Page 29 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 29

D arcy opened the shutter on the lantern a fraction of an inch, just enough to lighten the worst of the darkness inside the carriage shed while leaving plenty of dark shadows to hide in. It was a good location for a surreptitious meeting. The large double doors were bolted from the inside, leaving only the small entryway on the side. Most of the space was taken up by the small carriage that had first brought him here from the fae burrow, half delirious with pain. He winced at the memory.

Soon Elizabeth would be here. It was a miracle – and a disaster. Elation and anger had been battling for supremacy since he had seen her this afternoon, the joy of touching her and speaking to her fighting with his anger that she would take such a terrible risk, both for herself and their child. Why had she not waited at Pemberley as she was supposed to? What madness had brought her to France?

What was happening in England to cause her to come after him, and how had she found him when Napoleon’s troops could not? And there was the dread of telling her about his arm – and the disaster he had created with his failure. The husband she remembered had never known what it was to go hungry for days, to be hunted like a dog by men who wanted him dead, or to be in constant pain from a wound. And all for nothing. His love for her was deeper than ever, but he was not the same man she had married .

The side door opened a few inches. Elizabeth’s face peered around it, and then she stepped inside and pushed back the hood of her cloak.

She was here, and that was all that mattered. None of his plans, the worries about someone following her, nothing except his Elizabeth. She was a magnet that drew him, the flame to his moth. He strode forward even as she ran towards him.

Then his good arm was around her, holding her tightly. She was real, and she was here, and he was complete again.

He could not hold her close enough. How had he ever managed to leave her, to give up this connection that filled him with such joy and warmth? His need for her roared through him, for the delight of her laughter, the sheer dancing pleasure of her presence, and the desire that raced through him at her touch. He buried his face in the softness of her hair, breathing in the essence of Elizabeth as if he could never get enough.

All his cares disappeared in the intoxication of her. He sought out her soft lips – and tasted salt. She was crying. Now he could feel the trembling in her shoulders. “Oh, my dearest love,” he whispered. “What is the matter? Did someone hurt you?” He could not tell her all was well, for it most certainly was not.

She took an uneven, gasping breath. “Nothing. It has just been so long, and I did not know if I would ever see you again.” She straightened and moved back a little, as if remembering where they were. “And you…are you well?”

“As well as I can be.” His eyes roved down her body in the flickering shadowy light, and he brought his hand to rest on her swollen abdomen. “I can hardly believe this. He has grown so much.” His child, right there beneath his fingers.

“He is a little rapscallion, always kicking and moving around,” Elizabeth said fondly, covering his hand with her own. “But he is quiet now. Or she.”

How intimate it felt, their fingers together, covering the child they had made. In the midst of this disaster, it was a moment of pure life-giving connection. “I wish I had been there for all of it. ”

She wiped her eyes. “You are here now.” And then her hand went to his right elbow, and ran down to the fingertips hanging limply by his side. She had noticed, before he even had time to tell her.

He braced himself. “I was shot in the shoulder.”

She nodded slowly. “The fae told me, the one who came with news of the dragon lodestone.”

So the creature who rescued him had followed his request. Darcy forced himself to go on. “The wound healed, but my arm lacks any real strength.” It was nothing compared to all the men who had lost arms or legs in the war, but it was still not his favorite subject.

She caught her breath. “Will it get better in time?”

“Mme. Hartung thinks it may, but I can hardly consult a doctor.” He could hear the harshness in his own voice. But how he had hated this, giving her the bad news.

“I am so sorry, my love.” Her eyes gleamed brighter in the dim light.

Damn. The last thing he wanted was to cause her pain! Gently he rubbed a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “I hoped it might improve before you learned of it.”

“It does not matter,” she said fiercely. “You are alive. And free?”

“I am not a prisoner, but were I to leave this place on my own, that would quickly change.” And it was not freedom to be stuck in a house, dependent on the charity of a stranger, unable even to defend himself with his useless arm.

“You were right to stay here,” she said softly.

“I have no choice,” he said, sudden anger rising inside him. “Do you know what they are doing to Englishmen here? Bloodthirsty mobs attacking them on the streets, their revenge for the attempt on Napoleon’s life and the burning of the Tuileries. Innocent people have been killed because of my mission.” He struggled to modulate his voice, to sound like the civilized gentleman he once had been. How could he, though, when she had placed herself in such peril?

She shuddered. “There were rumors of that at home, but I did not know whether to believe them. ”

“Believe it. You are in danger here.” There was so much he wanted to ask her, so many unimportant details, or simply to hold her to him, but they could be interrupted at any moment. Business had to come first. He lowered his voice to a whisper, just in case anyone might be listening. “I must know. Has the War Office been informed about Napoleon?”

“Of his shape-shifting? I sent word to Granny, who is still in London. And I told your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he came to Pemberley.”

“That is something, at least,” he said bitterly. “Otherwise it would all have been for nothing. Leaving you, being trapped in France, getting shot.”

She shook her head. “That is not true! Yes, Napoleon still lives, but what you learned about him is vital. The sea serpents, too, and the device to find dragons. It is so important.”

He barely suppressed a sound of derision, one directed at himself, not at her. “A slight help at best. Did you know that Napoleon has now set his sights on conquering England next instead of Russia? The newspapers here are full of it, whipping people into a frenzy. They say he plans to cross the Channel in the spring. All because of the attack on him.” It would have been better for Britain if he had never left Pemberley. Why had he never considered the consequences that might follow a failed mission?

She gasped. “No. I had not heard that.”

Of course they would have kept it out of the British newspapers. Otherwise people would panic. “And now you have walked into the trap with me. Why are you here? You were supposed to stay safe at Pemberley, you and the child. You should not have risked this.”

She gripped his hands, her eyes wide. “It had to be done. Cerridwen had a vision of a disaster if we did not hunt for you.”

The disaster had already happened, as far as he was concerned. “You are more important to me than any vision,” he said urgently. “We must get you back home.” As if even Pemberley was safe now .

But that was the problem. There was no safety to be had anywhere, not while Napoleon was at large. And Darcy had a wife and soon-to-be baby to protect. A child who needed to be born at Pemberley.

She laid her hands against his chest. “We will both go back together,” she said fiercely.

No doubt she meant well, but it was a ridiculous hope. He had been working day and night to come up with an escape plan, and the best he had would take many months. And that was assuming Napoleon’s troops did not discover him first, when Elizabeth seemed to have no trouble doing so. “How did you find me? Who else knows I am here?”

“Only Cerridwen, who can track you. I followed her directions.”

Another life risked pointlessly. “Cerridwen is here, too? The dragon lodestones will find her, and then you.” And him, too, but that mattered less.

“Those can only work at a short distance, according to the Nest. And Cerridwen has been careful. She does not even speak to me via sending, simply flies to me as a falcon. The Eldest says it is safer if we do not use our Talent.”

“But the risk – you should not have come.” He was repeating himself, but how could he bear it if she was taken by the French, all because of his errors?

She drew in a sharp breath, as if he had hurt her. “Should I have stayed safely home, knowing it meant England going up in flames?” Her voice shook. “There was never a choice, not when it came to you. Not for me. And I missed you.”

Something inside him cracked open, past all the misery and hopelessness of the last months, something raw and agonized. “I cannot tell you how much I have longed for you, or what it means to have you here beside me. I have gone days without eating, been so cold I thought I would never be warm again, been shot and lost half my blood. But none of that hurt as much as missing you.” He pulled her in again with his good arm, pressing his cheek against her head. How could he ever let her go again ?

She gulped. “Oh, my love!” And then she wound her arms around his neck and brought her mouth to his.

The feathery touch of her lips was a gift, an acceptance, a welcoming he had not known he needed. And then she deepened the kiss, sending a surge of desire coursing through him. All the pain he had been holding back, all the nights alone dreaming of her, all the aching pain of his failed mission – it all became fuel for his desperate hunger for her.

And he could tell she felt it, too, from her quick gasps of breath to the way she arched against him, as if she could never be close enough to him. This was how it should be, the two of them together, lost in their love.

He needed more, so much more. “I wish there were somewhere we could be together.” How he ached to be part of her again, to feel her skin against his! But it was impossible.

“The carriage,” she gasped. “We can manage it in there.”

Oh, the temptation! “It would hardly be comfortable for you, especially now.” But he wanted her to contradict him. “It is too risky. We might be caught.”

“If someone finds us, they will not be the least surprised that a rich gentleman has convinced a poor woman to share a little sport.” Then her wicked, teasing smile broke out, the one he had not seen in so long. “And I will be most uncomfortable if we stop now. “

He could not have agreed more, as he prayed it would not be a disappointment to her, between the circumstances and his having only one hand. All he had was his love for her, and that would have to be enough to overcome their disadvantages.

Afterwards, Darcy held Elizabeth on his lap on the bench in the cramped carriage, her head resting against his, her body warm and relaxed. It might have been clumsy and cramped, but none of that had made it any less fulfilling or blissful. Even now, pleasure still shimmered in his body. If only he could hold her hand or caress her! But his left arm was around her, and his right would not obey. All the automatic, unthinking times he had never considered how much it meant to have two hands.

“Can you reach inside my coat?” he asked. They had been too eager to undress fully, even if there had been room for it in the cramped carriage. “There is a small pocket on the inside, near my heart.”

She gave him a teasing look. “Always wanting my hands inside your clothes.”

“There is something for you there. A gift I bought for you in Paris, just a small thing, but it reminded me of you.”

For some reason, that sobered her. Her hand crept inside his coat, pulling out the small package wrapped in a piece of linen. She unfolded it carefully to reveal the handkerchief embroidered with violets, cowslips, and lily of the valley. She stroked it gently, and then brushed it against her cheek. “I have heard of how fine French silk is, but I have never felt anything so soft,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Thank you.”

“Do you remember seeing the wildflowers together as we walked to the cottage in the woods? I thought of that when I saw it. It was like having a little bit of you with me.”

She kissed him tenderly. “I will treasure it.” She placed it on her lap, and then reached down to touch his limp hand. “Can you feel things with it?” she asked softly.

“To a degree,” he said. “It is less than it was.”

She hesitated. “It does not seem to pain you when it moves.”

He shook his head. “No.” Only the shoulder hurt, and an occasional stabbing pain down the arm that came out of the blue.

Her hand moved over his, grasping his wrist, and then she raised it until his palm rested against her cheek. “I do not want you to forget what it feels like to touch me with it,” she said with a catch in her voice.

The softness of her skin was a balm to his fingertips, a sensual pleasure and a reassurance that his injury did not disgust her. As well as a tenderness that fed a deep well in him. How fortunate he was to have her, and how he adored her !

If only they could remain in this moment forever, their eyes locked together in the darkness and love flowing between them! It was as if her essence were giving him much-needed strength. A tingle of her Talent flowed into his fingers, his hands, and down his wrist, curling around his sinews and bones. It felt heavenly.

“No,” he gasped. “Do not use your Talent. It is not safe.”

The tingling drained away, leaving emptiness behind. “I did not even realize I was doing it,” she said tremulously. “I was only thinking of how much I wanted your hand to heal. But I will not do it again.”

“I am not angry at you,” he said gently. “Simply worried about being caught.”

“I know. I am supposed to be watching for that, when my Talent slips out of my control.” Then she smiled, and with what sounded like a deliberate attempt to lighten her voice, she said, “You would not believe the scoldings I have received on the subject! But I will save that story until we have more time.”

“I want to hear all of it,” he said. “Every single thing that has happened while we have been separated. And how on earth you made your way here.”

“The dragons managed most of it.” She brought his hand down and carefully interlaced her fingers with his. Amazingly, he was able to tighten his hand just a fraction, nothing that could qualify as a grip, but enough that she should be able feel it. “My task was only to find where you were being held prisoner and report it to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who would have handled the dangerous parts of rescuing you. I did not even know if I would see you.”

“Richard? Is he here, too?”

“He wanted to come, but I thought he would draw too much attention, a foreign man of fighting age. No one has shown any concern about me. The War Office should use women who are increasing for all their missions. Men are suspected at every turn, but I have barely had my papers checked. Everyone offers to help me.”

She made it sound so easy, but he knew better. “Coming to France is simpler than leaving. How will you get back? ”

She nestled her cheek against his. “The dragons have a plan for that, too. We will be going home through a Gate.”

The upstairs maid came down to the kitchen the next morning. “You,” she said to Elizabeth rudely. “Madame wants you in the sitting room.” The lazy girl. Napoleon’s spy.

Elizabeth put aside the carrots she was peeling and untied the apron she had borrowed from the cook. “Right now?” she asked.

“Of course right now!” the woman snapped. “Follow me.”

What could Mme. Hartung want with her? Elizabeth trailed after the maid, through the dining room and to a charming sitting room overlooking the gardens. Her eyes immediately flew to Darcy’s familiar form, standing by the window.

She had to fight the urge to run to him. Instead she ignored him, making her curtsy to Mme. Hartung.

“Ah, Mme. Dubois, there you are,” she said to Elizabeth. “I have had a change of plans which might prove of benefit to you. A friend of mine in Strasbourg is ill, and I will be leaving tomorrow morning to visit her, along with my children. Kapitan Kupillas will escort us.”

Elizabeth swallowed. Strasbourg was near the mountains where the French Nest was located. It could not be a coincidence. But she had to be careful; the spying maid was standing beside her. “Yes, madame. I hope your friend recovers quickly.”

“Thank you. Now, I do not know where you are headed, but you would be welcome to ride into town with us. I will give you fare for the diligence to your uncle’s house; I hate to see a woman in your condition traveling on foot.”

Definitely not a coincidence. “Madame, you are too kind! May the saints bless you for your generosity.” It would make Darcy’s travel much safer in a private carriage with the protection of Mme. Hartung, but why was this woman risking so much to help Darcy?

“Excellent. It is settled, then. We will leave first thing in the morning.” She rubbed her arms as if she felt cold. “Colette, pray fetch me my shawl.”

The maid curtsied and left, and they were alone together.

Mme. Hartung smiled at her warmly. “I am sorry I cannot offer you better accommodations, but Colette will insist on coming with us, and I could not explain taking you with us the entire way. I hope this will be helpful, though.”

“Very much so,” Elizabeth said fervently. “You have done so much for…” she could not bring herself to say the false name.

She gave a light laugh. “For my dear cousin Ernst? How could I do any less?”

Darcy said in a low voice, “I owe her a great deal. She taught me how to use a German accent and gave me her late father’s identification papers with the birth year altered. I have been Ernst Kupillas this last month. They would have arrested me long ago without her help.”

Elizabeth could not help a little surge of jealousy at the warmth in his voice. “I am very grateful to you, Mme. Hartung.”

“I had hoped to do more. I wrote to the emperor requesting his permission to return to Prussia. Ernst… pardon, your husband, could have returned to England more easily from there, but it was not allowed.”

“I thank you for your efforts.”

Mme. Hartung smiled up at Darcy. “He has been good company, and he has been helping my children with their lessons.”

Darcy gestured to his bad arm. “It was the only way I could be of use.”

“The little ones will miss you.” But her eyes said they were not the only ones.

How could she be angry at this brave, kind woman who had risked so much for Darcy? “I will remember you in my prayers. And should you ever find a way to England, you will always be welcome at Pemberley.”

Then the maid returned with the shawl, and nothing more could be said.