In a few minutes, a busty bar maid, no longer young, came to the table, swiping at it with a none-too-clean rag. “Need some Christmas cheer, Guv’nor?” she asked as she circled the table a second time with the cloth.
“A tankard of ale, if you please.”Wickham’s eyes found hers. She was not what he would normally choose, but as he knew the Christian holiday kept many people at home, he would make do. The woman’s breasts swelled from the tight-fitting bodice of an equally
The woman took full note of his appearance, and Wickham offered up a lonely smile, playing on her pity. He usually took more time with his seduction, but after what had happened in Meryton, the possibility of his disguise fading played on his mind.
The chaos swirled behind her as she made the mistake of looking deeply into his eyes to judge his character. He changed instantly from affable gentleman to supreme seducer. “I might be persuaded, Dearie, if ye be interested.” Her voice cleared away the inebriated din of the room.
Wickham’s hand lightly stroked her bare forearm. “May I ask your name, Sweet Lady?”
Enthralled by the gleam in the swirling grey of his eyes, the woman did not move. “Me mama named me Lucinda. Most call me Lucy.”
“I will call you Lucy or Love or my Heart.” The words made little difference because she could not withdraw even if she wished to do so. “When do you leave work, my lovely Lucy?” His voice was sweet.
“Me thinks it be mighty soon. I come in early today.” She leaned into his light touch.
Wickham winked at her, solidifying his hold.“You have a place we might visit?”
“It be just a sleeping room.”
“I have no desire to sleep.”Wickham leaned back in the chair to release his hold on her.“Say we will not sleep, my lovely Lucy.”
The woman shook her head, trying to clear it. “No, Guv’nor, we will take no sleep.” She gave him a smile, showing one missing tooth.“I will bring ye the tankard. I be askin’ Harry about leavin’.”
“That would be capital, Lucy.”
The woman disappeared into the crowded room.As she departed, Wickham visualized what he would do to her. Getting her to a room, he would make her submit to him with a twitch of his eyes.
Surprisingly, Lucy appeared at the table in less than a quarter hour.“Ye be ready, Guv’nor?” She extended a hand to him.
Wickham, as Denny, took the hand and brought her to him as he stood.“Never been more ready, lovely Lucy.”
He slung his arm about her shoulder and maneuvered the bar maid out into the crisp December air. “Whew,” she uttered, her breath forming a solid film,“it be colder.”
“I will keep you warm,” he growled close to her ear.
Lucy laughed, a bit nervously, but she never paused or faltered as they crossed the intersecting streets. “I live just down here.” She pointed to a row of tenements, shabby-looking buildings even in the daylight. In the cold night, they seemed to huddle together to keep themselves warm.“Ye be tellin’ Lucy yer name, Guv’nor?”
“I am James,” he said as he followed her up the narrow stairs of the second row house.
“James be an honest-soundin’ name,” she observed as they reached her door. Unlocking the bolt, Lucy opened it to a darkened room.“I find us a candle.” She fumbled along the mantelpiece.
“Allow me.” Needing no light to see clearly,Wickham managed to find the flint and the stub of the candle easily.
Lucy removed the scarf she wore around her neck for warmth. “My, ye be handy.”
“I am here to please.” He gave her an exaggerated bow. “You settle yourself, Lucy, and I will stoke the fire.”
When the fire was blazing, he came to where she stood. He did not kiss her, as she had anticipated, but Lucy knew some men preferred not to kiss—too intimate. She found that amusing. Instead, Wickham caressed her jaw line and raised her chin to look into her eyes. He would do nothing else but rest his intense gaze upon her.
Lucy felt the heat all the way through her, although he barely touched her.With a slight tilt of his head,Wickham indicated the bed, and Lucy backed towards it. Besides the caress of her cheek, he had not touched her. She lay back, and he straddled her, taking
Now as caught up in the act as the woman,Wickham lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. She smelled of sweat and of tobacco and of cheap liquor, but Lucy also smelled of life and of iron-filled blood, and Wickham needed what she offered. He raised his head to stare at her with another spellbinding gaze.Then came the snap of her neck, a quick movement of his hands, placing the thumbs at the indentation before giving a lethal jerk. Lucy’s eyes rolled back in her head, the life leaving her immediately.
Slowly, finally enjoying himself, Wickham lowered his head again, drinking his fill of Lucy’s blood—feasting on her existence. The act of tasting her in the most personal of ways brought the erection the woman had thought to enjoy, and Wickham sated himself with a copulation with her lifeless, rapidly cooling body.
It was pure power—this lustful lapping of the woman’s life fluid. It was the taking of a human life; it was the build-up of emotions—the control—his control—and the submission—her submission. The exhilaration of the absolute power he held inflamed him more than did the sex act. Wickham lived for that one split second before they died—the moment his victims knew the folly of their decision.
Wickham considered the act very much like the Christian Eucharist—a sacrifice inasmuch as it is offered up and a sacrament inasmuch as it is received. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.
CHAPTER 20
After the storm, the days warmed quickly, unseasonably so for December.The weather allowed Darcy and Elizabeth to escape the house and resume the riding lessons. They had left Ceres in the London stables, so Darcy introduced Elizabeth to a new horse, the gelding Apollo he had considered for her back at Netherfield. Apollo was more spirited than Ceres and would challenge Elizabeth to use her natural skills.
“Straighten your back,” Darcy reminded her when she began to bounce in the seat.
“He is so powerful, Fitzwilliam!”
“No more so than Ceres; Apollo is just different—not as comfortable as your favorite, but he is a better horse for the rolling hills of Pemberley. Ceres is better for the city—not as skittish with the noise and the traffic.”
“You know so much about the nature of animals,” she observed, while automatically relaxing into the horse’s gait. Darcy’s words gave her the confidence to handle the reins admirably.
For nearly half an hour, they rode leisurely.The ground was still muddy and soaked from the melting snow.“Do we have a destination?” she asked.
“I thought that we might call on a few of the tenants; and maybe the vicar if there is time.”
“I would take pleasure in that.” Elizabeth shot him a quick glance.“I was thinking.” Suddenly, she seemed tongue-tied.
“Dare I ask of what?” Darcy found her embarrassment endearing.
Elizabeth breathed deeply.Apollo tossed his mane and pranced. The deep breaths calmed her, and she carried on. “I considered where I might find my place as your wife—as the mistress of this estate. Back at Longbourn, I often handled the tenant affairs for my trivial confrontations, and my mother’s nerves make the confrontations too tedious. I flatter myself that I have a way with the workers—at least, I seemed to at Longbourn. Pemberley is much bigger, of course.”
Darcy pulled up on his horse, stopping at the crest of a hill. He gave her a level look.“What would you do at Longbourn? For the tenants?” he asked seriously.
Elizabeth sparkled with his interest. “Papa trusted me to settle the disputes and such matters. And at this time of year, I would arrange a basket for each family. It was not much; Papa is not wealthy, but everyone appreciated our acknowledgment.”
Intrigued, Darcy asked,“What kind of basket?”
“Simple gifts: cold meat, bread, a few potatoes, a candle, and a branch of consecrated mistletoe.” Her eyes searched Darcy’s for his thoughts.
“We could do something similar.Why do you not consult with Mrs. Reynolds when we return to the house? It would give you a chance to establish your place in my life, giving it your own Elizabeth touch. I like the idea. For some time, I took care of the overseeing of the land, but I neglected the personal aspects of being the master of Pemberley. It would do wonders in strengthening bonds.” Darcy smiled at her in approval and then nudged his horse ahead again.
Elizabeth kicked at her horse’s side, lunging forward to catch up with him. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” she said when she came abreast of his mount.“I will make you proud of me.”
Christmas at Pemberley must resemble heaven, the rooms aglow with light and the smell of cinnamon and fresh pine and nutmeg and everything good of the season. Unlike the hustle and bustle of Longbourn, with family and children underfoot, Pemberley, in its majestic realm, held court for the community, and, especially this year, as the Darcys, including the new mistress, held court.
After the morning service, they received tenants and villagers for several hours in their home. People came to see the splendor of
“The workers are grateful for the charming baskets,” Darcy whispered into her hair as the latest arrival curtsied before his new wife. Darcy paid the staff members extra to work the holiday hours involved in opening Pemberley to the country.
Elizabeth’s viridescent gown with golden threads shimmered in the soft light reflected through the amber-tinted windows; she sparkled as brightly as the ornaments hanging from every available cornice and stairwell. “Mrs. Reynolds outdid herself. Georgiana and I helped, but Mrs. Reynolds is phenomenal. She even added tea and some candy for the children.” Elizabeth smiled happily.
“I am sure Mrs. Reynolds saw the idea as a way to promote the Darcy family; she is very protective of the name,” he observed.
Elizabeth added before greeting the next family, “As it is now my name, so am I, Mr. Darcy. So am I.”
Elizabeth and Georgiana surprised Darcy with the gifts of the riding boots and riding crop. Darcy was delighted beyond reason with the presents. Elizabeth had taken close note of his appearance, sought out his favorite boot maker, and enlisted Georgiana’s help in having the boots delivered to Pemberley. She had personalized her choice by thinking of the man who would receive the gift.
“They fit well.” Darcy took a few steps about the room in the new boots. Elizabeth had insisted that he try them on immediately, even retrieving a boot pull from his private chambers and helping him remove the old ones.
“You look very debonair, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana half teased when she handed him the riding crop.
“You are astute, Georgiana. I am fortunate to have earned your ton saw him so bedecked. Otherwise, he would pay me no regard, being so beset with admirers.”
“I would find you, Mrs. Darcy, despite the biggest crush at the grandest ball,” he asserted.
Elizabeth smirked and said, “Assuming you found my appearance tolerable, Sir.”
“I would choose you for the liveliness of your mind,” he countered.
Elizabeth laughed out loud.“Clever rejoinder, my Husband,” she congratulated him before handing another package to Georgiana.
Late Christmas Day, Darcy relaxed on the settee before the fireplace in his sitting room, sipping a brandy. Elizabeth lay on the settee, her head in his lap and bare feet draped over the arm of the furniture. Darcy absentmindedly stroked her hair, letting the silken curls trail through his fingers. “It was a good day,” he observed, setting his glass on a nearby table.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed. “I have never knew known such peace—such contentment.”
Darcy should have listened to his uneasy feeling, which mutely warned of a shadow spreading across his life. For a time, he had thought such tranquility of spirit could not exist, but now that he had tasted it, he hungered for it—craved the normalcy that a life with Elizabeth offered. He feared speaking of it—feared he might jinx it if he acknowledged too loudly how happy she made him. Some men prayed to go to heaven, but Darcy prayed to remain contentedly on earth with her. Knowing Elizabeth loved him was his heavenly reward—his life began and ended with her. More than anything else, now that he knew his Elizabeth, he feared losing her and returning to the emptiness of his earlier existence. He ached with a hunger to claim her—to possess Elizabeth completely.
Eyes closed, Elizabeth returned to the image of Darcy standing majestically in his new boots and wielding a crop. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she thought of loving him. Despite
Unfortunately, thinking of Darcy led her to thoughts of George Wickham. With eyes still closed, she thought out loud, “I was encouraged by what Mrs.Annesley discovered yesterday. It helps to explain the symbol of the pitchfork—or crown—or burn mark I observed on Wickham’s hand and confirms my belief that he cannot be killed by our religious icons.”
More tenacious than Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley spent hours poring over the literature for clues to destroying Wickham. On the previous day, she had discovered a Celtic pagan god known as Cernunnos, or the Horned God. He wore a crown of branching antlers, symbolizing his animalistic nature. To the Darcys, that explained part of Elizabeth’s dream, but more noteworthy was the fact that Cernunnos could be found traveling with Owl, the Crone of the Night, and with Eagle, the Lord of the Air.The Stag of Seven Tines, the Master of Time, had left his service because Cernunnos became known as the “All-Devourer.” Wickham’s largely female following, as well as his power over the wind, now made more sense. If the deer in her dream represented Darcy, then Darcy’s ability to control time also seemed logical. According to the book, Cernunnos possessed shape-shifting powers, as a shamanic god of the Hunt.
Elizabeth found it fascinating that Cernunnos’s life was one of sacrifice; this explained Wickham’s role with Ellender D’Arcy. According to the legend, it was through Cernunnos—as a courier to the Underworld—that old life passed away and new life began. He was known for fits of violence and the panic he instilled in his prey as the Hunter. As a Celtic god of the afterlife, Cernunnos was described as the god who never died because his flesh was rejuvenated with a “reservoir” of sacred fluids. Knowing the source of Wickham’s revitalization sent a shiver through all three women and reminded Darcy of his own deviation.
But tonight, Darcy wanted none of that. “If you do not mind, Elizabeth, I would like a holiday from thinking of George Wickham or the curse. Could we not today just be the Darcys of Pemberley?”
“Certainly, Fitzwilliam. I would enjoy that also.” Impulsively, she sat up and turned where she might reach him. Recognizing his pensive mood, Elizabeth wound her arms around his neck before meeting his lips with hers.“I believe that the Darcys of Pemberley have a great love.What do you think, Sir?”
