Page 22 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
“Sir?” Now she wished he would a bit more attentive to her words. Her time was draining away.
Mr. Darcy straightened and turned in her direction, still attempting to entertain her with a funny story about how he and Mr. Bingley had become lost while hunting. They had never been near the ruins at all. She would normally await the conclusion of this tale, but there was not enough time to remain polite.
She stepped up on the seat of the chair next to him, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Right on the lips. Her desperation dissipated at the touch of her lips on his. It felt almost as good as when he had kissed her.
Then Mr. Darcy encircled her with his arms—grabbed her, really, so quick was the motion—and deepened the kiss.
When Elizabeth last visited her aunt and uncle in London, they had taken her to see the fireworks. The loud “pop” and then the brilliant colours illuminating the dark sky—she was not only hearing and seeing them now, she wasexperiencingthem. She lost herself in the sensation.
A hooting came from out of doors at the window, and Elizabeth’s mind cleared. “Oh, Mr. Darcy!” she gasped. “No, you must listen. I do not have much time. Do you recall what happens now?”
Mr. Darcy’s flush had travelled down his bare neck. Elizabeth had grown used to it, seeing him without a cravat. He had removed it that first day and never bothered to don it again.
“Elizabeth,” he groaned, placing his head on her shoulder.
“No, Mr. Darcy,” she begged. “The sun is going down. Do you recall what happens now—to you?”
His head shot up. “You are speaking,” he said wonderingly before his face paled. “Which means that . . .”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said in a rush. “Which means that you will shortly transform into a swan. You must try to remember who you are even when that happens, sir. I need you to remember what we must do in three days, and I have been so fearful that you will not. You can fly no farther than the boundaries of the lake, or you will be beyond my reach when the time comes. Do you understand?”
He closed his eyes, impressing those thoughts into his mind. “I will try, Elizabeth. For you.”
She released a relieved breath. “For yourself as well, sir—and your sister and cousin.”
He touched her cheek gently. “We have not much time,” he said.
“I know,” she said, sadness dripping from the words.
“Please, you must know I would not have regaled you with tales of my family and myself if I did not desire to share every part of my life with you. Elizabeth, before we are parted again, I must know that when all this is over you will consent to marry me.”
“I cannot accept,” she said unhappily, cupping his cheek. “You know I cannot.”
“Whyever not?” he asked harshly, drawing back.
Elizabeth despised herself for the pain in his eyes. She wanted to say yes—oh, howshe wished to accept his offer! But she would not wish for him to engage his honour only to resent being coerced by whatever spell he had been under. “You said yourself that you would not wish to have a wife foisted upon you by magic. It would not be right for me to consent. Not while we remain under Mildread’s spell.” Marriage to a man she loved but who resented her—the misery of both husband and wife would be acute. “When it is over and you are yourself again—ask me then, if you still desire it.”
“I will always desire it,” he growled. “I will always desireyou. My wishes and affections will not change.” He pressed his lips to her hand and tried to speak again, but feathers erupted from his hands, then his arms. The wings formed, the beak extended from his lips, and his words were twisted into a muffled trumpet blare.
Elizabeth witnessed it all with a mixture of chagrin and hope. Would he still want her when all of this was through?
Elizabeth sighed. They ought to have walked out before he changed, for she hated carrying him. He was heavy, and he beat his wings against her in protest at being handled in such a way.
She beckoned him to follow her but did not speak. He would be more comfortable at the lake. Swans did not mind the cold.
The swan honked and turned his head to one side, then the other as though he was considering her request. Then he waddled out the door, but he did not follow her. Instead, he waited to take his place next to her, and together, they headed to the stairs.
Chapter 8
He was a swan again. Tonight was Darcy’s final one in this form, and for the first time, he felt fully aware of himself inside the bird. It was remarkable. His movement through the water was graceful, and his wings were wide, powerful.
This wakefulness had been slowly increasing since Miss Elizabeth had urged him to concentrate on remembering.
He lowered his head into the water, tipping his body at an outrageous angle to nibble at the stems and leaves beneath the surface. He would certainly enjoy a proper dinner once this was over. At least he could eat something—poor Miss Elizabeth had not been able to eat or drink at all. To finish her work in time, she did not sleep, either. Her fairy godmother had made it unnecessary for her, she had said, but it still concerned him. How she must long to rest!
Miss Elizabeth had used her brief respite near the end of each day wisely, speaking to him of what they must do to break this . . . spell, she called it. He had considered it a curse, but could it be when it had brought them together? Each day, he reminded her that he would be renewing his offer. Each day she smiled at him and demurred.
His heart flared inside his feathered breast. She loved him. She must, or she would have had no scruple in telling him to desist. They had only to get through this night and all would be well.
