Page 96 of Midnight at Pemberley

Darcy pulled her onto his lap, but he never released the kiss. Instead, he deepened it. Like a starving man, he took her mouth fully. When she breathed out, Darcy breathed in—needing to fill his soul with her essence. He hungered in a way he once would not have believed possible. Darcy wished to ravage her, to possess her—to cherish Elizabeth and bind her to him forever in an all-encompassing love. His lips rested above hers. “How have I lived without you?”

“You have not, and I have not. Only together are we whole.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tremulous cries of mortal terror reigned during the night. If anyone slept, the person was assuredly the exception. Wickham led the attacks, and nary a house in the village or countryside was spared. Shrills of death filled the air as the mist moved progressively over the landscape. Those brave enough to watch likened it to the finger of God and the plagues of Egypt, and, similar to God’s Passover, each household marked its door frame and all windows with signs of Christianity and crudely made crosses of ash, along with garlic, as prescribed in the pagan manner. Prayer vigils continued throughout the night, and the blessed streaks of dawn brought shouts of joy.

Even more effective, the colonel placed sentries throughout a five-mile radius to prevent anyone from entering the area during the darkness. No loss of human life occurred, and they congratulated themselves on their small victory. Darcy promised to replace the few farm animals lost, and most were satisfied with how well the precautions they had practiced had protected them.

While the villagers followed Edward’s instructions, Elizabeth placed a ring of salt outside each door of the inn, as well as a line around the barn to protect the animals and the stable hands. Yet no one celebrated at the inn. Few boarders stayed once the preparations were initiated. Throughout the night, faces and hands clawed at the windows, glazed eyes pleaded for admittance, and bloody mouths sang out in warning. Darcy heard the innkeeper comment on being the proprietor of hell.

He and Elizabeth watched it all unfold from their bedroom window. Elizabeth leaned into his shoulder for comfort. “Will it ever end?” A blood-curdling scream caused her to start in fright.

“It is like something from Revelations, but it will end with the dawn.” He stroked the back of her head. “I never expected such a scene of horror. How did evil claim such a foothold?”

Elizabeth traced his jawline with her fingertips. “No one would take a stand before now.”

“Am I up to this, Elizabeth? Can I change this for these people? I am not some gypsy claiming vampiric powers in order to swindle good people. I came here to save my family, but now the blood of more than twenty families is my responsibility.”

She stroked his chin with the back of her hand. “If you take such thoughts into this battle, failure will be assured. Instead, do this for me, for Georgiana, and for yourself.”

Edward tapped on the door. “Everything is in place,” he informed them when Darcy bid his cousin to enter. “This will be the last night these people live in fear.”

“I sincerely hope so.” Darcy’s doubts still played havoc with his resolve. “Edward, would you stay with Elizabeth for a few minutes? I wish to speak to the innkeeper. This madness damages his business, and I wish to assure him we will make restitution.” He handed off his wife to the colonel. Darcy noted how they both stiffened with the gesture, but he made no comment as he exited.

Judiciously, Elizabeth moved to the window to watch the countryside. She hugged herself in comfort. “How much longer before dawn?”

“Less than an hour.” Edward moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

She forced herself to relax into his touch. The colonel was a gentleman, and even without Darcy as an impediment, he would treat her appropriately. They would emerge from this debacle as friends. “Are we doing the right thing?”

“We are fighting for your husband’s life.”

Elizabeth simply nodded. “He is a good man.”

“The very best.”

She turned to face him. “Will we prevail?”

The colonel tilted his head as he pondered her question. “I have been in situations with less preparation and fewer options for victory. Perhaps I underestimate our opponents, but we possess the means to hold sway.”

“Then William and I will put our trust in you, Sir.”

“They dare to defy me!” Wickham shouted in the empty hall. His emulators had returned to their graves, and he remained alone to face his own demons. It infuriated him how Darcy’s family tricked him. Angry, he unleashed a tornadic wind within the hall. Standing in the room’s center, he permitted the wind to carry the tapestries and the furniture in a crazy swirl of color and power and deafening noise. His hair whipped about his face, but Wickham was lost in the impregnability of the display. The blast steadily increased in strength, empowering his confidence with the sheer brute force of it. “Aaaah!” he yelled over the melee. “They will rue the day they dared to challenge my order!”

Rushing up the stairs, he hit the door to his private room with a blast of air, tearing it from its hinges. Stilling himself, reverently he entered his shrine. Only here did he find serenity. Everything he loved, with the exception of Lady Ellender, could be found in this room. The sun, the moon, and the stars, three turning gold circles, hung overhead, directly above the moss-covered coffin. A misty cauldron, whispering of time and night and blood, sat in the corner, while an ivy-covered crown of antlers stood in the center of the altar. Candles lighted in veneration highlighted a torque of gold, a symbol of his sacred pledge, while five serpents, embodying the five rivers, slithered among his treasures. “Welcome home,” he whispered to the room. The open coffin spoke of longing. Stepping within, he laid back against the satin-covered interior. Within moments, he slept deeply, his chest rising and falling in a slow, sustaining rhythm. “Tonight,” he murmured in his dreams. “Tonight, Darcy.”

“Will this work, Colonel?” Gordy unloaded bundles of white thorn and ash staves. It was high noon, and the Darcys prepared for the evening.

“My cousin knows how to rid a land of vampires, and this is one of the steps.” The colonel placed a stave horizontally across each of the marked and unmarked graves.

Gordy followed Edward’s pattern. “What will these staves do?” he asked, bending over to place the wood carefully on the barely mounded dirt.

“The soul cannot leave the grave if the stave lies across it.”

“All them creatures be stuck in the ground?”

Edward responded, “Until we decide to permit them to leave.”