Read Online Assumed Engagement by Kara Louise - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kara Louise
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up! He did not know where he was, but wherever it was, it was as hot as a fiery furnace. He tried to get away from the heat that flooded his body, but he could not escape. He tried to move, but his body would not obey any commands.
He suddenly felt himself being drawn... he did not know to where. All he needed to do -- wanted to do -- was give in and his torment would cease. Or did he just want to give up? It would be easier, he felt, to resign himself to those forces that were at work against his body; to let himself be taken to… where? He was not sure.
His mind was hazy, not even allowing him to grasp who he was. He only knew he was somewhere in the depths of this body, and although he had no particulars, he felt that he had nothing waiting for him at the other side. He knew that to pull himself back up in that direction would require more of an intense struggle. Was there anything for him there? Was it worth the fight or should he just give in? All he knew was that he wanted relief from this heat.
Suddenly he was aware of something cool being wiped across his head, face, and neck. What a contrast this cool touch was to the burning sensation that racked his body! It was a very gentle touch, bringing much needed relief. He wanted to cry out for it to continue. He did not want it to stop! It soothed him to his innermost being.
He did not understand why he could not command his body to move, or his voice to speak out, or his eyes to open. The cooling touch continued and he felt strengthened in his ever weakened bones and muscles. They still would not submit to his wishes, however.
He then became aware of voices. His mind faltered and could not discern what was being said. He recognized that the voices were hushed, somewhat intense. He knew words were being spoken, but he was unable to comprehend them. He struggled to understand, but to no avail. One voice was low and abrupt, the other voice gentle and soothing. He felt drawn to the gentle voice, feeling strengthened merely by the sound of it. Was he being strengthened enough, however, to fight what was so forcefully trying to pull him down?
Unexpectedly, there was something else. It was very faint, but what was it? A scent -- some kind of flower. He tried to move his face toward it, but any attempt was futile; the scent was still off in the distance. For some reason he associated the scent with the gentle voice. He made an effort to take in a deep breath. Yes! He was able to inhale more deeply, but knew not from where it came.
The coolness being applied to his face and neck suddenly moved to his chest and arms. He felt it begin to win the war against the heat in his body. It seemed to pull him closer to the voice; further away from the dark depths in which he had been dwelling. Suddenly he was able to recognize some words, "fever… strength… Darcy."
"Darcy!" That was who he was! But Darcy who? How he wished he could think! Why was everything such an effort? Darcy… William… Fitzwilliam! That was it! That was who he was! Fitzwilliam Richard Darcy! Then there was that voice again; the cool touch, and that faint scent which seemed to linger around him.
If only he could see what was going on. If only he could discern who these people were, where he was, and why he was this way. Still nothing seemed to obey his command, except an occasional deep breath as he searched for that gardenia! That is what it is! A gardenia scent!
Now if his mind only helped him recall how to open his eyes, move his hand, open his mouth to speak. He knew he had to keep trying. As hard as he concentrated, he wondered if perhaps this was just a dream. Maybe he had died. Was this what it was like to be dead? No. He forced himself to rivet his attention on the array of senses he was experiencing. To him, they confirmed this was real and not a dream… and definitely not death. He felt continually strengthened by them.
As he fought against the continual pull to let himself be drawn back into
He suddenly felt himself being drawn... he did not know to where. All he needed to do -- wanted to do -- was give in and his torment would cease. Or did he just want to give up? It would be easier, he felt, to resign himself to those forces that were at work against his body; to let himself be taken to… where? He was not sure.
His mind was hazy, not even allowing him to grasp who he was. He only knew he was somewhere in the depths of this body, and although he had no particulars, he felt that he had nothing waiting for him at the other side. He knew that to pull himself back up in that direction would require more of an intense struggle. Was there anything for him there? Was it worth the fight or should he just give in? All he knew was that he wanted relief from this heat.
Suddenly he was aware of something cool being wiped across his head, face, and neck. What a contrast this cool touch was to the burning sensation that racked his body! It was a very gentle touch, bringing much needed relief. He wanted to cry out for it to continue. He did not want it to stop! It soothed him to his innermost being.
He did not understand why he could not command his body to move, or his voice to speak out, or his eyes to open. The cooling touch continued and he felt strengthened in his ever weakened bones and muscles. They still would not submit to his wishes, however.
He then became aware of voices. His mind faltered and could not discern what was being said. He recognized that the voices were hushed, somewhat intense. He knew words were being spoken, but he was unable to comprehend them. He struggled to understand, but to no avail. One voice was low and abrupt, the other voice gentle and soothing. He felt drawn to the gentle voice, feeling strengthened merely by the sound of it. Was he being strengthened enough, however, to fight what was so forcefully trying to pull him down?
Unexpectedly, there was something else. It was very faint, but what was it? A scent -- some kind of flower. He tried to move his face toward it, but any attempt was futile; the scent was still off in the distance. For some reason he associated the scent with the gentle voice. He made an effort to take in a deep breath. Yes! He was able to inhale more deeply, but knew not from where it came.
The coolness being applied to his face and neck suddenly moved to his chest and arms. He felt it begin to win the war against the heat in his body. It seemed to pull him closer to the voice; further away from the dark depths in which he had been dwelling. Suddenly he was able to recognize some words, "fever… strength… Darcy."
"Darcy!" That was who he was! But Darcy who? How he wished he could think! Why was everything such an effort? Darcy… William… Fitzwilliam! That was it! That was who he was! Fitzwilliam Richard Darcy! Then there was that voice again; the cool touch, and that faint scent which seemed to linger around him.
If only he could see what was going on. If only he could discern who these people were, where he was, and why he was this way. Still nothing seemed to obey his command, except an occasional deep breath as he searched for that gardenia! That is what it is! A gardenia scent!
Now if his mind only helped him recall how to open his eyes, move his hand, open his mouth to speak. He knew he had to keep trying. As hard as he concentrated, he wondered if perhaps this was just a dream. Maybe he had died. Was this what it was like to be dead? No. He forced himself to rivet his attention on the array of senses he was experiencing. To him, they confirmed this was real and not a dream… and definitely not death. He felt continually strengthened by them.
As he fought against the continual pull to let himself be drawn back into
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