Darcy found himself homeward bound a day sooner than intended. He was simply too... unquiet to remain in town.

Though it was infinitely easier to feed on the busy streets of London (the scoundrels and shiftless layabouts he favoured being harder to come by in the country) the constant noise was an assault on his heightened senses. The cacophony of town life, combined with his troubled thoughts, were simply too much to be borne so Darcy saddled up Moonlight and made for Pemberley.

Once on the road, however, atop his favourite thoroughbred, Darcy found it entirely too quiet for his liking. The gentle hum of the countryside offered much needed relief for his aching head – but opened a doorway for anxious thoughts to tumble through.

Had Miss Bennet read his letter? Surely she would have. Curiosity, if not consideration, would have driven her to do that much. But she had not answered it, which could only mean her feelings toward him had not changed with understanding.

A fact which troubled him endlessly.

It was, of course, what he had deemed necessary. Hadn't he told Elizabeth that he would never trouble her again? Wasn't it for the best, for everyone involved?

Yes, of course it was.

So why did the long silence feel like another rejection?

Darcy kicked his heels, spurring the horse on in a desperate attempt to escape the thoughts pursuing him. Try as he might, though, Darcy could not shake those torturous thoughts. Silencing those doubts, those fears, and worse perhaps, those longings, seemed hopeless. After all, how could one defeat one's enemy when it existed in one's own mind?

You would kill the poor beast instead?

There it was, the dry, cynical part of his consciousness – the one that taunted him day and night. Much as he loathed it, much as he wished to quell it, that damnable voice was too often correct. Darcy pulled on the reins, slowing his horse's frantic gallop.

"There now," he said, stroking the thoroughbred's neck comfortingly. His gloved palm came away wet, making him blink in confusion. The horse's coat, he found, was slick with sweat. So lost in his own reflections was he that the fact that he had ridden his horse near to exhaustion had escaped Darcy's notice.

"Poor girl," he cooed, trying to sooth the anxious mare. She showed her annoyance by turning her face away with a snort.

Rejected by another female, his subconscious taunted cruelly. And not even human this time… but then, neither are you…

Darcy was only just able to resist snapping the horse's reins in anger. He ground his teeth together to silence the snarl of rage building up within him. There were so few horses who tolerated his otherness; Darcy had no wish to spook Moonlight, thus losing one of the best. He would pilfer carrots from the kitchen gardens upon his return to placate the mare.

If only his mind were as easily soothed… There was but one thing that could fix that ache…

The one thing he must not have.

She might have answered my letter, at least, Darcy mused unhappily.

It was Miss Bennet's silence on the matter, he reasoned, that troubled him. If only she had given him some word, some glimpse into her thoughts and feelings on the matter, he could…

Could what? Hope for a better outcome? There was no other outcome. His abominable actions at Hunsford had proven that much. If he could not trust himself to be alone with Miss Bennet for a few brief moments, what sort of future could they ever hope for?

Certainly not the one he still, in moments of weakness, imagined.

Moonlight whinnied unhappily, drawing Darcy's awareness back to the moment. He whispered softly into the horse's ear, promising treats and a rest when they reached…

Oh.

In trying to escape his unwelcome thoughts, Darcy had driven them to the estate at breakneck speed. It was little wonder the poor horse was on the verge of exhaustion; the grand house his family had called home for many generations loomed just ahead. Though he was relieved, as ever, to return to that familiar place, Darcy knew his sister would be eager to greet him and he was, by no means, fit to be seen.

He had fed well, and deeply, before leaving London, but Darcy knew he must be in full command of himself before facing his beloved sister. It was the undending battle he waged to keep his awful secret from sweet Georgiana – and not, he was ashamed to admit, a battle he was currently winning. If Darcy failed to chase thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet from his mind, he would be a danger he dared not expose his sister to.

Glancing around, Darcy saw that he had brought them to a halt not far from the lake that stretched across the sprawling grounds. His mind was made up in no time. The water would at once wash away the sweat and dust of his journey and, he hoped, cool any lingering effects the memory of Eliza Bennet's soft mouth had on his body.

Slipping from the horse's back, Darcy led Moonlight to the shade of a nearby tree and dropped her reins. She immediately went to the lake's edge to drink deeply, heightening Darcy's guilt over her mistreatment. He chastised himself as he slid the jacket from his shoulders, allowing the garment fall to the ground.

With a quick glance around that was more habit than necessity, Darcy began removing the rest of his attire. His fingers fumbled with the button on his trousers when his infatuated thoughts provided, for the barest of moments, Miss Bennet's musical laugh. Scolding himself for his foolishness, Darcy reminded himself that Pemberley was the very last place one would find that fine lady. He gave a quick, self-deprecating laugh and, with a rueful shake of his head, continued to remove his clothing.

Darcy's swim, upon imagining Miss Bennet's voice, was not as effective as he had hoped. While the fresh water cleansed his body, it did nothing to wash away the thoughts, the memories and desires, that had plagued him the past three months. If anything, thinking of Elizabeth warmed his flesh 'til he was certain he would boil the water away if he got any hotter.

Breaching the surface, Darcy choked back a howl of frustration. Why did she torment him so? Rather than satiate his hunger for her, tasting Elizabeth's blood had increased it a thousandfold. Feeding from that fine woman had been a terrible, terrible mistake. His only hope was that time and distance might eventually wear away his need for her so that if their paths should cross again, they both might survive the encounter.

Dragging himself up onto the grassy bank, Darcy shook the water from his hair. Propriety demanded he dress as quickly as possible and make for the house, but the afternoon sun beat down on him mercilessly, sapping him of his strength. Perhaps a brief moment to dry off before he donned his clothes once more…?

A soft gasp drew his attention.

No.

Of all the times…

He prayed for it to please, please be untrue, even as his senses, dulled as they were by the searing rays, roared in delight that it was.

Don't look, Darcy told himself. If he didn't look, he could pretend it wasn't real, that he wasn't trapped in his worst nightmare. If he didn't look, if he could control himself just a few moments longer, she would have time to run away and save them both from tragedy…

But the beast within responded naturally to her voice, to her scent. It compelled Darcy to lift his sopping head, to fix his hungry gaze on her as she stared down in astonishment at his nude form.

"Miss Bennet," he growled.