“And Lady Caroline needs to be aware of that as well. You may go speak with her now. I arranged for her rooms to be just far enough from Lord Bingley for you not to be seen.”
“She is nothing compared to you,” he whispered and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
“I know. Now go.” Elizabeth crossed her arms around her body in an attempt to shield herself from the sudden chill in the air and stared after him. Her mind told her she had no concerns, that he loved her enough to never stray—but she was also apprehensive about the possibility that Lady Caroline was more persuasive than William's vows. “Nonsense. He loves you,” she muttered as she tried to hush the uncertain voice in her head. “He loves you and you love him. It is as simple as that.”
* * *
Darcy knocked softly on the door, which swung open easily upon his touch. The room was scented with cherries and vanilla, which was Caroline's doing, he was certain. His stomach turned. Elizabeth preferred less intrusive scents. A year’s worth of beeswax candles were lit all over the room and there, on the bed in nothing but a thin shift, was Caroline. A languid smile slipped over her lips. With a flick of her hand, the door closed behind Darcy.
“Hello, my prince.”
“Caroline, this is not going to work. I came here to tell you that.”
“Oh? Of course, you did. I came here to convince you otherwise. Give me what I want, or I shall tell that lovely little princess of yours about your dirty dealings.” Caroline trailed her delicate fingers over her collarbone seductively.
“You cannot possibly be threatening me, witch. Do you remember who assisted me with my sins?”
“Of course. Our desire for power is the one thing we shall always have in common, love.”
“Things have changed, Caroline. I am not the man I used to be.”
“She has made you weak,” the witch hissed. She lifted the hem of her shift, exposing long, lovely legs. “I shall remind you of your former self.”
“I recall who I was on a daily basis and regret the man who had a place in your bed. I am not weak. I am stronger than I ever have been, and my strength is because of my wife.”
“Your ill-gotten wife,” she reminded him.
“I am aware of that, witch,” he said with a growl. “I warn you. Make no trouble, and your brother will not find out about this and, therefore, will avoid a fatal duel.”
“You would not fight my brother if he called you out. He is your friend!”
“I would, and you know I would kill him. Let us avoid that possibility altogether.”
She came off the bed, sliding across the floor. Her arm wound up around his neck, fingers twirling the gathered hair at the nape.
“Just kiss me once more, then.”
He pulled her hand away. “No. Do you think me a fool, witch? Do you think I trust you? You have enchanted yourself or you would never appear so unnaturally beautiful. Your kisses are a thousand times more dangerous than your words.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I shall have you again.”
“You will not and that, my lady, is a very solemn vow.”
He pushed her back, and the witch smirked before he quit the room.
* * *
“It is done.” Darcy tightened the belt on his robe as he came into the bedchamber from his dressing room.
Elizabeth glanced up from the stockings she was darning and raised an eyebrow. “Good,” she replied, and made another stitch.
He picked up a book and took the seat next to hers in front the fire. He opened the volume, stared at the pages for a bit, then slammed it closed, sighing heavily. Reading would not help. His wife remained silent, still repairing the stocking. He tried to read again but could not focus his concentration, so he tossed the book onto the table between their seats and glowered at the fire.
“Tell me,” she said in a whisper.
“Tell you what?”
“What you need to tell me.”