Free The Journey by Jan Hahn

condition, my husband has already suggested that you fetch a physician to confirm it.”
    His only response was a narrowing of those cold, azure eyes before he whirled around and departed the room as quickly as he had appeared.
    I suddenly had a new fear, and as soon as the door closed, I voiced it. “What if he does send for someone, perhaps a midwife?”
    Mr. Darcy’s answer was brusque and dismissive. “There is little chance of that. He is bluffing. He would not suffer an outsider knowing our whereabouts.”
    Then he caught my hand and turned me around to face him. “Why did you not tell me that Morgan carried you to the cabin? Did he, too, attempt liberties with you?” I avoided his eyes and tried to loosen my hand, but he persisted. “Miss Bennet? What have you refrained from telling me? What did he do?”
    “There is nothing to tell. As I said before, Morgan rescued me. I am much obliged to him.”
    “Obliged! To that criminal? I fear that your admiration of the highwayman’s appearance may have robbed you of your good sense! Or perhaps you relished the close embrace necessary for such transport.”
    “Mr. Darcy, your suspicions are beyond annoyance. I pray you remember that you play the role of my husband, but in truth, I am not your wife. There is a difference, and you would do well to remember it!”
    He blanched at my words as though I had struck him, and releasing my hand, he strode to the window. I took advantage of the respite and vanished into the water closet, slamming the door behind me.
    * * *
    The third night of our imprisonment found me seated once again at the highwayman’s table. I was relieved that it was Merle instead of Sneyd who accompanied Gert when she brought Mr. Darcy’s plate, and he, in turn, escorted me to the main room. Evidently, Sneyd had been banished to the sentry’s post without, for I saw no sign of him.
    Once the woman had placed the meal on the table, she and the others quickly quitted the room. Morgan and I were to dine alone.
    Our intimate dinner scene unnerved me somewhat, but I put on a brave face and refused to allow him to witness my trepidation. The contents upon my plate appeared somewhat finer that night, for I detected the aroma of venison among the chunks of potatoes, and I could not believe my eyes when I saw him pour me a glass of wine. Where had that come from?
    He had said not a word since I entered the room. We ate the meal in eerie silence, and it endured until he cleaned his plate and emptied his glass. Leaning back in his chair, Morgan struck a match to light his pipe and turned his gaze upon me. I lay my spoon upon the table and sat back, waiting. He still said nothing, but sat there watching me.
    I began to wonder if he had taken instruction from Mr. Darcy, for both men had the gift of provoking my unease with their prolonged stares. With Morgan, however, I would not give in.
    Why should I speak first? I was there at his pleasure. If he wished for nothing more than my presence while he dined, then fine, that was all he would receive.
    I kept my eyes upon the fire, longing for such a blaze in the room I shared with Mr. Darcy, when at last my dinner companion spoke. “Would you care for more wine?”
    “I thank you, no, but I would welcome the opportunity to fetch a glass for my husband.”
    “Ah, that blasted Darcy. Must his name intrude upon our meal?”
    “I cannot see how his name will make much intrusion when his person is confined to that small room. I do not understand why he is not allowed to join us.”
    “Because I’ve no desire to look upon his face . . . while I’m delighted by yours.”
    I hated myself for blushing, but I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I turned away and surveyed the room. It was rudely furnished and in great need of a thorough cleaning. The prominent adornment, other than dust, consisted of rifles and various other weapons stacked against the walls. These men possessed a veritable arsenal.
    He rose and stood