A Touch of Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

dreams. It was easier to believe she had dreamed it than to believe that they were lovers.
    At breakfast she observed both of them and found Mr. Bingley just as charming as ever. And just as concerned for Jane's welfare. And Mr. Darcy was just as silent and withdrawn as always. His eyes did not rest upon Mr. Bingley with any more warmth than when they rested upon her -- which they did all too often. But the look in them was indecipherable.
    Elizabeth decided that she must indeed have been dreaming, and made sure to ask Mr. Bingley if she could borrow some books from his library. He immediately apologized profusely for not thinking of it before, and she went up to her room with a half dozen volumes of poetry and plays -- all light, bright and sparkling -- to ensure that her nighttime horrors were not repeated. The next two days went by without incident.
    It was on the third night, in the drawing room, while Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst were engaged in a game of cards, Elizabeth sat reading a book, Mr. Bingley paced desultorily back and forth and Mr. Darcy wrote a letter to his sister -- while Caroline admired everything he did, from the way he wrote his letters to the speed of his writing -- that a conversation took place which Elizabeth would have given something to avoid.
    It really could not surprise her that the conversation should come across through the good offices of Caroline, whom Elizabeth had already determined to be smitten with Mr. Darcy. Being smitten with Mr. Darcy was, of course, the height of bad taste but atop of it all Caroline seemed to be insane or deluded and so far gone as to consider Elizabeth a rival. In her effort to mark her territory and exclude Elizabeth, she was practically bending over the table upon which Mr. Darcy wrote, and making comments about Mr. Darcy's sister, Georgiana. How intelligent, accomplished and amazing Georgiana was. And how, as soon as she came out, she would be a famed beauty, and how...
    Amid the flow of inane talk, she said, "Oh, and pray ask Georgiana if she saw the execution of the were-lion in London, for I heard it was most amusing."
    Elizabeth glanced up, struck, staring at a woman who could refer to the death of a human being as amusing. At the same time she realized that Mr. Darcy, who was looking up, had gone deathly pale. For just a moment she met his eyes, and she thought she could read compassion and understanding in his gaze. The realization so stunned her that she didn't say anything. Mr. Darcy didn't speak, also, and Caroline was suffered to go on, in her light way, giggling, "Imagine a terrible were in one of the best families of the ton, and having kept it secret until he was twenty eight, too. He must have started changing shapes a good fourteen years ago, if not sooner. Imagine hiding it from everyone. I'm so glad they caught him. He might have changed in the middle of a party and... eaten me."
    Mr. Darcy, still pale, let his mouth drop open, as though in astonishment.
    Chastisement came from a strange quarter. Mr. Bingley, usually so easy going, had turned around, "Caroline! You must know that Lord Sevrin was at Cambridge with Darcy and I, and he was all that could be proper and civilized, poor soul. I can't believe you, of all people, would gloat over his execution."
    At that moment Mr. Darcy found his voice, and boomed, in a tone that left little chance his paleness was due to compassion, "Miss Bingley! Surely you don't think the spectacle of a were execution is appropriate for the eyes of a young lady of my sister's delicacy and upbringing?"
    And Miss Bingley was left speechless, in the crossfire from two so disparate directions. Were the subject not so distasteful, Elizabeth would have laughed.
    Instead, she remained quiet as Caroline tried to defend herself, "Well, everyone knows how dangerous weres are. And this is why the were laws say they must be killed as soon as possible. Surely the law has our best interests at heart and..."
    "I've always wondered