Page 44 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
SHE WOKE ALONE, but the door was open.
She got herself out of bed, feeling a bit dizzy, and she staggered over to drain the ale that was sitting out. There was blood on her dress. She touched it, the brownish red stain. He’d never spilled her blood onto her clothes before. What did that mean?
She went to the doorway, but her husband’s valet was there and he urged her back to bed, saying he’d been given orders to keep her there while he went to speak to his master.
She tried to protest, but eventually she climbed back into bed.
The valet returned soon enough with her husband in tow and a man who was introduced to her as a surgeon, not a gentleman doctor, but this seemed to be because the surgeon wanted to examine her person, and doctors were very hands off. He felt at her wrists and neck and he had her breathe and cough and asked her a number of questions about how she had been been feeling what with Mr. Darcy’s ministrations.
The surgeon and her husband spoke about her outside the door, in low voices, but she could hear.
“I never like it when I get called upon for your sort,” muttered the surgeon. “Medicine is not equipped to say what happens when a being like yourself is attached to a person.”
“I know,” said Mr. Darcy. “But you must be honest with me.”
“You keep taking that much blood from her and it will weaken her. If she is weakened, she will become ill more easily and she’ll have less ability to fight off illnesses.”
“So, even if I don’t drain her, I shall likely kill her anyway.”
“If you are so sure of that, I don’t know why you brought me here at all. What do you wish me to say to you, sir? That you can drink as much as you want from her and cause her no harm? You know that isn’t the case or I would not be here.”
A long silence.
And then Mr. Darcy spoke again. “You are right, of course. I thank you for giving it to me, the whole and unvarnished truth. It is what I needed to hear.”
“Good,” said the surgeon. “So, you will drink much less of her blood.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy. “Of course.”
“She is not in any current danger, I don’t think. She needn’t stay abed or anything of that nature. She should get some food and exercise and…”
“And what?”
“Sunlight,” said the surgeon.
“Of course,” said Mr. Darcy.
She heard the surgeon leave.
Then Mr. Darcy came to the doorway.
She sat up in the bed.
He looked her over. “You do look well, I suppose.”
“What happened?” she said, getting up to go to him.
He backed away from her, out of the doorway. “I took too much. I could not wake you. I was frightened. It’s my own fault. You… your orgasm in the bond, it was… I lost control.” He would not look at her.
She felt oddly about this, as if it was her role to reassure him. But she was also alarmed that she had been so badly affected, that hecouldhave killed her.
“It is night now, but the sun will be coming in but a few hours, I think. You should eat, my love, spend this day without me, and—”
“But you said that we must consummate our marriage,” she said, trying to adopt a teasing tone, to lighten the mood.
“That must wait, I think,” he said. “You’ll need to get your strength back before I am at you again, and I…” He swallowed. “I shall wish to be at you, I’m afraid.”
She twisted her hands together. “Yes, I suppose I should stop you, should I not? I cannot be so very idiotic as to welcome such danger into my arms, can I?”
