The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

When he stood, Elizabeth clutched his hand. “I pray you, do not leave me.” She gestured to the bed. “There is space. Please lie here with me.”

Darcy’s body was instantly on fire with the possibilities. He froze, fighting to control his reaction. “I do not want to jeopardize your recovery,” he said with very sincere regret.

“You will be helping me to heal,” she insisted. “Tonight I cannot be alone.”

It was so tempting, but… “Elizabeth, I should not—”

“Please!” Tears glittered in the moonlight, unshed in the corners of her eyes. “I will sleep more peacefully if you are with me.”

Darcy was tired of fighting his need to touch her. Surely he could indulge the longing and give her comfort without surrendering to his more carnal desires. Of course, she likely would hate him when she recovered her memories, but…

“Very well.” He lifted a corner of the sheets and slid between them. When Elizabeth rolled to her side, Darcy’s body molded itself to the back of hers. His arm encircled her waist. Legs tangled together. It was sheer bliss.

And complete agony.

***

The next morning, Elizabeth watched Darcy pensively as he arranged her breakfast tray. “I thank you for all your care and attention,” she said in a soft, low voice.

Darcy shrugged. To his mind, he had only done what was necessary in caring for the woman he loved. I should thank her for the privilege of caring for her.

“I have had occasion to imagine awakening in the Martins’ house alone,” she said gravely. “Coming to my senses among strangers, unaware of my identity, and unable to speak French well.”

Fortunately, she does not know that her “husband” is something of a stranger to her as well.

“It would have been quite a trial,” Elizabeth continued. “I am very grateful for your presence. You have been my anchor in this storm.”

If only she knew how little he deserved the praise!

Elizabeth fell silent as she consumed her toast and eggs, but after a few minutes she announced, “I would like to walk outside. I am tired of being confined to this room.”

Darcy smiled and shook his head. Even without her memory, she was still Elizabeth: chafing at being confined indoors. “Darling, you have ventured no further than the top of the stairs.”

Her chin rose. “I walked nearly a half hour together yesterday and did not fall.” She was not wrong, but Darcy had died a thousand deaths envisioning the disasters that could have occurred. Her expression softened. “I know you worry…”

Worry was such a paltry word to describe his nearly constant agitation. He could so easily lose her again—to illness or injury, war or treachery. The world was full of perils that could rob him of her once more.

“But,” she continued with some asperity, “I must get stronger so we may return to England. France is not safe.”

“I would not have you compromise your health.”

Her hand slapped the mattress in frustration. “My health is compromised because I stare at the same four walls every day! A bit of sunshine will do me a world of good.”

“You are feeling improved.”

A chagrined smile crept over her lips. “Is impatience a natural part of my character?”

“You have been known to be stubborn upon one or two occasions.”

She folded her arms over her chest, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Then I would imagine we often are at odds.”

He shook his head in mock innocence. “Never. I always yield to your inclination.”

She burst into laughter, and after a moment he joined her. His delight could not be contained; she was teasing him! As the laughter died down, they stared at each other like besotted lovers, basking in the glow of their shared mirth. Finally, Elizabeth averted her eyes and cleared her throat. “I thought perhaps a walk out of doors…”

Darcy stood, eager to encourage her happiness however he could. “The Martins’ garden is enclosed by a high wall. Nobody would see us there. But I must consult the doctor about the advisability of such a plan.”

Her grateful smile was like a gift.