A Heart's Secret

An excerpt from Ali Scott's new novel, coming March 3

After suffering through a dreadful set with Mr Collins—who did not know the steps and had trodden upon her toes more than once—Elizabeth found her shawl and slipped out of the ballroom and made her way into the garden, seeking fresh air and a moment of quietness. It was a clear night, and she walked a short distance along the gravel path before stopping to enjoy the stars and bright moon, which swathed the gardens in light. A masculine cough drew her attention, and she turned to find Mr Bull. He stepped out of the shadows, staggering slightly.

Uncomfortable with his obvious intoxication, Elizabeth murmured, “Excuse me, I ought to return to my friends.”

As she tried to pass him, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping about her bare arm. He leant towards her, swaying.

“Do not flee, my little sweet. You cannot know—cannot fathom—how often I have pictured you and I alone.” His words were slurred.

Horrified, Elizabeth tried to shake her arm free, but his fingers clamped tighter.

“None of that,” he hissed. “You are wasted here. Much too pretty and clever for this rabble. Let me taste you.” Lurching forward, he grabbed her other arm, pinning her to the wall and he pressed his wet, scar-twisted lips against hers, the stinging smell of alcohol on him making her gag.

A scream rose up in Elizabeth’s throat, but she was too scared, too overwhelmed to know what to do. Instinctively, she put her hands on his chest to push him away, but he only tightened his grip. She twisted her chin this way and that, as she frantically struggled against him.

“Remove your hands from her.”

She recognised Mr Darcy’s deep voice at once, and relief washed through her body. Mr Bull released his hold and stepped away. Trembling, she brushed away a tear that threatened to fall down her cheek and moved towards Mr Darcy, putting distance between her and Mr Bull. Mr Darcy offered her his arm, which she accepted without hesitation. As he took note of her appearance, his brow contracted when his gaze fell upon her arms.

His voice tinged with indignation, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

Struggling to find the words, Elizabeth turned to face Mr Bull. Shame consumed her, although she knew it should not. “There has been a misunderstanding.” She inhaled deeply, her lungs aching as they filled with the cold air and composed herself. Eyes fixed on her assailant, she said, “One that will never happen again.”

Mr Bull opened his mouth as if to retort, but then closed it quickly. He scowled at Mr Darcy and strode into the darkness.

Mr Darcy addressed her quietly. “I saw you leave the ballroom. When you did not return, I wondered whether something had happened. Shall I escort you to your family?”

Her heart racing, Elizabeth could only nod in reply. She was grateful to see no trace of judgment or arrogance in his expression, only concern. They walked towards the house in silence.

Reaching the doorway, she said, “I thank you for your chivalry, but perhaps it would be for the best if we returned to the ballroom separately.”

He nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

“It is not far, and I am feeling much better.” She shivered, drawing the shawl closer to her body, her arms still sore from Mr Bull’s attack.

“I shall wait here while you enter first.”

There was another pause, and Elizabeth blushed. “W-would it be too much to ask for your silence about—”

Mr Darcy did not let her finish. “Rest assured, you have my discretion. All I need is reassurance that you are well enough to return unaccompanied.”

She smiled weakly and said with bravado, “I shall do my best not to faint.” Too late, Elizabeth remembered the events of the stable, and she bit her lip, regretting her ill-chosen words. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Mr Darcy spoke first.

“I would be the last man to judge you if you did.”

Gathering herself, Elizabeth raised her chin. “Thank you again.” Without another word, she took a deep breath and walked towards the ballroom.

**

Darcy studied Elizabeth as she sat quietly next to one of her sisters. Aside from a few tendrils of dark hair that had fallen loose, there was no evidence that anything untoward had taken place. Yet she hardly spoke, and when she did, it was with none of her usual animation. He seethed as he recalled seeing her struggle against Mr Bull. She had not been a willing participant in their encounter, that much was clear. What might have happened if I had not been there to intervene? His blood ran cold at the thought.

Some young man came to claim Elizabeth’s sister for a dance, leaving her alone. He watched as she took a deep breath and brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. Darcy pulled on the golden chain of his watch to check the time, noting that the ball would soon end and she could return to her home. Conscious that he was staring at her, Darcy cast his eyes about the room. On the opposite wall, he saw Mr Bull. The man was staring, eyes narrowed, in Elizabeth’s direction, his broad face full of menace. Did he mean to do her harm?

Shocked that the scoundrel had not immediately left Netherfield, Darcy determined to seek him out, but by the time he had pushed his way through the crowd, the wastrel had vanished. An unexpected, protective instinct burnt within him, and after a moment’s deliberation, Darcy sought out Bingley, announcing:

“I wish to stay another week.”

“Stay as long as you like, my friend.” He smiled crookedly.

The echo of Elizabeth’s terrified protest rang in his ears. “Thank you, Bingley. I will.”

When threats to his family and reputation implicate Elizabeth Bennet, should the secretive Mr Darcy suspect or protect her? When a gossip column announces their engagement, the near strangers strike a deal and the young lady is drawn into a web of deceit. A HEART'S SECRET is a forced engagement, wounded hero variation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. The content is clean and the angst level is moderate.