Darcy and Deception

At these words Elizabeth’s entire body came alive—no part of her had forgotten the marvelous kisses in her bedchamber. Her lips were greedy, and her arms were empty. She wanted more. More kisses. More caresses. More Mr. Darcy.

In the next moment Elizabeth was falling. Falling into Mr. Darcy’s arms. Falling against his body. Warm lips covered hers, and a tongue pushed into her mouth, exploring and stroking. In a distant part of her mind, she knew they should not kiss in plain view of any passersby, but it was impossible to deny herself such bliss. Every second she promised herself she would stop, and every second she could not endure the thought of such deprivation.

Finally, the need for air became too acute, and she pulled away, resting her head against the front of his waistcoat. “You have an unfair advantage, sir,” she mumbled.

“Hmm?” His voice was laced with amusement.

“Your kisses are nearly as persuasive as your words.”

He kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I must use every advantage I have.” He hugged her tightly against his chest. “Oh, Elizabeth, I pray you will come to Pemberley.”

Craning her neck upward, she saw naked hope in his eyes. “I will come, Mr. Darcy. I will find a way.”

She had not known he was capable of such a broad smile. “After such a kiss, perhaps you might call me William, my dear?”

“William.” The syllables were awkward in her mouth, but continuing to address him as Mr. Darcy felt wrong as well.

This won her another smile. After a long pause, Mr. Dar—William peered at the darkening sky. “Perhaps we should return to the colonel’s house.”

“I am eager to hear how they fared with Wickham.”

“Yes.”

They returned the way they had come, although it was growing more difficult to see the beach clearly. The sun was hovering at the edge of the horizon but had not yet set. Elizabeth pointed to something she had noticed earlier, a wooden structure jutting out into the ocean. “What is that?”

“It is an old pier,” William responded. “I believe people occasionally bring boats here during high tide or use it for fishing.”

As the light diminished, a fog rolled in off the sea, and the end of the pier was cloaked in mist. Elizabeth squinted to see more clearly. “I believe there is a boat moored there now. At the very end.”

“It appears so. I wonder who would venture out in a fog like this.” He shrugged and steered them toward the cross street that would return them to St. James Street.

They had nearly reached the street when three figures rounded the corner ahead of them. Mr. Wickham, Mr. Harrison…and Lydia!

Elizabeth recoiled instinctively, taking several steps away from two men she knew to be very dangerous. What are they about here? They should be at the cave! “Lydia, why are you here?” she asked when she had regained the use of her voice.

Her sister gave Elizabeth a smug smile. “La! The house was so boring, so I went to St. James Street, where I found Wicky and his friend. They invited me for a boat ride.”

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. That is their boat at the pier—waiting to take them across the Channel. They never intended to leave from the cave. Colonel Forster and his men wait in the wrong place.

And these miscreants want to take Lydia with them?

“You cannot!” Elizabeth immediately blurted out. All three regarded her warily. I must conceal my agitation or risk rousing their suspicions. If they discover that their secrets are known and that capture is imminent, they will be far more dangerous. She could see that both men were armed with pistols. “Er, it is far too foggy to go out on a boat tonight,” she continued in a calmer tone.

Lydia clapped her hands together. “That is part of the fun! Darkness and fog and lantern light… It will be like a pirate ship!” More than you know, Elizabeth thought. “You’re just jealous that Wicky didn’t ask you!” Lydia sneered.

“Darcy, why are you out here?” Mr. Wickham regarded the other man suspiciously.

William must have reached the same conclusion as Elizabeth, for he answered in a mild voice. “Miss Elizabeth and I were taking a stroll on the beach.” The calm was belied by the coiled tension she could sense beneath her hand.

They could take Lydia to France with them—or drop her in the Channel. I must separate her from them. But how?

Instinctively she knew that the appearance of loyalty to Mr. Wickham would convey an advantage. She dropped her hand from William’s arm and took a step away. “He wishes me to give you up,” she told Mr. Wickham with a sneer. “It is forever his aim. He is so jealous of you.”

William’s head whipped around to stare at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on Mr. Wickham. I pray that William guesses I am playacting.

Mr. Wickham smirked. “It was ever so—even from childhood. Poor Darcy! Nobody likes you!”

If she had plunged a knife between his ribs, William could not have appeared more wounded. “Elizabeth…” The desperation in his voice nearly caused her to abandon the charade.