Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcys Desire Страница 11

Elizabeth nodded to reassure him.“I cleaned it as best I could, but if you will excuse me, I will go to my room and wash it thoroughly.”

She had started away when her mother added,“You have a letter from your Aunt Gardiner on the table by the door.”

“Thank you, Mama. I will return shortly.” She grabbed the letter and bounded up the stairs.

Tossing both her cloak and the letter on the bed, Elizabeth poured water into a nearby bowl.Taking the soap from the tray, she began to wash the wound completely. Although the blood had stopped long ago, the feel of his mouth remained. Her eyes inspected the opening, looking for evidence of his perversion, but she saw none—only the cut. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and placed it in the soapy water to soak.

Returning to the bed, Elizabeth picked up the letter, breaking the wax seal with her finger. A page of close handwriting greeted her. The beginning traditionally shared the latest on the antics of her cousins. Elizabeth adored the children; secretly, she wanted a large brood of her own. She had lied to Darcy on that matter. But her aunt did not discuss her children in this letter.The crux of the letter became immediately apparent:

Lizzy, exercise the utmost care regarding Mr. Darcy. He is a powerful man and used to having his own way.There are things I never told you about Vivian’s murder; now that you have thrown yourself into Mr. Darcy’s path, I must share it all with you.

As you are well aware,Vivian was not his only victim.Two others died before her; all three of them worked on the estate. I beggedVivian to give up her position, but her family needed the money, and the Darcys pay well. I suppose it is to keep their secrets.Vivian claimed she could make twice as much at Pemberley as she could anyplace else in Lambton.

I was with her father when he and the others found Vivian’s body. It was a sight I will never forget. She lay in a ditch close to a stream on the estate.A gash the size of my hand opened her neck; the muscles and the tendons holding up her head were ripped to shreds, and her head lolled to the side.The magistrate ruled that a wild dog or a wolf had torn away the neck, but all of us who found her knew otherwise. Her skin was dry and withered. Every ounce of blood in her body was drained. No animal has this power.

Oh, Lizzy, the other girls were reportedly the same way. I spoke to Margaret O’Donnell’s sister. She told me poor Maggie was so mutilated they could not find enough of her to bury her properly. It drove her poor mother to madness.The woman roams the countryside, searching for the missing pieces of her daughter.

Two years ago, I saw Mr. Darcy in the warehouse district. I was there to meet your uncle for supper.The next morning, the papers were filled with the report of a mysterious murder of a female factory worker in that area.Three days later, the report of another murder appeared; a third one came within the week.

Do you not see, Elizabeth, this is no coincidence? Wherever Mr. Darcy is, women turn up dead—their bodies torn and mangled and drained of blood, like something—or someone—sucked it from them.

There is an evil in the Darcy family. I beg you, avoid the man. I could not bear to lose you.

M. G.

Elizabeth reread the letter twice before setting it aside. Hands shaking, she returned to the task of cleaning the handkerchief. It was real, and it belonged to Darcy, the Darcy she spent the past week talking to, riding with, and kissing. It did not belong to the Mr. Darcy her Aunt Meredith described. That man does not exist.

Yet as she scrubbed the blood from the cloth, she felt his mouth on her wound—felt his teeth touching her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. Could he have told her the truth? Could he be a vampire?

What if he did kill those women? Yet it did not make sense. She took the cloth from the water and hung it close to the fire to dry. She traced the embroidered FD with her fingertip. “Fitzwilliam,” she whispered. His name brought her comfort, not repulsion. Now, she would have to see him again, whether he wanted her as part of his life or not; she could not walk away from the mystery.

For two days, Elizabeth heard nothing of and nothing from Mr. Darcy. She fretted and fussed and fumed about Longbourn, much to the annoyance of her family, although none of them knew why she felt out of sorts.

“I know just what you need,” Lydia asserted, barging into her bedroom. “Mr. Denny is on his way, and he is bringing a friend—a handsome friend.”

“Oh, Lydia, tell me you did not do this,” Elizabeth protested.

“Too late.” Lydia twirled around the room. “They just came into the garden. Arrange your hair, Lizzy, and come downstairs. Jane, Kitty, and Mary are already in the drawing room.”

Elizabeth went to the mirror to check her looks.“What makes you think a man can solve what ails me, Lyddie?” However, as she observed her reflection, she could think of one man in particular who could remove her anxiety with just a sideways glance.

“Meeting new gentlemen always cheers me up,” her youngest sister declared, as if it were a given fact for everyone.

“You are our mother’s child,” Elizabeth remarked. “You go on down, dear, with the others, and I will follow momentarily.”

Left alone, Elizabeth fished out Darcy’s handkerchief from a dresser drawer; she placed it in her pocket, where she might touch it. When Elizabeth entered the room, Mr. Denny addressed her directly and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say accepted a commission in the corps.This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only regimentals

“From where do you hail, Mr. Wickham?” she asked out of politeness.

Wickham sat beside her on one of the drawing room settees. “Originally, I am from Scotland, Miss Elizabeth, but more recently I lived in Bakewell, as well as in London. I returned eight months ago from a short stay in Kent.”

“Bakewell? In Derbyshire?” she demanded, latching onto the words.

Wickham shifted his weight, as if he would like to change the topic or quit the room.“You know Derbyshire, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Our aunt, Sir, comes from Lambton.” Taking real note of the man at last, somehow she felt she sat next to evil. His smile was too perfect—his manners were too perfect—he was too perfect.

Wickham’s voice changed tenor; suspicion appeared at once. “Outside Pemberley? Do you know the estate?”

“Only by reputation.”

Before the conversation could go further, Lydia and Kitty interrupted. “We wish to walk to Meryton;Aunt Philips invited us all to tea.You will come, too, will you not, Mr. Wickham?” Lydia asked flirtatiously.

“I will happily see you to town, Miss Lydia.” He stood and made a quick bow to her. “I am most anxious to hear of your luck with lottery tickets. I understand from Mr. Denny that you win quite often. Do you have a method you employ?” He took her hand and placed it on his arm as he led Lydia to the entrance hallway.

Needing the exercise and Jane’s company, Elizabeth trailed along—despite her misgivings about the fine-looking stranger. Of late, Jane shared secrets about Mr. Bingley with her; Jane told her everything he had said to her while she recuperated at his house. Elizabeth would like to reciprocate and tell Jane of Mr. Darcy, but

Upon reaching the village, they turned towards their aunt’s house. Luckily, Aunt Philips met them coming from the shops. Introductions were made once again. The introduction was followed upon Mr.Wickham’s side by a happy readiness of conversation—a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. Elizabeth’s heart leaped.

On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly forward then and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object.

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said as he tipped his hat to Jane, “I was just now on my way to Longbourn to inquire after your health.”

“I am well, as you can see, Mr. Bingley.” Jane blushed from his attention.

As the two openly flirted, Darcy and Elizabeth both fought the urge to fix their eyes on each other, and then Elizabeth noted his distress at the sight of finding Mr. Wickham a member of the Bennet party. Elizabeth, happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed color: One looked white, the other red. Darcy’s ice-blue eyes hardened in apparent hatred. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat—a salutation, which Darcy just deigned to return.What could be the meaning of it? Elizabeth’s curiosity was piqued. It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

In another minute Mr. Bingley, without seeming to notice what passed, took his leave and rode on with his friend. Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips’s house and then made their bows, in spite of Lydia’s pressing entreaties that they should come in.

Before the gentlemen could escape,Aunt Philips invited them all to dinner for the next evening.The younger girls readily agreed for

Elizabeth followed her sisters into the house, where she tried to enjoy their company and the tea, but her mind rode with a stranger across the rolling hills of Hertfordshire. Why had Darcy snubbed Mr. Wickham? Even in distress, his good breeding took over and Darcy would act the gentleman. It had something to do with Derbyshire, she surmised. Obviously, Darcy would not tell her; she would just have to ask Mr.Wickham for his story.

As he rode away, Darcy’s anger boiled over.Trying to respond to Bingley’s happiness at seeing Jane Bennet only complicated his feelings. Wickham was in town. Even worse, he was in Elizabeth’s company. Had Wickham followed him here to Hertfordshire? Did he know how Darcy felt about Elizabeth—how lonely the past two days without her had been? He, Darcy, had to stay away from her, for if Wickham knew, he would target Elizabeth as revenge against himself. Wickham had tried with Georgiana, and now his Elizabeth was in danger from the same evil. Darcy had to figure out a way to protect her. Staying away from her completely seemed the only logical course of action, but he knew her. His absence would increase her inquisitiveness; she had observed his reaction to Wickham today, and she would not let it rest.

CHAPTER 6

The woman flirted with him brazenly, and Wickham allowed her to sit upon his lap. Her dark skin indicated that she was of Mediterranean descent. “You are beautiful, my pet.” He bit down on her earlobe, harder than most men might, but the lady did not complain. Instead, she pulled his face to her breasts, allowing him to rub his lips, his nose, and his tongue along her cleavage. Wickham caressed her breast and then he whispered eagerly,“Where can we be alone?”

She giggled and wanted to be kissed, but he hated kissing any woman other than Ellender. Only Ellender fulfilled those needs he tried to bury deep within.

“Let me get my shawl.”

“I will keep you warm,”Wickham insisted.

The woman said playfully,“I expect you will, Love.”

Within a few minutes they walked along a quiet country road. “Me house be just down here.” She gestured to a small cottage.

Wickham pulled her to him. “I do not believe I can wait that long.” He slipped the bodice down, exposing one of her breasts.

“You be an anxious one, Love,” she reprimanded him, but she did not withdraw from his aggressive touch.

Wickham shoved her chin up, so that she might look into his eyes. He held her there with his grasp and with his stare. “Let me show you how anxious,” he growled. He lowered his head and sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck. Tasting the blood, he closed his jaw, and with the strength of a wolf, he bit harder and ripped away the flesh.The woman did not scream as he took her; instead, she lolled back into arms. He licked and sucked and tore away more of her.The fear in her eyes remained as her body went rigid. Now, he felt the erection, and he laid her on the ground to ravish her completely.

Determined to have her answer, Elizabeth set out for Meryton as early as propriety would allow. If necessary, she would find Mr. Wickham with the rest of the militia. Luckily, the man lazily sauntered down the main street of the village. She crossed the street at an angle, with the purpose of seeming to accidentally meet with him. She positioned herself as if interested in a fine bonnet displayed in the window of a mercantile. Waiting, her heartbeats anxious, Elizabeth counted to ten before he stepped up beside her.

“The color would do nothing for your beautiful hair, Miss Elizabeth.” He spoke close to her ear—intimately close.

Elizabeth did not turn; they could behold each other’s reflection in the store’s window, and although hers was crystal clear, even showing the wrinkles in her sleeves, Mr. Wickham’s was a blur of color. A shiver ran down her spine, but her words hid her fear. “I thought it to be a gift.” With deliberate innocence, she turned to face him. “Good day to you, Mr. Wickham. I see you have your lieutenancy.” His regimentals added to his perfection. Her mouth went dry as his rapier-sharp gaze narrowed on her.

“I am a lowly foot soldier, Miss Elizabeth.” He made an exaggerated bow.

Forcing herself not to look directly into his eyes, Elizabeth feigned delight. Cool and calm came her words: “I am pleased to know Meryton is safer than it was this time yesterday.” Setting her mind to her task, she reached for Wickham’s arm. “And now, Mr. Wickham, I might implore you to escort me safely to my Aunt Philips’s house.”

“My true pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”

He reached for her hand to place it on his proffered arm when Elizabeth took note of a birthmark or tattoo on the back of his hand. When Wickham saw her staring at it, he withdrew his free hand and turned her towards her aunt’s house, but Elizabeth was aware of how he stiffened with the action.“It is a burn,” he offered before she could ask.“My father was a strict disciplinarian.”Wickham

It was all the explanation he presented, and no other avenues of conversation could be had with pursuing it, so Elizabeth let it drop with simply a nod of her head. Instead,they walked slowly, pausing often to peer into the nearest window. At last she asked, “Do you suppose the militia will be long in Meryton, Mr.Wickham?”

“I hope not.” He let his smile fade.“My hopes are to see action on a battlefield.” His expression was unreadable.