Mr. Darcy's Obsession by Abigail Reynolds Page A

her skirts and fled, running as swiftly as if the Furies of hell were in pursuit.
    ***
    Elizabeth stared straight ahead. There was no place to hide, no place where she could take time to compose herself, as if time would help! Instead she had no choice but to make her way down Gracechurch Street, fighting to hold back the tears that were no doubt still evident on her cheeks. She knew she was an object of interest, that the Londoners on the busy street would be wondering about her reddened eyes. She had never missed the privacy of the countryside more. At home she could have fled to her special corner of the churchyard, under the ancient oak tree, and cried until she had no tears left.
    She hurried up the steps of the Gardiners' house, hoping not to meet anyone on the way, but the odds were against her. She was no sooner in the door when she heard her aunt speak her name with concern. She shook her head without stopping and raced upstairs, past the nursery where her young cousins called, "Lizzy! Lizzeeee!" Not till she reached the dark, dusty storage room on the top floor did she stop. She closed the door behind her and leaned back on it, her breath coming in short gasps.
    Her worst fears were realized. She had been so happy when Mr. Darcy began his avowal, so full of hope that a proposal of marriage was to follow, that she had let all her reservations fly from her, at least until his words of disdain for her family and background forced her to conclude that his intentions were not the honourable ones she had hoped for. His words still rang in her ears-- But now your situation is different, and the distance between our ranks yet further, an alliance even more inconceivable. So inconceivable that he expected her to be his mistress, and he showed his disregard for her reputation--the reputation he clearly thought she had left behind with her father's death--so far as to kiss her in a public field. And she had not stopped him. Her fury at her own foolishness was almost the equal of her anger at his presumption.
    She wiped the back of her hand across her face. She should have recognized his intent long before, when he refused her invitation to meet her aunt and uncle. She had known it, but she had not wished to admit it to herself, for then she would have had to give up the pleasure of his company for the brief moments when she could again imagine herself as Miss Bennet of Longbourn.
    There were footsteps on the stairs. Elizabeth swallowed hard and opened the door. Margaret stood there, balancing on the balls of her feet, a concerned look on her face.
    "Lizzy, whatever is the matter? Are you hurt?"
    Elizabeth wished for the innocence of childhood when pain was the result only of injuries. "It is nothing, dear. I merely twisted my ankle." It was the best she could do on the spur of the moment.
    Margaret's brow furrowed. "But you ran up the stairs!"
    "I did not wish anyone to see I was crying. Is that not silly of me?" She gave a shaky laugh. "Pride makes us do the most foolish things."
    The most foolish things, indeed.
    ***
    Darcy squinted into the dark mirror in his bedroom. The mark still showed, an expanse of red across his cheek, even after the furious trip across London. No one had dared stand in his way. He poured cool water from the porcelain ewer into the basin, dipped his handkerchief into it, and wrung it out. Carefully he placed the cloth against his face. It would not do to have the entire household gossiping about what sort of trouble the master had found himself in. He had more than enough on his mind without that.
    More than enough. His eyes narrowed at the thought of Elizabeth. How dare she? Did she not realize he was paying her the highest compliment he could? Apparently she was far more foolhardy than he had ever conceived. To believe Wickham--well, he supposed the man could be cunningly convincing, but then for her to pretend to enjoy his company and still believe such lies? Was it all a deliberate attempt to