“No,” Darcy spoke firmly. “You are rehabilitating a neglected estate. Wickham is my responsibility, and I will bear the expense.”
Richard slammed his fist on the balustrade. “Darcy!” There was no mistaking the tone of exasperation.
“I will not be moved in this.”
“Always so damned high-handed!” Darcy said nothing; this was a complaint he heard before from his cousin. Richard stared into the night. After a minute, he finally grumbled, “Very well. But you should know I will be seeking an opportunity to return the favor.”
“As you wish.” Darcy cleared his throat. “Above all, do not reveal my involvement to Miss Elizabeth. If you must say anything, tell her I only acted as your emissary to Wickham.” Richard frowned, but Darcy held up a hand to forestall any protest. “I ask much of you, old friend. But I do not wish her to ever feel beholden to me.” Richard regarded him with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and Darcy feared he had betrayed himself. Finally, his cousin nodded.
Darcy leaned on the balustrade beside Richard. “I think it best if you inform Miss Elizabeth this night. She will see the announcement in the morning’s paper.”
Richard sighed. “Just as well. She only attended this ball at my insistence, and I only attended at my mother’s insistence. But I had hoped it would divert her attention from her sister.”
As if conjured by the mention of her name, Elizabeth’s voice floated through the air, calling for her fiancé. Both men turned to see her rushing toward them.
“I apologize for interrupting your pressing business, but I heard your mother asking, ‘Where is my son hiding now?’” Elizabeth imitated his aunt’s stentorian tones so perfectly that Darcy could not help but laugh. “She has arranged for you to dance with someone named Honoria Pigeon.”
Richard groaned. “She laughs like a horse and jabs my ribs with her elbow when we dance.” He regarded Elizabeth with chagrin. “If Mama hopes to persuade me to break our betrothal, Honoria Pigeon is not the means to accomplish it.”
Darcy laughed. “Perhaps you should make good your escape.”
Richard gave him a knowing look. “Indeed. As soon as I tell Elizabeth your news, I shall call for the carriage.”
Darcy bowed, said his farewells, and strode toward the French doors, now open to receive the evening breezes. Once inside the ballroom, however, Darcy hesitated. Some impulse toward self-torture caused him to turn back toward the veranda. Partially concealed by the draperies, Darcy could view Elizabeth and Richard quite clearly but not hear the words they exchanged.
Such covert actions were beneath him, but he felt compelled to it. Although he did not have the luxury of claiming the credit for helping Elizabeth’s family, he selfishly wished to witness her reaction to the news.
Richard spoke earnestly to her, clasping both her hands in his. Her eyes fixed on him anxiously as her teeth worried her lower lip. Then suddenly, her face transformed with joy, and she flung her arms around her betrothed’s neck. The relief and happiness etched on her features made Darcy’s every action worthwhile. She would never be his, but at least he had given her this gift.
He told himself sternly that it was time to depart, but he could not bring his body to move. He might as well have been carved from marble. Elizabeth’s slim body was clinging to Richard’s as she gazed at him, full of adoration. He did nothing to discourage the embrace, despite the public location. In fact, his hands tenderly caressed her back.
And then, his head descended toward hers, and he kissed her.
It was a brief brushing of the lips but enough to excite Darcy’s imagination. How would he feel to be the one kissing her? How would her body feel, pressed to his? Would her heart beat faster? Would Richard have gone further in a less public venue? Had he kissed her before? With greater passion? Richard gazed down at Elizabeth as if she were the air he needed to breathe. And Elizabeth, her fine eyes shining, clung to front of his coat, almost begging him to kiss her again.
Darcy could not pull himself away from the sight, even as it drove knives, one by one, excruciatingly slowly, into his heart. His eyes would not even close to shut away the view. He could only watch, transfixed, as the torture continued.
Richard kissed her again, more slowly and with more passion, drinking in the taste of her lips. One hand cradled her head and kept it pressed to his.
Darcy had kissed women. Enough to know something about the process. However, he had never known the kind of physical passion that approached what his cousin was experiencing at that moment—with the woman Darcy loved.
Richard ended the kiss after a matter of mere seconds and contented himself with gazing into her adoring eyes. What a fool, Darcy thought scornfully. She would have allowed him more liberties! He would have kissed her until she was gasping for breath. He would have touched her everywhere propriety would permit—and a few places it would not.
A black beast of jealousy descended over Darcy. He clutched at the velvet draperies with trembling hands so his body would not yield to the temptation to race onto the veranda and rip them from each other’s arms, demanding that Elizabeth accept him instead. He could challenge Richard to a duel, a time-honored method for ridding oneself of rivals. Then he could claim her for his own.
Darcy stood there for several long moments, attempting to control his racing heart and trembling body. He was a man, not a savage. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley. He could master jealousy, not let it provoke him into destructive and rash actions.
Darcy was disgusted with himself, falling prey to these baser emotions. Lusting after his own cousin’s fiancée.
Finally, the happy couple broke apart and made their way toward the ballroom. Darcy was released to stumble away from the window. Staggering out of the ballroom, he no doubt convinced many guests he was in his cups. Within minutes, he had achieved the safety of his coach and was clattering back to Darcy House.
Choked and sickened, Darcy tore savagely at his cravat. He could not continue in this manner. He had believed his feelings to be under control, but tonight had demonstrated how thoroughly he had deceived himself.
He desperately needed a different solution. A more radical solution. And he needed it immediately.
***
Darcy was writing last-minute letters in his study, while Tucker packed away estate records into a trunk on the far side of the room. Without any warning, Richard burst through the door.