Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcys Desire
“I do not know many men who wish for battles.”
Eyes—hard and bleak—traced the outline of her face. “Some may call it irrational, but I live for the action—the smoke—even the deaths.”
Elizabeth hated the war—the useless loss of life. She did not answer. How could she? Marshaling any arguments against the determined curve of his lips seemed fruitless. “May I change the topic, Mr.Wickham?”
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth. Forgive me for speaking so passionately on such an indelicate subject.”
“Speak to me of your time in Bakewell. I wish to know more of the area in which my Aunt Gardiner resides. She is so dear to me; anything you could tell me would bring me pleasure.”
“I suppose you realize, Miss Elizabeth, that the terrain in Derbyshire is more rugged—more intense—the winters are colder and the summers milder; therefore, the vegetation is thicker. I am not one to look at things for their natural beauty, but I do enjoy the wildness of the Peak District. It reminds me of Scotland. Next to Northumberland, it is the most pleasing of areas, although the population is growing steadily and taking away the privacy we all cherish.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with deep regret in her tone,“my aunt speaks as such. She is in London now, but one hears the wistfulness in her voice when she speaks of home.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth paused, as if considering her next question. “I could not help but notice, Mr. Wickham, you and Mr. Darcy seemed acquainted, although you did not speak. I thought it quite unusual.”
His face paled slightly, and he tapped the fingers of his free hand impatiently against his thigh. “I am vaguely familiar with the younger Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth. My father served as his father’s steward for several years. Old Mr. Darcy looked upon me as a second son at one time. Of course, that was before the current Master of Pemberley took over. Fitzwilliam Darcy is a cruel man, I am sorry to say, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth knew that she would have to lie convincingly to keep Wickham talking, but Darcy ruled her heart, and she worried she would betray her true feelings. “He was very cold and haughty to everyone upon his arrival in Hertfordshire. Many tolerate him only because of his wealth and because Mr. Bingley is his associate.” She did not lie; many did indeed see Darcy as such.
Wickham considered what she said for a moment, watching her, before he added,“I once saw him whip a man simply for dropping a tea service. He is a man of wealth and above the law, and Darcy lets nothing stand in his way. If he wants land, he takes it. If he wants a woman, she is his. However, again, I speak too explicitly, and I beg your forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth; but I have no respect for Pemberley’s Mr. Darcy.”
“My!” she pretended to quail at his anger. “I certainly did not mean to upset you, Mr.Wickham!”Wickham’s seductive insolence and intense passion were wildly arousing. A woman could easily feel empathy and feel as incensed as he at hearing his words, but Elizabeth Bennet knew Fitzwilliam Darcy. “Yet I agree.” She had set her trap. If he lied to her, she would return the favor.“Mr. Darcy can be most presumptuous.”
“We will speak no more of the man, Miss Elizabeth.”Wickham took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I am not a reasonable being when I think of his offenses. Let us finish our walk.”
“Of course, Mr.Wickham.”
Elizabeth hurried along the road to Longbourn. She had stayed at her Aunt Philips’s only as long as required without raising questions. Now she strode along the familiar path. How many times have I walked these lanes in my twenty years? Surely, at least three times per week for the past six years, and how many times before that as part of family excursions? The sun shone brightly, and it made her feel lighter, even after her emotionally charged discussion with Mr. Wickham. She nearly skipped at times, glad to have long since learned to follow the road of least resistance. She marveled at her own cleverness.
And then she saw it—a dark shadow lingering in a copse of trees. Is it a wild dog? A wolf? A man? Elizabeth could not tell, and she did not want to know. Something told her to beware—primitive impulses of survival set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. The shadow disappeared, but to be sure, Elizabeth cautiously moved to the side of the road, straddled the stile, and came down on the other side of the hedgerow, where she might hide if necessary.
She moved slowly and as silently as possible, given the ground cover. She gulped for air, suddenly realizing that she had held her breath for many long moments. Elizabeth never let her eyes leave the cluster of trees. Is something there? A cloud covered the early winter sun, and suddenly the air chilled with the unknown.Then, pure chaos broke out. A flock of birds exploded from the woods, sending screams of distress into the shadowy day. A figure burst from the trees, headed straight towards her. Although she did not wait to see it clearly, Elizabeth knew that whatever it was, it did not run, but rather glided across the field in a swirling, twisting motion that made her nauseous to observe.
Elizabeth bolted—raced—hair falling from her bonnet—cloak flying like wings behind her. She fought to loosen it, finally pulling the clasp from her neck and letting it fall behind her. She hiked up her skirts and ran as if her life depended on it. She did not look back—whatever it was, was still there; she felt it. A wind I am coming for you. A vicious growl seemed to reverberate in her ears.
She ran with all her strength, jumping over stumps and branches, racing against the cruel wind—and then her foot caught on a tree stump and she flew through the air. Elizabeth hit the ground with full force. The air was knocked from her lungs, and her face was shoved into the hard soil. She struggled to get up, ready to run again; yet her foot remained trapped in muck. She pulled frantically, trying not to lose her slipper, when suddenly what she thought to be tangled weeds and clumps of fur from a dead animal rolled away from her, and the shriveled face of a brown-skinned girl stared blankly up at her. Elizabeth heard someone scream hysterically as she pushed herself away from the figure, scrambling backwards on her hands, trying to put distance between her and the brown-skinned woman. The blood-curdling scream continued, and then she realized that it came from her.
Darcy and Bingley rode across the outskirts of Bingley’s property. The scattering of the birds attracted their notice, but it was the sound of the whirlwind Darcy insisted they chase. He knew the sound intimately—it was George Wickham’s calling card—but to hear it in the daylight shook him. Then, in the distance, he saw her—Elizabeth running over the crest of the hill.
Darcy could barely breathe, but he dug his heels into the flanks of the horse and rode after her with all his might. Elizabeth was no longer in sight, but he knew the direction she ran. Just as he hit the swell of the hill, her scream brought him to a complete halt; he reined in the horse and bounded towards the sound.
She screamed hysterically, and each note of the lament pierced his heart. Could Wickham have harmed her? Anger coursed through him. He should never have left her yesterday. Some way, somehow, he must kill Wickham!
Then he saw her crawling—crawling away—with horror on her face. Before the horse stopped, Darcy was on the ground, running to where she was.When he reached her, Elizabeth fought him
“Darcy, is she well?” Bingley implored him.
All he did was shake his head as he turned towards his friend. Her arms clung to Darcy’s neck. “Elizabeth? I have you; it is all right,” he whispered next to her ear. He wanted to kiss her, but Bingley stood too close.
“The—the woman,” she whimpered.
Darcy adjusted her in his hold. “What, Sweetling?” he murmured.
“The woman.” Her voice held more strength, but she still did not look at anything but him. Elizabeth flung her arm out in the direction of the body.
Darcy followed her motion with his eyes, and then he realized her fear. Lying in a crevice where two hills met, lay what appeared to be the mangled body of a woman. Her face and neck showed the telltale signs of mutilation. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, “may I put you down so I can see to the woman?”
“I am afraid.”
“I will not leave you,” he assured her,“but I must see to the lady.”
Elizabeth nodded, and he put her down gently under a tree. He cupped her chin with his palm.“I will be right back.”Tears formed in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled, but she sat quietly and waited for him.
Darcy and Bingley moved quickly to where the woman lay.“Do you know her?” he asked Bingley as they checked for a sign of life.
“I have never seen her.” Bingley was pale with terror.“My God, Darcy, what kind of animal creates such wounds?”
“None you have ever seen.” A thud reverberated in his chest. “Bingley, I need to take Miss Elizabeth home. You must ride to Meryton and inform the constable and maybe even Colonel Forster. Please be careful.”
“Certainly, Darcy.Tell Miss Elizabeth I will call once everything is settled.” Bingley stood and headed to his horse, but Darcy
Darcy looked back at Elizabeth.“Get Miss Elizabeth’s cloak; it is at the top of the hill. Cover the body with that.”
Bingley mounted and rode off in the direction of the black cloak.
Darcy hurried back to where Elizabeth sat. “Come, Sweetling.” He pulled off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her as he helped her to her feet. He hid her in the security of his shoulder as he led her to where his horse nibbled on grass.“I will take you up with me.”
He mounted the horse and then reached down for her hand, pulling her up into his lap. Settling her comfortably in his arms, he touched the horse’s flanks with his heels and the animal set off at a brisk pace.
Once they crested the hill and headed towards Longbourn, Darcy leaned into her and kissed the side of Elizabeth’s neck.“Can you tell me, my dear, what happened?”
Again, Elizabeth’s eyes misted over and her lips trembled.“Do I have to?”
“The constable will ask, Elizabeth. What will we tell him?” Darcy knew her fear.
“I became frightened and I ran. There was nothing there, but all the same, something was there. Oh, Fitzwilliam, that woman’s face!” She buried her head into his chest, covering her eyes with her hands.
Darcy kissed the side of her head and promised to protect her. “Bingley went for the authorities.”
“You will stay when we get to Longbourn?” She seemed so vulnerable.
“If you wish.” Darcy wanted to protect her—to keep Elizabeth safe forever. “My darling, I must ask, did you speak to George Wickham about me?”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise.“I knew you would not tell me, Fitzwilliam. I did not mean to go behind your back. I am so sorry. He told such lies about you; I could not understand why or how
“It is all right, Sweetling. Later, you will tell me exactly what was said, so we can determine what to do next, but none of that is what really matters.” Darcy kissed her upturned nose and tried to give her a smile of assurance. He tightened his grip about her. “What I need for you to understand, Elizabeth, is that Seorais is the Scottish name for George. Seorais Winchcombe of the story of Lord Thomas and Lady Ellender is George Wickham.”
He heard her gasp and felt her shudder as the truth washed over her. “Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, the woman…the woman was the brown girl!” Her arms searched his body, trying to find security.
“It was a warning, Elizabeth, to me, and now to you.The brown girl of the song simply had brown hair. Wickham chose this woman for symbolic purposes. I will explain it all in detail later—when we are alone—but I need for you to know, I managed to get to Georgiana in time to save her, although Wickham tried to seduce her at Ramsgate. He nearly killed us both in a house fire.”
“He said he was in Kent of late.”The truth of what Darcy said now made perfect sense.
He did not look at her as he spoke. It was impossible for him to break the aura of implied danger. “Elizabeth, Wickham tried to seduce Georgiana to take revenge on me—on the Darcy name. He has done so with each generation. I fear if he knows of us, you will become his target. It is best I stay away, best for you.”
“No!” she demanded.“I cannot face this without you!”
“If I withdraw,” he insisted, “you will not have to face any of this. I will take my evil with me.”
Anger flared in her and, without thinking, Elizabeth struck his chest with her fist.“You are not evil and I will not hear you speak as such! Fitzwilliam, I will not permit it!”
By now, Longbourn loomed on the horizon. “We will talk it out later. For now, we will tell everyone a wild dog chased you.We cannot hide the death, but it will all be coincidental.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “I will stay and help you until everything
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”
He stopped the horse far enough away that those in the house could not make out their forms.“I missed you,” he said quietly.
“Of course, you did,” came her retort. Elizabeth snaked her arms around his neck and tried to pretend nothing had changed. “Now, kiss me before I must face my family.”
He considered shoving her away, but a heartbeat later, he groaned and pulled her to him.The kiss made time stand still; it was what he needed—what she needed. Otherwise, there was no sense left in the world.
Darcy had other concerns, which he did not want to deal with, but he would do so. As he rode into the entranceway to Longbourn, the other issues consumed his thoughts. He must get back to the woman’s body and destroy it without anyone’s knowledge.
“Elizabeth!” Mary called from the open doorway.Alerted by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, her family, all chattering at once, poured from the house.
“Mr. Darcy, what means this?” Mr. Bennet demanded.
“Miss Elizabeth met with an unfortunate accident of some consequence.” Darcy’s voice boomed over the clatter, and they all fell silent.“We will explain once we get her into the house.”
Mr. Bennet reached for Elizabeth to help her down as Darcy lifted her from him. “Come, Lizzy,” her father insisted as Jane and Kitty rushed forward to help her.
A few steps towards the door, Elizabeth stopped suddenly. “Papa,” she called over her shoulder.“Have Mr. Darcy come in; he saved me today and we owe him our gratitude.”
At her insistence, Mr. Bennet reached for the reins of his horse. “Come in, Mr. Darcy. Pray, come in.”
Darcy dismounted and followed the others into the parlor. Bingley had called there before, but Darcy had not. Although comfortable, the furniture seemed worn and a bit frayed. But that
