Page 15 of His Dark Heart
“Think not for one moment, George, that this is full of ease for me. Mock me not! I am dying! Ye! Ye can stay here, in our home, with our friends, but I! I am being sent beyond the border of our region! I shall have no friends, no loved ones, and yet ye mock. Inform me, bonny George, when did ye become so damn cruel?”
He caught her face in his hands and delivered a kiss to her stubborn mouth.
“A thousand apologies, beloved. I had been thinking of my own heart and forgot that thine is more precious.”
At that moment, Elizabeth found she had lost her patience for George’s poetic meanderings. “I must go. This was a mistake. Forgive me, my dearest George, for any past and future sins I make against ye. I love ye.”
She kissed him once more and ripped herself from him before he could utter another word. Grabbing one of the bigger lanterns from the ground, Elizabeth's trek through the woods was a little bit easier this time. The sun would be rising soon, so she made her way straight to the churchyard to pretend she had been visiting her mother's grave.
Up ahead on the left side of the old dirt cart path was a house. Horses were tied to posts in front and a light or two glowed from behind the frosted glass on the first floor. The house, affectionately known by the male residents of Meryton as Queen's Knees, was infamous. The house offered gaming, spirits, and the most popular attraction, whores.
She had seen one of the ladies once when she was a child. The woman had had the brightest red hair she had ever seen. Her skin was pale like moonlight, and her cheeks had been streaked bright with rouge. Her gown was cut so low that Elizabeth had fancied she had seen more flesh than fabric.
Lost in her memories of the fallen woman, Elizabeth jumped at hearing her own name.
“I say, Miss Bennet, I did not expect to happen upon you quite so early today or late this evening. Whichever, I suppose, you prefer.”
Lord Darcy was just on the other side of the brothel gate, unhitching his massive grey horse. He had a grin on his face, and Elizabeth found her hand itching to smack it away.
“I can see thy commitment to me is certain in the presence of my Papa, but no more than that.” Her voice was as dry as tinder.
“Oh, I am committed to you, my lovely future bride. A man, though, has his needs, and we are not married yet.”
“I shiver with anticipation for the arrival of our wedding day when ye shall bed thy wife then take up with thy whores. I shall be so very honoured,” she muttered, sarcasm lacing her every word.
“Pray, what has you out wandering so late? You are not coming from the direction of your house.”
She bit her lip. Should she say she was on her way to the cemetery? She would surely be discovered. Saying she was out for a walk would be a lie. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, offered him her best bright smile and said, “I was returning from a visit to see George.”
Despite the darkness, the rage in Lord Darcy's eyes was plain, and the speed with which he was over the fence was truly frightening. Instantly pain shot through her arms as his fingers dug into the muscles. She shouted out but he did not seem to notice.
“You were with him? Alone? I should take a switch to your hide myself!”
“If only ye had the right to do so, sir. I am not yet thy wife.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “If it is proven you have been spoiled then you shall not be my wife at all, and your bride-price will be forfeited. I shall own your father.”
“Ye would not dare.”
“You know nothing half so well as my will, Elizabeth. Have you not yet learned that I am capable of anything? If I doubt your purity, I am well within my rights to have you inspected.”
“Ye have just stepped from a whore's bedroom and ye speak to me of purity? That is rich. Ye are a fool and a hypocrite, Lord Darcy.”
* * *
His grip tightened on her arms once again as he glared at her. In his many years taunting and using the opposite sex, no woman had ever infuriated him as much as his betrothed. She had poor connections, she had little money, yet she possessed the power to slice him deep with her tongue. It was part of her charm, and the talent which he most wished she would suddenly lose. She, unlike everybody he had ever encountered, never failed to tell the truth. Although the new information was a surprise to him at the moment, he had to admit that he enjoyed this more so than the company of liars.
Also, he was not a hypocrite. He had gone to the brothel in hopes of finding a woman, but none had struck his fancy, so he had simply enjoyed drinks and dice. Elizabeth, however, need not know that. He liked to pretend it was jealousy that riled her so.
“Ye are hurting me.” Her voice was low and icy.
“A thousand apologies.” He removed his hands, contrite. “Will you swear that nothing untoward occurred between you and Mr. Wickham this evening?”
She took a moment to consider her response, then smirked. “Pray, define ‘untoward.’”
His temper boiled again, but she dodged him before he could grab her.
“Do not trifle with me, Elizabeth.”
