Something, she was not sure what, startled her out of sleep, and she sat upright in bed. The curtains around her bed were drawn, the room dark and cool, but a faint light, the fireplace, made the heavy brocade cloth glow from the other side.

There. The noise again, like a whispered groan, perhaps an unsettled spirit

Her heart clenched in her chest, and for a moment she sat still as she could, listening intently for the noise beyond her bed curtains.

And there it was, another, longer low groan, accompanied by the shuffling of feet. Her eyes widened.

It was a person. No ghost, no visitor from the other realm, would make that kind of noise. She opened her bed curtains, the rush of cold from the room making her shiver.

Her bedroom door to the hallway beyond stood open, and in the light from the fire, she could see a figure standing right by the windows.

The reason for the fresh cold became apparent.

Someone had opened one of her bedroom windows. The person standing there had clearly done it, their back to her as they hunched over, their head stuck quite outside and into the cold itself.

It was a man, the back of his head dark with hair matted and damp with sweat, and it could be none-other than Mr. Darcy- Her fingers pressed to her lips in shock.

She rose, wrapping her dressing gown tight about her, and crossed the floor toward him. As she approached, he turned, and her breath caught. Mr. Darcy was in a state of mild undress, his sleeping shirt askew, and a glazed, glassy look to his eyes.

He was pale, his lashes dark against his cheek as he blinked slowly.

"'m sorry," he mumbled. "It was... quite warm..."

His cheeks were a feverish pink, and he wavered on his feet. She took the last few steps, grabbing onto him to steady him, and found his skin hot, much too hot to the touch. She could barely breathe, to see him so unwell was more than shock. It was as if someone had an arm banded about her ribs, and a sense of agitation came over her to see him in such a state.

"Mr. Darcy," she hissed, her mind whirling with what to do. He was in her room, and she was unchaperoned, but he was quite clearly ill and delirious with some horrible fever. The poor man looked as if he might topple over in the very next moment! She had no choice. She led him toward her bed and helped him to sit. "I will get my aunt," she whispered to him with gentleness. "She will call for the doctor."

"No-" he groaned, and reached out, grabbing her upper arm, his grip fiercely strong for one so ill and near to fainting. "I must say... I must tell you-"

His eyelashes fluttered shut and he breathed heavily for a moment, his grasp on her never wavering. She was so shocked she did not even think to react by slapping him or pulling away.

"You... I... I cannot repress it... I burn..." He turned his head and coughed, most undignified but it only seemed to make him more helpless seeming, and... she hated to admit it, rather charming in a pathetic way. He glanced back at her, eyes blazing, and for a moment he seemed in the present, and not struggling to speak. "I burn for you, Miss Elizabeth, I must tell you, I love you, ardently, completely, I-"

His body betrayed him and he bent forward, his chest racked with coughs.

"Hush, hush," she whispered, her mind reeling. What had he said? No, it could not be; he thought so little of her... after all. Did he not?

The meaning of his words were plain enough, although his fever was so high that it was impossible that he was truly awake and aware of his actions. She tried to pull back, and his grip tightened.

"Love me, please," he pleaded, and his voice was so pitiful, the request so ridiculous, that she could not help it. She bit her lip.

"Of course, of course," she assured him, anything to get him to relax so she might go and find some assistance. "Please, though, do not think of it now. Lay down, and rest. I will be right back."

She pulled away as he finally sighed, allowing himself to slowly fall to the side, and then shuffle his legs awkwardly onto the bed.

But in one moment, he grabbed her hand, his skin on hers, his touch burning hot, and she gasped.

"Promise me," he said, only able to look at her with one eye, as the other was buried in her pillow. "You love me?"

His fingers wrapped around hers, refusing to give.

"I... yes, I promise, I love you," she blurted out, and he groaned with relief, his eye sliding shut, his arm falling down to hang over the bed.

In a moment he was breathing heavily, clearly asleep or getting there, and she took a few steps back lest he grab her again. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest, and her throat was tight.

What had she done?

What had she promised?

It was nothing. Her words had to mean nothing. But oh, to have said she loved someone, a man, when it was not someone she was to marry? Her first admission of love and affection was false, and what did that make her? She'd had such hopes, such dreams for her own self, once Jane was settled... and now, all, to dust and ruin.

She turned and fled, racing through the door and down to her aunt's room, where the older woman slept, and in moments she had the woman awake and blinking at her blearily.

"You must promise to not give me up," Lizzy said in a rush, "and I have not been compromised, but oh, it is Mr. Darcy, he has come over very ill and collapsed in my bedroom. We need a doctor at once."

Looking back, Lizzy was grateful not only for her aunt's discretion, but also for the trust that her aunt had in her niece to have never done something so improper as invite or allow a man into her bedroom, for before the servants were even roused, Mrs. Gardiner had a story concocted.

"Mr. Darcy was on his way to the bathing room, but collapsed," she instructed one of the footmen. "We were unable to help him downstairs to Mr. Gardiner's room, but perhaps now you could assist us with moving him downstairs where he might have a private bathing room attached?"

It helped, additionally, that Mr. Darcy was so sick and unable to form words coherently, that it was clear to Mrs. Gardiner that nothing untoward could have occurred even if Mr. Darcy had desired it.

(And, Elizabeth thought, his bed-side confessional aside, he likely did not desire any such contact with her in the slightest. He was taken with a strong fever that was muddling his senses. It was still quite likely he thought her intolerable and lacking in any accomplishments. That thought should have made her happy. It did not, and she refused to put any time into wondering why.)

The doctor was called, Mr. Darcy, it was decided, was too ill to move further, and so he was temporarily installed in Lizzy's room at least until the doctor proclaimed him well enough to either go home or back to the green guest-room, and Lizzy found herself abed with Jane, a position that was most comfortable for her given the upheaval of the night.

It wasn't until the house had gone to bed for the second time, and Jane and Lizzy were close under covers, that Jane finally whispered to her,

"Are you alright, Lizzy? What a fright that must've been, poor Mr. Darcy collapsing out in the hall. It is a good thing you awoke to the sound."

"I'm fine," Lizzy murmured, her face hidden in the soft feather pillows, and she had not told a lie. She was not frightened. She was confused. She was worried. And, she realized, somewhere deep inside, she felt the smallest, tiniest, bit of... a thrill?

The idea of Mr. Darcy declaring his feelings for her, in a manner so ardent, so impassioned, even in his fever, was... exciting.

She was ashamed to admit, even in her mind, that she was not entirely immune to Mr. Darcy and his quiet, stern manner.

But she still felt the burn of his touch on her, and she closed her fingers into the palm of her other hand to quell the feeling.

His words had not meant anything... he was ill, overcome, that was all...

And yet, she was a woman who liked to believe herself an excellent judge of character, and he was a man who was so stoic and reserved, that perhaps, just perhaps, his confession meant a great deal more than either of them wanted it to.

With that unsettling thought, she drifted to sleep, comforted in Jane's closeness, and hoped that any question as to Mr. Darcy's regard of her would be settled in the morning, when he was well again.

Hello friends! It is almost a new month, and I hope you are making time in your calendar that is just for you. I am sure there are many pressing and urgent pulls upon your time and attention, but please remember that you are a precious person who deserves to carve out a bit of time for themselves to just relax and enjoy. This next month I am making an effort to put my phone away and not keep it at my bedside table when I go to sleep... I am replacing it with a book instead.

I also wish you a charming Halloween! I live on a very busy street for trick-or-treaters here in Dallas, and look forward to giving away over 30,000 pieces of candy in a few nights (yes, last year we gave out about 32,000 pieces of candy!). Many of the children who come to our street do so because they are from less-privileged neighborhoods, and we welcome them each year, from youngest, to oldest, none will be turned away for want of a sweet treat. One thing that Jane Austen has taught me is that the spirit of generosity begins with each of us, and I hope someone is kind and generous to you during this fun holiday, and that you have a chance to be kind and generous to someone else.

~Nora

I am so pleased to announce that Duty and Desire is now available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple iBooks, and more, just search for 'Nora Kipling - Duty and Desire'! You may purchase it right away or wait for a new chapter to be uploaded here every Thursday. Thank you for all your loving support.

- Nora