Page 95 of Homeless

Darcy nodded and took another bite. “Then may tell him I shall not sleep and will worry myself into the grave over the affairs I have left unsettled. Keeping here another month, even another week, would only make matters worse. It is already August. We must return to England.”

Her mouth thinned and turned downward. In another woman, it might have been a sign of surrender, but he knew better than to think that of her. She turned to the padre and asked something. Ignacio waved a hand, shook a finger, shook his head, and then sighed when Elizabeth argued him into silence.

“He says you would be a fool to start in less than a week.”

“Two days.”

She blinked. “Two…”

“Elizabeth.” He held her gaze until the arch disappeared from her brow and the breath she had captured to argue with him left her. “Your uncle still needs you to put his case before the Foreign Office if no one else has done it yet. Think nothing of Pemberley, of the debt come due in seven weeks’ time. Think of your uncle, who has, quite possibly, suffered a similar fever without someone as good as Padre Ignacio to see him whole and well again. Think what must be done to bring him home.”

A deep shudder passed through her, and she bit her lip. When she turned to speak to Ignacio again, the padre seemed more willing to hear her argument, though he clearly still thought it a bad idea. A long exchange followed — Darcy caught some words, talking about the mules, the food, the road north through Reinosa. Then, the padre was gesturing at Darcy’s person, telling Elizabeth more, which he did not comprehend. Some of it seemed to make her blush, and all of it looked rather disquieting. He watched his plate and ate, rather than stare stupidly back at them as they discussed Heaven-knew-what about him.

At length, Ignacio rose and left them. “He has duties at the church this evening,” Elizabeth explained as he closed the door behind himself.

Darcy nodded and finished the last bite on his plate. “As soon as may be, I intend to send him a gift from London.”

Elizabeth took his plate and set it aside, then returned with a glass of wine. Undiluted, for the first time. “What sort of gift?”

“The sort that sees that his church never wants for candles, nor suffers from a leaking roof or lack of beds for the sick. The sort that fills his barrels with flour and wine, and arrives directly, without first being routed past a hundred official hands who would take their share before he is able to put it to its proper use.”

He took a sip of the wine Elizabeth had given him, then she took the glass back and drank some of it herself. There was no formality in it. Simply two hands who had shared everything for so long, they gave no thought to it. She passed the glass back to him, and he finished it.

“Elizabeth, tell me honestly. Can you endure the road north? It means perhaps another week of riding, and you have barely got your colour back.”

“I am in better condition to tolerate the road than you are, I warrant.”

He let his eyes travel across her face, the rose in her cheeks, the sparkle of life returning to her eyes, the newly restored fullness in her lips. “You are looking well. I thought when we first came here, I was going to lose you.”

“You are looking somewhat warmer than death,” she replied. “And I had every reason to expect a different outcome.”

He huffed softly. “I am glad to hear you sounding somewhat sorry about that. There was a time, I think you would have smothered me with my own pillow.”

She nodded, casting her eyes up a little. “Not so very long ago, either. Now, I find you rather tolerable.”

“Tolerable. Is that all?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Tolerable can mean a great many things.”

“You are the one with the golden tongue. Tell me what it means.”

Elizabeth studied him, warmth blooming softly on her face and in her eyes. “For tonight, it means this.” She leaned forward and brought her lips to rest against his.

He drank her in slowly, like a draught of smooth wine from a cask left to mellow. Her jaw moved gently, one stroke, another, a third, and he thought she might draw back. Her head lifted as if she might, so he grazed her cheek with the backs of his fingers before she could pull away.

She looked up at him as she moved back, and her teeth caught softly on his lower lip, pulling it gently before releasing it.

Something streaked down his spine and shot straight through his ribs and into his groin. His heart gave one great flip, then began behaving erratically. Surely, she was only teasing. Only being herself. She could not truly be tempting him with —

Her hands fell to his lap and pulled at the hem of his shirt.

“Elizabeth?” He let her push him backwards a little, let her coax his arms up and tear the shirt off his body as she had done a hundred times when he was fevered. The only fever overtaking him now was of a rather different sort.

“What are you doing?” he whispered as she pushed him down.

She came to lean over him, her hair framing her face and the bodice of her gown drooping before his eyes until he had a clear view of the inner curves of her breasts. He swallowed and stared at her face.

“I thought you said —”