Chapter 10

Ten

That particular day, Darcy ventured to the temple, a stately structure with towering columns and stone walls, nestled in the peaceful woodlands a short distance from Rosings Park. He doubted he might see Miss Bennet even if he wished it. It was just as well. He needed time to sort out his feelings—a feat better accomplished in solitude. He could conceive of no more fitting place than that very spot. Looking all about, part of him wondered if Miss Bennet had ever come across the place, for he was sure she would love it.

Thoughts of Miss Bennet were always uppermost in his mind of late. Perhaps it was a consequence of their spending so much time together during the past weeks. He was beginning to think his cousins were conspiring to throw Miss Bennet in his path and always making excuses to leave them to their own devices. Darcy's resistance to her gave way to admiration with each encounter and he was now looking forward to her company.

He was mindful of his commitment to Anne, but it was not as though she showed any enthusiasm over the prospect of sharing her life with him. He scoffed. A peculiar engagement indeed.

More than once, he wondered at the possibility of changing his mind. No formal announcement had been made. He doubted he would meet with any opposition from Anne, who seemed far more intimate with the colonel than with Darcy. Lady Catherine, however—he would rather not think about that. Not at that moment.

A booming thunder roared across the sky, and his muscles tensed. By the sound of it, a fierce storm would soon follow. Mere moments later, the rain poured from the sky in buckets. How fortuitous that he was sheltered from it all. His thoughts tended toward Miss Bennet, and he hoped she was not out and about on one of her solitary rambles amid such a raging storm. As though thinking of her had the power of summoning her presence, she suddenly appeared before him. Soaking wet from head to toe. Her bonnet and spencer were no match for nature's fury.

Judging by her reaction to seeing him, he could not tell if she was merely surprised or terribly embarrassed, perhaps a mixture of both. Hurrying to her side, Darcy removed her bonnet, and he began unfastening the buttons of her soaking wet spencer.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, clutching her garment with both hands.

"We must get you out of your wet clothing, Miss Bennet. You may use my great coat instead to keep you warm."

"I see." Brushing his hands aside, she continued, "I can do it myself."

Darcy immediately surrendered his coat, and he wrapped it around her shoulders once she removed her spencer.

Elizabeth had tried her best not to give a hint of how his tender ministrations affected her. Until that moment, she had not noticed his rather informal attire—his crisp white cravat draping his neck and the top button of his pristine shirt undone. She tried to ignore the sight of him thusly—the dark hairs on his chest. But it was proving an arduous task, indeed. She watched in awe as he gathered her wet things and then, taking her by the hand, led her to the stone bench he had abandoned upon her sudden arrival.

"We may as well sit and wait out this deluge together," Mr. Darcy said, inching closer. How odd that he now found himself so at ease in her company. Upon seeing her when he had awakened after his accident, he had detected nothing extraordinary in her features. Now, thoughts of the beautiful expression in her dark eyes and her light, pleasing figure were his near-constant companions, and he could not help but consider her one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance.

"I did not know you ever walked here—although I cannot say I am surprised. I was given to think you would naturally be drawn to such a place."

Elizabeth trembled a little and she could not say whether it was from the chilly air or his deep, melodious voice. "I am guilty as charged. I love it here, having come across it soon after my arrival in Kent." Rarely did the two of them speak about her time in that part of the country before his accident. She was certain this was not the time. Instead, she said, "Pray, forgive my intrusion, sir."

"Pardon?"

"Were I to judge by the state of your attire, I would surmise you were here before the storm began."

"How fortuitous indeed, for the thought of you being here, soaking wet and shivering in this cold, is untenable."

"Instead, you are the one who is suffering from the damp, cold air owing to your chivalry."

"I would have it no other way."

"The least I can do is share your coat with you," she said, spreading it open in invitation.

Wrapping his coat closed tightly around her, he said, "I can think of another way to enjoy the warmth of my coat without depriving you of yours."

Not awaiting a reply, he drew her into his arms. "How is this for a mutually satisfying means of staying warm?"

"Satisfying indeed," Elizabeth heard herself say. "But hardly proper. I believe I ought to be protesting."

"Do we not have the excuse of wanting to ensure each other's well-being amid a raging storm?"

"There is that, I suppose. However—" Before she voiced further protest, a blinding bolt of lightning accompanied by a deafening crash prompted Elizabeth to press even closer in Mr. Darcy's arms.

Remembering herself, she eased away a little. Elizabeth peered into Mr. Darcy's dark eyes, wondering what he must think of her, and she was amazed by what she beheld. There was no judgment, no bafflement—the likes of which she had grown accustomed to. She recalled it had been some time since she had last seen such sentiments in his eyes.

The look he bestows is that of kindness, affection—dare I call it desire?

Darcy was mesmerized by her nearness. It dawned on him that the woman in his arms did not befuddle him—she did not bewilder him. She has bewitched me as no other woman has ever done before.

Tearing his eyes from hers, they fell on her lips—slightly parted, moist and inviting. Was she looking at his lips too, he wondered, even as both were leaning in—coming closer and closer.

I should not be attracted to her in this way. I should not be feeling the way I do. Am I not betrothed? To... His mind stumbled, searching, grasping for the name that would not come.

To...

It was as though she had robbed him of his senses. It was as though the only thing that mattered was the two of them, at that moment, and what they were on the precipice of doing.

They were so close and drawing closer still. Her breath, warm and beckoning, mingled with the cool, damp air surrounding them. Darcy's pulse thrummed, not just in his chest but in his temples, the tips of his fingers—every part of him attuned to her. The earthy, fresh scent of rain filled his lungs, but it was the subtle hint of lavender from her dampened hair that consumed him. Each breath he drew was filled with her essence, rendering him utterly captive to the moment. He could almost feel the softness of her lips, so near, as though time itself had slowed, enveloping them in a world that seemed entirely their own. The air between them crackled with unspoken promises, the thunderstorm a mere whisper compared to the storm within him. With no turning back, he closed his eyes.

As suddenly as it had started, the rain ceased. The ensuing silence effectively breaking the spell the storm had cast, drawing them apart, interrupting what could have been.

Freeing themselves from their intimate embrace after a moment's hesitation, both stood.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Darcy straightened, offering her his arm with a formal stiffness, though his heart still raced from their prior intimacy. "Pray, allow me to accompany you back to Rosings."

"No," Elizabeth said, preparing to surrender his coat.

He waved off her gesture. "I insist. What would Anne think—or the colonel, for that matter—if I left you to fend for yourself in such a state?"

Anne! Darcy silently reiterated, mentally reprimanding himself. How could her name have escaped me? We are betrothed, are we not?

He extended his arm again and upon receiving no further protest from her, they walked together toward Rosings. Despite his efforts to maintain a sense of detachment, something about the ease of their mutual pace unsettled him. It felt right, more right than it should have—this quiet harmony between a man and a woman whose presence lingered in his mind. Darcy's thoughts turned to his engagement to Anne, a shadow over his unsettled feelings.

I must do whatever must be done to rectify my situation with my cousin.

Elizabeth did not know how to feel about what had been on the verge of taking place between Mr. Darcy and her. But his reacting as though nothing had happened once the storm subsided, immediately insisting on accompanying her to Rosings with no acknowledgment that mere moments past they had been in each other's arms did not bode well for her sensibilities.

Has his selective amnesia manifested itself into short-term amnesia? Was that something that was even possible? As much as she did not intend to make herself unhappy about his ensuing attitude or lack thereof, she could not help but be concerned.

Preferring to put a more positive take on things, she supposed he was merely embarrassed over his comportment—heaven knows she ought to be. For all intents and purposes, she was a stranger to him, or at the very least, a recent acquaintance. She would not easily forgive herself if what they had almost done had been the means of causing a setback in his recovery.

Still, thoughts of where a kiss between them might have led could not help but intrude. Her fingers brushed over her lips as she wondered what might have been. Her feminine sensibilities were not immune to the effects of spending so much time with a man like Mr. Darcy with his handsome features and noble mien. While she could not say with certainty that her heart had been touched, neither could she swear that it had not. And thus arose her conundrum—the persistent concern over what would happen if Mr. Darcy's lost memories of her returned, and equally pressing, what if they never did?

Lying in her bed later that night, wishing she could fall asleep, her busy mind recounted every word, every look, and every touch that led to the two of them almost kissing. All this and wondering, with more optimism than dread, what the next day would bring.