Vampire Darcys Desire - Regina Jeffers

Elizabeth flicked the cold away from her face with snow-covered gloves and came at him, bent on vengeance. Darcy sprinted to the

“Why is it I do not believe you, my love?” He switched directions several times to fool her, but each time Elizabeth responded accordingly.

“Fitzwilliam, I am getting cold,” she said at last, and dropped the snowballs to the ground in defeat.

Darcy came from behind the tree and enveloped her in his arms, opening his greatcoat to bring her closer to him.“I am sorry, Sweetling. I should have thought as such. I will warm you.” Darcy lowered his mouth to hers, tasting Elizabeth and snow and happiness. He sighed with desire. She loosened her grasp on him and stepped back.Then he felt it. Snow rained down on his bare head, sinking into his shirt and sliding down his back. He looked up to see the last of the flakes cascading from a low-hanging bough. Elizabeth’s laughter faded away as she sprinted from him.

“I will get you, Mrs. Darcy,” he warned and lunged after her, icy streams reaching the band of his breeches.

She knew she stood no chance. Darcy’s long legs and knee boots put her at a disadvantage, so she turned on him and started frantically throwing snow in the air, covering them both in a powdery spray of frosty crystals. Darcy fought his way through the snowy cloud, grabbing Elizabeth up by the waist and dumping her none-too-gingerly into a snowy heap. “You deserve this,” he asserted, as he unceremoniously fell on top of her, wrestling with her in the snow. His weight held her down, although she continued to squirm against him.The snow had nearly frozen his back muscles, but Elizabeth’s grinding hardened him instantly.

“Give up,” he said as he pressed harder.

“Never.” Elizabeth shoved a handful of snow into an opening in his shirt.

Darcy let out a gasp of surprise and a shudder before catching her wrists in his large palm, locking them above her head.“Should

“Only if you warm them for me afterwards.” Elizabeth arched forward, seeking his mouth for comfort.

Darcy brushed his lips across hers. “Woman, what are you trying to do to me? Such words!” His pulse raced.

“I am trying to make you love me, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth blurted out without thinking. Her words brought their struggle to a standstill.

Darcy gazed into her eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, and he lost all sense of reason. “Cease trying, Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered. “I loved you from the beginning.” He wondered about the sanity of admitting his true feelings. What if she does not share my love? He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue. Coming to himself, he whispered,“What am I doing?”

“Kissing your wife. In public.” Her voice was breathy with desire and raspy with pent-up emotion.

Darcy chuckled with the realization. “I suppose we will be the talk of the servants’ quarters tonight.”

“So much for my hopes of being a model of decorum,” Elizabeth observed.“Do you think we should return to the house now?”

“We have done enough damage to our reputations.” He rolled from her and rose swiftly to stand before her. Extending his hand, he waited for her to join him, but Elizabeth continued to lie in the snow, staring up at him. “Come, Elizabeth,” he demanded, reaching for her.

“No.” She did not move.

“No?” He looked confused. “Why ever not?” He let his hand drop to his side.

Elizabeth licked her lips; surprisingly, she felt nervous.“Because I did not get the chance to tell my husband that I am completely and hopelessly in love with him.”

Darcy’s heart leapt in his chest. He extended his hand again, and this time Elizabeth took it.They walked silently back to the house,

Elizabeth kissed him back and wondered, Could I really be married to this magnificent man? A man to whom I give my heart—my body—my soul?

If the young master had scandalized his staff by kissing his new wife on the south lawn during a snowstorm, the next few days kept the gossips even busier. Darcy and Elizabeth resumed their fencing lessons, using the ballroom as the arena for the activity; and if that was not outrageous enough, Mr. Darcy procured a pair of breeches, a shirt, and a waistcoat from one of the young groomsmen for Mrs. Darcy’s use. The lady dressed as a gentleman, tying her long hair back with several ribbons.

“What do you believe Mrs. Darcy will do next?” one of the chambermaids asked as she slid into her place along a bench in the kitchen.

“That is enough, Milly,” Mrs. Reynolds warned her. “It is not our place to judge the Darcys.”

“But Mrs. Reynolds,” the girl retorted, “even you must think this beyond reason.”

Mrs. Reynolds gazed firmly at the girl, but everyone in the kitchen knew it was meant for all.“Reason means knowledge, so I will tell you, Milly, what I know of the man who is our master. I have never known a cross word from Mr. Darcy in my life, and I have known him since he was four years old. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. I observed that they who are good-natured when children are good-natured when they grow up, and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world. His father was an excellent man, and his son will be just like him—just as affable to the poor. He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived. Not like wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves.”

Mr. Lockwood joined the conversation, “Mrs. Reynolds is correct. servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”

“Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.” Mrs. Reynolds set down her teacup. “And just as with his sister, Mr. Darcy gives his wife freedom to be who she chooses to be. I do not believe every woman should pick up a sword, but Mrs. Darcy wishes to, and she does so with her husband’s permission and his participation.And as far as Mrs. Darcy is concerned, she treats each of us with kindness. I am impressed with her civility.”

“That she is, Ma’am,” one of the footmen added. “Mrs. Darcy was all apologies when we moved furniture for the Master.”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded in agreement. “He is exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suits her, and she him. The man is happy—at last, after all these years of loneliness, he is happy, and I would tolerate the worst harpy to see him such. Thank the heavens that all I have to do is look the other way when the Master playfully shows affection for his wife. When Mr. Darcy is contented, so are the members of his staff.”

Milly blushed with the reprimand.“Of course, Mrs. Reynolds. I meant nothing by my remark.”

“Then it is best not mentioned.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He sat in the Bennets’ parlor, paying homage to Lydia Bennet while other officers from the troop flirted with Kitty and Mary Bennet, along with Charlotte and Maria Lucas. Wickham hated such dalliances; he preferred the feast to the hunt.Yet he wanted no one suspicious until he reeled in his prey—until it was too late for the Bennets or the Darcys.

“Will you travel with the Forsters, Miss Lydia?” As usual, he

Lydia frowned in response.“Papa has not relented.”

“I do so hope you attend the ball, Miss Lydia, and I wish to claim the first set.”Wickham gave her one of his best smiles.

Lydia batted her eyelashes at him and fanned her face.“You will be in London, Mr.Wickham?”

Now,Wickham thought, now, she is ready. As if to entice her, he lowered his voice.“I will be in London if you will, Miss Lydia, and it would give me great pleasure if I might take you to see the sights. Of course, none of the beauties of the city will be able to compete with your beauty. If I might be so bold, I would like to take you riding in Hyde Park or to the theatre while you are in town. Anything you wish, Miss Lydia.”

He thought she might rebuke his forwardness, but Lydia Bennet relished his attentions. Wickham knew wedding bells rang in her head, but as it was for many others, marriage to him would be more than a life-long commitment; it would be eternal damnation.

“Mr.Wickham, I would entertain your wishes most readily.”

He could barely keep a straight face when she rolled her eyes up to his. If he could get her alone, Lydia Bennet would easily succumb to his temptations. “Then, Miss Lydia, we need to do what we can to convince your father to change his mind. Our happiness depends on it.”

Wickham captured her with his gaze, thundercloud grey eyes promising things of which she had no knowledge. “Oh, Mr. Wickham,” she said with a sigh.

The day that the Darcys admitted to their growing love, the forces holding them together changed dramatically. For Fitzwilliam, his need to touch her became even more intense. For weeks, he had cautiously guarded his emotions.Yet each resolution to ignore her disappeared the moment Elizabeth swept into a room. Her presence

For Elizabeth, dreams of a family permeated her waking and resting moments. These dreams made her more aware of Darcy’s masculinity—made her want to act in a manner such as her Aunt Merry had described in her motherly talk before Elizabeth married. She found that she flirted more than ever with Darcy, never passing up a chance to wrap her arms around him or to kiss him.

For both of them, their desperation to defeat Wickham increased. By silent assent, they set the day of Wickham’s demise as the day they would begin their “real” life.Their need for a normal life together fueled their daily search for facts in the books that she had purchased in London. When Georgiana tired of reading passage after passage, Darcy and Elizabeth pressed on, as did Mrs. Annesley. It was a matter of life and death.

“It says here,” Elizabeth summarized a passage, “that vampires often have the ability to physically transform themselves. This is obviously true; I thought I followed Fitzwilliam through the woods, but it was really Wickham.”

“That does not make me feel safer,” Georgiana commented before adding transformation to their growing list of characteristics.

“Repeat what we have on the list so far,” Mrs. Annesley said, and she sat back to listen to Georgiana’s recitation.

“Let me see—does not eat or drink, has the power of the wind, can disappear, probably carried forward at a great speed, has no reflection, is affected by iron and by holy objects, needs native soil to rest.” Georgiana laid the paper down.

Darcy repeated what he had learned about his enemy.“We think Wickham is from somewhere in Northumberland because Arawn

Georgiana picked up another list. “To kill a vampire, the number of ways grows. A stake through the heart, cut off and burn the head, pile stones on the grave, place a coin in the mouth, drive a nail through the neck, use a silver bullet.The list goes on and on.”

“If I find Wickham, I will use them all for good measure,” Darcy asserted.

Mrs. Annesley read from the book currently in front of her. “Burn the heart, producing a plate of ashes. Mix those ashes with local well water to create a drink to cure those infected by the beast.” She laughed. “Sounds delicious. I still think your best bet is to apply Mrs. Darcy’s dream to interpret what we read.”

“I dreamed of Wickham before my dream in London,” Elizabeth interjected.

Darcy demanded,“When?”

“The day of the attack at the manor house.”

“Why did you not tell me before?”

“I suppose it just slipped my mind.”

Mrs.Annesley interrupted,“What do you remember, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Well, …I was running through the woods, trying to escape. Wickham did not run, but he kept pace with me.The wind carried him forward or perhaps he floated.” Elizabeth looked up at Darcy, ashamed of the next part.“Wickham bade me to come to him, and I could do nothing else.Then it began to rain, but only on me; only I was tormented by the wind and the rain.”

Darcy sat down beside her.“Go on.”

“The mud was pulling at my feet and legs, but I kept trying to reach where Wickham stood, waiting for me. My body moved on its own. Finally, a gigantic deer stepped from the shadows. He had your eyes, Fitzwilliam, so I trusted him implicitly. Then he lowered his head, and I took hold of his antlers. Easily removing them, I charged at Wickham, and the horns pierced his chest.

Georgiana leaned forward, anxious to hear the rest.“Then?”

“Then nothing.” Elizabeth looked around sheepishly. “Then I woke up.”

Georgiana wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “What could such a silly dream mean?”

Mrs. Annesley’s gentle eyes told them she had her own opinions. “It seems to me that Mrs. Darcy’s dream tells us that the legends of vampires not tolerating running water might have some merit, as well as what we read yesterday about driving an ash or white thorn stake through the heart with a single strike to destroy them. We just need to figure out the deer and the many-colored blood. All the answers are there; I am sure of it.We just need to ask the right questions.”

It was Christmas Eve, and Wickham knew that he need not spend it in Meryton, trying to woo the youngest Bennet sister. Miss Jane Bennet and the aunt and uncle from London had arrived several days earlier, along with a houseful of nieces and nephews. He would make little progress in his quest, so he took himself off to one of the gaming halls peppering the London back streets. Even with the religious holiday on the next day, patrons packed the place. He supposed it was because the Black Ghost served as both a tavern and a gaming establishment. The tavern, with its locals and its lowlifes, was filled with boisterous drunks, while the three private rooms in the back burst with some of the ton’s finest. Men won and lost fortunes while laborers and sailors pissed away their hard-earned money on a tankard of watered-down ale.The owner of the Black Ghost thought of everything.

Wickham did not gamble—just as he did not eat or drink. He had no need for such activities, but he took a jaunt through the gaming rooms, seeing if anyone interested him. It did not matter consummate lover.

However, if no woman was available, a man or a boy would do, and it was more an issue of brute force.The feasting became an act of base survival, like an animal overcoming its prey. Actually, he hated it when he took someone simply because he hungered for him like a lion claiming a gazelle as food in the wild.Wickham preferred a woman.With a woman, he considered himself an artist.

Finding no one whom he thought might consider leaving with him, he returned to the public rooms. Laying on a good one for the holidays, probably to cover their loneliness, drunken louts spoke loudly and shoved each other.Aware of the alcohol-induced happiness circulating around him, Wickham found a small table in a darkened corner, where he could watch the goings-on. As he settled himself, he took on the image of James Denny. He could not be seen leaving the bar as himself.