She buried her face against his chest, ignoring all the rules forbidding such contact between acquaintances of their level. She had not known Gus well, but she still pitied the young man, cut down in his prime. Surely, he must have a family on Longbourn land, and they would be distraught at his loss.

  “Lizzy?”

  She stiffened at the nickname for a moment, but then she slowly lifted her head. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

  “We are going to have to find shelter as quickly as possible. Without Goliath, we are further slowed. I must insist that you stay right beside me. You might find it improper, but I find it necessary to hold your hand as we walk. It would not do for either of us to get separated in the snowfall, especially as it thickens by the second.”

  She nodded and then winced again. How she wished she would forget such a common response that had been ingrained in her, at least until her head healed. “I am prepared to submit to what you require me to do, Mr. Darcy. I am out of my element.”

  His lips twitched just briefly. “As am I, Lizzy.” He seemed inclined to continue using her nickname, though he had not been given leave to do so, and it implied a level of intimacy that did not exist between them.

  She clung to his hand as he started walking, and it wasn’t long before his arm came around her waist, keeping her anchored against him. Partially, that was necessity, since she had a difficult time lifting her feet high enough to walk through the deepening snow, and partially, she suspected it was for comfort for both of them. She certainly found it comforting to have his arm around her, and the solid warmth of his body against her, though she couldn’t help noticing he was less warm with each passing moment.

  She could not be certain if they had gone for a few moments or hours as they trudged along. Gradually, she realized they had not yet found the road. Without finding that, it would make the task of getting to Netherfield even harder, and her chest squeezed with anxiety. “We shall die out here, Mr. Darcy.” She couldn’t help the hint of panic in her tone.

  He stopped walking and turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “Do not even think that way, Lizzy. You must keep going. We will find shelter and safety.”

  Dread was bubbling in her, and she could not stem the tide. “I do not wish to die here. Nor do I wish for you to die for me, which you will surely do because you stopped to rescue me. Oh, Mr. Darcy, why did you not do the sensible thing and continue on to Netherfield?” She was grasping his lapels and pleating them in her frantic hands. “I cannot bear for you to die.”

  He shook her gently, which caused an intense pain in her head. She winced and moaned, and his hands immediately gentled.

  “You must not lose hope. We have to keep going.”

  She opened her mouth, unable to quell the urge to sob. She could not focus on anything besides her fear, so she was unaware of the words streaming from her mouth between each sob. “Oh, I…”

  With a sudden motion, Darcy’s head descended, and his lips sealed her own. They cut off the torrent of nonsensical syllables that had flowed out of her mouth, and her lips immediately softened and formed to his.

  She had never been kissed before, and she’d never expected it to be like this. It was sweet and warm, like a soothing brandy, but stoked a burning fire in her belly that spread outward. She clung to him as she relaxed into his arms, and Darcy’s tongue tentatively slipped into her mouth.

  She gasped at the intrusion, never having imagined such a thing, but quickly convinced of the soundness of the idea by the way it made her feel. She was dizzy again, but this was a different kind of dizziness. It came from pure happiness and giddiness.

  At last, she was kissing Mr. Darcy. She had expected that to never occur, since he had made no effort to contact her after his last visit to Longbourn, when she had been in London. Aunt Gardiner had unexpectedly fallen ill and required assistance with her children, so Lizzy had been dispatched, with Jane expecting a renewal of Mr. Bingley’s attentions.

  When she did not hear from him, she assumed he was not interested in her. At that point, she had gravely accepted that he must have banished his proclaimed love for her, which had made her assume it could not have been more than a pale, watered-down version of love if it was so easily extinguished.

  Now, hope burst anew, and she clung to him as his arms pulled her tighter against him, while his mouth ravaged hers, and the passionate onslaught temporarily blotted the cold around them, dulling her mind to the dangers they faced.

  When he broke the kiss, she panted for air. She stared up at him in wonder, but also confusion. His expression revealed nothing. His tone was almost impersonal when he said, “We must continue searching for Netherfield.”

  She took his hand when he offered it, feeling bereft at the loss of his arms around her, and she wanted to ask about the kiss, but she did not have the courage. If it had been a spontaneous act of passion; one that indicated perhaps he still had feelings for her. Yet, it seemed like it might’ve been a coldly calculating move to distract her from her panic. In that case, it was simply the most expeditious way to refocus her attention, and it didn’t mean anything in the scheme of things.

  That thought saddened her greatly as she continued trudging through the snow along with Darcy.

  3

  They were lost. Fitzwilliam knew that, because they certainly should have come to the road by now if they had gone the right direction. With the snow blowing around them, and visibility greatly reduced even from what it had been a half-hour ago, they could be ten feet from the road, and he might not know it.

  It was a maddening and frightening experience, but he was resolved not to give up. He was practically dragging Lizzy behind him now, but she was still trying to keep up. He certainly wouldn’t leave her behind. If necessary, he would lift and carry her, though she was likely to protest the familiarity. Hang convention for the moment. He was focused on saving her.

  At first, he thought he might be imagining it out of desperation, but as they drew closer, he was certain there was a shape emerging from the snow. It appeared to be roughly square and taller than them, and as they drew closer, he realized it was a cottage. There were no lights inside, so perhaps it was abandoned, but it was shelter.

  He grasped her hand more firmly and pulled her tighter against him, wrapping his arm around her waist again as he almost carried her the last few feet through the deepening snow. He cursed slightly when his shin collided with the second step, having missed it in the snow, but soon gained firm footing and strode up the rickety stairs and equally rickety porch.

  She was in his arms as soon as he was on the porch, because she sagged forward and clearly could go no farther. He held her as he would if she were his bride as he strode to the front door. It took some maneuvering to reach the handle while still maintaining his hold on Elizabeth, but he did so successfully and nudged open the door seconds later.

  It was practically pitch-black inside, save for the lightness of the snow surrounding the outside that provided meager illumination. He cursed again when his leg banged into a piece of furniture, and he gently lowered Elizabeth to the floor so he could explore what it was with his hand.

  It was a rocking chair that felt decoratively carved by someone. He could feel ornate swirls and flourishes under his fingertips. It was also smooth, and it had likely been there a long time. The wood felt slightly warped and swollen, and he rocked it experimentally. When it did not fall apart, he urged Elizabeth to sit down. She did so with a sigh.

  Fitzwilliam was starting to shiver, suddenly more aware of how cold he was now that he was inside the chilly cottage. He fumbled in blindness, his fingers brushing against what he tentatively identified as an oil lamp.

  He lifted and gave it a small shake, hearing a sloshing sound that indicated it might still have oil. More fumbling led him to the wick, and he removed the flint from his pocket that he carried at all times, though it was a favor that had fallen mostly out of fashion among the gentlemen of the Ton.

  He was glad for the forethought as he struck the flint to produce a spark. It took three attempts before he connected with the wick, and a meager light flared. A quick assessment of the oil lamp revealed there wasn’t much oil left, but there would be enough for him to start a fire and see what he was doing. It might even last long enough to explore the small cottage.

  He moved the oil lamp with him when he went to the fireplace. There was no wood, and he cursed that before realizing how often he had sworn this evening. It was most unlike him, but the circumstances called for extreme reactions.

  He turned with the lamp, seeing Lizzy with her eyes closed. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, and she appeared to be sleeping. He would certainly check on her in a moment, to ensure it was only sleep and nothing deeper and more dangerous, but first, he had to see to a fire.

  Examining the area, he found three chairs and a bed in the corner. He approached it first, discerning it was filled with straw and covered with a stiff cloth. It would not be the most comfortable, but it would do for keeping them warmer. Someone had taken time to build a crude frame, and he dragged the bed over with it, bringing it as close to the fireplace as possible.

  Then he turned his attention to one of the rocking chairs that matched the one Elizabeth was in. He raised his foot to slam down upon it, cracking the wood apart.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped before a sob escaped her. “Watch out for the tree.”

  He looked at her, determining her gaze was clear, though she seemed a little confused. “Relax, Miss Elizabeth. I am simply breaking up the chair to have firewood.” He slipped back to Miss Elizabeth, finding Lizzy far too awkward to say now that they could make decent eye contact. It was too intimate now.

  After a moment, she relaxed again, her eyelashes fanning downward to obscure her lovely blue eyes.

  He returned his attention to the task before him, discovering the wood brittle enough from age that he was able to break it with no tools. He hoped it had not absorbed too much moisture to start a fire.

  His first few attempts ended in failure, until he retrieved some of the straw stuffed into the bed and used it for kindling. After that, he was able to slowly coax the fire to life. It was a good thing, because the oil lamp had started to flicker five minutes ago, and he had just achieved a satisfactory blaze when it completely surrendered and went out with a hissing sound. He set it on the mantelpiece as he got to his feet and turned to Lizzy.

  She had to be soaked beneath the coat, and their clothes needed to dry. There was only a thin blanket on the bed, but it would have to do.

  He knelt before her, touching her neck to make sure her pulse was strong. He was rewarded with it thumping steadily against his fingers as her eyelashes lifted again, and she gave him a smile. “You are quite beautiful by firelight, Mr. Darcy.”

  He blushed and then chuckled at the unexpected compliment. “I would like to say the same for you, Miss Elizabeth, but you currently look bedraggled. I need you to stand for me.”

  As she started to get up, he did the same. He provided support for her, ignoring his own weak knees as he started unbuttoning his coat.

  She wore a petulant frown. “You want your coat back?” She shivered.

  “I would not take it if I did not need to, love. It must dry, as must your clothes. You will not like my solution, I fear, but I see no alternative.”

  She tilted her head slightly, frowning at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I have never been in this situation, but I have heard the best solution is to make sure you do not wear wet clothing, and to share body heat. I suggest we both disrobe so our clothing can dry, and we can share the blanket and body heat.”

  “Oh.”

  He frowned. “That is your sole response, Miss Elizabeth?” It reminded him of her terse rejection of his proposal months ago at Hunsford.

  She gave a pouty frown. “I much prefer when you call me Lizzy, Fitzwilliam.” She seemed like she might giggle at the daringness of her words. “Yes, you should call me Lizzy, especially if we are to share a bed together.”

  “It shall not be in that context.” Yet his body responded in a predictable fashion to the idea of cuddling with a warm and willing Lizzy. Of course, he would not think to take advantage of her, especially with not knowing the extent of her head injury, but his physical response could not be denied.

  Lizzy was not much help when it came to undressing, but at least she provided no resistance or impediment. His fingers felt clumsy from the cold as he undid all the buttons on the back of her dress. No wonder ladies required ladies’ maids to dress and undress. He would just have to do his best.

  Once she was down to her chemise and a single petticoat, he hesitated. He had hoped to leave her that much modesty, but they were also soaking wet. With a sigh, he said, “I am going to remove the rest. You have my word you will not be dishonored in any fashion, Lizzy.”

  She did not respond, but her gaze seemed clear enough when he met it with his, and she showed no sign of rejection or fear as he helped her remove the petticoat before pulling the chemise over her head as a last step. He quickly averted his gaze, though he couldn’t help seeing part of her feminine mystique and gently rounded curves.

  It was enough to make his mouth water, and his cock tightened uncomfortably against the fall of his pants. He ignored that reaction as he quickly shuffled her to the bed. She laid down, and he covered her with the blanket before turning from her and removing his own wet clothes.

  He arranged them carefully in front of the fire before turning back to her. He was shocked to catch her openly staring at his bum. His mouth dropped open, especially when her gaze didn’t move from his erect shaft.

  There was a glimmer of interest in her gaze, but then she turned away from him, and he strode to the bed. He slipped in behind her, curling up with her back to his chest, and trying not to accost her with the presence of his stiffened excitement.

  Either Elizabeth did not realize the danger, or she did not care, because she wiggled and scooted until she was pressed fully against him, with the luscious curve of her arse temptingly cradling the heat of his erection. He gritted his teeth and tried to shift away, only to have her follow. “Miss Elizabeth, I am trying to maintain some respectability.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I am not,” she said in an equally prim voice, but her amusement leaked through.

  Tentatively, he allowed himself to relax against her by doing his best to ignore the pain from his erection. It would simply have to go away on its own, because he dared not defile her.

  Of course, he would have to offer for her. After the compromising situation they found themselves in, there would be no alternative. He would do the same for any woman of quality, but he could not help the lightness in his heart that Elizabeth was the woman which he had found himself in such a position. Any other woman would have been a most disagreeable match.

  “Fitzwilliam?”

  It was still startling to hear her speak his Christian name. He jolted for a moment and then relaxed. “Try to get some rest, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Lizzy,” she reminded almost grumpily.

  “Lizzy, sleep now. We shall find Netherfield in the morning, if they have not found us first.”

  With a huff, she relaxed against him further, and her head rested on his arm. A cloud of her hair surrounded him, and her scent wafted to him. It made him harder still, and he knew it was going to be a long night between fighting his urges and ensuring the fire remained burning.

  At least Lizzy helped his cause a few moments later by beginning to snore softly. With her asleep, he could perhaps quell his urges more easily. There was a mischievous side of her that seemed to be deliberately provoking him, but he could not be certain if that was due to her head injury, or perhaps an erotic element of her nature that he was unfamiliar with until now.

  Either way, it behooved him not to dwell on it, because the circumstances were certainly not ideal. He would never act on what his body was urging him to do without benefit of a union between them. His honor had not yet slipped that far.

  4

  Lizzy woke first, several hours later. She could hear the wind shrieking outside the cottage, and there were drafts bringing the air into them. When she looked up, the fire was still burning nicely, so Mr. Darcy must have tended to it a while ago.

  Thinking of him brought home just how close she was to him. In her sleep, she had turned over so that her stomach was against his, her breasts pressing against his chest. He was sleeping, and in the firelight, his cheeks appeared flushed, giving him a healthy glow. His lips were parted softly as he slept, and she could not resist the urge to brush hers against his, recalling the kiss they had shared earlier.

  When his eyelashes didn’t flutter open, and his mouth remained soft against hers, she deepened the kiss cautiously. She did not wish to take liberties he did not want to give, but since they had already shared kisses, it did not seem like too big of an impertinence to kiss him again.

  When that failed to rouse him, she allowed herself a moment to stare at him. His dark hair had curled and waved from the snow, and he was clearly drying his top hat as well. He had rough, slightly angular features, making him more ruggedly handsome than classically beautiful. She liked that about him. He seemed rather like a man, versus Charles’s boyish features, which never seemed to age, though she’d only known him a year.

  She eased back slightly, allowing her gaze to go lower. She could feel the hard heat of his arousal pressing against her thigh, but she wanted to see it for herself. She lifted the blanket enough to allow her to do so, though it was still too dim in the cottage to make out much. She could see the basic shape, but she decided the only way to know for sure how he was fashioned was to feel him.

  She paused for a moment, evaluating her situation. Was she acting out of character because of her head injury, or was she simply giving in to desire because she was so close to him? Would she have done such actions had she had not injured her head?

 

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