Page 83 of To Go Against Her Heart
“Mrs. Hill, I surely do not wish to eat, and I do not understand why you would waste your time when you have such a long list of chores my mother has bestowed on you to complete. I…” She halted in astonishment as she looked up from her book, for by the door stood Darcy—his appearance unlike anything she had ever beheld. His hair was in disarray, his eyes alight with a bitter spite, and he bore the look of a lone horse caught in a rage.
“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, as she swiftly rose from her seat, stunned by his presence. She stood staring at him, unable to comprehend why he presented himself at her home at that hour, after her explicitly declaring that she did not wish to see him again.
Darcy stood before her, seeming almost to relish the effect he had upon her, and advanced slowly, casting his hat upon a nearby chair without once diverting his gaze.
“What did you convey to your sister regarding the prospect of meeting me again?” he asked, his voice composed, though edged with unmistakable ire.
“What? I fail to understand you.”
“You know very well what I mean. Did you tell her that you would go so far as to absent yourself from her engagement party merely to avoid me? That you might not stand by her side on her wedding day because you could not meet my eye? Answer me!” he cried, and Elizabeth was certain the whole house could hear him.
“I… I did; yet I know not how it concerns you, nor what you intend to accomplish by confronting me upon it.”
“I can see you regard me no differently than the man who tried to take advantage of you that evening; you have made me feel like a rake by presuming to avoid me at your own sister’s wedding. What have I ever done to you, except love you, to warrant such a notion about my character? Have I ever gone against your wishes? Have I ever made you uncomfortable with my presence? Your wish to avoid me in the future can only be attributed to the fact that you believe that my character is as faulty as Mr. Harington’s,” he accused, stunning Elizabeth.
“No! You are mistaken—my intention to avoid you is not born of the horrific accusation you lay before me. How could I ever compare you to him? I could never be so cruel. What I said to Jane was not on your account, but solely because of me, for I do not have the strength to endure…” She broke off abruptly.
“Why, Elizabeth, why do you cease? Do you expect me to believe that you lack both the ability and the conscience to deceive me any longer about your true feelings? That I should even entertain the possibility of your speaking truthfully to me in this lifetime, much less today? How could you think so ill of me? What did you expect me to do to you if we meet again; force you to surrender to my needs?”
“You may accuse me of anything, but do not say I think ill of you. Whatever I have done thus far has been out of respect for you and because I cannot bear to see you humiliated. You do not understand me, Mr. Darcy, nor do I expect you to—for as unreasonable as it may seem to others, I am convinced that whatever transpired that day at the ball only served to remind me that my past shall haunt us forever. I ought to have confessed everything long before that evening, knowing full well what you felt for me—but now it is too late, and I desire not to speak of it.”
“I perfectly comprehend to what you refer,” he said, stepping forward, and Elizabeth’s heart quickened, sensing he had no intention of halting. As he drew nearer, she retreated, her gaze fixed upon his eyes, until her back pressed against one of the library shelves. Darcy now stood but inches from her.
“I know of your engagement to Mr. Harrington. I am also aware of the grounds upon which he broke it, and it disgusts me to think you supposed I would waver in my love and affection on such an account. Whatever foolish reasons you may offer—whether that he is acquainted with me or with my aunt—none can suffice to uphold your argument. You do not choose to trust me, and, in truth, you have rejected me, for in your eyes I am no better than Mr. Harrington,” he cried, unable to calm himself.
“You know?”
“Your sister informed me yesterday, and I am appalled to understand that you regarded my affections so feeble as to be frightened away by something as trivial as this.”
“I did not say your affections were feeble; I just wanted to protect you from my past.”
“You have done nothing but cause me agony since the day we met. I see in your eyes the truth of your feelings, yet in your heart, you found the strength to wound me, but not the courage to trust in me or my love”.
“Pray, allow me to leave,” she cried, unable to endure the weight of his words, which filled her with guilt. The moment she endeavored to move away, he placed his arms upon either side of her, confining her between himself and the shelf.
The fierceness in his eyes unsettled her beyond measure, and she knew that all regard for propriety had now vanished in his thoughts.
Darcy drew a sharp breath, and she witnessed every feature in his face tense before he spoke.
“Tell me, do you love me?” he asked, much to her shock. Though it pained him to see tears fall from her eyes, Darcy was resolute—he would not bend to her again.
“I…”
“Do you love me?” he asked once again as calmly as he could, stressing each word.
“No, I do not,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to the floor and closing her eyes tightly. Suddenly, she was utterly petrified when Darcy, with quiet bravery, lifted her chin and compelled her to meet his eyes.
“Is that so? Look into my eyes and tell me the same again. Don’t you love me?”
Elizabeth struggled to meet his eye and summoned every bit of courage to give him her reply.
“I…I don’t…” She stammered, her eyes still on the floor.
Suddenly, Elizabeth felt the walls of the room closing in around her as Darcy leaned closer, his hand still gently holding her chin. She felt intoxicated with his scent.
“For heaven’s sake, Elizabeth, look into my eyes and tell me—do you love me, or not?” he cried with fierce animosity, his eyes commanding her to do the very thing she feared and, in that moment, Elizabeth felt a strange sense of liberation; for so long her heart and mind had waged war between her love for Darcy and the fear of confessing it. But now, there was no conflict—her whole being, heart and mind alike, compelled her to surrender to the man whom she had come to love beyond her own life.
“I do!” shefinallysaid, before falling into Darcy’s chest.
