Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle (61 page)

Deuce take it, I should have listened to Mr. Mooney.
He climbed to his feet, dusted off the seat of his pants and shrugged.
I shall survive, albeit with a headache, I am sure.

~~~*~~~

Downstairs

Rufus Parker had been about to retire for the night, convinced that Mr. Darcy

 would likely be at the stables until dawn, when the sight of his mistress’ nephew entering the back door with a blood-stained shirt and a wound to the head left him speechless. After hearing a quick explanation of the reason for that gentleman’s injuries, Parker’s mind raced with the question of what to do first—fetch his mistress or his wife? Neither option was pursued, however, as William forbade him from waking either of them. He did manage, however, to coax the gentleman to the kitchen in order to assess the injury.

William had wearily slumped down in a chair next to a table, pulling the handkerchief back for the butler to inspect the gash. Mr. Parker’s expression at first sight of the damage did not ease his mind, no more so than the consequent clicking of the servant’s tongue in disapproval.

“I wish you would allow me to awaken my wife, Mr. Darcy.  I am sure that she would insist that you allow her to stitch up this wound!”

“I do not want anyone awakened at this ungodly hour to see after a scratch! It shall be well.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but based on what I have seen over the years, I do not think it will. You have held a cloth on it for several minutes now, I assume, and the bleeding has not diminished. It is very deep, and without stitches, may not stop bleeding for some time. At the very least, it will leave a horrible scar if it is not sewn up properly.”

“I am determined that we will do it my way, Parker.”

“Then at least allow me to fetch warm water to wash the wound and your face. I am afraid that blood has run down the side of your face and neck and ruined your shirt. And, I shall also find my wife’s bag of remedies, as she has powders for headaches.”

“If you insist. I shall wait for you in my dressing room.” With that, William was out of the chair and the kitchen in short order. 

“Stubborn,” Parker murmured to himself as he watched the young man go. Lady Ashcroft would not be pleased with him or her nephew. “The wound will be too swollen in the morning to do anything about it.” After sending the footman who had opened the back door for Mr. Darcy to obtain a pitcher of warm water, he set out to find his wife’s bag. “Why does this generation think they are experts on everything? A cut on the forehead will never close properly without stitches,” he said, still clicking his tongue.

He finally located the bag in a closet next to his wife’s office. Turning, he spied the footman coming towards him with the water.

“Thank you, Soames.” The footman nodded, as Mr. Parker took the offered pitcher. “You may return to your post.” Mr. Parker began to make his way to William’s room.

~~~*~~~

After midnight, Elizabeth had given up her vigil at the window, accepting that there must be complications with the foaling, and she would not see William until the morning. Very disappointed, she changed into her nightgown and crawled into the large bed with the overstuffed pillows, but sleep was not to be found. After reciting every Bible verse and poem she could remember, she was still no closer to falling asleep when she was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that William was in trouble. She tried to convince herself that she was imagining it—after all, what calamity could possibly befall him in a stable—but she could not free herself from the notion.

Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her silky robe and stepped out on the wet balcony, though her feet were bare. The dampness made her wish that she had her slippers, but she eschewed going back inside for them. The feeling of dread got even heavier as she stared into the darkness in the direction of the stables.

Her eyes were drawn to the heavens when a sliver of moon peeked from behind the clouds, exposing an occasional glimpse of a calmer sky. The wind, still blustering like an ill-tempered shrew, caused the ribbon in her loosely tied braid to come undone, and before she could react, it was flying across the stone floor. She gave chase, almost grasping the ribbon twice, only to watch it fly off the balcony with her last attempt. Frustrated, Elizabeth stood up just as the moon escaped the clouds entirely. It illuminated the night sufficiently to make certain objects appear clearly, and out of the corner of her eye she noted movement on the grounds below. Fearful of looking away, she stood transfixed until she could make out the figure of a man. Her heart lurched at the realisation of just who it was.

Fitzwilliam!

Flying back into the room, she searched for her slippers. Finding them just under the bed, she ran into the dressing room next door where she thought to have a better view of the hallway. Blowing out the candles and hiding by the partially open door, she was perfectly willing to wait until Fitzwilliam appeared, no matter the hour. Fortunately, she did not have to wait long, for in a short while, he appeared in the hallway in shirtsleeves, carrying his coat, a white cloth tied around his forehead. He was focused on opening the door and did not see her as she dashed towards him.

“Fitzwilliam!” she whispered roughly, flinging herself into his arms. Staggered, William ran an arm around her waist and pulled her into the room with him. 

Closing the door behind him hastily, William kissed Elizabeth’s forehead before pulling back to look at her.

“Sweetheart, why are you still awake? You should be sleeping.”

“You told me to wait…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes became wide as she watched the blood begin to soak through the bandage. “What has happened?”

Absently, she reached to touch the dressing, and he hissed in pain. She drew her hand back sharply.

Lowering his voice soothingly, he tried to make amends for scaring her. “I am sorry. It is just sensitive. That is all.”

Her eyes clouded as she watched the ever-growing red blot. “How… how were you injured?”

“I hate to admit this to anyone, but I was concentrating on the pathway, since I had already tripped, and inadvertently marched right into a low limb. I suppose the storm made it hang even lower than when I made the trek earlier. I feel sure I would have remembered if I had dodged it beforehand.” He looked sheepish. “I pray Mr. Mooney does not enjoy too good a laugh at my expense. He warned me to take a lantern and I refused.”

Elizabeth was not amused. “From the way it is bleeding, you will need stitches.”

“I see no need to wake Mrs. Parker or my aunt at this late hour to do the deed.”

“There is no reason to wake them when I can do it.”

William tried not to smile at her determined mien. “Darling, I find it hard to conceive of you doing such a thing, and it would be dreadful of me to ask it of you.”

Elizabeth raised her chin defiantly, though she could not be angry with him. “I have helped Papa stitch up our hounds for many years, and I am not afraid. Besides, my courage always rises with any attempt to intimidate me.”

William had always been impressed by her intelligence, and this assertion only increased his admiration. Leaning down to kiss the tip of her perfect nose, he murmured, “I was only trying to protect you, my love. There is a difference in stitching an animal and stitching someone you care for. I know. I once had to sew a cut on Georgiana.”

She stood on tiptoes to kiss him lightly. “Point taken. And just so you cannot say you were not informed, when we marry, I intend to stitch your wounds whenever I feel stitches are needed.”

Her proclamation was what his lonely heart needed to hear! It sent shivers of pleasure through his body, igniting long-suppressed desires. Embracing her, she pressed her body against the hardness of him as he captured her lips possessively and deeply. He felt her full breasts press against the thin lawn of his shirt, and the thin silk of her dressing gown and robe did nothing to mask the hardening of the centres as they moved against him. It was not until one petite hand came up to rest on his cheek, that he remembered himself and loosened his hold, pushing her at arm’s length. The love in her eyes totally overwhelmed him, and for a long moment, he was lost in their ebony depths and did not hear her enquiry. 

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, love?”

“I asked if you would not do the same if the situation was reversed.”

“Do?”

“Stitches? Would you not stitch my wounds if need be?”

He sighed. “I would, though I would rather die than hurt you.”

“Then you must understand that I can do no less.”

He would have kissed her fiercely again, but at just that moment, there was a knock at the door. “It is Mr. Parker,” he whispered, pulling her towards the bedroom. “Please wait behind the door.”

Elizabeth did as he asked, and William opened the hall door to reveal the butler, standing with a pitcher and a black bag. He hurried inside.

“Sir, I have brought warm water to clean the wound and my wife’s remedies. In this bag, she has whatever items are necessary to stitch a wound, and it would not take—”

“While I truly appreciate your concern, Parker, it is not necessary. You may leave now, as I wish to wash and change clothes, then I shall retire.”

Sighing audibly, the servant braved, “Then may I have your coat and shirt, sir. I believe I can remove most of the stains before you leave for London.”

William reached for the coat that he had tossed on the dressing table when he entered the room and did as requested and removed the shirt.

With the offending clothes securely in hand, Parker replied, “Thank you. I shall return these on the morrow.” 

And with those few words, Mr. Parker gave up his quest to change William’s mind and was out the door. William locked it securely and turned to find Elizabeth watching him from the bedroom door, her eyes wider and the pupils darker than he had ever seen them.

Completely mesmerized by the beauty of his nakedness, Elizabeth was in a trance. She had never seen any man this scantily clad, and that it was the man she loved with all her heart made their situation all the more precarious. With no will to resist, her gaze travelled from his handsome face to the perfection of his strong neck and collarbone, then to the fine, dark hair covering the solid muscles of his broad, tanned chest.

A small gasp accompanied her inspection of the rippled planes of his abdomen as she followed the line of hair that snaked beyond his tapered waist and disappeared into his breeches. She knew the instant his breathing changed, matching her own, as they stood motionless, facing one other.

“I should find another shirt.”

Elizabeth clasped his arm. “Wait.”

There were only inches between them, and the blood rushing through her veins was making it difficult to concentrate. “There is no need to spoil another shirt. Please just lie down and let me look at your wound.”

“Lie down?” he asked, his voice suddenly raspy with emotion. “On the bed?”

“Yes. If you lie on your back, the blood will not flow so freely, and I can get a better look.”

William steeled himself  and willed his body to comply. Once he had removed his boots, he climbed upon the counterpane in only his breeches and stocking feet. Positioning one of the pillows beneath his head, his eyes followed her surreptitiously as she scurried about the room, moving more candles to the tables on either side of the bed. At length, she sat down on the edge of the bed and put the bag on the other side of him. Then she moved closer, leaning ever so lightly against his chest while she studied his forehead.

“Take a deep breath.”

“Pardon?”

“I need you to take a deep breath and… and close your eyes.” He could see her blush even in the candlelight. “I cannot concentrate while you stare at me.

He complied, closing his eyes, and she began to cut away the bandage. “Is that better? I did not realise I was staring.”

Elizabeth’s quick intake of breath at the sight of the cut caused William to open his eyes once more. It was evident that she was trying hard to swallow as she hurriedly pressed the bandage back down.

“It definitely will need stitches.” Refusing to meet his eyes, she busied herself by opening the black bag. “Perhaps there is some laudanum in here.”

William reached to still her hand. “No, Elizabeth. I never take that substance willingly. I would rather it hurt.”

Her expression was sombre as she met his gaze at last. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, the cut is very wide. I am certain that it shall be quite painful.” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. “I do not wish to hurt you, but it must be attended to now.”

William wiped the tear from her cheek. “It is past midnight, and you should be sleeping, not caring for me.” He cupped her face. “Go to bed, sweetheart. This can wait until morning.”

“It cannot, you know that. You are dear to me, and it is my duty to look after you.”

William sat up to kiss her tenderly. “I say it is my duty to look after you.”

Elizabeth blinked as though trying not to cry and ran a finger softly down his cheek. “Then we are agreed.”

Recovering, she declared a little too brightly, “I saw a decanter of brandy in the other room, so I shall pour you a glass. At least it should afford you some relief.”

Without delay, she was off the bed and out of the room. Presently she returned with a full glass of brandy. William complied with her wishes by downing the contents in a very few swallows, though he grimaced at the burn in his throat when he was done.

Taking her position on the bed once more, Elizabeth reached into the black satchel and pulled from it a curved needle with silk thread already attached. She had found it wrapped in a clean cloth as though prepared for use.

“Please know that this shall hurt me more than you.”

William grinned though his head was beginning to ache more severely. “My mother used to say that very thing, though I never believed her.”

Elizabeth lay across his chest, and began kissing him deeply and thoroughly. His breath was coming in ragged gasps when she drew back.