Page 56 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“My heart is yours, an unwilling captive.”
“Unwilling,” she said, her eyebrow raising. “You really are a most peculiar sort of man. You kiss me like that and protest that you are acting entirely against your own will.”
“Marry me.”
“What?”
“Marry me.”
“Sir, I…”
The reality of what had just passed between them slammed into him at once. He had been unguarded and truthful, at the sake of his own pride and sensibilities. He had kissed her, touched her as though it were his right to do so…and now, she rejected him.
Not the words, not yet. But the hesitation in her voice, the flicker in her expression - was it revulsion? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, it was not welcome.
He straightened, his features hardening with the return of pride.
“Good day to you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice clipped. “I shall not trouble you again.”
“No, Mr Darcy, you misunderstand.”
But her protest faltered as he turned from her, already walking away, back towards Netherfield, back towards solitude. He lefthis diary behind, and with it, every piece of himself he had dared to offer.
Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth
She stared after Mr Darcy’s rapidly retreating form, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, her breath shallow as if the very air around her had been stolen. Her bare hand - still tingling, aching from the heat of his touch - rose involuntarily to her lips. They felt bruised beneath her fingertips, tender from a kiss she could not have imagined only hours ago. Tears, unbidden and impossible to hold back, gathered in her eyes and spilled over, trailing down her flushed cheeks.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, she bent to retrieve her fallen glove and the diary - his diary - lying where it had tumbled in the grass. She pressed both to her chest, holding them as though they might still her shaking heart.
A rustle of movement came from the trees behind her.
“My, my, my.”
The voice slid through the air like a blade.
Elizabeth spun around, startled. Emerging from the edge of the trees was Mr Wickham. She scarcely recognised him without hisred regimentals, for he was dressed instead in civilian clothes that looked travel-worn and poorly kept. His appearance was dishevelled, but his expression was smug, wolfish.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, stepping back instinctively.
“I was enjoying the show,” he said, his eyes roaming her face with a slow, lecherous interest. “Who knew Darcy had such passion in him?”
He began to walk towards her, and she held up a hand to stop him. She began to move, walking slowly backwards as he prowled closer.
“Leave me alone.”
“Now, now,” he said, mockingly wounded, “is that any way to speak to a man you’ve only just met? Where is your courtesy? We might have been such good friends, Miss Elizabeth. A pity.”
“No,” she said, voice trembling with fury, “we could never have been friends. I know exactly who you are - and what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” he repeated with a hollow laugh. “My dear girl, we’ve hardly known each other a week. What could I possibly have done in so short a time?”
“You know what,” she said firmly. “I know what you did to Miss Darcy. And what you’ve tried to do to my sister.”
He tilted his head.
“Ah. Miss Lydia. Yes, she’s been rather... chilly of late. Quite unlike her earlier warmth. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
