Vampire Darcy's Desire

Elizabeth did not turn; they could behold each other’s reflection in the store’s window, and although hers was crystal clear, even showing the wrinkles in her sleeves, Mr. Wickham’s was a blur of color. A shiver ran down her spine, but her words hid her fear. “I thought it to be a gift.” With deliberate innocence, she turned to face him. “Good day to you, Mr. Wickham. I see you have your lieutenancy.” His regimentals added to his perfection. Her mouth went dry as his rapier-sharp gaze narrowed on her.

“I am a lowly foot soldier, Miss Elizabeth.” He made an exaggerated bow.

Forcing herself not to look directly into his eyes, Elizabeth feigned delight. Cool and calm came her words: “I am pleased to know Meryton is safer than it was this time yesterday.” Setting her mind to her task, she reached for Wickham’s arm. “And now, Mr. Wickham, I might implore you to escort me safely to my Aunt Philips’s house.”

“My true pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”

He reached for her hand to place it on his proffered arm when Elizabeth took note of a birthmark or tattoo on the back of his hand. When Wickham saw her staring at it, he withdrew his free hand and turned her towards her aunt’s house, but Elizabeth was aware of how he stiffened with the action.“It is a burn,” he offered before she could ask.“My father was a strict disciplinarian.”Wickham

It was all the explanation he presented, and no other avenues of conversation could be had with pursuing it, so Elizabeth let it drop with simply a nod of her head. Instead,they walked slowly, pausing often to peer into the nearest window. At last she asked, “Do you suppose the militia will be long in Meryton, Mr.Wickham?”

“I hope not.” He let his smile fade.“My hopes are to see action on a battlefield.” His expression was unreadable.

“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.