Page 19 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
Something close to a growl erupted from Elizabeth’s throat, but she did not have time to dawdle. “Mr. Darcy!” she called, springing for the door but stumbling on stiff legs. She righted herself and dashed into the hall.
She checked his room first, where she found him sitting up from a deep sleep. At first, she was upset with him. How could he sleep the day away when all night he would be a swan? But then it occurred to her—he did not remember being a swan.
“Elizabeth,” he said happily. “You have come.”
“I have only a few minutes to speak with you, sir.”
His smile became a pout, and she was momentarily distracted by the boyish expression. “Will you not call me Fitzwilliam?” he asked.
“No, I will not. Eventually, you are going to realise that this is not a dream and that you ought to call me Miss Elizabeth.”
He smiled. “It ismydream,” he teased. “I might do anything I wish.” He stood and stepped quite close to her.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, not only scandalised but very aware of the time.
“Even this . . .” he continued, pulling her into his arms.
Oh.Elizabeth was also now very aware ofhim. His shirt was thin enough that she could feel the warmth of his broad chest under the smarting palms of her hands. Strongarms wrapped around her back and held her close. She took a breath and closed her eyes. Even after being aswan,he smelled good. Citrus and . . . she tipped her face up in expectation.
His lips pressed hard against her own, his long fingers tangled themselves in her hair. It was awkward and shocking, and it feltso good. Her arms rose as if to entwine themselves around his neck . . . but time was running out. She shoved him away instead.
He frowned.
“I must speak to you, Mr. Darcy. I do not have much time.”
“I will hear anything you wish to say, my dear.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped away.
Elizabeth growled. “I amnotyour dear. My fairy godmother has put us under a spell. I must complete a shirt made of wild roses to transform you back, or you will remain a swan forever.”
“Wild roses?”
“Would you prefer stinging nettles? I know I would not.”
Mr. Darcy shook his head but did not respond.
“You must not fly off,” Elizabeth continued, “or someone might find you and take you away. We have only a week to break this spell.”
“A swan?” He blinked. “A spell?” He shook his head, bemused. “I finally have you alone, and all I can do is invent more obstacles.”
“Youkissedme,” Elizabeth answered him accusingly.
“Yes, but then we stopped,” he said incredulously. “To discuss your fairy godmother and a spell. What sort of a cruel dreamisthis?”
“Just listen,” she begged, placing a finger against his lips. He grasped it lightly and gave it another kiss.
“Stop that,” she said, attempting to ignore the frisson of heat his touch generated. “I must make this shirt, Mr. Darcy, or you will remain a swan forever. Or a hundred years.” She stopped to think. “Mildread was not very clear on that, but in any case, you must promise me not to leave.”
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said in a low voice as he closed the space between them. She could feel his breath in her hair. “I will not leave. I adore you.” He trailed a finger lightly down her neck.
She gasped. He could not mean it. Oh, he was so . . . and he made her feel so . . . She dragged herself back to reality. It did not matter now. He must listen! She stepped back, raised her hand, and slapped him as hard as she could. Her palm burned. “Oh!” she cried, holding her hand to her chest. “That hurt!”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said carefully, raising a hand to his cheek. “It did.” He stared at her. “Miss Elizabeth . . .” he began to say.
His sentence stopped abruptly. All Elizabeth could see were white feathers.
Her time was up.
When next he woke,Darcy was not only cold but wet. He felt dirt beneath the palms of his hands and the scent of damp loam tickled his nose. He forced his eyelids open and found himself staring at a tuft of brown grass. He pushed himself up into a seated position, the grass shrinking in size as he did.
