Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Three
Morpheus was losing his hold on me gradually. I drew closer to Jane in an attempt to stay the hand of wakefulness. I felt my body yearn desperately for more sleep, but I was waking gradually because my dearest sister had once again stolen the bedcovers, as she was wont to do. My limbs and back still felt the pleasurable flowing listlessness that comes with deep sleep, and I wanted to hold on to that. Arms heavy with exhaustion, I reached for Jane to pull her closer even as I mumbled to her to share the blankets.
She chuckled low and rumbling near my ear, and I settled in again to the agreeable warmth of our shared space. I felt the weight of the blankets as she placed them about me once more. My mind barely registered her usual lavender toilette water having a more subtle lemon and sandalwood fragrance. I found it pleasing, but that was the last coherent thought to pass through me before sleep captured me again.
When next my mind began to work its way out of the safety of sleep, I allowed it to transpire. The ropes of our bed needed adjusting again, and I needed to ask Hill to add more straw, for our mattress had become quite hard. My hips and shoulders protested in mighty stiffness as I tried to adjust my position to alleviate their sting.
Gradually the outline of the dream I had experienced came begging to my consciousness, and I shuddered involuntarily. What a nightmare it had been. The cold rocks, wet stone and earth, not to mention the company, all caused my mind to rebel against the thought of it. My hands were rested upon the flat warmth of Jane, and I rubbed her back to reassure myself that I was once again safe and out of the horrid grasp of the dream.
My hand slowed its up and down motion as if time, too, was slowing. I was feeling not the curve of her spine nor the fine cotton of her nightgown, but silk brocade with the occasional button. I continued a slow progression up and down Jane’s back, compelled, mesmerised, and in disbelief, trying to tell my mind I was imagining these strange textures. Instead, as I felt along the curvatures of the surface, strong sinewy muscle bowed and flexed under my palm. My mind grew more alert with each caress.
From there, time sped, or the sanity of my mind reasserted itself, for I was wide awake. My hand stilled and recoiled back into my chest as I rolled away in horror. It was still pitch black, and I was grateful for it, for my heart was choking me and my fevered expression would have added to the many mortifications I felt as I realised, with the utmost of shock, that none of it had been a dream. This was not…was not…safe and warm Jane. This was Mr Darcy!
I bit my lip in terror, the humours high in my blood telling me I ought to flee, and I wished I could fight my way out of this tomb. Unfortunately for me, my body chose to freeze, every muscle rigid with shock. It was all an unreality of sorts. How humiliating to find that I had embraced, caressed, and slept most warmly with such a man! My only hope was that he had been unconscious and might remain so now.
Slowly, I fought back the numbness in my mind to regain control of my limbs, and I began to sit upright, pressing myself into the smallest space I could occupy and at the furthest distance from where I knew he would be. I cursed and blessed the blackness that both hid my blushing countenance and prevented me from knowing where I might safely move without encountering some part of him. As it was, there was precious little in our shared space that he did not occupy.
I heard a rustling and my heart stopped. I dared not shift an inch lest he become aware of me. I was not yet equal to the task of speaking to him. I might not ever be equal to it.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth…” His voice wafted to me, low and luxurious in the small space. It was rich with sleepiness that latched onto me like a spell. I could hardly draw breath. “Come back, you must not catch a cold.”
Shocked, I uttered a gasp before I could stop it. Then I fumed at myself for giving away any reaction, for I wished desperately to spend whatever time we had left incarcerated in this unholy manner pretending he did not exist. I pulled my lips between my teeth to deny him the satisfaction of hearing me respond.
He sighed as though he expected me to act as I did, which further raised my ire. I was a mixture of humiliated shame and indignation. How dare he take such liberties as this? To take advantage of our close quarters to…to…aargh. I could not think, for a part of my traitorous mind reminded me that it was I who had burrowed in beside him. It was the same part that yearned to return to that warmth, rules and propriety be damned! I presume it was this insane part of my mind that was sending messages to my limbs, telling them to begin to shiver and tremble with the cold I could not now ignore. It was as if the whole of my body was begging me to concede. Every shiver that passed through me increased the aches and screams of my injured muscles. Every breath became more painful, yet I could not, and I would not, return to him!
A cool sigh once more pierced the silence. I heard his laboured breath. It was as if I could see him in my mind, rubbing his face in exhausted irritation at my headstrong ways. I pictured his strong brow lowered in consternation, his jaw flexing that muscle along its edge with the strength of his reserve. It gave me satisfaction to think that I was a source of discontent for him as much as he was for me.
“I do not ask it of you to take advantage, Miss Elizabeth.”
To this, I scoffed involuntarily, and I heard the edge to his voice as he replied. His speech had certainly lost the warmly husky quality it had had upon waking. I was grateful for that. I really was.
“I am a gentleman. It is only logic that provokes my request. I can feel you shivering from here, and as it will still be some time before we can be rescued—”
“How can you even know that, sir?” I shot back, biting my lip in dismay for being provoked into speech. Then I lifted my voice, despite the protest of my sides, to call to the groom without. “John! John, do you hear me?”
Pain hissed through my body from crying out for the groom. Mr Darcy attempted to cut me off, explaining he had woken earlier, spoken with the groom, and knew that John had left for the road down the hill to watch for the rescue caravan. I heard his words but I could not accept them, and again I raised my voice despite the knife in my side to call for John. Mr Darcy entreated me to have a care for my injuries and cease calling out. He reasoned first with words, then with his hand, as one blindly made contact with my leg, tucked as it was up against me. To his credit, he pulled back as if burned by the touch.
Startled, the ugly screech that burst out of my lips at the contact was cut off abruptly by an almighty piercing through my right side. I was being torn in half, agony slitting its way through the flesh above my ribs. My mouth opened to shout out my pain, but the air was not there to produce the sound. The throb was so excruciating that I could do nothing but freeze in horror. My mouth agape like the angel of death, I knew I must draw breath for the edges of my consciousness were becoming compromised, but the very thought of pulling air, expanding my chest for that desperately needed life source, was impossible. My mind would not allow for more of this intolerable pain.
Warm hands maladroitly found my shoulders, and with a gentleness akin to soft feathers, he eased me to stretch out. I could not speak any protest, for I had not willed myself to suck in that much-needed air, though my lungs protested for it madly. I found that at least lying down, I was able to regain a little of the lost ground in my fight to stay sentient. Mr Darcy spoke quietly and assuredly in my ear, his words delayed in their impression in my thoughts.
“Shh. Slow, small breaths, Miss Elizabeth. Do it with me.” His voice was a fevered command, yet gentle still. His hands found their way from my shoulders, down my arms, and inward to wrap around my ribs, holding them in place as I attempted to pull in a measure of air. I ought to have protested the placement of his hands, but their steady pressure was easing some of the agony. He held me in place, almost too tightly, for he prevented my instinct to gasp wide and long to pull all the air from the confined space into my angry, fiery lungs. Instead, I was forced to mimic his breathing, laboured and slowed just for me. I focused every mental power I had to listen for and match Mr Darcy’s breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
With time, my body, although unsatisfied with the slowness of relief, succumbed to the pace of intake and allowed for the gradual relaxation of my muscles, the pain subsiding with each small breath. Suddenly, a heaviness overtook me, and I could hardly keep my eyes open, let alone voice to Mr Darcy that he need not continue to bind my ribs. I was no longer in danger of breathing too deeply and aggravating my injuries; rather, every part of my body had turned to lead and I could not move. I wished only to surrender to the heady pull of sleep.
Mr Darcy’s hands relaxed but he did not remove them. They added a pleasurable warmth, and I focused my sluggish thoughts on that. His breath was likewise warm against my cheek. He was correct; I ought not to have fought this delicious heat. He was like a sun in this dark hole. His whispered, calm, soothing words served only to pull me further into the desire for his rays.
“Elizabeth…settle yourself. I mean you no harm. You are safe with me. I would not hurt you.”
I believed him. It made little sense to do so, but I could not doubt the sincerity in his words. There was a further sentiment that carried with his instruction, but I could not interpret it.
A shiver travelled up my spine and a slight whimper escaped my lips despite the heaviness I felt. Everywhere but where Mr Darcy touched me was cold, all the heat in the world was focused at the junction between his hands and my body. He removed one, and to my surprise, my groan was one of objection. He murmured into my hair again as he pulled his greatcoat around us—sharing the entirety of his sunshine. His hand caressed against my temple to pull the sweat-plastered hair away from my face.
“It will all be over soon, my dear. I am here. Sleep.”
I told myself his endearment was imagined, for Mr Darcy must hate this entrapment as much as I did, but he was wise. We both needed the warmth of the other. The cold only exacerbated the stiffness in our bruised and injured bodies. I searched my mind and could not find any argument against this breach with propriety. His warmth radiated through me, and I was spellbound and incapable of resisting its seductive pull. My thoughts once again became sluggish, incoherent, and lazy—conjuring up the impossible and incomprehensible. For it almost felt as though his lips were pressing against my brow, his firm jaw flexing along with his arms as he pulled me closer.