Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered softly.

“I did not make you my wife to wreck your chance at happiness. I married you to protect you from Wickham; I will not allow my passion to rule me.”

“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. When I am with you, I am happier than I have ever been. It is natural I should wish to express that.”

“Yes. I feel the same, my darling.” His words soothed her aching heart. “But I must control my urges,” he continued—causing her fresh pain. “As husband and wife, we will spend time together during the day, but at night, I will sleep in my chambers, and you will sleep in yours. Lock your door, Elizabeth. My resolve is strong now, but it could weaken.”

He made it sound like a business deal, and Elizabeth cringed with the reality of their lives. “We will not do that, Mr. Darcy,” she countered.“Ours is supposed to be a love match, and your staff will gossip. They will say you married me because you compromised me, and they will criticize you for bringing your sister into the house with a woman of loose morals.” Elizabeth raised her chin, daring him to challenge her.

Darcy blew out a long breath. “Elizabeth, when I lay with you at Netherfield, I did so at great risk to you, for I desire you. I am consumed by my need to take you. More abhorrent is my need to possess you in every way possible, as Wickham might.”

Elizabeth flushed with anger. “Then you must find a way to control your desires, Mr. Darcy. Neither your sister nor I will suffer shame because of your actions. Our arrangement was that I would be treated as your wife in every way except one. My reputation as a genteel woman and as the mistress of your estate depends upon the façade we show the world. People will accept my eccentricity, but they will not accept my being treated as an afterthought by you.”

Darcy rose and came towards her. “I would never put you in a bad light, Elizabeth.You must know that.”

“Then you will join me in my chamber.” She glared at him and left his room.

Darcy gazed at her retreating form.What she said made sense, but Darcy did not know how he would control himself.Whenever he was in her presence, he wanted her in so many ways. He wanted to drink in her naked body with his eyes. He wished to kiss her passionately and feel her quiver beneath him. He desired to lose himself in her body until his passion was satiated. And then there was the one point on her neck, where Elizabeth’s lifeline pulsed below the surface. Darcy could not forget the sweet taste of her blood on his lips. Never had he felt such a compelling need for anyone; never had his blood lust run so wild. Darcy did not know which expression of desire would satisfy him more. He closed his eyes to visualize Elizabeth standing before him, her luminous eyes only on him.A groan escaped his lips.

With resigned self-contempt, Darcy opened the door to the adjoining dressing rooms, leading to his wife’s bedchamber. Entering the open door to Elizabeth’s room, he noted the presence of only a single lit candle on the bed stand.The only other light came from the fireplace. He walked to the far side of her bed and, turning back the covers, Darcy slid his long frame into the bed. He blew out the candle and moved to spoon her body with his, draping an arm over her waist and pulling Elizabeth’s back to his chest. The smell of lavender drifted over him as he tried to clear his mind and to welcome sleep.

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” Her voice was barely audible in the darkened room.

“It is for the best, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.

She smiled with triumph. Lately, she contemplated the great pleasure of surrendering her maidenhood to the man she now called her husband. She shivered with anticipation. Her dreams of their joining increased after her Aunt Gardiner explained what the wedding bed might hold. Even more appalling, Elizabeth knew she would surrender to his seductive mastication as well.

CHAPTER 13

Wickham had expected that the morrow would bring him strength, but Mrs.Younge tended to his needs for three days before he stirred for more than a few minutes at a time.

Each time he woke in the shadow-filled room, George Wickham forced terror-filled dreams from his mind. Fitzwilliam Darcy had nearly found the key to killing him—ridding Darcy’s life of Lady Ellender’s curse. Wickham would need to do something about Darcy before long. Darcy’s having discovered Elizabeth Bennet gave the man an advantage Wickham needed to eliminate before his enemy realized how valuable the woman was to his cause. It was not that she possessed powers of her own; it was the faith she held in Darcy’s powers that made the man such a formidable force. Plus, Wickham suspected that Elizabeth Bennet held the key to Darcy’s fate. In today’s dream, she led Darcy to Wickham’s lair, and he and the man fought to the death. When, in the nightmare, Darcy drove a stake through Wickham’s heart,Wickham awakened with a terrible scream. An abrupt jerk of his limbs told him it was just a dream, but the feeling of dread stayed with him long after he rolled from the bed.

“My lord?” Mrs.Younge tapped lightly on the door.

“Come in, Amelia.” Wickham had dressed for the day. He motioned the woman inside. “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, my dear.” Wickham took the woman’s hand and brought the back of it to his lips. He was now completely healed, and so he dropped automatically into his seductive mode.

AmeliaYounge watched his movements carefully. She had fallen for his temptation months earlier, and she knew there was no true reason for him to shower her with attentions now. But she enjoyed them, false though they were.“I am pleased you are well, my lord.”

“You served me faithfully.” Wickham finished tying his cravat. He stood in front of the mirror, as if to use it in his efforts, although only a wavy reflection—a blur of colors—appeared. It was a reflex action—a muscle memory—that even after all these years he had never abandoned. It made him feel human.

“My lord,” Mrs.Younge said tentatively,“I have news.”

Wickham folded the cravat so that it might be pinned. “Yes, Amelia? Speak.”The length of material frustrated him.

Mrs.Younge walked to the door and picked up a newspaper she had left lying on a table. “This is the Times —today’s edition. I believe you should see it.”

Wickham snatched it.“What is it you deem so important?”

Mrs.Younge pointed to the third column.“There.”

Wickham’s sight adjusted quickly to the dim light. He read the first paragraph of an announcement:

Monday, December 2, 1811, St. Blaise Church, London, celebrated the union of Fitzwilliam James Darcy of Overton House and of Pemberley in Derbyshire, son of the late Mr. James Darcy and Lady Anne Darcy, to Elizabeth Victoria Bennet of Hertfordshire, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Bennet of Longbourn.

The news visibly shook him, and Wickham shoved the paper back into Mrs. Younge’s hands. “Bloody hell! The woman will be my death!” He grabbed the paper again and began to search for his answer before he asked the question.“Does it say whether they left for the country?”

“It does not say.”

“Well, I know where to find him; Darcy retreats to his ancestral home, the same house where I stalked every other generation. I will stop this before it gets started.” He threw the paper on the bed. “Join me for the day.”

“I will be happy to serve you, my lord.”

“We leave in a quarter hour.”

Sally tapped lightly on Elizabeth’s door before entering the room. She waited, and hearing the Master bid her enter, the maid rushed into the room, only to find her mistress curled up in Mr. Darcy’s arms in the bed.