“Why did you flee?”
Was he really asking her that? “I d-did not know anyone was looking for me. And I h-heard . . . Sir Reginald and Mrs. H-Hobart are brother and sister. And they . . . meant to ransom me.” The shuddering increased.
Mr. Darcy scowled, pulling off his coat and flinging it around her shoulders.
Elizabeth made a small sound, half protest, half gratitude. “You cannot—”
“No,” he said sharply. “For once, I beg you to simply accept my help.”
His coat was marvellously warm. “For once,” Elizabeth managed to say, “I shall.”
Mr Darcy’s hands stilled for the briefest moment, and she saw then that he had been afraid. He wore control as other men wore their hats; the control was still there, but tonight it was . . . fragile.
Before she could produce anything clever to say, he had lifted her, bundled in rugs and his coat, and carried her out into the night.
His coachman Anders stood near, and the other, Johnson, remained by the horses. She noticed vaguely that they too seemed relieved. And also that they seemed to have a great many horses with them. She closed her eyes and told herself it did not matter.
Mr. Darcy put her on her feet, swung up onto his horse with practiced ease, then Anders and Johnson lifted her up and he settled her before him with one arm. She thought of his wound but thought Mr. Darcy would only become gruffer if she mentioned it.
She was positioned in front of him on his horse, caught securely between his arms, her back against his chest, the warmth of him immediate even through the layers she wore.
“This is h-highly improper, sir,” she protested in a whisper.
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said, and the word was perfectly calm. He made certain she was secure, and they began to move away.
She would have laughed if laughing did not threaten to shatter her into pieces. Instead, she leaned back the smallest fraction; it was either lean or fall. He was warm—warmer than she, at least—and she snuggled closer.
They rode.
The moon went in and out behind the clouds. Elizabeth became absurdly aware of how close she was to Mr. Darcy, how his breath warmed the side of her head, how the beat of his heart would have lulled her to sleep were shivers not still wracking her body.
They reached the house and Mr. Darcy dismounted, reaching up to grasp her around the waist and set her on her feet. Elizabeth swayed; his hand steadied her as if he had expected it.
“Inside,” he said, low and firm.
Elizabeth allowed herself to be guided, because her pride was as frozen as the rest of her. The door opened and Mr. Darcy nearly carried her inside.
“Oh, this is very like it!” Mrs. Hobart declared as they entered. “Assault! Outrage! I am tied like a common—Sir Reginald, do you hear me?Common!”
A deeper voice grumbled. “If you do not stop your mouth—”
Elizabeth blinked.
Four people were bound in chairs. Sir Reginald’s jaw was swollen and his expression affronted. Mrs. Hobart sat upright as a queen. Mr. Gregory’s expression was sullen, and his wife sat beside him, cheeks mottled with something Elizabeth thought might be shame.
Mrs. Hobart’s eyes fixed on her at once. “There she is!” she cried, as if Elizabeth’s mere presence were a personal betrayal. “There is the ungrateful creature!”
Sir Reginald attempted to smile, but with his bruised countenance it appeared sinister. “My dear princess—”
“Sir Reginald,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, “if you speak again, I will regret that I struck you only once.”
Elizabeth gazed up at Mr. Darcy.Hehad struck Sir Reginald? Her mind was so sluggish that she could not comprehend it.
Mrs. Hobart gasped. “Threats! Do you hear? Threats from a gentleman!”
Mr. Darcy did not reply. Instead, he led Elizabeth to a chair near the hearth, settled her there, and began building up the fire, coaxing flame from embers, laying kindling and then a log, until the heat spread and deepened.
All the while, the commentary continued.