Mr. Darcy Vampyre by Amanda Grange Read Free Book Online Page A

‘I have many things; I have jewels and clothes, carriages and horses, a fine house and finer furnishings, but I would give them all for one such look.’
    Darcy’s companions claimed his attention and he turned reluctantly away. As he did so, his hand moved to his chest as though he were lifting something beneath his shirt, pulling it away from his chest and then letting it drop again.
    â€˜What is it he does there?’ asked Katrine. ‘Does he wear something round his neck?’
    â€˜Yes, I bought him a crucifix yesterday. The shops in Paris are very tempting,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He refused to take it at first, but he had given me so much and I had given him so little that I insisted, and at last he allowed me to fasten it around his neck.’
    Katrine’s voice was reverent. ‘He must love you very much,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes, I believe he does,’ said Elizabeth.
    â€˜And now, we have talked of Mr Darcy for long enough,’ said Philippe. ‘Any more and I will grow jealous. I will pay you out by talking of our hostess’s many perfections. Do you not think she is beautiful?’ he asked, casting his own longing look in her direction.
    â€˜She seems charming,’ said Elizabeth.
    â€˜Yes, she is, very charming,’ he said with warmth.
    â€˜But does she always receive people whilst reclining on a sofa?’ asked Elizabeth, unable to suppress her mirth.
    â€˜Ah, you find it amusing,’ he said, seeing the humour in her eyes. ‘And so it is, an amusing affectation. Our great hostesses all like to have them. Do your hostesses at home not like to make an effect?’
    â€˜I cannot say; I rarely go into society,’ said Elizabeth, ‘or at least not this sort of society, and no one in Meryton would dress in such a way or spend the evening lying on a sofa unless they were ill!’
    â€˜Your husband does not take you to the London salons then?’ asked Philippe. ‘I was certain he would do so.’
    â€˜I hardly know where he takes me—or perhaps I should say, where he will take me. He has only been my husband for a week.’
    â€˜Ah, yes of course. Being so newly married you will have better things to do with your time than to go to salons,’ said Philippe, raising his eyebrows.
    Elizabeth, much to her surprise, blushed, and Katrine, seeing it, said, ‘Take no notice of my brother.’ She tapped his arm reprovingly with her fan. ‘He is very French; he does not understand the English idea of good taste. He thinks of nothing but the pleasures of the flesh, and he has no reticence in him.’
    â€˜ Ma soeur! You wrong me,’ he said, pretending to be wounded. ‘What impression of me will you give to la belle Elizabeth?’ Then turning to Elizabeth he said, ‘I think of many things, of my horses and carriages, my friends and family, of art and music… see, I will prove it to you. I will take you to meet our resident genius, and you shall see how I listen to him with rapture in my eyes!’
    He offered her his arm with such an air of gallantry that she could not refuse, and he led her to the other side of the room, where a young man was starting to play the piano. He was surrounded by a devoted coterie of women who leaned over the instrument or stood adoringly by his side.
    He was very handsome in the French fashion, with a high brow, sleek hair, and pronounced features. He played with exquisite taste, his fingers running over the keys more quickly than seemed possible, blending the notes in a strange and rippling liquidity. It flowed out from his fingers and into the room, filling the space with the hypnotic melody.
    â€˜I have brought someone to meet you,’ said Philippe.
    He introduced Elizabeth to the three women leaning across the piano and then to the pianist, Monsieur Huilot, ‘a young musical genius.’
    Monsieur Huilot took the compliment gracefully, never once