Page 24 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
“Oh, all of us have made mistakes here,” said Bingley, getting to his feet. “You cannot claim to have never drained one.”
“Not in nine hundred years!” said Darcy. “Besides, Bingley, it is one thing to make a mistake, to keep going when one knows to stop, and it is quite another to go into a woman’s room with the intention of ending her life.”
“Well, all right, I suppose,” said Bingley.
“She did it because she wished to hurt me,” said Darcy. “She did it because she wants me to hurt the way she hurts.”
Bingley’s nostrils flared. “You have an overinflated sense of self, do you not? The simple fact you reject her means she seeks revenge against you?”
“Yes,” said Darcy.
They both looked at Caroline, whose shoulders were hunched up even higher.
“Tell him, beloved,” said Bingley. “Tell him why you really did it.”
Caroline said nothing.
It was very, very quiet.
“I think she was just thirsty,” said Bingley.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Hurst. “And considering I’m always here, and I’m always full of blood, and—”
“Stop making it about you,” said Bingley to Mr. Hurst.
Mr. Hurst set the cards down. “Oh, of course. How shortsighted and selfish of me to be concerned about dying.”
“Really, Charles,” said Louisa. She sat down next to her husband. “You must know I would never let Caroline touch you, John.”
Hurst glanced at her and then at Bingley and then picked up the cards again.
“She did not do this because of thirst,” said Darcy. “She will not admit it now because she wants your protection, Bingley, and she knows if she admits to caring overmuch about me, it will make you jealous.”
“I’m not jealous of you,” said Bingley. “And I think you should go back to London, Darcy. I think if you stay, you and I shall only quarrel.”
“I shall go back to London tonight if I can take her with me,” said Darcy, nodding at Caroline.
“No,” said Caroline. “I’m not going with you.”
“There,” said Bingley. “You see?”
“I am staying then,” said Darcy.
“I won’t touch your stupid human girl,” said Caroline, sulky.
“I don’t trust anything you say,” said Darcy to her. “Maeve was but eighteen years old. She was bright and boisterous and full of life, and you snuffed her out for no good reason.”
“It’s always about them,cor meum,” said Caroline, looking up at him. “But they are all only brief candles that flit out in seventy years. I am the one who is still here. I am the one you must come back to.”
“Have I ever come back to you?” he said in disbelief. “Hell and damnation, Caroline, we had a brief affair centuries ago. It barely lasted three months. You hold onto it for some unknown reason, but I swear to you, I do not.”
Her face twisted, and he would have felt guilty but she didn’t deserve it, not when she had tried to kill the woman he loved.
Wait.
What?
He did not love Elizabeth Bennet.
