Page 21 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

He made a sound low in his throat. The kiss deepened. His mouth was warm and sure. He kissed her slowly, and she understood that he had thought about this for a long time. Her fingers slid into his clean hair. She had washed it two nights ago. She knew exactly how it felt.

A floorboard creaked in the passage.

They broke apart. Footsteps were coming down the corridor, slow and heavy. A voice was murmuring to itself.

"Sermons. There must be sermons somewhere in the house. No gentleman's library is entirely without sermons." Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth could not run. There was no time, and nowhere to run to. Mr. Darcy looked at the door, and then at her. She saw him understand it at the same moment she did.

"Down," he breathed. "Behind the chair."

She slid out of the wing chair onto the hearthrug. Her bad foot caught the edge of the fender on the way down.

Pain shot up her leg, white and blinding. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Tears stung her eyes.

The chair's tall back faced the door. She pressed herself into the narrow space between it and the fender. She had to fold her legs under her to fit, and the ankle twisted beneath her weight. It hurt so badly she felt sick. She dared not shift it. The fire was hot against her back.

Mr. Darcy picked up the Cowper between his wrists. He sat down in the other chair with the book open on his knee.

Her candlestick still stood on the table beside his. Two candles for one man. There was no time to hide it.

The door opened.

"Mr. Darcy!" Mr. Collins stood on the threshold in a nightcap, with a candle in his hand. "I beg your pardon, sir. I had no notion anyone was awake."

"I seldom sleep, Mr. Collins. The burns."

"Of course. Of course." Mr. Collins came into the room. Elizabeth heard every step. "Lady Catherine suffers dreadfully from sleeplessness. She finds that a posset of warm milk and nutmeg answers very well. I shall write to her for the receipt."

"You are very good."

"I came in search of sermons, sir. Fordyce, ideally. But I find Mr. Bingley's library woefully deficient in that line." He paused. His eyes passed over the table, and the two candles, and moved on. "You are reading Cowper, I see. A most improving poet. I believe I shall read him aloud to my cousin Elizabeth. Selected passages only, of course. Some of them are a little warm for a young lady's ear."

"I shall bear it in mind."

Mr. Collins's steps came closer. Elizabeth held her breath. Her ankle was one long, hot throb now, beating in time with her heart. She dug her nails into her palm. He was standing on the other side of her chair now. She could see the hem of his nightshirt beneath the chair's edge, and his carpet slippers.

"Your cravat is disarranged, sir," said Mr. Collins kindly.

"I cannot tie it. My hands."

"Of course. Your man is returned, I think? I shared the coach with him. A most attentive listener." Mr. Collins sighed. "I confess, sir, I cannot sleep for my own reasons. I have a great decision before me."

"Indeed."

"Lady Catherine has advised me to marry. She was most particular. A gentlewoman, she said, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way." He lowered his voice. "I have come into Hertfordshire with that very purpose. And I believe I have found her, sir. My cousin Elizabeth."

Behind the chair, Elizabeth closed her eyes.

There was a long silence. The fire ticked.

"You have known her for one day, Mr. Collins," said Mr. Darcy.

His voice was low. It was not a friendly voice.

"One day is sufficient, sir, when the lady's merits are so plain. Her fortitude. Her economy, I hope, in time." Mr. Collins shifted his feet. "Do you think Lady Catherine would approve?"

"I think," said Mr. Darcy slowly, "that you had better ask the lady what she approves. And not my aunt."