Page 86 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

She wasall in. Naked beneath the nightie, thin silk between her and nightmares. The seduction could be pushed no further and remain a mere pretense. She was standing on a cliff's edge, an abyss gaping below her. Lizzy felt guilty, dirty…miserably guilty and dirty about it all, about what she had done and was doing to herself and to Fitzwilliam.

You couldn't be a seducer without compromising yourself. Compromises—and promises of promises.

Lizzy was exposed.Exposed.

She bit the inside of her lip, careful not to draw blood but to make it hurt, using the pain to focus herself in the moment. She made herself attend to the cold of the wood floor. No more thinking about anything but the here and now.

Wickham.

Wickhamhadto believe that Fanny was standing there ready for him, dinner prepared. Waiting,wantingwhat Wickham had been waiting for. If he believed, he would drink the bourbon and succumb to the tranquilizer.

Then Lizzy could escape the cabin, drive the rental car until she found a signal, and phone Fitzwilliam. Stop what the Wicker Man was planning in Rapid City.

The car lights blacked.

The engine died.

The car door slammed.

The cabin door opened, and the cold mountain air blew in along with Wickham. The candles on the table flickered but did not go out?Lizzy could see them reflected in a window.

He froze, his hand on the knob and his mouth agape. The cold hardened Lizzy's nipples as Wickham's eyes owned her, lingering on her legs before graduating to her chest and fixating there. Despite his having touched her there before,becausehe had, Lizzy hated her bodily change, hated displaying that change to him—even though it worked toward the end she wanted.Foundation of fact.

Wickham believed. His eyes never left her; it was as if they tried to swallow her.

"Shut the door, George," Fanny commanded lightly, purring, lifting one eyebrow. It took everything Lizzy had—all her internal power—to render Fanny's voice playful,come-hither.Total concentration.

He stepped inside and closed the door, charmed, hypnotized. He was breathing fast. It took him a moment longer to impel his eyes from her breasts, pressed against the silky red lingerie, and to discover what she was holding, then to discover the candles, the table, and the food.

"All for me?" His long, slow leering smile unrolled like a centipede.

He was unable to hide how pleased, how satisfied he was by the entire scene, the erotic promise of the tableau. The corruption of Fanny Prince was all but complete. She was about to cheat on her fiancé. He had made her an infidel, and her infidelity crested his excitement, his victory.

"Yes, but not—not all at once. It's a…take-your-timesort of night. I thought you might enjoy drinks and dinner best if dessert is on display, but it will come last." She kept her voice breathy, flirty, inflecting “come” just a bit. Lizzy blushed atherself with shame, which Wickham took to be Fanny blushing at her own daring.

He took off his jacket, hung it by the door quickly, and slowly stalked toward her. As he reached her, before he could reach out to touch her, she extended her right arm, offering the bourbon.

Her heart was striking away in her chest—everything, everything turned on this moment.

Now.

Wickham took the drink. He stared over it at Fanny's erect nipples stretching the red silk. Carefully, he extended the glass toward her chest, running the rim of it along the underside of one nipple, then he pulled the glass back and, rotating it with his other hand, drank from the side of it that had touched her.

Lizzy made a one-sided toast with her glass, smiling as the bile rose in her throat, and she sipped her bourbon.

"We don't want dinner to get cold," she said, taking her chance to step away from Wickham and toward the table. "I hope you're hungry."

"Starved."

Fanny provocatively took another sip of her drink. Wickham mirrored her action. Then he moved to the other side of the table, putting the drink down. "This looks good. Librarian and cook?"

Lizzy grinned sheepishly. "Among other things."

He stared at her in open arousal, ownership. "That lingerie…fantastic. Those legs of yours…"

"Now, now," she mock-scolded, "let's not rush to the finish." She took another sip and sat down.

Wickham sat, too. And then he drank the entire glass, throwing it back and sitting it firmly on the table. "So much for the apéritif."

---