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Quickly putting together the facts, Elizabeth noted, “I suppose that is how Evil finds its victims.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, Elizabeth. These powers might be how others trick their human sacrifices, but I never used them before tonight.”

“I do not fear you, Fitzwilliam,” she assured him. “I simply thought out loud.This is all so new to me; I did things in the past week I never considered doing before.”

“I understand.” Darcy touched her lips with his fingertips.Then he lowered his head to kiss her lightly.The darkness held a light—a brightness shining from each of them.

“Fitzwilliam, I do not want this to end.” The words rushed from her like water breaking through a dam. “I want to continue to ride—to practice with the swords—to waltz—to spend time just talking.”

He brushed his lips across hers.“Do not forget the kissing.”

Elizabeth slid her arms around Darcy’s neck, pulling him close. “No, let us not forget the kissing.” Her words shot through him. He kissed her again, searching her mouth with his tongue.

When they broke apart, he started to pull away.“I must leave.”

Must you?” Her words hung in the air between them. They were together because they needed to be. It was as if they lived in another world—one parallel to this one, where only they existed.

“Would you allow me to hold you? To lie next to you? I will not take advantage; on my honor, I will not.” He had taught himself not to hope for any true happiness; now, he feared Elizabeth might be his one disappointment.

They did not light a candle; the moonlight told the story.After a few uncomfortable moments, Elizabeth nodded her assent and threw back the covers on one side of the bed. Without conversation, he removed his boots before slipping in beside her. Darcy lay

Breathing in the smell of maleness and sandalwood, Elizabeth kissed his chest. Then she closed her eyes and let the feeling of rightness overcome her.

Darcy waited until he was sure that she slept, and then his own eyes drifted closed. How natural all this felt! She was like a beacon for his tortured soul. He wanted more of this—this sense of contentment. Walking away from Elizabeth Bennet might take more strength and more courage than he possessed. He knew himself to be obsessed with her, but an addiction was hard to fight, and Darcy was unsure he wanted to go to battle. Losing would have its benefits. Such thoughts carried him into the realm of sleep.

CHAPTER 5

When dawn broke, he no longer slept beside her. Several times during the night, Elizabeth woke to assure herself Darcy laid next to her in her narrow bed. Even though the warmth of him lingered on her body, she did not trust that she had slept in his arms throughout the night. It was a dream—an exquisite dream, but a dream nonetheless. She touched her lips; she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers. He hypnotized her with his charms—his desire to please her. Elizabeth Bennet was bewitched.

She saw him only briefly during the morning services; Darcy sat with the Bingleys on a pew in the front of the church, while she and Jane joined their family on the other side of the aisle. By leaning forward, she could see his profile. He sat with his eyes downcast throughout the sermon on Samson killing the honey-filled lion and then vanquishing the Philistines.

Elizabeth wondered how Darcy could sit in a church—could walk about during the day. Every tale she knew of werewolves and vampires and zombies rushed through her head.Were not vampires supposed to sleep in a coffin during the day? Were they not supposed to shun the daylight? Were they not supposed to subsist only on blood, eschewing food and water? Did the sight of the cross not make them flee? Yet Fitzwilliam Darcy, an avowed vampire, did none of these. He slept in a bed, walked in the sunlight, ate food—although it was true that he did avoid meat—and he sat before the cross in a church. Elizabeth could not justify these discrepancies.

When he took her hand to help her into the carriage, Elizabeth felt Darcy slip something into her palm. She clasped his note tightly, and without notice from anyone but Darcy, she slipped it into her reticule. He nodded silently to bid her farewell as she and Jane rode away from Netherfield. Elizabeth felt a sinking in the pit

Darcy fought the urge to chase after the carriage that transported her away from him. Last night was the best night of his life. He closed his eyes and felt her stretched out along the length of his body, their legs entangled, her hair mussed and falling across his arms. Desire shot straight to his groin, while frustration swam in his veins. Why can I not have her? Why has Fate shown me such great unkindness? Reluctantly, he followed the Bingleys into the house. Charles seemed to feel almost as destitute as he did, but Darcy could not share his misery, for no one could understand what he possessed with Elizabeth.

Finally, at home and alone in her room, Elizabeth reached for the reticule.The note rested on the bottom, and she withdrew it slowly from its recesses, savoring the moment. He had touched it; she brought it to her face and smelled it—traces of sandalwood—traces of him. A smile flitted across her lips. She unfolded the paper and gave it her full attention.

Vixen,

Will you come to the house tomorrow? I will be waiting, counting the moments.

D.

Elizabeth’s heart jumped in her chest. Yes.

Elizabeth hurried up the pathway to the back of the manor house. Darcy watched her from the kitchen window, delighting in the sight of her.When she burst through the door, he caught her in his arms and pulled her full to him, burying his face against her hair, kissing her with all the hunger of a starving man—starving for her.

When he broke the embrace, she giggled.“You missed me, Sir?”

“I greet all my lady friends this way,” he countered.

“I beg to differ, Mr. Darcy. I do not believe you kissed Miss Bingley in such a fashion.” She pulled away and crossed the room.

Darcy chuckled behind her.“I will grant you that,Vixen. I never kiss Miss Bingley.”

“And your other lady friends?” she said tauntingly.

He confessed,“Any there might have been are long ago forgotten. There is only you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “The perfect answer, Mr. Darcy.” Then she took his hand and led him towards the hall.“I need more practice.”

“I never saw a woman who loved to fight as much as you.” He laughingly followed her from the room.The practice rapiers lay on a nearby table. She picked up the nearest one and bent the steel, testing it. He picked up the other one and made a few practice forays.“Are you ready, my Lady?” He made an exaggerated bow in her direction.

“I am a willing vessel in your hands, Mr. Darcy.Teach me what I need to know,” she nearly purred.

“Oh,Vixen,” he moaned.“You should never say such words to a man who looks on a woman as I do you.”

She walked towards him, sashaying her hips, and cupped his cheek in her palm. Darcy turned his head to kiss the inside of her hand. Then she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him briefly. “You, Fitzwilliam, see a woman no one else does. Now, Sir, teach me my next move.”

He sighed deeply with resignation. “First, we will practice the demi-volte. Have you tried it on your own?” Elizabeth nodded and he led her to the center of the room, where Elizabeth practiced what she had seen him do.They stood side by side, almost as if in a dance—stepping and sweeping the sword through the air while turning. “Now, let us try opposite each other. I will come at you; I want you to block what I bring. Keep your sword horizontal, not vertical.” He executed the move in slow motion, giving her time to adjust, but she needed no pampering. Elizabeth Bennet, were she a man, could take her toll on a dueling field. “Excellent,” he declared after the fourth attempt.