Chapter Twelve

It was already close enough that the movement of its wings created gusts of wind ruffling Elizabeth’s hair. A thrill of primitive fear ran down her spine, but Elizabeth forced herself to remain in place. After all, the dragon was pulling a carriage; it was hardly likely to attack.

The coachman perched at the front of the carriage pulled up on the reins, and the dragon’s velocity decreased sharply, slowing enough that it alighted almost daintily directly before Rosings Park’s principal entrance. As the dragon settled onto its haunches, the carriage landed with a soft thump. In all respects it resembled a conventional barouche. It even had wheels, but Elizabeth imagined they were rarely used.

Dragons were uncommon in England, and Elizabeth had never seen one so close. Occasionally a dragon-drawn carriage would fly over Meryton, and it would be the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.

This particular dragon was huge, the size of a cottage, with iridescent green scales and an enormous golden eye with a slitted pupil similar to a lizard’s. Mr. Darcy strolled down the steps toward her, followed by Mrs. Jenkins, whom Lady Catherine had insisted would serve as chaperone for the trip. “Ah, the carriage is here. Excellent.”

“This is our conveyance?” Elizabeth asked faintly. Everyone knew that the Convocation had dragon-drawn carriages at their disposal, but she never expected to ride in one.

“Indeed. We will reach London much faster than we would on the road.” He peered at her anxiously. “I hope the prospect is not too frightening for you.” He gestured toward the dragon’s foot-long claws.

The creature yawned, revealing a mouthful of jagged fangs, provoking a gasp from Mrs. Jenkins.

“Not in the least,” Elizabeth said. “I dreamed of such things when I was a child.”

He gave her a broad smile.

But Mrs. Jenkins had turned quite white. “We will be traveling in that?” Her voice quavered.

“I assure you that the dragon is quite tame,” Mr. Darcy said.

“What is its name?” Elizabeth asked.

“This is Daisy.” He sauntered toward the beast and gave it—her?—an affectionate pat on its flank.

The coachman, dressed in a fur-lined cloak against the cold air in the upper atmosphere, waved and grinned. “A good day to you, Mr. Darcy!”

“Hello, Grayson, good to see you again.”

Emboldened, Elizabeth moved close enough to stroke the beast’s scales. Although they appeared quite rough, they were actually soft and warm. “Daisy?” she asked in a low voice.

Mr. Darcy shrugged. “She really is like an oversized dog. The kind that curls up in front of the fireplace and begs scraps from the cook.”

“I would not deny her any scraps,” Elizabeth chuckled.

A Rosings footman stowed their luggage while another opened the carriage door. The interior was spacious and finely appointed, with dark wood paneling and soft leather seats. Some kind of warming spell ensured a cozy ambiance.

Mrs. Jenkins edged her way toward the carriage, moving as far as possible from Daisy. Mr. Darcy handed her in to sit beside Elizabeth and then took the opposite seat.

“You might want to grasp the handle.” He said to the ladies, gesturing to the bars set into the side of the carriage. Moments later Elizabeth understood why as the carriage lifted from the ground with an abrupt jerk. Elizabeth quickly grabbed the handle to avoid falling to the floor. Mrs. Jenkins screamed and slid sideways on the seat before reaching for the handle.

The carriage shot upward at a dizzying speed. A clever window in the front of the coach provided a view of the top of the coachman’s head as well as the dragon’s back as it flapped its enormous wings to increase their altitude. Truly a magnificent sight.

Elizabeth could not prevent an astonished laugh. This was even more exciting than she had imagined. Her eyes darted avidly from one window to the next, not wishing to miss one second as the ground rapidly receded beneath them. Rosings Park shrank into a speck in the Kentish countryside.

Soon the carriage ceased climbing, leveled off, and started hurtling forward at an amazing pace. The ride was noticeably smoother than in a regular carriage. Surely enchantments kept it from being buffeted by the wind. Elizabeth marveled at the extravagance; such permanent enchantments required the work of many mages over a period of weeks. But the Convocation obviously spared no expense.

The dragon beat its wings infrequently, slicing effortlessly through the clouds. They were moving so much faster than a horse or a boat—as if they could race the sun across the sky.

Mrs. Jenkins gibbered, refusing to so much as glance out the window, too tense to even knit. Elizabeth spoke soothingly to the woman, assuring her that dragon coach was a very safe conveyance. But the older woman did not even appear to hear Elizabeth’s words, so she returned her attention to the sights outside the window

The land below them passed in a blur. Dark green forests. The lighter green and brown of cultivated fields. Clustered buildings of villages. Blue ribbons of rivers and streams. She watched it all, unwilling to miss a single minute.

***

Witnessing Elizabeth’s sheer delight at traveling by dragon coach was a joy. Darcy had once treated Caroline and Bingley to a dragon coach ride, but Caroline had complained constantly about the smell of the dragon.

Elizabeth acted as if he had given her a precious gift. He found himself reliving the sense of wonder he had experienced when his father had first taken him in a dragon coach.

Darcy had accepted Mrs. Jenkins’s presence as an inconvenient necessity—essential for propriety’s sake. But he wished he and Elizabeth could enjoy this time in private. He had not anticipated the chaperone’s terror or the dampening effect it had upon the atmosphere within the coach. Elizabeth clearly tempered her exclamations of joy.

The older woman jerked and started at the slightest jostling of the coach and at one point let out a shriek.

“Perhaps you should sleep?” Darcy asked the woman.

“As if I could!” the woman glared at him.

That was the final straw for Darcy. Gathering together a few strands of ether with murmured Latin words, he sent Mrs. Jenkins into a deep sleep.

Elizabeth turned in alarm as the woman abruptly slumped against the squabs but then gave Darcy a brisk nod. “It is a mercy, really.” She immediately returned her attention to the window.

Darcy had not anticipated the effect her enthusiasm would have on him. Elizabeth had removed her bonnet and cloak and laid them beside her. Excitement brought a rosy glow to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as they mirrored the blue of the surrounding sky. He had always found her appealing, but now she was nearly irresistible. And for the next two hours, Darcy had no other way to occupy his time except to stare at her. If his goal was not to fall more deeply in love with Elizabeth, he had indeed miscalculated.

Her hair was up in a simple twist, with a few tendrils curling around her face and her traveling dress was a faded yellow. There was nothing remarkable about her appearance save her natural beauty, and yet he had difficulty tearing his eyes from her for even a few seconds.

Eventually the carriage flew into a cloud so that only whiteness was visible outside the windows. Elizabeth settled back against the squabs and gave Darcy a blinding smile. “This is wonderful. I thank you.” His sense of danger multiplied. He could easily imagine crossing the small space between them and brushing her cheek with eager fingertips. A glance at Mrs. Jenkins confirmed that she was deeply asleep; Darcy would need to constrain his darker impulses without her watchfulness.

Elizabeth related what she had learned about dragon banishment from the books at Rosings. Darcy tried to focus on the conversation rather than how desperately he wanted to touch her. Every tilt of her head and graceful hand gesture was absolutely mesmerizing. His mind catalogued each detail…the way she bit her lip in concentration…or how her eyes blazed under the influence of some strong emotion. Belatedly he realized she had ceased talking. Had he been staring? Had she noticed anything inappropriate in his behavior?

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

Nothing except that I cannot make you my wife. “I was woolgathering. I apologize.”

Elizabeth peered anxiously at Mrs. Jenkins, who gave a loud snore before settling into a different position. They shared a laugh. When Elizabeth sobered, she said, “I must also thank you for your prescience. As promised, you did an admirable job of ridding me of Mr. Collins’s attentions.”

Darcy managed not to scowl at the sound of the man’s name. “Collins was not the right man for you. You deserve far better.” Like me. The words burned in his throat, aching to be uttered.

Her smile was a tremulous thing. “I thank you for your kind words, sir. Although I do not expect to have another offer of marriage.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You yourself observed that few men could overcome their distaste for my use of magic.”

Darcy squirmed in his seat. How could I ever have said such a thing to her? “I may have been mistaken.”

She shrugged. “Given the size of my dowry, I am hardly a prize for any man.”

Utter contempt for his fellow gentlemen burned in Darcy’s chest. “Then they are fools.”

An ironic smile twisted her lips. “I thought you found me barely tolerable.”

“I was a fool,” he said vehemently. “I did not realize how lucky any man would be to win you.”

This provoked a blush as she peered down at the hands clasped in her lap. “You are too kind.”

She believes I am bestowing the kind of empty compliments that men give ladies of their acquaintance. He needed her to understand the truth.

He reached out his hand and took hers, guiding her to the empty spot on the seat beside him. “You are, quite simply, an extraordinary woman,” he said, gazing deeply into the dark depths of her eyes. “Quite aside from your beauty and command of magic—which are both formidable—you possess a rare wit and vivacity.”

Her lips parted and she stared at him. As well she should; his words had been tantamount to a declaration of love. After a moment, she gently removed her hand from his grasp. “You should not say such things to me.”

He could not agree. Convincing her of her true worth was more important than his discretion or any abstract sense of honor. “If I were not already promised to Miss Bingley, I would—”

She put up a shaky hand to forestall him. “Do not say such things! You are promised to another woman.”

“You have no idea how bitterly I regret that. If I had met you before agreeing to marry her—” He managed to stop before implicating himself further. “But I have promised, and I cannot be forsworn.”

“Of course,” she said faintly. “And my family connections, my position in life—”

“—Would mean nothing to me if I were free to give you my heart.”

“I—” She grasped for words. “I had not the least idea.”

“Did you not? I feared my admiration for you must be glaringly obvious to everyone.”

“Not at all,” she murmured, again staring at her hands.

She had not the slightest idea how appealing he found her in that moment. Her blush. Her slightly perplexed expression. The genuine modesty that prevented her from taking his admiration as her due—as so many women would. Everything conspired to make her so beautiful it took his breath away.

Darcy was weary of holding himself in check. Weary of constantly denying himself the one thing he truly desired. He took her hand in his once more. “I do not love Miss Bingley.”

Her head shot up, and she peered into his eyes. Ascertaining his sincerity? “It hurts my heart to imagine you in a loveless marriage,” she admitted finally.

He unbuttoned her glove, amazed at his own boldness. “I never hoped for anything else from marriage, until…recently. I do not believe Caroline loves me either, but we rub along well enough. It had long been my father’s dream to unite the legacies of the two families. The Bingleys have a powerful magical lineage even though his father dabbled in trade. At the time, I saw no reason to object to the arrangement. Our children—” —he stumbled over the word—“—will undoubtedly possess great power.”

His imagination supplied an image of Elizabeth’s daughter, with her pert smile and dark curls. But another man would be her father. Elizabeth would pass on her significant magical heritage to…someone else’s children. Life was cruel.

Elizabeth had made no move to pull her hand away. Slowly, giving her time to protest, he pulled the glove from one finger…then another…and another. When her hand was naked, he brought it to his mouth. But rather than kiss the back, he flipped it over and kissed her palm, an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

Elizabeth shivered. She had not confessed to sharing his tender emotions, but her slightly parted lips and flushed cheeks suggested he was not alone in this hopeless attraction. It seemed a horrible travesty that he would live out the rest of his life without one more opportunity to kiss her.

Angling his body forward, Darcy brushed his lips over Elizabeth’s. She did not pull away but leaned into the kiss, pressing her body against his. The next kiss was deep and languorous. She opened her lips, allowing their tongues to intertwine. His lips pressed against hers fiercely. She tasted of the chocolate she must have consumed at breakfast—somehow the perfect taste for her.

Elizabeth emitted a breathless gasp, sinking more deeply into his arms. Darcy’s fingers delved into her silken hair, causing the careful coiffure to fall apart; hairpins bounced onto the seat and floor of the carriage. She moaned softly as his other hand wrapped around her back and pulled her even more tightly against his body.

He poured every emotion into the kiss, all the feelings he was forbidden from naming. Elizabeth became even more pliable in his arms, surrendering control and holding nothing back.

When they finally drew apart, his world had changed, shifted into another reality altogether. He had been tragically mistaken that one kiss might somehow lessen his regret. He desired nothing other than to kiss her again and again, make love to her, and claim her irrevocably.

Mrs. Jenkins snored loudly, and they jumped apart. But the chaperone was still deeply asleep. Darcy chuckled.

Slowly, he turned his head, peering cautiously into Elizabeth’s eyes. His behavior had been highly inappropriate; she would be quite justified in claiming he had compromised her. But he saw no censure in her eyes. “I must desist now while I can still call myself a gentleman.” He slid backward on the seat, retreating to the corner, but his eyes still devoured her face eagerly. “How I wish you could be mine! And I could be yours.”

Her eyes widened—as well they might at such a naked declaration of love. Elizabeth touched a finger to her lips in wonder. “I did not know.”

He shook his head ruefully. “My acting skills must be better than I believed.”

Elizabeth broke her gaze from his and turned to hastily gather hairpins from the floor and seat. “I am…quite flattered by your attentions,” she said, keeping her eyes carefully averted. “But we should not speak of it again.”

Darcy stared at her, endeavoring to understand her meaning. Was she offended? Ashamed? Perhaps she simply did not understand. “I continue to delay the wedding in the hopes that…Caroline might beg off, but I do not have much cause for optimism. Still, you should know that my heart already belongs to you.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “Perhaps you do not understand the meaning of ‘we should not speak of it again.’”

Darcy’s face warmed, although he enjoyed the teasing.

“And,” she continued, “please note that I have said nothing about accepting such an offer, even if it were forthcoming.”

“But you kissed me!” Darcy was beyond caring how desperate he sounded.

“I did, and it was most enjoyable.” Elizabeth said, but Darcy was not mollified. “You may be much desired by women of the ton, sir. But it hardly follows that I would fall into your arms the moment you expressed affection.” Finished fixing her hair, she returned to her seat beside the chaperone.

Is she serious? “You delight in teasing me,” he said.

“Do I?” She gave him an arch look. “I am merely reminding you that it requires consent from two parties before a wedding may take place.”

Darcy slumped against the squabs and stared out the window at the misty white nothingness. I am a fool. He had assumed they were both flirting, taking pleasure in each other’s company. Naturally he believed she would return his feelings since he was a desirable match in every way, but Elizabeth was hardly the kind of woman to fall in love with a fortune. Nor would Darcy want to be loved for his wealth.

A corner of her mouth quirked upward. “It is heartening to know that your feelings about me have undergone such a transformation since we first met.” Darcy did not know where he stood. Were her sentiments sincere or was she teasing him again? Had he damaged their friendship with his presumptuous and unwelcome attentions? His stomach churned sluggishly as the next few minutes dragged on in silence.

Finally, Darcy could no longer stand the quiet. He cleared his throat. “Will you have a place to stay when we arrive in London?” Although he would love to have her visit Darcy House, he was well aware of the impropriety.

“Your aunt sent an express to my aunt and uncle who live in Cheapside. They will be pleased to have me visit.” Her words were cool and formal. “Will you report Mr. Hurst to the Convocation immediately upon our arrival?”

Darcy was relieved to return to a somewhat neutral subject. “Unfortunately, we have no evidence at the moment. Only suspicions. I plan to visit his townhouse and see if there is proof of nefarious activities. Of course, if the goblin attacks continue in London, that will be further confirmation.”

She frowned. “Seeking evidence strikes me as a dangerous proposition. We do not know what he is doing with the power he acquired by killing goblin children.”

“I will be careful. As a paladin, I have more training in dangerous situations than most mages. And I hope I might enlist Bingley’s help.”

“Against his own brother-in-law?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

“They are on cordial terms,” Darcy said. “But there is little love lost between the two men. Although…” He grimaced, lost in a memory. “Bingley did say he planned to support Hurst in the election for archmage, which is quite odd. He knows as well as I do that the fellow is a mediocre mage—or at least he presents himself that way. It is doubly strange since your father said something similar to me about his proxy vote.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “My father has always supported the Earl of Matlock.”

“Bingley, too.” Darcy rubbed his chin. “I thought Hurst was a fool to sit for election again, but if he has changed enough minds, perhaps he will have a chance. It has always been his dream.”

Elizabeth regarded him sharply. “An important enough dream to kill for?”

“Certainly,” Darcy agreed. “But I do not see how excess power would help to win him votes, unless…Good Lord!” He bolted upright in his seat. “He is using suasion.”