that evening he found Elizabeth sitting upon the window seat, sobbing hysterically. He was at her side in a breath, his arms encircling her body as though she were a brittle glass sculpture. She clung to him, fingers unconsciously clawing at his neck, looking for a way to anchor herself in the tumult of her misery.

"My sweet, what is the matter? What upsets you so? We found the child."

She met his eyes for only a moment then pushed him away and pulling her knees to her chest. Heart in his throat and full of fear, he tried to approach her again.

"No. I am not fit," she croaked, pulling her body tighter on itself.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ye shall hate me if I tell ye."

He covered her cheeks with his hands, kissing her wet mouth gently, reverently. "Have you not realized yet that I could never hate you? You are my salvation."

"I am shamed," she whispered, not hearing his words.

"Why, Elizabeth?"

Unable to meet his gaze or escape his firm grasp, she closed her eyes. She took a long, shuddering breath and let her watery eyes look to his. Needing assurance desperately, she hurled her body into his arms.

"I am not with child!" She wailed. "I began my cycle this evening."

Glad she could not see his face, he bit down on the amused smile that teased the corners of his lips. Slowly, he pulled back to brush a sweet, loving kiss over her salty lips.

"Is that all?"

"Is that all?" She cried. "I cannot give ye a child, our child and ye merely brush it aside? Ye are the heartless cad that forced me to marry ye!"

He let the words bounce off of him, knowing that she no longer really thought such things.

"Why do you think you cannot bear a child, my sweet?"

"Because of all-" she bit off the rest of the sentence and looked out the window.

"Elizabeth, this modesty does not become you. You should be able to speak about it if you are partaking of it."

"We have bedded many times. I do not understand how I am not with child."

"Perhaps we are just not ready and nature knows such things. I would not object to keeping my lovely wife to myself just a few months longer, but if you were heavy with child I would love you no less."

Her head swung around and she looked at him sharply, breath frozen in her chest at his admission. Darcy swallowed hard, raising an eyebrow sheepishly.

"You know what I meant."

"Of course," she whispered.

"My sweet, how can you know what brings about a baby and yet not understand that your cycle does not mean you are barren?"

"I have spoken with Jane much about the subject. She told me that once I am increasing that my cycle shall stop. I took it as meaning I shall never have another."

"Not while you are increasing. It will resume when after you give birth."

"Oh." She looked uncomfortable again, resuming her vigil at the window.

"What is the matter now?"

"I should sleep in my old chamber this evening."

"This is your chamber, my sweet. I do not think I can sleep if you are not with me."

"It is not proper!"

"How so?"

"The blood-"

"I have fought in battles. I have seen blood."

"The pain-"

"You have seen, nay, you have touched my scars. They brought me a fair amount of pain."

"The vileness-"

"My sweet, nothing about you is vile. Your cycle is your mark of femininity and I will not be exiled from your company because of a little blood."

To prove his point, he lifted her from the seat and placed her gently on the bed. Cautiously, he began to pull the hem of her nightdress up, though her small hands batted at him. He paused, gave her a slightly impatient look, and her hands fell away. With the nightdress pushed up around her tummy, he gave the creamy expanse of her belly a playful kiss before retrieving the washstand. With great care, he pulled it over, making sure it was in reach as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"There are rituals that our people talk nothing about, my sweet wife. A man takes great satisfaction in caring for his woman when the need arises. It is not spoken of in polite company because a woman's cycle is rarely acknowledged at all, but when I was a young pup, my father took me to a brothel and I was educated very well." He gently opened her legs to remove the undergarments she was encased in. "I was introduced to Violet, a whore not much older than I, but far more worldly. She informed of the secret ceremony that all men perform for their women."

"Desist in talk of whores, my lord."

"I am merely explaining," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "Odd. It sounds much more like gloating."

He took the cloth from the washbasin and dipped the edge of it in the lavender scented water.

"My lord," she whispered. "No."

"Just a moment, my sweet, and you shall be ready for bed. Let me care for your body in my way."

Her knees fell open a little more, exposing her sex. He wet the cloth again and wiped her skin gently. When she was clean, Darcy dressed her in fresh undergarments and righted her nightdress. He cleaned the washcloth as best he could, satisfied that he had cleansed her as thoroughly as possible, and dumped the soiled water out the window, suddenly wanting to keep this to himself. After returning the washbasin to its original place, Darcy climbed into bed next to his exhausted wife.

They lay side by side for a few moments before she insinuated her body into his embrace. Her lips found his, kissing him slowly.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I know that was repulsive."

"It was not," he assured her. "When will you understand that there is not anything which I would not do for you? Washing blood from your body is hardly disgusting, sweet Elizabeth. In fact, I think you might have enjoyed it."

"I did not say I did not enjoy it. Ye were touching me. Since we married I have found that thy touch brings me nothing but pleasure."

"Then I shall employ my touch as much as possible for these next few days and then we shall put forth another effort to make your belly swell with child."

"Did ye mean it earlier?"

He did not play coy. There was no point. "When I said I loved you?"

"Yes."

"Of course I meant it. I know you do not feel the same, but I do love you."

She remained silent, but wrapped her arms around him and snuggled against his body. It seemed to be the only thing she could do without bursting into tears.

* * *

"Tell me about grooming," Elizabeth said as she and Jane walked through the gallery. Snow was finally falling outside and Elizabeth had found the hall too drafty to be comfortable.

"I have spoken of it before," Jane replied, rubbing her cold hands together.

"He rises before me, Jane. I have yet to assist him and I do not know if it is me or if it is him, but I feel that some of the ladies are beginning to question my loyalty. I think they know that I have not done my duty."

"It is not so much a duty, my lady, as a point of pride. I perform for Finn on special occasions and at least once a month. Some ladies only groom their men on special occasions and yet others only celebrate birthrights or nuptial anniversaries with ceremonial grooming."

"It seems so odd that something performed by a servant is a source of pride. I admit it seems unequal."

"Think of all our men do for us and it seems more than fair."

"I suppose ye are right," Elizabeth conceded. "I still have the problem, though, of never having done it at all."

"It is simple really. Dismiss the valet and order the bath. I assume you shall have very little difficulty dressing him."

Elizabeth blushed brightly and looked at the tip of her slipper peeking from beneath her hem.

"Exactly. See, you already have the basics down. Leave the rest to your imagination."

She was silent for a moment as she let her imagination wander to the possibilities bathing him would present. Licking her lips, she remembered Jane's presence and shook her head. "My apologies," she muttered.

"You forget that I was a newlywed once. I vaguely recall wanting to spend every waking moment in Finn's embrace."

"So my…appetites are normal?"

"Have you seen your husband, my lady? I might be married, but he is a beautiful man and I would be surprised if you lacked an appetite. There are many a lady who begrudge you your good fortune for having such an incredible and devoted man."

"And that is why they talk so bitterly of his lack of grooming."

"Precisely."

Elizabeth held her head high. "Well, then, I shall simply have to prove them wrong."

* * *

The First Grooming

It had been two weeks since Elizabeth's talk with Jane and this morning she was more determined than ever. Now that Jane had coached her thoroughly on the finer points of caring for one's husband, she was eager to show him what she had learned but he, however, was not being remotely cooperative. She had worried all night that he would rise yet again and leave for his dressing room so she was still awake when he began to stir.

She had wondered how he removed himself from the bed without her knowledge when she fell asleep in his arms every evening. Her theory of slipping out of his grasp during her slumber quickly fell to pieces since he seemed to move with her, keeping her close throughout the night, their skin touching in a thousand places all at once. Had she known how incredible it was to touch him in such a constant manner, she would have spent every night sleepless just to partake.

To her amusement, Elizabeth discovered that her husband talked in his sleep. She his voice had rumbled through the trunk of his body and tickled her ear as he spoke of strawberry wine and the dogs running off with meat from the dinner table and horses playing cards. His chattering went from sensible to absurd and then her enjoyment paled when his breathing grew frightfully rapid and his arms tightened.

"Forgive me, my love, my Elizabeth. Do not leave me."

Her heart had turned cold at the desperation of his words. Even when he was awake, he rarely spoke of love, having consciously avoided the subject since the night he had cleaned her. He treated it as though it were a deep, dark well into which he might fall. Until this moment, she too had been glad to avoid the lack of that particular feeling on her part, but his words were so very honest, so very frightened. His hands splayed over her belly and he gave a heavy, sorrowful sigh.

"When you go I shall have nothing."

The hopelessness of his words choked her. She had turned in his arms and pressed a kiss to his throat; her hands stroked his cheeks, hoping to wake him from the bitter dream, but his sleep-self had only feathered his fingers over the flesh of her back.

"Will you stay? Will you stay and love me as I love you?"

Compelled by his pain and desperation, she had actually answered him with a 'yes,' but still he had not waked and she was faced with the knowledge of his fears, even while acknowledging what her unheard words had meant to the both of them. She had said yes, but to what? Staying or loving him? She could scarce be sure. Not when his very real pain proved such a torment to her.

Now, though, he was slowly pulling his arm from beneath her pillow and untwining his legs from hers. Carefully, he sat, rolling his shoulders, the defined muscles in his back rippling beneath his smooth, dark skin. He was free and just standing when she spoke.

"Let thy valet be today, my lord."

He did not face her. His nightmare of her leaving was still too fresh in his mind. The worst part had been the cruel trick his mind had played on him when she had kissed him and said she would stay, said she would love him. His heart had nearly wanted to burst with joy, but even then he was not happy for he knew it would never be anything more than a dream.

"I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. It is early yet."

"Ye did not disturb me. Indeed I have been awake most of the night."

"Then all the more reason for you to rest." He started for his dressing room.

"My lord William, let thy valet be."

He froze, his naked body unmoving even to breathe. Finally, he looked at her. She lay on the bed, blankets tossed aside and nude. Her blue eyes were, for the first time he could remember, warm with something near affection. Overwhelmed, he landed on the edge of the bed heavily.

"Say it again," he pleaded, staring at his hands and the gold ring that winked from his finger, the gold ring that tied his heart to her.

Her heart raced at the tears she had seen in his eyes. Finally understanding the power she had over him, Elizabeth found that while her body craved him, her heart rejoiced in being the sole witness to the emotions that were so difficult for him to experience. Gently, she moved behind him and slid her arms around his chest. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"William, my husband."

His hand covered both of hers and he squeezed.

"Many thanks to you. I know you mean it not, but I thank you none the less."

"Goose," she muttered, irritated, her lips against his ear.

He gave her a look of amused surprise. "Where did you pick that up?"

"Probably from Jane," she replied sheepishly. "And I would not say it if I did not mean it."

"You do not love me."

"I am beginning to understand ye. Ye are a kind ruler. I told you before that there is a heart somewhere beneath the muck and I intend to root it out to determine what sort of man ye might be."

"If I am better at all, my sweet, it is because of you."

She kissed his cheek, still smarting from the bitterness of his nightmare. The taste of his skin distracted her and she moved her lips along his neck to his shoulder before regaining herself. "Then shall ye leave thy valet alone this morning and let me mind my husband?"

"I shall do anything my wife wishes."

She slid off the bed, standing before him boldly in a stark contrast with the shy creature she had been on their wedding night. Reaching around him, she untied the leather strap that secured the dark silk of his hair. It fell over his shoulders when she pulled her fingers through it.

"Jane explained to me why a woman should take pride in her man's appearance. I must admit that serving a man in such a manner seemed distasteful at first as if I was a slave instead of a partner, but after hearing what she said, I reconsidered the idea." Elizabeth ran a finger over his chest, smiling just a little when he bit his lip to maintain his concentration on her words. "It shows the world that ye have a wife who is devoted, but it is also the wife's way of leaving her mark upon her husband. A man who is groomed is a man who is cared for and, though I may not love ye, I care for ye a great deal and see ye as a friend. And the thought of another woman in thy dressing room fails to sit well with me."

"It is a good thing my valet is a man then, I suppose. You realize that wives do not groom their men everyday."

"Jane is an excellent teacher, my lord, but as I am sure ye have already noticed I am of my own mind."

"Indeed, I have noticed that particularly irritating trait." He grinned at her, grabbing her about the waist. Suddenly, the grin slipped away. "I am your friend?"

She thought about it for a moment. "I think ye are. Since we married there has been a difference in ye. I like this William."

"I was unaware that you even knew my given name."

"There are many things, sir, of which you are unaware." He looked so wild with his hair loose and her blood stirred with want.

He smiled.

"What?"

"You said 'you.' My dialect is overtaking your own."

She leaned forward, kissing him fiercely, the need for him nowhere near sated, but becoming more manageable. With a quick nibble on his bottom lip, Elizabeth tangled her fingers through his and pulled him from the bed. They headed toward the door on the right that led to his dressing room where Elizabeth rang the bell. She instructed Darcy to put on a robe and left briefly to retrieve one of her own. By the time she returned, the valet, used to readying Darcy himself was in the chamber.

"Fowles," Elizabeth said, her voice sweet, "I shall take care of my husband this morning. If you might have some water fetched for the bath, I would appreciate it."

"Certainly, my lady."

He disappeared and Elizabeth closed the door behind him, throwing the lock. Darcy's dressing room, like hers, had a separate, heated room for the tub, which had its own entrance. She locked that door also then approached her husband, who was leaning casually against the wall, his dark eyes lit with amusement.

"What?"

"You said 'you' again. I find it charming, especially the way you commanded Fowles with near perfect condescension."

"I was not mean, was I?"

He laughed.

"You sit your arse down, my lord. I have work to do."

"Such language!"

"Hush." Before he took his seat, she grabbed the sleeve of his robe and tugged it off his body, trying to keep sight of her goal. If she was to groom her husband to show he was hers, she was certainly going to leave her mark. She waved her hand at the seat and picked up the brush from the table on the wall.

The night before she had sneaked into his dressing room and placed his chair before the mirror since men's rooms were not equipped with vanities. She met his eyes in the glass and smiled at him, taking the brush to his heavy black hair. With slow, gentle strokes, Elizabeth pulled the brush through, carefully working around the few tangles that she found within the mass. She let her fingers graze his neck, knowing that he loved to be touched there, and was not surprised when she saw the lust seep into his eyes like water under cloth. Coy and calculated, Elizabeth removed the scarlet wool robe she wore to reveal a filmy silk confection beneath.

Darcy swallowed hard.

She remained behind him, leaning over his shoulder. "Now, am I not a better valet than Fowles?"

"Valets are supposed to help with putting my clothes on, Elizabeth, and yet I seem to be seriously lacking in garments."

Her eyes flicked down between his legs where he was growing harder by the moment and her mouth curled into a wicked smirk.

"Well, this is a learning experience for me, is it not?"

Quick as a flash, Darcy grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his lap. She crushed her mouth against his, her body immediately tightening and crying out for his touch. Their tongues met, clashing and snaking about one another, famished with desire. Her hands framed his face while he held her steady upon his lap, trying desperately to find the hem of her transparent gown.

Victorious at last, he yanked the edge of the fabric up, revealing her core. She grasped his shoulders and eased her body onto his, savoring the feel of him stretching and pulsing inside her. Kissing him again, Elizabeth suddenly remembered the agony he had endured during the night and her heart swelled for him. Her mouth traveled along his jaw, to his neck where she bit and sucked at different spots, sending him into a state of mindless joy.

She began to rock, moving on him carefully so she would remain in his lap. Once he realized she was fucking him, Darcy held her hips, guiding her subtly as she slid up and down his length. Her muscles clenched as she filled her body with his, holding him tight then releasing him and letting him push her back up. The long, sensuous ride slowly gained pace until they sought release from the pressure building between them. Finally, unable to resist her any longer, thrust his hips as she glided down him, their bodies making that final, fulfilling collision in a blinding moment of satisfaction.

They were both panting, her forehead against his and each holding the other's gaze as her legs relaxed around his form. Finally, when he was able to stand, he lifted her body, still locked around his, and went into the bathing room. His precious cargo in tow, he too locked the door then stepped into the large custom-made copper tub. Elizabeth easily fit inside with him. Once he sat down, she released her hold on him and settled onto his lap, nestling against his chest, not even caring that she still wore the silk shift.

He stroked her hair gently, sprinkling delicate kisses over her face on occasion. After awhile she looked up at him, her mouth twisted and her eyes uncertain.

"What has your mind going so?" He asked, stroking her cheek.

"Ye had a nightmare last night."

Beneath her, his whole body stiffened. "How do you know?"

"I was awake all night," she reminded him, deciding suddenly not to inform him of the words he had spoken. "I could feel it in thy muscles and thy breathing. Was it so bad?"

He refused to meet her eyes and she thought briefly about not pressing the subject, but her need to assure him got the better of her. Gently, she caught his chin in her hand and pulled his gaze to hers. She delivered a soft, tender kiss and smiled at him.

"Tell me."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"It is of no concern of yours. Speak no more of it." His voice was harsh and biting, but his eyes held only fear.

"I will not because it is a concern of mine. How can you cherish me as you do and yet not trust me?"

He snorted bitterly. "As if you cherish or trust me."

Flinching as though she had been slapped, Elizabeth let her eyes cool, leveling an angry stare at him. She placed her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to see her.

"I cherish the parts of you that you have shown me privately. You are a different man in company, sir, the cold, calculating man that forced me into this situation, but alone, you are a man who appears gentle and kind. Which of you is the false one so that I may prepare my emotions?

"And to say that I do not trust you is an insult! Would I let you have my body as ye do if I did not trust ye!" She was yelling now, falling back into her natural speech as her words grew more passionate. Suddenly realizing she was still in his lap, Elizabeth tried to find footing to escape the tub and quit the room, but he grabbed her, holding her still firmly.

"Forgive me," he said, the memory of those words in his nightmare shaking them both to their cores. "I had not realized it was so important to you."

She stared at his chest, her mouth set in a grim line while her eyes swam with tears. Her breath was hard and fast and her fists were clenched beneath the water. Cautiously, Darcy pulled her to his chest again, repeating the gesture of smoothing her hair in an effort to calm her.

"You left me," he choked out. "You left me and I was broken without you."

Unable to look at him, Elizabeth blinked back the tears as best she could. In that moment she knew that if would have asked her to stay and love him, she could easily answer yes on both counts. She touched the scar over his heart, fearing that someday there she might leave an invisible one there. He was beginning to mean too much to her as she saw this complex man's walls crumble away to expose him in his raw state. Blindly, she looked at him, her lips parted as the stunning realization of her own heart enveloped her. She put a finger to his lips and shook her head.

"Fear not, William. It shall never happen."

"Merely because of a vow, my sweet."

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, knowing that a few words would never convince him of her intentions. He would not believe her if she told him she loved him anyway. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Then how are we to get past this? How are we to make peace with our situation? When I promise to be with you and be your wife and you think it is only because of a vow or my father's home, how are we to trust each other?"

"I do not know."

She sighed, her warm breath cool against his damp shoulder. Finally she sat up and pushed back.

"Let me go."

He flinched, his ears not wanting to believe what she had just commanded. It was too much like his dream. Stomach rolling, he could only shake his head.

"Damn it. Let me go." She squirmed.

He released his grip on her body, his heart falling to pieces, but she did not leave the tub. Instead, she peeled away the wet shift she had been wearing and straddled his lap. Solemnly, she placed his hand over her heart and mimicked the gesture, her fingers brushing his waxy scar.

"If you want to believe that I do not feel anything, then there is nothing I can do to stop it, but know this. When you laugh my heart leaps, when you show fear my heart aches, when your mouth touches mine or your hands caress my skin my heart beats like mad and it does all of this for you. My heart has always been the true measure of my feelings and if I cared not a bit for you, you would have no effect on this mass inside me whatsoever. But you do, William.

"I am not made of stone and neither are you, despite that you had rather be. I am perfectly aware of how hungry you were for me on our wedding night, but you put that hunger aside and brought me to you gently, tenderly. That moved me more than you shall ever know.

"I have gotten over my anger at you and, by god, I have never been afraid of you, but you have got to give me an inch or I will hate you. I will. And not for the reasons you might think. I will hate your mistrust and your suspicion, which will color my opinion of you, and I don't want that.

"I am your wife. I promised to be your wife for the rest of my life. Have I given you reason to think that I would betray you?"

"No."

"Then, damn it, trust me." She slid her hand up his chest, cradling his neck and brushed her lips over his heart. "Let me be the best wife I can be."

He took a handful of her curls and ran his fingers through, aching to believe her. Her eyes, clear and earnest, searched his. She turned her head, pressing her lips against his palm. When she looked at him again, tears were tumbling out of her eyes.

"Please?" She asked.

"God, Elizabeth," he whispered. "I would give you anything: jewels, horses, land, and yet I know none of those things are as important to you as a promise. So I shall make a promise to you. I will trust you. I will care for you and honor you and do everything I can to make you happy while you are with me."

"Are you making an attempt to rid your life of me, sir?" She asked glibly.

"No. I have come to the realization that my life would mean very little if I did not have you."

"You cannot mean that," she breathed.

"I do. I have gold, lands, and power, but until you became my wife I had no heart. I find now that a heart is an infinitely more valuable asset."

She grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking his mouth to hers, and kissed him hard and deep in an attempt to keep her horror at bay. When he finally began to kiss her back, her body sagged against him, letting him gather her into a warm, solid embrace.

"Promise me one more thing," she demanded.

"If it is mine to give, then you have my promise."

"That you shall never let the thought of taking your own life become an action with consequence. I cannot bear the thought of you not being in this world with me."

"I swear to you." He found the dry bathing cloth that hung over the side of the tub and wiped at her tears with slow, careful strokes. Then, dipping the cloth into the water, he squeezed the liquid over her shoulders. She sagged, letting the tension of their argument melt away with the warm water.

The soap cake was in her hand and she rubbed it over his broad chest slowly, creating a thick, white lather on his skin. She handed it to him when she was done and he followed suit, soaping her skin with a tantalizing grace that made her insides ache with want. Longing to touch him, she kneaded his soap-slicked skin, working at the taut muscles in his shoulders from her seat in his lap.

His head fell forward to her shoulder and, taking the cloth from him, she rinsed his skin clean. Her teeth caught his ear, nibbling lightly, before pushing him back against the curve of the tub.

"You are clean, my lord William," she whispered. "Though I am not sure how long it might last."

She quickly rinsed the bubbles from her body and quit the tub, scampering out before he could grab her. He rose, water falling off his form, and it stole her breath away. He was so heartbreakingly beautiful. She stepped into his open arms as he came out of the bath. Effortlessly, he lifted her up and carried her back to their bed where he laid her damp body in the middle of the linens.

He began at her toes, placing light kisses on the tips of each digit. His hands stroke her legs, his touch so full of need she suspected it might suck the marrow from her very bones. This was an expression of his heart, a showing of the love he dared not tell her he felt. His tongue tickled her ankle and her involuntary giggle sent a warm smile over his beautiful mouth.

Lifting her leg, he let his lips and tongue play with the delicate skin behind her knee and before long, Elizabeth was panting and glassy-eyed with want.

"My bed is the only bed you shall ever have," he whispered, crawling the length alongside her form. "My body is the only body you shall ever taste."

"You, only you."

He smiled slowly, reminding her for a moment of the lecherous cad she had first met at the Assembly. Slowly rolling her nipples between his fingers, he teased her core with his tip then withdrew from her completely.

"William," she cried. "Please."

He took her hand and placed it on his length. He pulsed and throbbed beneath her fingertips and she was driven to stroke him, feeling every inch of the soft, hot flesh. His body began to shake as her hand worked him with growing speed. She sensed him near his release and opened her legs and leaned back into the bed.

Inside her body moments later, Darcy knew that she would never stray, every promise she had uttered earlier was unnecessary because her passion would keep her at his side. His body, his virility was an addiction just as hers was to him. He moved within her, touching her deeply, thoroughly until she was nothing but a tiny, quivering thing beneath him. His seed spilled into her, soaking every inch of her core with delicious warmth and release.

When they finished, Elizabeth gathered him to her breast, kissed his forehead, and disappeared from the bed. She was back before he opened his eyes. This was the way she was born to look: her honeyed hair wild and loose, her blue eyes drugged with passion and smiling that wanton smile that belonged to him alone.

"Where did you go?"

"I ordered fresh bath water."

"What if I do not care to wash the scent of you from my skin?"

She bent, taking the tip of him into her mouth. Her tongue danced around the slick head, tasting the wetness her own body had left behind. Carefully, she took him deep into her mouth, sucking and tasting, using her tongue to tease. He grew hard again, his breath coming faster while he marveled at the ease with which she had become such a lover.

"Then I suppose," she remarked, pushing him back, "that I shall have to fuck you so often that my scent simply never leaves."

With that she lowered her body onto his, squeezing her muscles tight enough to make him yelp and distract him from his shock at her knowledge of the most vulgar of terms.

Later, when they were sated and bathed, Elizabeth joined her husband at the door of their chamber. She smiled warmly when he gathered her up and swirled her around happily. Laying her hand to his cheek, she kissed his mouth, delighting in the fact that he was hers.

Her smile suddenly faded and her eyes grew wide.

"What's wrong?" He asked, concerned.

"We spent a lot of time together this morning."

"So we did."

"What if we made a baby?"

He hugged her tight. "Then I shall have another reason to live."

"Even if it would be a girl."

"Especially if it would be a girl with her mother's eyes."

"And her father's bravado," Elizabeth replied dryly.

He kissed her eyes and mouth as she laughed, the thought of Elizabeth wanting to give him a child made his brain tumble into an ecstasy once again. Despite knowing that one day he would have heirs, he had never thought of them as anything more than that. They would simply take over his lands and run his ventures, but now they would be a product of a union with the woman he loved beyond reason.

It did not matter that Elizabeth did not love him. She liked him, she craved him and that was well enough. And anything that came from Elizabeth had to be good for she was good. A child by his wife? It was nothing short that a miracle which he found himself craving once again. This time she was not scared or worried that she might die. This time she was thinking clearly.

"You would bless me with a child?"

"Is that not my sole purpose in life?" She asked, her eyebrow cocked.

He chuckled. "I suppose some people would expect it to be."

"I would gladly give you as many children as my body would allow provided you swear one thing."

"And what would that be, my sweet wife?"

"That you bounce them on your knee while you sit in that obnoxiously large chair belowstairs."

"You hate that chair with some might, do you not?"

"Only because mine seems so very small next to it. It is hardly fair."

He grinned, kissing her again. "I would bounce babies galore if you were their mother."

"I shall hold you to that, my lord William. If we made a baby today, a beautiful baby boy with black curls, you shall be bouncing by early spring. What a sight! Fearsome High Lord Darcy with a wailing infant and a cruel wife."

"A cruel wife?"

"Yes, for refusing to take the child from you while you hear court and take tribute. For leaving on tours while you remain at home. For deciding to never let you touch me again after the pain of childbirth."

"So you plan on becoming my mother then?"

She cocked her head in consideration, laughing when he kissed her playfully. Her arms locked around his neck. "I have no fear of giving you children. You are a good man, if not a little coarse and a touch spoiled, but a good man. I think a child would bring out the best in you, show you who you truly are."

"I have found somebody who brings out the best in me. I hold her in my arms at this very moment and pray that she is carrying a child that will not only join us always but be a reminder of the day my wife called me by my name."

Her face softened and her bottom lip quivered, but he only smiled at her. His heart was full and it was a new feeling, but he could no longer revel in it. He had a territory to oversee and was running very late, though he could hardly say that he had minded the delay. The morning had proved to be fruitful already, for indeed things had changed between them. Until now, mere lust had been their sole connection and, while it was not yet love for Elizabeth, it was certainly more than desire that had brought her to him. They had reached an understanding and it was more than he ever could have hoped for.

"My beautiful, sweet princess," he whispered.

"My handsome, abhorrent prince," she teased, kissing the tip of his nose.

Laughing, he finally sat her down, opened the door, and let her walk out.

And, for the first time, Elizabeth entered the Hall on Darcy's elbow, the High Lord's face set into its usual dour mask but for the brightness of his eyes. The High Lady's appled cheeks set tongues wagging immediately, especially once they saw the neat leather-trimmed braid trailing down Darcy's back and trimmed with a dark blue length of silk, the same silk embroidered into all of the High Lady's kerchiefs.

The Prince and Princess of Pemberley had finally, it seemed, made amends.

Chapter Ten

The letter came under the cover of night. A footman took possession and it was immediately dispatched above stairs to the Master's and Mistress' bedchamber. The knock fell upon the door and Darcy, irritated at being roused out of his hard-won sleep, answered in a foul mood, growling a demand of explanation at being disturbed.

"Master, this has just been delivered by express. Forgive the intrusion, but it seemed rather urgent."

Darcy snatched the parchment from the footman's hand and grumbled a rough thanks even as he closed the door. He lit a candle and sat down near the fire to read.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked sleepily as she leaned over the top of his chair. Her hand snaked down to his bare shoulder and his arm curled up to lace his fingers through hers.

"A letter from Lord Bingley."

"Lord Bingley? Whyever for?"

"I do not imagine I should know." Releasing his wife's hand, Darcy popped the seal and began to read.

High Lord Darcy:

Dear sir, I regret to inform ye that the recent treaty we negotiated has not gone over well with several of our local lords. I have been assigned the task of renegotiation and I fear it must be done as soon as possible. Please expect a small party that includes myself and my sister, the Right Lady Carahlyn, within a fortnight.

With regards,

Lord Charles Bingley

"He could not have sent it by regular post? Lord, I thought something dreadful had happened!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"It has. That treaty was vital. It was to allow safe passage of a large amount of gold through some treacherous territory. I wager the grouping of lords wants to renegotiate their protection price, which is unacceptable."

"Then respond with a letter saying as much."

"I cannot. That is the crux. The art of negotiation forbids me to refuse his offer to attempt."

"Oh. It sounds very complicated." Elizabeth paused, a thoughtful look on her face as she came around the chair and helped herself to a seat on her husband's lap. Her nose wrinkled. "Shall I be expected to entertain the Right Lady Carahlyn?"

He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. The one person in the world he wanted far away was coming also! She was vengeful and capable and unpredictable. His only hope was that he still had enough power to control her.

"Do you not like her?"

"Oh, not at all. She seems to think very little of me and very well of herself."

"She does tend to give people the impression that she is above them."

"I never said she was above me. I said she thinks she is."
He chuckled. "Very true."

"Were you lovers?"

He started and leveled a gaze at her. "What?"

"You have known Lord Charles and his wretched sister for years, have you not? There were women in your bed before we married. I simply want to know if Lady Carahlyn was one of them."

He had promised to tell the truth, but how does one admit to fucking the witch who cast the spell that brought about an unwanted marriage and caused months of anger and tumult?

"Yes." Easier than he thought.

"She does not seem like a woman you would love."

"I never loved her. You are the only one I have ever loved."

"Jane?"

"That does not even compare."

"And yet you sought pleasure in Lady Carahlyn's bed. Did she have affection for you?"

"I could not say. She was very discreet. Her brother would have called me out if he had known I had bedded her."

"He thinks she is a virgin?"

Darcy nodded. Elizabeth smiled wickedly, leaning in to trail her tongue along Darcy's ear.

"What are you thinking, wife?"

"Oh, I am thinking on the possibility that I may have to entertain Lord Bingley if his sister does not behave."

"You would have your guest call me out to defend his sister's virtue? Are you that eager to be rid of me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lord Charles is hardly a marksman, William. And I doubt he can lift a sword."

"You underestimate him."

"Fine." She pouted for a moment. "If you did not love her, why did you bed her?"

"My sweet, I am not comfortable with this subject."

"I want to know."

"I am a man. We fuck when the need arises and Carahlyn was willing and available."

"Oh." She chewed at the inside of her lip.

"I have never just fucked you. Every time has meant something to me because I love you."

"I know. Come, let us go back to bed and worry on this in the morning."

"Worry on my past lovers or Charles' visit?"

"Darling husband, past lovers are of no concern to me. They are in the past and, as long as they remain there, I am content to let them be." She smirked. "As long as you leave my past lovers there too."

"That is not even remotely humorous," he muttered, following her back to bed.

"Really? Then why am I laughing?"

She giggled as he rolled on top of her and proceeded to get very serious.

* * *

The fortnight passed quickly and, before Elizabeth knew it, she and Darcy were receiving Lord Charles and the Right Lady Carahlyn in the Great Hall. Elizabeth, sitting on her newly arrived throne, watched with interest all the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the Lord's arrival. First, his steward was presented then other minor members of his staff. Finally, the Lord and his sister appeared; Carahlyn looking more beautiful than Elizabeth remembered.

One glance at the woman and Elizabeth knew that she had made special preparations in order to see her former lover again. It was plain that Carahlyn still desired him and hoped that her looks would secure his interest. Her jet-colored hair was loose and tumbling down to her waist in thick curls and her green eyes glittered with emerald fire, but her lips were the coup de grace. They were plump and blood red and, Elizabeth thought, begging for one of her husband's incredible kisses.

"Lord Charles Bingley and the Right Lady, Honorable Carahlyn Bingley."

The siblings stood before the dais, bowing low.

"Rise and welcome, Lord Bingley. Rise and welcome, Lady Bingley." Darcy stood and offered his hand to Bingley then kissed Carahlyn's. "Since we have last met, I have taken a wife. Allow me to present High Lady Elizabeth, Princess of Pemberley."

"My allegiance, ma'am," said Bingley, bowing.

Carahlyn mimicked him with a low curtsey, but her eyes were icy as Elizabeth offered salutations. The party took a late luncheon, deciding to hold off the business aspect of the trip until the next day when they were not weary from travel. When the meal was finished, servants took the Bingleys to their rooms and Elizabeth pulled her husband aside.

"It needs to be said that the honorable Right Lady still desires your company within her bed."

"Surely not," Darcy said, wanting to ignore what he, like his wife, had seen.

"You need to speak with her and assure her that it will not happen."

"My sweet, you know I want no other but you."

"And Carahlyn needs to be aware of that as well. You may go speak with her now. I arranged for her rooms to be just far enough from Charles for you not to be seen."

"She is nothing compared to you," he whispered, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

"I know. Now go." Elizabeth crossed her arms around her body, shielding herself from the chill and stared after him. Her mind told her she had no worries, that he loved her enough to never stray and, while her mind generally agreed, it also worried that Carahlyn was more persuasive than Darcy's vows. "Nonsense, Liza. He loves you," she muttered, trying hush the uncertain voice in her head. "He loves you and you love him. It is as simple as that."

Darcy knocked softly on the door and it swung open gently. The room was scented with cherries and vanilla and he was certain that it was Carahlyn's doing. Elizabeth preferred less intrusive scents. Candles were lit all over the room and there, on the bed in nothing but a thin shift, lie Carahlyn. A languid smile slipped over her lips. With a flick of her hand, the door closed behind Darcy.

"Hello, my prince."

"Carahlyn, this is not going to work. I came here to tell you that."

"Oh? Of course, you did. I came here to convince you otherwise. Give me what I want or I shall tell the lovely little princess about your dirty dealings?" Carahlyn pushed her hands along her body seductively.

"You cannot possibly be threatening me, witch. Do you remember who assisted me with my sins?"

"Of course. Our desire for power is the one thing we shall always have in common, love."

"Things have changed, Carahlyn. I am not the man I used to be."

"She has made you weak," the witch hissed. She lifted the hem of her shift, exposing long, lovely legs. "I will remind you of your former self."

"I recall who I was on a daily basis and regret the man who had a place in your bed. I am not weak, but stronger than I ever have been and it is because of my wife."

"Your ill-gotten wife," she reminded him.

"I am aware of that, witch," he growled. "I warn you. Make no trouble and your brother will not find out about this and, therefore, will avoid a fatal duel."

"You would fight my brother if he called you out. He is your friend!"

"I would and you know I would kill him, Carahlyn. Let us avoid that possibility altogether."

She came off the bed, sliding across the floor. Her arm snaked up around his neck, fingers twirling the hair at the nape.

"Just kiss me once more then."

"No. Do you think me a fool, witch? Do you think I trust you? You have enchanted yourself or you would never look so unnaturally beautiful. Your kisses are a thousand times more dangerous than your words."

Her eyes narrowed. "I will have you again."

"You will not and that, my lady, is a very solemn vow."

He pushed her back and quit the room and within the witch only smiled.

* * *

"It is done," Darcy said, tying his robe as he came in from his dressing room.

Elizabeth looked up from the stockings she was darning and raised an eyebrow. The jealous part of her, the part of her heart that wanted to pretend there were no other women and never had been, had gnawed at her like a dog with a bone, but now that he was standing before her, looking irritated and discombobulated, she knew that he was still hers.

"Good," she replied and made another stitch.

He picked up a book and took the seat next to hers in front the fire. He opened it, stared at it for a bit, then slammed it closed, sighing heavily. She remained silent, still repairing the stocking. He tried to read again, but could not focus his concentration so he tossed the book to the table that sat between their seats and glowered at the fire.

"Tell me," she whispered finally.

"Tell you what?"

"What you need to tell me."

"I am simply frustrated that she could waltz in here and expect me to bed her as though nothing had changed."

"She probably thought it had not. Once you merely wanted me. When we married you did not love me. Why should she expect that to have changed? You did not expect that it would."

He stared hard at the blazing hearth. She was right, of course, but that did not mean he had to like it. It was now difficult for him to imagine a time when he had not loved her. He liked to pretend that it was love from the moment he had seen her, but he knew in his heart that was not the case. Still, it did not sit well with him that Carahlyn presumed she could reclaim her place in his bed.

"I did not expect to love you, but I do, and that is not even the point. I am still a married man."

"Be honest, William. Did you think you would be faithful to me? When we married did you not think you would maintain your stable of fresh fillies and fuck me when it was necessary? We both expected that."

He was silent for a long time and Elizabeth kept working on the stocking. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her, amazed at her perception, her brutal honesty, and her unflinching acceptance of who he had been. For a moment, he wondered if he should not just tell her how he had come to have her hand. Maybe she would accept it and forgive him. Perhaps she cared for him enough to understand. Then he realized that it was only with a woman who loved him that he could be forgiven.

"It has been a long day. Goodnight," he muttered, standing. He stripped away his robe and flung it to the chair as he made his way to the bed. He climbed in and pulled the blankets up high.

She waited, each stitch measuring out time until enough had passed. There were things that needed to be said, but it they would wait until another time. Neither of them were in the mood to delve into the past and discover truths they were not prepared to learn. Things between Darcy and Carahlyn were not as simple as he had painted them to be, but Elizabeth was willing to let it go in order to help him seek comfort.

Finally, the stocking was complete and she went to bed. He did not seem to notice her presence as she settled in; his eyes remained closed and he lie still on his back. Shifting to her side, she wrapped her arm around his body. His warmth flooded over her, but she suppressed the pleasant sigh it called forth.

"Will you not hold me?" She asked, her voice soft and steady though her insides were trembling.

Without words, Darcy turned and put his arms around his wife so that they lie face to face.

"Look at me please," she commanded and was instantly obeyed. "What is wrong?"

"I am shamed," he choked out after a long, painful silence.

"Why?"

"How can I touch you? How can you want me to touch you knowing what you do?"

"It is your past. I cannot keep reminding you, William. Let the past be. Carahlyn means nothing to you. Therefore she means nothing to me. It is a very simple equation, my dear husband.

"You have asked me not to be shamed by what goes on within these walls, upon this bed, and I am not. I will ask you now, once and for all, to think no more upon the women that came before me. As long as there are none while we are wed then all shall be well."

"You are incredible."

"You suffer from a vile illusion, my lord. I am no more incredible than any other woman who must reassure a man of his place in her life."

"Elizabeth," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

"Hush, my William, for it has been a long day and tomorrow is bound to be longer by many more hours. We both need rest to contend with the Bingleys, though I think you may very well have an easier go of it."

His stomach rolled at being called hers and he smiled at her. She smiled back, falling in love with him a little more simply because of the beauty of that often misplaced expression. His face was so warm, so soft when he smiled that Elizabeth wondered if she might not have fallen in love with him at first glance if he had done just that. It was as though his smile, his real smile, could not but help to touch his eyes and slay the cold beast that normally resided there.

"I do love your smile." Her thumb traced his mouth.

"Do you?"

"I do. You are beyond handsome as you are but when you smile you steal my breath away. I suppose it is because I like to imagine that it belongs solely to me."

"I smile in public," he protested.

"My lord, your smile upon being presented with gifts of state or a newborn noble is hardly the same thing. I prefer to think of those expressions more like grimaces of grace. You pull your mouth from your teeth to be deemed polite, but your real smile warms the whole of your face and sets your eyes to blaze. It is magnificent."

"Are there any other things that you love?"

Aye! A thousand now and more each day! She wanted to cry.

"Your arms. They are superb for holding me. Your chest. It is everything a man's chest should be. Your hair. It nearly rivals mine in beauty."

He laughed outright and she felt every vibration of it. Slowly, it began to build and soon they were both trapped in a fit of hysterical laughter. Tears sprang to their eyes and their chests heaved and they pawed at each other when Darcy made an attempt to tickle her. Finally, the fit subsided and, as they struggled to catch their breath, Darcy pulled her close again.

"I love the way you smell. It is so clean. It reminds me of purity for some reason. I love the way you speak the truth to me without flinching. You are the most reliable of all my advisers and, honestly, more underused than you should be. I apologize for that.

"I love the way your nose crinkles when you find something distasteful. You do not even know you are doing it."

"The way you say my name. Father has never used my whole name, but you have never called me 'Eliza.' It is almost as if I am two people, equally loved though in wholly separate ways. Eliza belongs to Longbourn and the House of Bennet; Elizabeth is solely yours."

"High Lady Elizabeth Darcy, Princess of Pemberley, is solely mine."

"Aye," Elizabeth whispered. "She is."

"The fact that people light up when they see you."

"How you look in or out of clothes."

"I have never seen more beautiful breasts."

"I love how your hair curls when it is damp."

"When I see you with a babe, I cannot help but wonder what our children will look like."

"How you look forward to the day we have children."

"The fact that you appreciate pretty lies."

She smiled, kissed him, and settled back onto her pillow. "I love that you need me and are not afraid of it."

"I love you. Everything. From this fire-streaked hair to the tips of your toes and all that lies between, including your warm heart and shining soul."

Tears seeped into her eyes. "You are beginning to sound like a poet yourself there, my William. Alas, I know that the words you speak are nothing but a gorgeous truth. One day, there will be nothing but gorgeous truth for us. I just hope that we shall know it when we see it."

"Trust it, my sweet, the moment you utter any gorgeous truth in my direction, I shall not only see it, but revel in it and sing it far into the reaches of the North. I live for that moment."

And, just for a moment, it was right. She could have said she loved him and he would have found his truth, found it and known it was nothing less than pure, but it passed as quickly as it came. A beat later and her moment was gone and she was forced once again to live in silence with her love for the man beside her. So, in its stead, she kissed him long and deep, pouring her heart into the physical connection and hoping against hope that he might decipher her love from that single kiss.

Alas, he did not. He merely tucked her body to his and was soon asleep. Elizabeth, having listed just a few of the thousand reasons she had for loving William, sadly began to tick the rest of them off inside her head, looking for sleep that was not going to come.

* * *

"Lady Carahlyn, how lovely it is that you could join us this morning!" Jane exclaimed, holding her hands out to the Bingley sister.

Elizabeth sat back with her sewing and watched Jane's false warmth emanate almost as if it were true. She knew, though, that had Jane really delighted in seeing Carahlyn it would have shone in her eyes and Jane's eyes were cooler than the witch's green gaze.

"Lady Jane, it 'tis an honor indeed. It has been several years since we last visited, has it not?"

"It has, it has. I was just readying to marry my dear Mr. Gardiner when last we met. Have you not yet found that special man? You know, the one of which your dearest brother approves?" Jane laughed heartily, but she—and Elizabeth—noticed the cold flick of Carahlyn's gaze.

"Nay, ma'am, I am afraid that I have not. Charles depends upon me wholly for my advice and counsel. I have no need of a husband or a lover."

Elizabeth nearly choked. Jane shot her a warning look. They had had just enough time that morning to decide how to handle Carahlyn and both of them had come to the conclusion that it was not worth causing trouble, though Elizabeth was dying to see how she handled the unbroken horse in the stables.

"Well, then, it sounds as though you have a perfect life," Elizabeth replied and she sipped her tea delicately. She had worn her husband's favorite color today and had awaked most pleasantly to kisses being sprinkled all over her bare flesh. There was very little that was likely to spoil her mood.

"I do, my lady. A most perfect life."

Elizabeth smiled and set her teacup on her saucer.

"Lady Jane, your presence is requested in the Hall," a maid said, dipping a brief curtsey to the room's inhabitants.

Jane looked uncertain, but Elizabeth dismissed her. There was not much Carahlyn could do that Elizabeth could not bear. Once Jane was gone, Elizabeth resumed her sewing.

"Charles probably longs to see Jane. He always did fancy her a little. He was terribly heartbroken when she married that Finn fellow."

"I was not aware that they knew one another."

"Oh, we are good friends. We have known each other for years."

Elizabeth did not miss the implication that she was the stranger in this scenario. Instead of taking the bait that Carahlyn laid at her door, she simply nodded in understanding.

"My lady, may I speak candidly for a moment?"

"You may."

"I spoke with George Wickham upon traveling North. He had heard of mine and my brother's impending trip and made it a point to seek me out before I left. He is still quite distraught over losing you, my lady."

"I am sorry for him," Elizabeth replied quietly. This was the very last thing she had expected. George was no where near Carahlyn's rank and it was surprising that she would have even considered an audience with him, but Elizabeth quickly regrouped. "But there is nothing to be done about it now. I have married and he should look forward to doing the same some day."

"I am afraid, my lady, that he is the very picture of single-minded pursuit." With that and a look of concern that would have been believable but for the cold glint in her green eyes, Carahlyn produced a piece of expensive parchment on which George's heavy hand was scrawled and pushed it toward the princess. "He insisted that I give this to you upon seeing you."

She hesitated only a moment before taking it. Feelings and images came rushing back to her as her fingers made contact with the letter. George's smile and giddy laugh and the way he danced found their way to her face in the form of a smile. Yes, she had loved George, but it was the innocent, fresh love of a girl who had never loved before. Now she was a woman with a husband whom she loved.

"You do him a great service, Lady Carahlyn. I wonder why."

"I think it is awful that your father sold you into a loveless marriage. I want to see things set right."

Elizabeth stood. "I thank you for your concern, Lady Carahlyn, if you will excuse me."

"Of course, my lady," the witch said, grinning as the princess disappeared from the room. "Read your letter and let your husband fall back in my bed upon his discovery that you are still corresponding with his competition."

Chapter Eleven

Dearest Eliza:


All has been ill since you were dragged into hell by that black-hearted monster. I have spent many nights drowning in a tankard of ale instead of sleeping with ye in my arms as it should have been, but that is over and done. I have realized that he will not return ye to thy rightful place and I must therefore fight him for thy release.


Thy father is ill and frets over his sins against us. We have made amends and he has demonstrated the depth of his regret well beyond what would have been sufficient. He begs me to retrieve ye and bring ye home. He no longer cares for Longbourn, stating that all that matters is thy happiness. He harbors the belief that ye no longer care for him since he has not received any words since thy departure.


I know, however, that it is the Blackheart that keeps ye from us. It is his iron will that hides ye away. He forbids ye contact with those who would see ye free and happy, but not for much longer. His day of reckoning draws perilously near.


Do ye remember that day on Bishop's Hill? I wanted to build us such a very grand life. It would have been simple, but we would have made it woven each day with wonder and joy. I believe we can still have that. It is our destiny to walk through this life together. Darcy is simply an unintentional obstacle. He shall see the error of his interference. I promise ye that.


I love ye, Eliza. I always shall. My days are long and empty without ye and my nights, when I am not nursing my wounds with spirits, are filled with terrible visions of how ye are being abused by his lordship. He has soiled ye and convinced ye that ye are unworthy of my love still, but that shall never be. His sins are not thy sins and I shall still consider thy body untouched when our own wedding night comes to pass.


Dearest Eliza, there will never be a woman to replace ye. If I cannot be with ye, then I shall not be with another.


I am coming for ye, my dearest, loveliest Eliza. Until then take comfort in my unyielding love.


Your Bonny George

Elizabeth held the letter in her lap. Surely George did not intend to come for her. He was a shepherd, not a warrior. He was not, from the information garnered, even fit to shine a sword, let alone lift it to smite another man. She sighed. She had won her husband's love and loved him in return, even if he did not yet know it, and now her former sweetheart was hell-bent on revenge. Any fight between them could only end badly and, with George fueled by rage, Elizabeth was suddenly unsure to whom the so-called victory would go.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood, smoothed her gown, and headed for the Hall. It was late morning and Elizabeth had not heard from Darcy since they had left their chambers, which meant he was probably still talking with Lord Bingley. Lately, he had taken to sending her short love notes that he had written during breaks, but she had not received one today. They were sweet and personal; nothing like the menacing letter of George's.

In the Hall, courtiers were scattered about like corn that had been scattered for the chickens in the yard. They discussed business or gossiped in hushed tones, casting conspiratorial glances and generally making themselves more important than they really were. Darcy was nowhere to be seen. His steward, though, was at a table talking with Lord Keller.

"My lady," said Henry Drake, standing and bowing. Lord Keller followed suit. "How might I be of service?"

"I have an urgent matter to discuss with my husband. Is he in the antechamber with Lord Bingley?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Would you please inform him that I shall be in my office?"

Drake nodded. Elizabeth thanked him and headed for the closest door, which lead to the room in which the High Lady attended her private business affairs. She sat at her desk and looked over the letter once again. It was certainly George's hand upon the sheet, but there was simply no way he could have afforded the luxury of such expensive paper. Her only answer was that Carahlyn had persuaded him to write it when he had called upon her. Elizabeth frowned at the words once again, suspecting the so-called honorable lady to have influenced George's words as well.

"My sweet? You needed me?"

Elizabeth looked up and gulped a steadying lungful of air. She nodded and held up the letter. "That vicious whore placed this in my hands today. She pretended that she was performing a noble office, but I am smarter than she credits me for being. I honestly believe that she influenced George somehow as he is not aggressive in the least, but she is a woman who has been tossed over and that makes her volatile and capable of much harm."

Darcy took the sheet and looked it over. The words were angry and his stomach turned when he read that George would pretend that his wife had not lain with him. His body shook with rage at the thought of the scheming witch's influence. Elizabeth had no way of knowing how powerful Carahlyn's influence could truly be, but he did and he knew that his foe would be more powerful with the witch manipulating outcomes.

"You do not think him capable of carrying out his plan, do you?" Darcy asked, tossing the letter to her desk as if it were poison.

"I do not know. The man who wrote that letter is not the man I loved. I have not encountered this not-so-bonny George. It worries me that I cannot know what he will do or can do."

"He is obviously looking to call me out."

"You cannot fight him!" Elizabeth cried.

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "If I am forced to defend myself, I shall, wife." His voice was cool.

"Speak not to me like that, husband. I am thinking only of George's safety. He is but a shepherd and has not seen a single battle unlike yourself. He would be a fool to call you out, but you would be cruel to answer that call. You are not so cruel as that."

"You forget who I am," he whispered.

She came around the desk, pulling his face down to hers. "No, sir. I recall exactly who you are. You are the good man I have come to know these last months. You are not the heartless bastard I once thought you to be. Do not pretend as though you are."

"He means to steal you away from me. He knows what it is to live without you and he plans to exact the same fate upon me."

Elizabeth shook her head and kissed his forehead. "You need to confront that vile woman regarding this letter. I have very little doubt she played a part in its conception. It is her who plots to separate us. I shall be damned if I let her own a victory over me."

Darcy's fingers skimmed Elizabeth's cheek then grasped her hand for a few precious moments. She smiled at him, warmth and affection shining in her eyes for a few moments before she ushered him from the room. Forgetting Lord Bingley entirely, Darcy sought Carahlyn out. His temper was boiling by the time he found her.

"What is the meaning of the letter you gave my wife?"

"You are a smart man, my lord. Do I really need to explain it to you? Your precious Elizabeth has maintained contact with her dear George and they are plotting her escape."

"And why would you allow yourself to be caught in this treasonous position, Carahlyn? What is in it for you?"

"Why the position of High Lady, of course. What better way to reward my loyalty to you by bringing the plot against you to light?"

"You are unbelievable."

"So you told me many times while I lie beneath you."

"I know that Elizabeth has not continued correspondence with George."

"Do you? Think about how she loathed you, Darcy. Think about her protests and her anger with her father. Think about the night she ran off with Wickham. Is it not possible they set a plan into motion to bring about your downfall? Wickham comes to call you out and kills you. Your widow, without an heir and secure in her position, remarries the love of her life and all is how she wanted it to be from the beginning, but for the lovely new lifestyle which you provided her."

"Nay. She cares for me."

"She does not and we both know it. You are blind with love for her and that is exactly what she is counting upon for a blind man cannot see what is plainly going on about him. She has been your wife in all things but she has never uttered that particular phrase to you, has she?"

He stumbled backward as though he had been struck. Carahlyn's words were making sense, but, no, it could not be. Elizabeth's looks had every appearance of the truth. She could not have feigned all the warmth between them, but it was simply warmth. She, of course, did not love him. He had wanted her because he had craved the lover he knew she could be. Could it have been true that she enjoyed the sex as much as he and it had only made her plan easier?

"Lies, Carahlyn. You speak nothing but lies."

"Then why do your eyes acknowledge the truth? Even if I were lying and your beloved Elizabeth was not playing you for a fool, you would still never win her heart. I have seen it and her heart will never be touched by another man as long as Wickham lives and therein lies the greatest irony."

Darcy raised a questioning brow.

"Do not be daft, William. If you killed Wickham to gain her heart she would only hate you for killing him."

Lost and reeling, Darcy retreated from the witch's poisoned presence to mull over the seeds of doubt that had been planted. They were just words and words should not hurt so much, but they had. Worse than that, they had made sense, a terrible, sickening sense. He loved his wife so dearly and wanted to believe that someday she would love him in return, but still she did not, even after all they had shared.

His feet carried him to his valet and numbly he spouted off an order. Shocked but wary, the valet only nodded and scrambled away to fulfill his master's request.

* * *

"It has been a long time, my lord. I rather missed our visits."

"I cannot claim the same," Darcy muttered, still not believing that he had planned to fuck Ivy, a former favorite, in Elizabeth's bed. That was until he realized that he wanted no woman but Elizabeth and that Carahlyn would get exactly what she wanted. He felt as though he had been on a wild drunk and his head was just starting to clear. "Go on, get dressed. This was a mistake."

She looked disappointed as she had missed the High Lord's company. Still nude, Ivy, nonchalant and rather brazen, dropped a deep curtsey then went about gathering her robes. She took her time, flaunting every angle of her form in hopes of changing his mind. Elizabeth cleared her throat.

"Forgive me, sir. I had not realized you were keeping company." She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her breasts.

"Be gone then," Darcy muttered, cursing his poor luck. Briefly, he thought of asking Carahlyn to do something about it, but pushed it away. He turned to his wife. No, Carahlyn had already brought him enough trouble.

"Who is she?" She asked as though she were inquiring about the midday meal.

"Nobody important."

At being called unimportant, Ivy snorted and tightened her gown. Elizabeth stepped fully into the room quickly to avoid being run down by the angry whore.

"Important enough to have disrobed for the Prince of Pemberley? Who is she?" Agitation iced her words.

His ire flared. Carahlyn's words rang in his ears yet again and insecurity about his place in Elizabeth's life spread through him like a foul cancer. He sloshed some ale into a pewter mug and gulped it down.

"A mistress of mine," he replied, reconsidering the addition of the word 'former' at the very last moment.

"And you visit her when? During my bath or perhaps you slip out of our bed and into hers after I have fallen asleep."

"Do not be absurd!" He railed. "I have not used her of late!"

"My lord, I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours. If you long for your whore, do seek her out! I only ask one small courtesy and that is that you not have her in our bed so that I might maintain the illusion of your loyalty."

"You speak so earnestly of loyalty, my lady. I wonder at your definition of the word."

Confusion washed over her face. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Is that not a letter to your beloved George? Are you not begging him to save you? How many oaths of undying love did you pledge?"

He was angry, but his eyes were filled with fear. She approached him, pausing when he took an involuntary, flinching step back. Even now, after all they had admitted and shared, he did not trust her. Her fingers reached out, gently stroking his arm and unknowingly soothing his worried, frightened soul.

"It is a letter to George. I did not beg him to save me. How can one be rescued when she is safe? I pledged no oaths to him for I have already made my oath to you. I brought the letter for you to read."

"Why?" He was truly confused.

"Were you not present when I showed a man very similar to your description the letter I received?"

A dry smile flashed over his lips. Even at his worst, she could always call forth a smile from him. "I was."

"Then it is only fair that you be allowed to read my reply, do you not think?" She offered the paper to him and noted his caution as he took possession. Rising to her toes, Elizabeth brushed a reassuring kiss over his mouth. "I shall leave you to read."

He shook his head. "No. Stay."

"Very well." She settled in her chair near the fireplace and took up the shirt she was working on for him.

Dear George:
Your letter, I fear, quite took me by surprise. I had resigned myself to never having your sweet words in my presence ever again. It was a gentle reminder of younger days before duty took a liking to me and made me a prosperous bride.

It seems so very long ago, that day on Bishop's Hill when you told me of the house you dreamt of building for us. A lifetime has passed since then and we have both lived a thousand years in just a few moments. I cherish the memories I have of you. Ye shall always be my bonny George.

If you ever loved me, you will do as I ask, nay, plead now. Please, please return home. Assure my father that I am fine and shall write to him as soon as may be. I had not realized the serious lapse in my correspondence. My duties here beg a great deal of my time and, at first, were quite overwhelming. I have learned since then and will vow to do better in putting pen to paper for the benefit of those who care about me. You will, however, understand that a correspondence between our persons is very likely impossible.

Trust, dear George, that I know what is best and right for me. In these brief months since my marriage, I have tasted power and wealth unlike that which I knew previous. People look to me for help and guidance. I should be a fool and a coward if I denied enjoying my role.

My husband, the High Lord Darcy, depends upon my opinion. I daresay he actually listens on occasion. It is with affection that I jest at his expense for I know that he listens frequently and rules the better for it. I am not the power behind the throne by any means, but my husband does respect my contribution to the running of his lands.

We did not see it before, as we were being ripped away from one another, but my husband is a good man. He has the potential to be a great man and I need to be by his side to assist him in that endeavor. You must leave me be, dear, bonny George. You must. I beg this of ye.

I loved you once, but I am another man's wife now. There comes a moment when the reason behind a choice becomes clear. I could have run with you, could have damned Father and Longbourn, but I made the choice to marry High Lord Darcy. If you find that you need to lay blame then let that blame lie with me.

Go home, bonny George. My place is at my husband's side. It is there that I want to remain.

ElizabethHL

There was no affectionate closing, just a simple, formal signature with her name and title. No endearments stronger than 'dear.' And there was the last line: 'It is where I want to remain.' She wanted to be with him! She was not going to leave! Carahlyn's evil words faded as joy filled his heart. Elizabeth was not a liar; he simply knew this. Carahlyn was only trying to poison him.

He dropped to his knees before her chair, surrendering all to her in a position that he had never taken before in his life. A queen and her subject and he hardly cared. She sat her sewing aside and he quickly captured her hands, kissing the palms with vigor.

"My letter wins your approval then, my husband?"

"You want to stay with me!" His voice threatened to break and the excitement in his words made her smile: dark, dangerous High Lord Darcy looked like a little boy. "I have never been happier."

She slipped out of her chair to the floor in front of him, her lips pressed to his just long enough to remind her how he tasted, though she doubted she would ever forget. Cupping his face, she met his eyes and held his gaze.

"You will trust me enough one day to believe what I say. I am praying that day comes soon. Until then, I must inform you that I will be the only woman in your bed and the only princess at your side.

"I meant it when I told George to go home. The work I am doing here has become important to me. I get to help people on a daily basis and see lives made better for it. That is a grand reward and you certainly are not a terrible price to pay for providing me with that special luxury."

"You have come to love my people, have you not?"

"They are a kind, generous people who want nothing more than what is best for those they love. Behavior I am certain they have learned from their prince."

"Who only learned it from his princess."

"I have nothing to do with what kind of man you are, William."

"That is wrong. You have everything to do with what kind of man I am. Before you, I ruled my people fairly but harshly. I was cold and distant and did not see them as people. They were simply stepping-stones. That has changed for me. And it changed because you came into my life and opened up my heart.

"Thank you."

She wanted to tell him now that she loved him. How she wanted to kiss his beautiful mouth and taste the word 'love' on it! It was not fair. She knew how she felt and he would doubt her. This sweet moment would fade away in distrust and hurt and it was all because she was in love with the man she had married. Instead, she swallowed the words and smiled brilliantly.

"I am honored that you attribute such a change to me. Now, my dearest husband, I believe you owe me a kiss or twenty to make amends for finding an utterly nude whore in our room upon our entry. You are just lucky she was not in our bed."

Curiosity piqued, he raised an eyebrow. "What would you have done?"

"What any royal lady worth her salt would have done. Pitched a fit until the bed was destroyed and I had a new one. Oh, and I would have denied you favors until the bed was to my liking, which, would have taken about a month, perhaps more."

"That is a rather harsh punishment," he replied, thoughtfully. He slipped his hand beneath her breast, squeezing gently through cloth as he tried to prove his point: she could not live without his touch. "How would you have managed?"

She leaned back on her knees, out of his reach and grinned. "I would have amused myself in the public humiliation of your whore."

"I have never known you to be a cruel woman, my sweet. You have no stomach for it."

"You would be surprised at the anger and envy that ripped through me at the thought of you bedding that indecent tart. She seems so very happy being nude. I rather wondered if she might be more comfortable on the square in Lambton, tied to that huge tree."

"Elizabeth!"

"Or perhaps she would enjoy standing nude under the window when the maid empties the chamberpot."

"Do you seek retribution from Ivy or are you merely exercising your royal rights?"

"A bit of both, I should think. You are my husband and I am a jealous woman."

His hand slipped around her neck, cupped the back of her head, and pulled her forward. Their lips touched lightly and, as the connection flared, were crushed together. Tongues danced, hands roamed, clothes were loosened so that Elizabeth could assert her wifely prerogatives. He pulled back, his breath heavy and fast, and stood, offering his hand.

She followed him up then turned her back on him and lifted her long hair, her plait long since unbound. The buttons of her dress were undone in moments and she took a deep breath as her undergarments were pushed away. His lips made immediate contact with her skin, brushing along the curve of her shoulder to the nape of her neck. A shiver went through her when his tongue trailed down her spine.

"William," she whispered and was instantly turned around, his face level with her belly. Her fingers were buried in the soft tangle of his hair when he worked his mouth across the expanse of her stomach.

Before he could help himself to the delights within her, Elizabeth managed to take a step away. She crooked her finger when he stared up and he followed obediently. His shirt was soon gone and she had become an expert at removing boots and breeches. Carefully, she kissed the flesh beneath his scar then wrapped her hand around him, squeezing very gently. For a moment she thought he might topple over, but he regained himself.

"Vixen," he managed, subtly guiding her toward the bed.

"Only for you."

"Thank god for that. You might cripple a weaker man."

She rolled her eyes and let him push her to the bed, where, after a brief power struggle, Elizabeth sat firmly atop her conquered mate. She stared down at him, wonder billowing through brain like linen drying upon a line. Had she really once hated him? How could that even be possible now that she loved him so dearly?

Leaning over, Elizabeth's hair tickled his chest which elicited a heavy moan. She grinned wickedly and slipped down lower to brush it along his abdomen, resulting in the desired affect. With agonizing slowness, she took him into her mouth.

For a moment he was shocked. It was an act she performed but rarely but there was no time to ponder it since all rational thought suddenly seemed to be a foreign idea. His brain flared white-hot when her tongue danced over his hard, hot flesh and her teeth skimmed him ever so lightly. Unable to constrain himself, his fingers snaked through her hair while her mouth worked him.

She knew his body as well as she knew her own and she brought him just to the edge then spat him out before he found his release. Not giving him a moment to protest, she slid down his body, holding him within her own just moments before jerking her hips violently.

"You have treated me to countless delights. Did you not think I would have learned something? I thought it time that I show you what an excellent pupil I am," she said on a jagged breath as she ground against him.

He was beyond words. Above him was the woman he had schemed to have and yet he had become her slave. He was a man of power and means and he did not bend easily, but for Elizabeth he was a mere reed in the wind. His body gave in and he found his release, soaring when she cried out at the force of it.

She was laughing when she lay down next to him.

"What?" He asked.

"I cannot say your reaction was wholly unappreciated, but repeat it and I may have to stop indulging you."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, but you surprised me. I did not realize-"

"Your power?"

"I suppose." She giggled, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Are you convinced yet of my loyalty?"

"I must admit that I did not doubt your loyalty, despite the nude whore. I know you and know you would not betray me, but that does not justify nude whores," she smirked and he kissed it away. "I was afraid Carahlyn might have angered you, which is why I sought you out."

"She did anger me. She twisted some ideas around and preyed upon my fears, but you need not worry about that. Carahlyn will not have the chance to pull my puppet strings again."

"Did she make you question my loyalty to you?"

"Yes."

Elizabeth remained silent and looked away from Darcy.

"I question it no longer, my sweet. She has such a wicked tongue that when she speaks it makes sense, regardless of how insensible the idea truly is."

"Do not go into her company again unguarded. If you must speak with her, please make sure another is present. Her brother or me, if at all possible. I trust her not and I will not have her poisoning us against one another."

"As you wish."

She faced him again, choking back her sadness at the ease with which Carahlyn seemed to persuade her husband, and smiled softly. "Shall I order us a bath before dinner?"

"Dinner is hours away."

"My dear William, I did not say it would be our only bath."

He merely chuckled.

* *

Mr. Bennet, frail and weak, stared out the window as though he were expecting an arrival. George found him like this more often than not and, at first, was glad of the sad scene. Now, however, it only fanned the flames of rage that rolled around inside him. Mr. Bennet, who had always been so kind to him and treated him like a son, had been reduced to a mere shell of a man. Some days George was not sure if he awaited Elizabeth's return or Death's single call.

"Sir, how goes it today?" George asked, retrieving a blanket and pulling it around the old man's shoulders.

"She sang for me this morning and Hill gave me soup."

At least part of the sentence rang true. Mr. Bennet had resolved his anger with Hill and George had sought her out, bringing her home to care for her master once again.

"I have sent word to her, sir. I believe she will be with us very soon."

The bubble in which Mr. Bennet lived seemed to dissipate for a moment. He stared up at George with the clarity that had once made him a kind father, a caring landlord, and a noble politician; all the qualities that Darcy had stolen when he had kidnapped Elizabeth. However, Mr. Bennet's private reality soon grasped him once again.

"But she is here now, bonny George. She is abovestairs readying for the day. Ye shall see. She shall be down soon and ye shall see."

George nodded, warming himself in the rage that was his constant companion. He left Mr. Bennet, seeking his study where the old man kept his long abandoned sword. It was polished to a brilliant shine and held the gold tassel that was his mark of service in battle. It was old, but it was still a fine weapon, a righteous weapon that would bring the Blackheart to his knees in payment for the misery he had caused.

He tied the blade around his waist and left Longbourn without a word. He stopped at the gate of the house and gave one last look back. It was today he left to avenge his lost life, but he had one errand to do beforehand. Gritting his teeth, he trekked to the grove where he had shared his final kisses with his beloved. On the open book stone there was a doe, exhausted from struggling against the ties that bound her legs.

The Lady Carahlyn, that noble, sainted woman, had given him an apple to feed the doe. She had said that if the doe fell, George would know what to do next; the doe was a test of his resolve and his courage to take on the Prince of the North. When the animal had collapsed, George knew that he would spill his first blood. He had to.

For Elizabeth.

She had become something more than his sweetheart, than his former fiancé, or even a woman. Elizabeth had become an abstract ideal. She was justice personified. If he could save her from the Blackheart then all would be well in the world. Love would be the true victor; George Wickham was simply a vessel which fought her war.

He drew the sword and brought it down hard. As the blood sprayed him and the doe screamed, George felt his courage screw into place. He relieved the pitiful animal's misery with another swipe of the blade and laughed because he fancied he saw the life float away from it on a bubble.

"Soon they shall burst," he swore. "And all will be well again."

He wiped the blade on the carcass, cleaning the blood as best he could while far away, in a great Northern house a witch laughed too, knowing simply that the sacrifice had not been great enough and another stupid animal was soon to be put upon the altar in her war with the Fates.

Chapter Twelve

Darcy and Elizabeth were lunching with the Bingleys when Henry Drake appeared, concern weighing heavy upon his lined face. Darcy immediately exited the room only to return moments later with his countenance as grave as Drake's.

"My lady, may I speak with you?" He asked and led her out to her suite, which was closer than his own.

"Some of my agents have heard rumors of a rebellion and it has come to fruition," he informed her. "They plan to strike from, oddly enough, the south. If I can reach them before they put their plan into effect, you shall be safer."

"Me?"

"They plan to abduct you."

Elizabeth leaned against her desk, the color draining from her cheeks. Instantly, Darcy gathered her into his firm embrace, scattering kisses over the top of her hair. How had it come to pass that she had become a pawn, a political liability to her husband simply because of where she was raised? Suddenly, Elizabeth felt her stomach turn. She pulled away from him.

"What do you mean if you can reach them? You have soldiers enough, men who would willingly die for you!"

"I have a wife I would move continents for, a wife I love beyond measure, but my men need me as well. I need to justify their faith in me. I need to be just as willing to die as they are."

"Do not even jest!"

"I am not. This is deadly serious. I have no desire to leave you, but I will not send my men out on a dangerous mission in my stead."

"You are being unreasonable."

"No, my lady, you are being unreasonable!" He sighed as she turned away from him. He grasped her shoulders, placing a kiss on her neck. "My sweet Elizabeth, I know not which is worse: quarreling with you or being parted from you. You cannot believe I actually want to go. Dearest Lizzy, I do not, but I must. If I do not protect you and my position then I shall not be fit to hold it."

Not being a complete dolt, she did understand, perhaps more than she would have liked. She had enjoyed the perks of her position, there was simply no denying that, but now there came the price. Her husband, she suddenly realized, did not belong to her alone. He was the regent of this land she had come to love, the ruler beloved by their people, and she merely shared him with them. Despite this, she was still unhappy.

"I know, but-"

"We have no choice."

She huffed, still determined to be angry, though it was more at the world than at her husband. "Some claim there is always a choice."

"Those people are fools." Darcy's voice was tired. "Can we not fight about this? Can we just enjoy each other's company?"

"We have to finish dinner, however unpleasant."

"Actually, I cannot. I must assemble my men and ride out as soon as may be. I was hoping you would be at my side until then."

"Can you not wait until morning? William! I do not think I can do this!"

"You can. You must, my sweet. I will be back within days. Trust that, please." He held her fast. "When you look at what I have to come home to, you see that I shall not die easy. I will fight hard and halt these men in their tracks."

"I hate this," she whimpered. She lifted her face and stared at him. "These men do not understand that I want what is best for the people of this realm. I shall not be sorry if you kill them all for putting us through this."

He brushed a kiss over her forehead. "Come. I must speak with Charles to see to your protection while I am gone."

"Charles Bingley? Why should he be the one to care for me? I want the Bingleys gone before you leave. I have Jane and Finn."

"I must take Finn with me. I need you to rule in my stead. I believe you can do it. However, I want Charles to be here. He is my old friend and I trust him to protect you like I would."

"And, yet his sister longs for my head upon a platter. You shall think me safe with that viper in our midst?"

He lost his patience then and let go of her. Why must everything be a fight? "I have very little choice."

"Henry shall be here."

"Henry is an old man who can barely lift a fork let alone a sword! Elizabeth, be reasonable. He is not a great fighter, but Charles can protect you better than Henry."

"Fine. Leave."
"Do not act like a child, Elizabeth."

"Now I am a child? I advise you to quit speaking, sir, before you meet your fate on the end of my sword!"

He knew it was her fear talking. Somewhere inside his head, he knew she was terrified that she might lose him altogether and that made her believe she was perfectly justified in her anger. Previous experience had taught him, though, that coddling her would make it worse and fighting back would only irritate her more.

"I must ready my men. I shall seek you out before I ride."

"Do not bother," she mumbled quietly, part of her hoping that he would not hear her.

He ignored the fact that she had to have the last word and returned to the dining room where he sought Bingley's counsel. He and Bingley quit the room, leaving Carahlyn staring at her glass of red wine. A wicked little smirk slipped over her lovely lips. She took some dried herb from her handkerchief and sprinkled it in the glass, whispering a few words which made the candle flame before her dance.

In her mind's eye, George appeared. For a moment he looked startled, but then smiled as if he saw an old friend.

"My dear George, things are all going to plan. You shall have your Elizabeth soon."

"I appreciate all you have done for me, my lady," George said with a perfect Northern accent. "You truly understand my sorrow."

"I do. It is horrible what has been done to you. You should see the way she is treated here. It is appalling." Of course, it was appalling that such a girl should live in such splendor, have the adoration of a man such as Darcy, and possess the sort of power she was just coming in to, but George did not need to know that.

"I can scarce imagine, my lady."

"Do not try, George. You would be fearsome if you did."

"I should be fierce for Elizabeth regardless, my lady. I have learned several things from my new comrades, but I dislike hearing them speak ill of my sweetheart."

"We discussed this, George. You must pretend to believe in what your Northern counterparts believe in. You need not have anything to do with politics, my friend. Just use these men. They will help you attain your Elizabeth."

"Yes," he whispered like a man who has had too much drink. "My Elizabeth."

Carahlyn fought to keep from rolling her eyes. What was it about this tiny troll of a girl that had men so enamored? She lifted the candle she'd used as a part of her connection to the young fool and drowned the flame in the herbed wine. As an insult to the Fates she was now defying, she raised the glass to her lips in a mock toast and sipped the bitter, ruined liquid.

Darcy was on his way to kill George; of that much she was certain. The shepherd would die and Elizabeth would loathe Darcy. Carahlyn would finally win. Of course, the idiot George had no idea he was going to die and Carahlyn could not help but find it ever so slightly amusing.

She threw back the last of her wretched wine and left the dining room. She had a prince to see off after all.

* * *

"She means to unnerve you, my lady. Do not let her," Jane whispered to Elizabeth when Carahlyn appeared. The lady stood solemnly next to her brother, her eyes fixed upon some fascinating stone on the ground, wringing her hands nervously. It seemed everybody but Bingley knew that it was merely an act, but he put a comforting arm around her nonetheless.

"You mean to leave me with such a daft idiot?" Elizabeth whispered to her husband. "He cannot even see her obvious lies."

"He loves his sister, my sweet. We rarely see faults in those we love."

She bit her tongue to avoid pointing out that, at this particular moment, she was perfectly aware of every one of Darcy's faults. Instead, she forced herself to meet his eyes and her anger instantly dissipated. She blinked back her tears and tried to take a deep breath to keep from sobbing, but her lungs shuddered and her tears tumbled out anyway.

"I cannot do this. I feel as though-"

"Hush. Do not say it. Do not even think it. Warriors are a superstitious lot, my sweet. We take things to heart."

Elizabeth looked over at Jane and Finn, who were saying their own goodbye without even talking. Jane merely stared into Finn's eyes and his thumb caressed her perfect cheekbone. The princess gazed at Darcy, who was dwarfed by Caddock fidgeting behind him, and twined her fingers through his. Her lips brushed his knuckles.

"Be safe, my William. Please."

"I will be." His mouth caught hers in a soft, gentle kiss that made both their bodies hum. Their lips still touching, he said: "You are the sun in my sky. Never forget that, my sweet."

"Come home to me."

They kissed once more and he pushed her away, letting Jane catch her, though she hardly noticed. She watched the riders until they were tiny black dots and then she stood there weeping with only Charles at her side quietly waiting.

"My lady, please allow me to escort you to your suite. This air is chill and is not good for you."

She nodded absently and suddenly found herself in their bedchamber.

"How will I sleep without him?" She asked fancying that her voice bounced off the walls of the empty chamber. "How will I do anything without him?"

Feeling more alone than she ever had in her life, Elizabeth settled on the bed and wrapped her arms around her husband's pillow. It smelled of him and she pretended his arms were wrapped tightly around her. She was still pretending when exhaustion finally conquered her and she fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

In his tent, Darcy looked at the flame dancing in the lamp and pulled the bearskin blanket over his head. It would be best for him to sleep now, but he knew it was hopeless. Elizabeth was not at his side, in his arms, or anywhere near him.

She is in my heart, he thought, But that does me very little good.

He had glanced back only once, knowing that if he kept looking at her, he would never leave. They rode until just before dark. According to the information his spies had gleaned, he and his men were still more than a half a day's ride from the encampment of Northern Rebels. He wondered how Bingley would fare in protecting Elizabeth, would she allow him to fulfill his assignment? What if Wickham came while he was away?

That thought made him bolt straight up. He had not considered what might happen if Wickham appeared during his absence. In his heart, he knew that Elizabeth had made her choice, that she wanted to stay with him, but he could not keep his fear at bay. What if seeing her former sweetheart again made her change her mind.

"You fool," he hissed. "She is not so fickle as that. She promised to be with you for always and you know that she would never forfeit a vow."

Unless Carahlyn betrays me, he thought.

His stomach churned and he tossed until the wee hours, his mind racing, cataloging what a disaster his life had become.

* * *

Darcy had been gone for three days. She had hoped that he would have been back already, but she knew that a week would be a more practical timeframe. She focused on the realm, worrying about her subjects, her husband's lands, and the tiny squabbles that needed to be settled before her. She sat upon her husband's chair, as was the custom for those who ruled-in-stead, and won more affection from her already enamored public, though they were worried about the princess' sudden decline.

Dark circles ringed her eyes and her normally bright, shining complexion was tinged with green. Her cheeks were drawn and she seemed to rub her stomach when she thought nobody was looking. Many members of the court assumed she was exhausted and unable to sleep without her husband, which was partially true.

For lunch, she retired to her chambers. She told her maid that she needed to lie down, but once she was alone, she spent several minutes retching into a chamberpot. She trying to tidy herself when a knock fell on her door.

Fearing dreadful news, she cautiously opened it only to find Jane there, concern etching deep lines on her pretty face.

"My lady, might I come in?"

"Of course."

"You look ill."

"I do not feel so very well, Jane. I am afraid I may not be able to continue on today."

"Henry can take over for the time being. You must rest, my lady. Indeed, you look quite poor."

"I am that wretched? I was not aware that I was unfit to be seen." She managed a small, weak smile.

"You know I did not mean a slight upon your person, Elizabeth."

"I know."

Jane bit her lip and helped the princess to bed. She tucked blankets around her small, shivering body and rang the bell for more firewood. Once the hearth was ablaze, Jane pulled a chair close to the bed and began reading to Elizabeth. She continued to read silently long after her friend had fallen asleep. She ordered a hot meal prepared and sent a message to Henry Drake that they would not be returning to court. When Bingley, worried nearly out of his mind that his charge had fallen seriously ill, appeared, Jane gently denied him access and promised him that she would send word as soon as there was news to be had.

"William?" Elizabeth called. "William, I love you."

Jane stared at her hands for a moment before shaking Elizabeth awake. The princess started, her eyes wide for a moment before she blinked Jane's face into focus.

"You were dreaming. I thought it best to wake you lest you become upset."

"Thank you," she whispered. Her meal arrived and Jane dismissed the servants and saw to Elizabeth's meal personally. "Are you sure it is simply exhaustion?" She asked finally.

"I have not slept since William went away. What else could it be?"

Jane's question was nothing more than a single raised eyebrow.

"Oh, dear! You do not think? Not now!" Elizabeth exclaimed before calculating in her head. "Jane! It is the only answer I can come to!"

"I wish you joy, my lady Elizabeth. William will be ecstatic."

Elizabeth grasped her friend's hands, a huge smile lighting the whole of her face. She had never felt more alone than she had in the last few days since he had left, but now she knew she was not alone. They had made a child. She had a part of him within her belly. They had become one. She had never been so happy. She had never felt so much love. And, for one brief moment, her world was absolutely perfect.

* * *

The rebels were milling about their camp. Darcy shook his head at their arrogance. The fodder that had been posted to stand guard seemed to be lost in a tankard of ale. The prince was at once enraged and amused by the sorry scene that lay before him. He nodded slightly to Finn who, in turn, gave the signal to Darcy's men to surround the pathetic camp.

Once the soldiers were in place, Finn yelped a guttural battle cry and the men descended upon the rebels, taking most of them by surprise. Unwilling to assume victory over the ragged band of troublemakers, Darcy did not allow his guard down for one moment as he slid from his mount to take on one of the few coherent party his men were laying waste to. With a few flicks of his sword, the rebel fell and Darcy turned to carry on his fight.

His heart iced over, though, at the sight that befell him. He recognized the man that was charging him. The red hair would have been enough, but, Darcy had already committed every line of his face to memory.

George sneered at him.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Darcy's mind as George produced a shining blade.

"Hello, Blackheart," he growled. "I was going to come to you, but I see I no longer have to wait to take back what is mine."

"She does not want to be with you," Darcy retorted. "She told you as much in her letter."

"Lies, all lies. You forced her to write that rubbish."

The prince swallowed hard. Carahlyn's warning marched front from the back of his brain and made its presence known. He had to try to resolve this without killing George. He would lose Elizabeth for sure if he took the man she loved.

"There is no way I can convince you otherwise, Wickham, but you must accept that she has every intention of fulfilling her duty to god, country, and her husband."

"I am her husband!"

"Perhaps in your heart, but not by the book!"

George's sword came crashing forth. It was met with Darcy's ready blade and the sound rang loudly through the clearing; more loudly than that of any other opposing metal. The shepherd's eyes narrowed, taking in the tall, dark prince as though he could kill him with merely a glance. Darcy ignored the chill that crept up his spine. No sane man could produce such a look. He blocked another strike from George and used his other hand to push the man to the ground.

"I do not want to fight you. Our Elizabeth wants neither of us to come to harm and if you persist in this endeavor one of us is sure to lose," Darcy kept the blade level with George's throat.

"Then I shall have to make sure you are the one to die!" George lashed out carelessly and his blade made contact with Darcy's calf. A shallow cut began to ooze and the prince jumped back, giving George his chance to gain ground.

If you kill her lover, she will hate you. Darcy bit his lip. Perhaps if he merely injured the boy to put him out of commission. Darcy lunged forward and metal clashed once again. Every move he made was countered with an expert block. He was not even aware that they had carried their battle away from the encampment.

"Elizabeth is mine!" George said again and again. "She is meant for me!"

Hearing it repeated endlessly sparked something inside the prince and he thought of all the moments he had shared with his princess, his wife over the last few months; all the smiles she had given him, all the kisses she had showered him with, all the conversations, both mundane and meaningful, they had had. Wickham was wrong.

Elizabeth belonged to Darcy.

Rage that another man could think to steal her away whipped through his body like a ship's sails during a storm. He tossed his sword to his other hand, surprising the shepherd, and slammed the blade with enough force to knock George's blade from his hand.

"Listen to me hard, boy, for I shall only say this once. I am giving you a chance to walk away. Leave us alone. We are happy and she has made her own choice. I had nothing to do with it and I am respecting her decision. Had she chosen to not honor her marriage vows, I would have let her go. I love her too much to bear to see her unhappy."

"Blackheart, you lie! You know nothing of love!"

"Aye, but I do, Wickham. I admit that when I took her hand I wanted nothing to do with love, but you, of all people, should know how difficult it would be not to love Elizabeth."

"You do not deserve her."

"Perhaps not, but at this moment, disregarding her blatant request, neither do you."

The two men stared at one another for a long moment. Wickham finally lowered his blade, his head following suit.

"I think you should return to Meryton and forget us, Wickham," Darcy whispered coldly. "I do not guarantee your safety should you try to steal her away again."

George nodded. They stood there for a moment more then Darcy strode past the defeated man. He was three paces when he realized his monumental mistake. Never turn your back on an enemy.

He was mid-spin with his sword at gut-level before he knew what was happening. The blade ripped through the shepherd as though he were made of silk. Never before in battle had bile risen in the back of Darcy's throat, but it did now as he watched Elizabeth's sweetheart crumple. In one horrible moment, his world had crashed.

There was only one thing he could do.

* * *

Finn could not believe it. There was no trace of his master, but whispers from around the camp were that he had been killed. He could not be sure without a body, so he simply refused to believe it. There was no way he was going to go back to his princess and tell her that her husband was dead if he could not offer proof.

"Fan the search area out wider. We must find him for the princess's sake!" Finn barked.

Hours later, even after employing the prisoners they had taken in battle, there was still no sign of Darcy, but they did find the remains of a red-headed stranger that Finn figured was Wickham from Darcy's description. The boy's sword was drenched in blood and Finn found himself praying that he had fallen upon it himself.

Darcy's second ordered the boy to be buried with the other casualties and tried to determine what he was going to say to his anxious princess.

Chapter Thirteen

"Do not announce me," Finn commanded the soldiers at the gate. He rode down the inky black lane to Pemberley proper, his horse's hooves as knowing as its master's when it came to the familiar road. To avoid being seen he sent his squire into the house to fetch Jane and he waited nervously in the hothouse until she arrived.

"My beloved! I am glad you are returned! I daresay battles are not nearly as romantic as they may once have been."

"You have never thought a battle to be romantic, sweet Jane."

"Very true, but what kind of wife would I be if I did not feign pleasure in your pursuits?"

He bit back a smile. In all his life he had never met a braver lady. Jane, having grown up in comfort and privilege, had taken advantage of the one weapon she was allowed: her wit. It was her biting wit that he had fallen in love with, but it was her warm soul that kept him drowning within the circle of her heart.

"You are a wonderful wife."

"Do tell me, then, whatever is the matter?"

"I think you should sit for my news is unpleasant and very likely to cause you pain."

"Just say it, love."

"During the battle I lost track of Lord Darcy. I am unsure what became of him, but after all was over we found the body of the princess' former lover, Mr. Wickham."

"William faced Wickham? Oh, dear. I fear Elizabeth will find this news upsetting."

"It gets a bit worse than that, Jane. It seems that William has disappeared."

"What?" Jane yelped. Her hand flew to her mouth. It just could not be. Not now. "What does that mean?"

"The entire brigade, including the prisoners, searched for him and uncovered nothing. I am unsure if he is alive or dead. Wickham's sword was a bloody mess, but alas, I am unsure if it was his own or William's."

"Finn, this cannot be! We must find him! Elizabeth needs him more than ever!"

"What shall we do in the meantime?"

"You must search for him. Divide the troops and do whatever you need to do, but you cannot return without news of William's fate. I cannot tell her that her husband might be dead."

"I understand that completely," Finn assured her, wrapping his arms around her. "I would want William to do the same thing for you if need be."

Jane snuggled against her husband, trying to hide from the very real possibility that she had just lost her dearest friend. It broke her heart the think that he might have died just before gaining everything he had ever wanted in life. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled back.

Earnest and determined, she looked up at Finn. "Go find him. I shall watch the princess until you return."

* * *

Elizabeth felt ill. Her stomach was tied in knots and her mouth tasted like acid. She was unsure that sitting up was a wise idea. Jane was dozing in her chair as she had for the last four nights. The princess was beginning to wonder if their husbands would ever return. None of the war party had appeared for more than a week and there had been no news.

Jane had been with Elizabeth during the first bout of morning sickness and had insisted on not leaving the expectant mother's side. Everyday, the princess seemed a little more distant. And the ever-faithful lady-in-waiting seemed to be taking her title quite literally.

"Jane," Elizabeth whispered, hating that she sounded so utterly desperate. "Jane, please wake up."

The lady snapped awake and was immediately fussing over the princess. She obligingly assisted Elizabeth as another wave of nausea hit her then cleaned her up.

"My lady," Jane said softly. "We must think very seriously about ridding ourselves of the Bingleys. I know that Lord Bingley is honor-bound to the High Lord, but I do not trust Lady Carahlyn should she find out your actual condition."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. "Jane, I care not any longer. I simply want my husband."

Jane smoothed Elizabeth's hair as she hugged the girl close. Anger boiled up through her, but she ignored it. She did not know if her friend was alive or dead, but it hardly mattered. Being angry with William for not being here was not going to help Elizabeth.

"My lady, would you excuse for a bit? I find I need to talk to one of my maids."

"Of course," Elizabeth replied.

After tucking the princess beneath her blankets, Jane set about making her friend feel better.

* * *

"My lady, I have a surprise for you," Jane said a week later. There was still no word of William and she was beginning to lose hope that she would ever see him alive again. "Since your husband cannot be here during your time of need, I have brought you the next best thing."

Jane nodded to the guard at the door of Elizabeth's antechamber. He was only gone for a few moments before he returned with a frail, confused-looking man that Elizabeth barely recognized. She gasped when she realized his identity.

"Father?" She asked, rushing to his side. "Oh, dear lord, whatever have I done?"

Jane bit her lip. She had not expected the princess to blame herself for the state of her father's ill health, though she was hardly surprised. Perhaps, however, it would do Elizabeth good to have a purpose, to be distracted from her constant state of expectation. If she could restore Mr. Bennet to his former health mayhap the princess would be drawn from her perpetual melancholy. The Lady Jane could only hope.

"Liza? Is it ye? Why, my child, you have grown round! What has that bloody nurse been feeding you?"

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her father's neck for a moment and brushed a kiss over his wrinkled forehead. She pulled back and smiled warmly at him and tried to ignore the tears that stung her eyes. "Father," she said gently, "I no longer require a nurse. I am a married woman now."

"Married? To Mr. Wickham no doubt. Aye, but ye are a charming couple, so bright, so happy. He is a fine lad. I do not regret our ruin."

"Ruin?" Elizabeth glanced at Jane, fearing the next words that fell from her father's lips.

"Had I sold ye into marriage with the Blackheart, ye would have never forgiven me. I am thankful I came upon my senses at the very last."

"But-"

"Mrs. Wickham, I should think your father might like to see his chambers," Jane interjected. "Guard, please escort him."

The guard carefully took the unsteady man's elbow.

"Please see to his comfort," Elizabeth called after them. When the door was closed and they were alone, she wrenched her hands and moaned. "My husband is off in war and I walk with a swelling belly. My father is mad and believes me married to a man my actual husband may very well be fighting. I cannot stand the sight of butter or eggs. I have a single friend. And Lady Carahlyn Bingley still sleeps beneath my roof! Jane, I cannot bear another thing!"

The lady embraced the panicked princess firmly and ran her hands over Elizabeth's back. She whispered words of comfort to the frightened and unsure girl while she led her to the sofa. Once she had her sitting, Jane ordered tea and, after it arrived, nearly force-fed the overwrought mother-to-be.

"Things shall work out the way they are supposed to, my lady. Your father may seem mad now, but you may be the very thing he needs to put his world right again. I am sure that he should very much like to be well enough to welcome his grandchild."

The girl nodded her head and nibbled at a small biscuit absently while she stared out the window. Thoughtfully, she said: "Perhaps you are right. If I can get my father well maybe my luck will change and my husband shall return safely and I can finally be rid of the Wrong Lady Carahlyn."

Jane giggled at the unflattering soubriquet. "Concentrate on the tasks at hand, my lady. Mind your father's health and your babe. The rest shall fall into place.

Elizabeth nodded and ate another cautiously ate another biscuit. She waited a few moments, making sure she would not be ill again, then sought the company of her father.

* * *

Carahlyn had known better than to think George would survive the battle. In fact, she would have wagered against him had bets been taken. He was more useful to her dead than he was alive. And, after scrying, she knew he was dead as well as she knew her own name. She could not, however, determine whether or not Darcy was still alive.

She had scried; she had uttered incantations and burned incense; she had mixed herbs and offered blood, but to no avail. The Fates were no longer listening.

"Where are you?" She called to them.

"Daughter, you have acted treacherously." Three disembodied voices rolled together in a perfect harmony of anger and disgust. "You have spilled innocent blood and that is not our way. You are interfering with plans that were in place before your soul was weaved into existence. For this you must be punished."

Carahlyn felt her power fade away like a candlewick trapped beneath a jar. Her heart began to beat faster.

"No! You cannot do this! He should be mine! Nobody loves him like I love him, like I have always loved him!"

"You are right. Nobody has loved him as you have loved him. The High Lady Elizabeth's love has not ended in death for a single soul. She is pure and has been in all the lifetimes they have spent together and they will spend together. They were cut from the same oversoul, they are intertwined eternally and nothing in this universe is capable of destroying that.

"Right Lady Carahlyn, former daughter, you are disgraced. Do not call upon us for, if you do, your punishment shall be more severe than the ones the humans shall inflict upon you come the day of your judgment."

"Wait!"

But there was nothing. The silence was so loud, she feared that her ears might bleed. She leaned against the wall, unaware that her palms were bleeding from where her nails had sliced through the thick, meaty flesh. For the first time in her life, Carahlyn was without power. She could not even will a candle to light. It was as though she had suddenly run out of ink in the middle of writing a letter.

She took a deep breath to steady herself.

"I am the Right Lady Carahlyn Bingley. It may not be magic, but I still have power I can manipulate. I am not yet defeated."

* * *

The wench sidled up to him, running her hand along the broad expanse of his shoulders as she sat down the mug of mead. He grabbed her wrist roughly and yanked her down to level his gaze at her.

"I am a married man, barmaid, so you will get no extra coins for your attentions. Leave me be."

"My regards to the missus, sire. Had she been a smart girl she would have kept ya at home."

"Be gone," he grumbled and stared into the fire just a few feet from the soles of his boots. He did not feel the heat anymore than he had felt the touch of her hand. Before Elizabeth, he had been numb to so many wonderful, enchanting emotions that he could scarce believe he lived without them. Now he was forced to switch each feeling off manually and work through the regret immediately after each hurdle. He could not go back to her and expect her to stay with him.

Not after what he had done.

His hands were spotless, but they still felt wet with blood. Never before had taking a life bothered him so. Never before had he felt the need for atonement. He was a damned man, relegated from the light of his Elizabeth's presence because he had killed the one man she loved. He did not want to take that pain to her.

Bitter bile rose in the back of his throat as he thought of his solution once again. He did not know how he was going to live and never see his wife again.

The door of the tavern opened and light flooded his table. He had not thought he was at the proper angle or that it was so bright outside. He was right, of course, but the Fates always liked to make an entrance.

Finn slipped in, guided by the light. He saw Darcy sitting in the dank, putrid barroom and shook his head. The prince had not shaved in days and, once Finn was closer, he knew Darcy had neglected to bathe as well.

"My lord! I have at last found you!"

"I order you to leave me be. Return to Pemberley and care for my wife in my stead. I will not be going home."

"She awaits your arrival, sir!"

"I cannot face her knowing what I have done."

Finn grabbed the other chair roughly and planted himself squarely in front of his lord and master. He stared Darcy in the eye; his blue pupils glinting like the steel of a blade.

"I will not go home to our women, your wife and mine; women who love you and need you and tell them that you are not returning because you are wallowing in pity."

"Then tell them I died."

"I shall do nothing of the sort. I will return home and tell them that you are hiding."

"Finn, I am warning you. If you defy me, we will cross blades."

"And I, sir, am warning you. If you do not come with me, I shall send my wife to fetch you."

Any other man would have scoffed at the Royal Second sending his wife into a perceived battle, but Darcy would have rather faced the edge of Finn's sword than the edge of Jane's tongue any day. Darcy leaned back in his chair and watched the fire for a long time before he finally glared at Finn.

"That is cruel to threaten me with your wife."

"I am not above unusually harsh punishment, William."

Darcy sighed. "How is she?"

"Scared and confused. Jane has sent messengers to me almost daily with updates. Your wife thinks you are still searching for George Wickham. She is not aware of his fate."

"You have not told her?"

"I could not find the words to explain why he was gone. I knew I could not look at her hopeful face and inform her that our men were unsure what happened to you.

"She has been ill and Jane will not allow upsetting news to reach her. Jane has been by her side continually and has even sent for Lady Elizabeth's father in the hope that she shall feel better."

Darcy stood, leaned against the mantle, and kicked up clouds of ash from the hearth. "She has been ill? Have the best physicians been sent for?"

"Sir, you need to return."

His head flew up, eyes blazing with panic and worry for his precious wife, but try as he might, he could not get Finn to elaborate any further on Elizabeth's condition. He looked down at his ragged, bloodstained clothes and his filthy hands.

"I cannot go home looking like this."

"Take the night. We can ride at first light."

"But-"

"Sir, we can ride at first light."

* * *

The doors of the Hall opened and Darcy slipped through them as though he had never been gone. His handsome countenance looked a little older, a little more strained, and absolutely exhausted but was still the face of the realm's beloved prince. The occupants of the room gaped; footmen and nobles alike all wondered at the survival of their High Lord and his sudden appearance.

Nobody, though, was more shocked than the princess. She sat on the throne her husband had used and clutched the arms until her fingers ached and her knuckles were white. He stood just inside the doors, staring at the room as though he were trying to place it, but when his eyes fell on Elizabeth, nothing else mattered.

She stood, barely realizing that her feet were carrying her toward the prince. Never before had the length of the Hall seemed so painfully long, but, after what seemed like hours, she was before him and gathering him to her.

"My William, oh, you have come home!" She cried. When he did not return her embrace she stepped back to examine him. "Draw the High Lord a bath and fix his favorite meal! We shall welcome him home properly tomorrow, but tonight we shall restore him to his self. Call upon the physician."

"I need no bath nor physician," he gruffly replied. "I want nothing more than to rest."

"Then you shall have it."

She wrapped her arm around his waist and led him from the Hall, not caring what their subjects thought about her affection for him or her selfishness in keeping him from them after so long an absence. They went to their chambers, but Darcy hesitated before entering.

"I cannot go in there."

"Do not be daft. 'Tis our chamber. Of course you may go in."

"I can no longer share a chamber with you."

Her arm dropped and she stared hard at him. With an angry huff, she pushed open the door and shoved him inside. Had she been in a better humor, she might have recalled their wedding night when he had done very nearly the same thing, but she did not. She blocked the door.

"What do you mean you cannot share a chamber with me? I am your wife!"

"And what has that meant to you? Yes, you have a small bit of power and riches beyond imagining, but I have done nothing but lay heartache at your door. I forced you into a marriage you did not want and then, when I should have been a better man, I slew your one true love."

He looked away from her, having avoided soaking her in like he wanted to do. She clouded his brain and made rational thought all but impossible. There was no saving him where she was concerned and he had to cut ties while he still could, while his self-hatred still fueled his sacrifice.

"What do you mean?"

"George is dead. I killed him myself."

"I had no illusions that George might not survive an encounter with you. I am sorry for that, I truly am, but you did what you needed to do to protect our family."

"You loved him."

"Is that what you think?"

"It is what I know."

"I see." She rubbed her hands over the tiny bump beneath her gown. "William, why have you not looked at me since you arrived?"

"I cannot. I have not the strength to release you from your contract if I look upon what I am trying to give up."

"Look at me."

"No."

"Damn you!" She wailed, her voice breaking like a wave on a beach. "Look at me!"

He did then, knowing that his resolve to do the right thing was to be lost in that moment. Her beautiful face was plumper and her breasts a little fuller. A person who might have just met her would never have guessed the reasons, but Darcy, having such an intimate knowledge of her form saw it instantly. His hand reached for her and, when she stepped forward, caressed the small swell beneath the silk. Touching her again was the salve his wounded soul needed and, before he could check himself, his lips were pressed to hers and he tasted the salt of her tears. She embraced him tightly, fearing that he might disappear if she let go.

"Ours?"

"Of course," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "To mark the occasion when I first said my husband's name."

That day seemed like a lifetime ago and he fought to make it clear within his head once again. Her face had kept him alive on the battlefield, but every touch, every smile, every word had folded together into a collective feeling of need and warmth that had seen him through the long nights of his exile.

"There were rumors that my lover had died. Jane tried so hard to protect me so I did not hint that I had heard since nobody seemed sure which lover that might have been and I have lived in agony these last weeks."

"He did die. I killed him myself."

Elizabeth shook her head, tears squeezing through her shut eyes.

"I did not want to. You must believe me. I knew the pain it would give you, but he gave me no choice. He attacked me after I offered a truce. He attacked me."

"I am sorry that George is dead, truly, but you misunderstand. I was a fool to not say anything before. The only truth I have ever concealed and it is simply the most important truth of my life. I did not think you would believe me, but I must say it now.

"I love you. I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you."

He sat down in the closest chair and stared at her. "How?"

"I do not know! How does the sun rise? How does a dog know that the earth will shake? How did I fall in love with a brute? Why is that important? Can it not just be enough that it is? Must I explain myself?" She sat in the chair opposite him.

"No, no. How can you love me after everything I have done to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He means how can you love him after he ruined George and your father in order to secure your hand."

Elizabeth's head flew around to see Carahlyn in the doorway. The witch's wicked grin flashed like lightning and she slipped into their sacred space. She surveyed the large chamber and nodded her approval.

"'Tis a nice abode, but I shall have a new bed made when I am High Lady."

"That is presumptuous, even for you, Carahlyn," Elizabeth hissed. She looked at her husband, but he was nothing more that a defeated sack of flesh and for a moment she did hate him. "However, I know you would say anything to turn me against William. You tell nothing but lies, witch."

"Ask your husband, my lady," Carahlyn sneered. "Ask what he wanted that night in my chambers at Netherfield. Before I bedded him that is."

"William," Elizabeth asked. "It is not true. You did not ask her for a spell."

He only nodded.

She was struck dumb for a moment. What had she said again and again? The past was the past? She had never realized how directly it had affected her future. Had it not been for a few uttered syllables George would be alive, her father's health would be better, and she would still be a country gentleman's daughter. Had it not been for a few uttered syllables, she would never have returned to her seat on a horse, she would not have a friend in Jane, and she would not be carrying the child of her one true love.

With a little effort, she slipped down to her knees before her husband and took his hands in hers.

"The man I fell in love with is somewhere inside this vile self-made prison. The strong, clever, proud man is there and I need him. We need him. I forgive you. I have told you that the past is the past. Let us learn from the mistakes that we have made. There is a plan and we were obviously meant for one another. I forgive you. I forgive you."

"No!" Carahlyn cried. "That is not how it is supposed to end! He is mine. He has always been mine!"

Struggling for just a moment to stand, Elizabeth managed it with a grace that few could have. Proud and strong, she faced her enemy, her blue eyes like ice. Her hands covered her belly, drawing attention to the babe inside her. The witch fumed.

"The child he has given you can just as easily be stolen away!"

"No, it cannot." Darcy's voice was as icy as Elizabeth's glare. "Witch, you will not threaten my wife or my child. I shall see you burn for your crimes."

"You seem to forget, my lord. If I am exposed then you shall be too. If I die, all your power dies with me."

"Back in my more wicked days I took great pains to abolish any proof of our relationship, Lady Carahlyn. And who is going to believe the accusations of a witch who is desperate to save herself?"

Elizabeth watched in wonder as the cruel, immoral Darcy of long ago seemed to be reborn before her very eyes. He was standing tall, his imposing figure towering over the both of them. She stepped aside, letting him grab the witch about the throat. Darcy pinned her against the wall.

"I have killed men for less than the torture you have inflicted upon me. I will not tolerate any further interference from you. I love my wife, I love my child, and I would never abandon them for the likes of you. Your ways are old and your future is dark. Take heed to my warning and you will walk away from this. Threaten me again and you will die."

He released her. She tumbled back against the wall, her eyes wide and frightened as she gasped for air.

"You will lose," she rasped. "In all of this, you shall be the one to lose."

He leaned forward, a humorless grin on his face as his eyes became level with hers. Softly, in a deadly calm tone, he said: "Ah, but, Carahlyn, I just won."

"Nay!" She cried. "Please! It was not a threat. It was a warning. The Fates! They spoke!"

Darcy opened the door and called for the guards at the end of the hall. When they appeared, he tossed the witch at them.

"Take her to the dungeon and inform her brother that I need to speak with him in the morning."

"Yes, my lord."

Carahlyn whimpered and whined and wailed as she was dragged away, but it all fell on deaf ears. He closed the door and turned back to his wife, his beloved, beautiful wife.

"For a moment, I thought I had lost you to the man you used to be," she whispered. "For a moment, I thought we had lost you."

"Neither of you shall ever lose me. I have serious doubts about letting you out of my sight ever again. She will pay. She reduced me to a quivering, terrified lump of man and I shall not forgive that. There will be justice for her sins."

"And what of your sins, my lord?" Elizabeth asked solemnly.

"I do not know," he replied, wanting to believe that she had forgiven him.

"I saw the haunted look in your eyes. And I knew that George attacked you. I know you as nobody on this earth knows you and I know you will regret what has transpired for the rest of your days."

He sighed, looking away in shame.

"But do not let it get the better of you, my William. Know that your wife and your child love you regardless. Let us offer the past our regrets and start this a brand new day. Shall we go from this point together?"

"I for wish nothing more."

"Then it is done. We are a family who has chosen to be together and we have nothing but everything to live for."

He kissed her then like he had never kissed her before and beneath his hand was his, no, their child. It was the most gorgeous truth of his life.

Epilogue

"No, you cannot go that way," the Lady Grace said. Her wide, blue eyes held fear.

"Whyever not?" Lady Margaret asked her elder sister.

They were on their ponies, riding through the park on a lovely spring day when absolutely nothing sinister could possibly be about. It was simply Grace's overactive imagination. Again.

"I heard Papa hanged a witch from the silver ash out on the Blood Pond. That's why it is called that you know. Papa left her to dangle there until the animals had their fill and then she was thrown into the pond for the fish to devour."

"Grace, that is ghastly! I am going to tell Mama."

"But, Margaret, it is the truth!"

"Not a remotely gorgeous one, if you ask me."

"I did not ask you!"

They glared at each other for a moment then Lady Grace clicked her tongue at the pony, turning it around. She did not want to see the Blood Pond. Too many people had whispered unhappy things about it.

Margaret went on without her, which she would more than likely be punished for later. Her father always complained that Margaret was as stubborn as her mother, but Grace had to admit that she thought Margaret's will more closely resembled their father's. She returned to the stable and left her pony in the care of her favorite stable hand.

In the house, Grace wandered about, finally settling on the atrium. Her mother was there, as she had been nearly everyday since Grace's birth eleven years before. Her brow was creased heavily in thought while she stared at the canvas before her, but it lightened when she saw her youngest daughter.

"Hello, love. How are you?"

"Fine, Mama. I just returned from a ride."

"And how was that?" She made sweep of the surface before her with a stick of charcoal.

"Margaret is still out riding, but I was frightened so I returned."

"You have been listening to stories about Blood Pond again, have you?"

Grace's small face wrinkled with guilt.

"Oh, my precious girl, what am I to do with you?"

"Why must we do something with her now?"

They looked to the door.

"Papa!"

"Hello, Grace," He said, lifting the girl into the air as he closed the distance between the door and his wife. "Hello, my sweet."

"Hello, my William."

Grace wrinkled her nose at the tenderness between her parents. She pretended that it was abhorrent behavior, but, secretly, she thought it was magnificent. Her nurse, an old, nearly ancient woman called Hill, had told her stories about her parents' struggle to find one another. Grace loved stories of any kind, but she especially loved fairy stories and her parents' courtship sounded very much like a fairy story with magic and adventure and romance.

As Grace, having now been returned to the floor, watched her mother and father, the Crowned Prince and Princess of Pemberley, lose themselves in each other, as they had since she was born, last, mind you, after Noel and Thomas and Margaret, she smiled and watched them walk away.

Said she: "And they lived happily ever after."

Finis.

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