"Homeless" by Alix James

carolinecartieraut

3 hours ago

14 min read

Hello again, Dear Readers!

Today, I am here to explore the most recent release by Alix James, "Homeless!"

"Homeless" is an off-canon, high-stakes adventure that leads Darcy and Elizabeth across war-scarred Spain... I do love the occasional variation where we leave England and visit some far-off place. If you are seeking drama and high peril..."Homeless" should be on your TBR!

What's Inside?

-Marriage of Convenience -Forced Proximity

-One Bed

-Road Adventure

-Protective Darcy

-Resourceful Elizabeth

-Mutual Pining

-Open Door Spice

If these tropes call your name, Ms James will take you on a journey across the continent!

Synopsis:

When her uncle is seized in war-torn Spain, Elizabeth Bennet does not wait for rescue. The only man in Tudela with the name, money, and protection she needs is one she once knew and never liked enough to trust.

Fitzwilliam Darcy has the standing she needs to get north. She has the Portuguese, the nerve, and the wit he needs to survive the road at all. So she offers him a bargain: a marriage for the journey, husband and wife for appearances, and a promise that once her uncle is safe, the “marriage” will disappear.

But the road north is long, and marriage is a dangerous thing to perform too well. Their certificate carries them through Spain. Their quarrels carry them through the nights. And somewhere between the fear, the hunger, the banter, and the shared shelter, Elizabeth begins to understand that reaching England will be the easy part.

She never meant to want this marriage. She certainly never meant to want the man she is expected to surrender at journey’s end.

HOMELESS — a Pride and Prejudice variation. A marriage of necessity. A husband promised elsewhere. One bed on a dangerous road. A pact that was always meant to end.

The synopsis was enough to intrigue me, but let's look at the excerpt provided by the author too...

Excerpt:

He had washed the scrape as she ordered, in water that had cost more than the broth, and sat now on the edge of the bed with his shirt drawn off the one shoulder and held to his far side, baring his ribs. She knelt behind him with a strip torn from the tail of her spare shift, which was the cleanest cloth they owned and a poor character for the rest.

“Lift your arm.”

“You are uncommonly free with your orders tonight.”

“I am uncommonly free with them every night. You usually ignore them, anyway. Lift your arm, Mr Darcy, or bleed through 'til morning and account for yourself to Azcárate, who will find some way to charge us for the inconvenience. I am indifferent which.”

He lifted his arm.

She passed the cloth around him, and the backs of her fingers went along the warm skin of his side. “You flinched.”

“I did not. That was you.”

“I am not the one who is injured. You flinched, and then you blamed it on me. Should we summon a surgeon? Is there any damage to the bones?” She pressed lower, below the cut where a bruise was already starting to stare purple through the flesh.

He shot from under her hand. “By God!” And then he winced again from the sudden movement, his own hand hovering over his ribs as he tried to brace himself against the pain and found nothing would serve. Instead, his teeth sank into his lower lip, and his eyes clenched.

“Oh. Yes, indeed, the rib may be —”

“It is not my damned rib, it is just a bruise, and you thumping on it will do no good whatsoever!”

“Well, there is no sense in swearing at me! I am only trying to… Hold still.” She wrapped her arms around him again and drew the strip snug against the cut, drawing another hiss and muffled curse from him.

“One thing I shall be bloody glad of… blast! Not so hard!” His teeth bared, and tears started at the corners of his eyes.

Elizabeth soothed the cloth over the wound before she put her arms around him again to make a second pass. “Yes, go on. What will you be glad of?”

“In a few more weeks, we can both of us pretend this never happened,” he growled. “I do not relish the eternal humiliation of you casting this up to me whenever you fancied for the next forty years.”

“Oh, well struck.” She finished the second pass and began a third. “You will be glad to hear I resent it precisely as much as you imagine. I had no ambition this morning, when I rose, to spend my evening as your surgeon.”

“We are agreed, then, and may proceed in honest ill humour and waste no more breath on civility.”

“Honest ill humour.” She drew the cloth round again. “I could not have described this marriage better had I a lifetime to do it.”

That surprised something out of him, a low grunt. In anyone less determined to be wretched, it might have grown into a laugh. The small motion of it shifted the shirt at his shoulder, and there, where she had been at such pains not to look, was the scar.

She had resolved once not to be curious about it, not to ask, but now, it seemed the least of all intimacies.

“This is old.” Her thumb had stopped beside the silver line in his skin, not upon it. “How did you come by it?”

For a while, he said nothing, and she had begun to think the silence was to be his whole answer, when he gave her another.

“I was two-and-twenty,” he said, “and very sure of myself.”

“You? I cannot credit it.”

He snorted. “A fair hit. One of the things I was surest of turned out to be the wrong end of another man’s quarrel. I came away with this. The other gentleman came away a good deal worse. I have not, since, been certain of much with the same freedom.”

“It looks like a sword cut. Or what I imagine a sword cut would look like.”

“Just so. It is the only wound I ever earned that has had the decency to stop aching.”

She had learned enough of him to hear the closed door standing just behind the open one, and she had no intention of knocking on it. “I am sorry for… well, for whatever does still ache,” she said instead.

“Do not be. I have no earthly use for your sympathy, and you would resent the spending of it inside the hour.”

“I would. Bitterly.” She took up the binding again — gentler now, though she would have denied the gentleness on the rack. “I only meant… oh, bother, I do not know what I meant. It was a great deal easier when we disliked each other, Mr Darcy. I find I have a real talent for it. Let us go back.”

“By all means.”

Then she pulled the knot tight — tighter than the wound strictly wanted — and he made a hissing sound he would probably have preferred to keep behind his teeth, and the treaty lapsed on the instant.

“Sorry. Let me loosen that a bit.” Her fingers worked at her knot again, her knuckles grazing his skin a good deal more than she would have liked. “There, is that better?”

He drew an experimental breath, and her eyes followed the movement of his bared chest as it rose and fell. “Yes, I believe I shall not expire from want of air now. Have you any other torments to bestow?”

She sat back. “No.”

“Then I suppose I must thank you.” He dropped his shirt back into place, ran a hand through his hair, and began to put himself to rights. Then he glanced at her face and stopped. “What?”

“I…” Her face fell. “No, you will mock me, and that is something I refuse to endure.”

“I have never stood on so little ground from which to mock someone else. Come, out with it, or you will be making that face all the way to the coast.”

“I shall not.” She rose from where she had been sitting beside him and walked towards the small, cloudy copper plate where a lady was meant to attend her toilette. She found his reflection in it, and he had risen to his feet to stand behind her.

“I think even you would agree that I am likely the more stubborn of the two of us, though by only a very narrow margin. You may as well confess whatever it is.”

She lifted her shoulders and reached for the pitcher to pour some more water into the basin. “Yesterday, in the plaza, when you… That is, when we…”

“‘Kiss’ is not an evil word, and even if it were, I doubt that would make you shrink from saying it.”

She turned to face him. “You said I was terrible at it.”

“And you are. But that is not a character failing. All you want is a bit of practise.”

She raised her brows softly. “Practise?”

His face went blank for an instant, then swiftly closed down. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I never even asked you for anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Nothing of the kind. I never liked practising my pianoforte, I loathed practising my needlework, and if ever have to practise my curtsey again so that ‘Lady Catherine would not be ashamed of me,’ I shall… I shall…”

He crossed his arms. “Go on. This was just becoming interesting.”

“I shall throw the kettle through the window, I suppose. So, no, just because I repeated a word you said does not mean anything at all.”

“Just as well.” He unfolded his arms and bent before his trunk. “I have been injured enough for one day.”

Elizabeth frowned at his back as he searched in his trunk for a fresh shirt. When he found one that had suffered less on the walk from Calahorra than the bloody, ripped one he was wearing, he pulled the old one off over his head. There was very little of his back to be seen now, after her bandaging job, but that one scar…

Elizabeth bit her lip and turned away to take her hair down. “However —”

He sighed. “What now?”

“Well, it is only… we are travelling as husband and wife.”

“Hence the ring.” He pulled the fresh shirt over his head and tugged the cuffs to straighten them, still facing the trunk. “Something to maintain appearances.”

“But we get on by quarrelling. We act more like a brother and a sister than a married couple.”

He snorted. “Nobody would accuse us of being siblings.”

Elizabeth frowned and began to plait her hair for bed. He was silent — she thought he was probably still looking away, because he never seemed to mind displaying his bare chest to her, but he always seemed uncomfortable with glancing her way when her hair was down.

“Why not?” she asked suddenly.

She heard the floorboards shift as he turned. “What?”

“Why would no one think we are siblings? We have nearly the same colouring. I once heard you say your sister was about my height. I hold you in no awe, and you are perfectly overbearing when it suits you, which I assume —”

“First of all, I am not overbearing to my sister, and secondly…” His eyes narrowed. “No. Forget it.”

“You are simply a fount of wisdom tonight. All I asked to begin with was why you think I am such a bad kisser, and we have gone six turns about the room without finding a single corner.”

“When I make out whatever you meant by that, perhaps I will have an answer.”

Elizabeth put her hand on her hip. “Very well, I shall put it plainly. Show me what I did wrong.”

Darcy’s face drained. His jaw slackened, and he dropped the cravat he had been holding, then bent to scoop it up. “Show you? As in… you want me to… to teach you how to kiss?”

“That is the general idea, yes, because now I have got it in my head you think I might damage you whenever I touch you, we shall never pass off as a proper couple, even with this sham of a ring. We barely got through the checkpoint at Calahorra with no proper stamp. And, as you claim we could never pass as siblings, either, then we must find a way to mend the problem. Unless you prefer to go about as the sort of couple who can hardly abide each other’s company. That is a situation with which I am all too familiar, but there… I think if my parents were travelling about Spain and someone happened upon my mother — she is still rather handsome, you know — my father would have cheerfully sold her to the highest bidder, and she would have only lamented having to leave her good teapot behind.”

He was kneading the bridge of his nose now. “Pray, do not compare us to your parents.”

“Well?”

Darcy’s shoulders sagged. “Very well. Only do not —”

“Yes, yes, I know. Do not enjoy myself overmuch. Fear not, Mr Darcy, I had not intended to.”

“That is not what I meant to say. Do not touch my ribs again. You have quite done me in with the bandaging.” He tossed the cravat on the bed and stepped towards her.

Her brow creased. “Right, then. Shall I stand on a box to reach you?”

He was moving closer, his eyes holding hers. “You managed that part well enough before.”

“I did, rather. Well, I await your instruction, sir.” She closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and tilted her chin up.

She felt the heat of his body as he stepped closer. A few seconds later, his fingertips found her chin, but she waited, and nothing more happened.

“Relax your jaw. You are like a block of wood.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes. “But I thought —”

His mouth closed over hers.

All she could think of was trying to breathe and finding him there instead. She drew back slightly, and he followed, his upper lip fitting between hers and his lower lip creating the faintest pull. His breath warmed hers, and she discovered he was easing her jaw open, claiming territory she had not yet decided to cede.

Oh, no, this was not…

Terrifying was almost the right word. But not entirely. She had not the means to comprehend it, the way he was drawing her into himself and making her a part of him. Only that it was… well, it was not nearly as unpleasant a duty as she had been prepared for, and that made it dangerous. Her breath quickened, and she tensed, her mouth going rigid.

He pulled away as if she had slapped him again. “I might remind you this was your idea.” His voice was hoarse.

“And so, it was. I only…” She cleared her throat. “You surprised me, that is all. Again.”

He studied her, as if trying to decide if she were telling the truth. “You must relax, Elizabeth. Even breaths. You needn’t act as if you are plunging under water.”

“Right.”

“And you know I would never…”

“Never what?” she whispered. She leaned a little closer.

His face reddened. Fitzwilliam Darcy was blushing. He swallowed once and wetted his lips. “If you ask me to stop…”

She nodded. “You have yet to misuse me. I did not expect you to start now.”

He found her jaw with his fingers again and gently drew her to him. This time, when his lips brushed hers, he moved with almost aching slowness. There was a sweep, and a shiver, and heat… so much heat. She felt the inner part of his lips, the moisture sliding over hers, seeking, pressing for more.

“Let me open your mouth,” he whispered. “Relax, Elizabeth.”

She swallowed, then somehow found the muscles responsible for locking down on him and forced them to ease. She let him in, and he came.

His hand was cradling the back of her head now, the other one grazing her cheek and tracing her chin. He was leading her like in a dance — advance, caress, retreat, breathe, advance. With each stroke of his mouth, she found herself mellowing, permitting new depth, shuddering the first time the tip of his tongue touched hers, and never again shrinking. No, it was too late to shrink away now.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured against her lips.

She pulled back. “Why? I am trying to master a skill, not be seduced.”

“I can feel you staring at me, and it is making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. You are supposed to close your eyes and pretend you are enjoying —”

She cut him off by capturing his mouth herself. She did close her eyes, though she found it a lamentable loss of a rather interesting view. Mr Darcy looked like a different man altogether when he was not scowling. And since she had made the back of his neck prickle, she soothed it with her hand, because it was only fair. His hands, after all, felt rather nice as he tipped her head back and edged his arm further behind her to bear a little of her weight.

He sharpened his movements, letting his teeth catch softly on her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, and suckling it gently. Some sort of heat was blooming inside her, almost a tickle or a shiver spreading out to her limbs from a molten centre. She should not let this continue… but there seemed to be more to discover, for each second was adding to her knowledge.

What would happen if she slid a hand up his jaw? It was rough, as it often was lately. How curious that the short hairs seemed to have a grain, a direction that smoothed them and another that made them prickle her fingers when she twirled them in lazy circles at the edge of his cheek. His kiss became broader, his breaths slower. And then, at the bottom of one of them, came a strangled sort of moan.

He blinked and snapped backwards the instant the sound had left his mouth.

“What was that?”

He coughed slightly and took a healthy step back from her. “Something in my throat is all. I don’t suppose we’ve any wine left?”

“Not a drop, and I would not trust that water in the basin. So? Did I manage passably well?”

He grimaced. “We will certainly not be taken for brother and sister.”

Good heavens... The tension is thrilling! Well, Dear Readers...I just finished reading "Homeless." Here is my review...

A Marriage of Necessity That Becomes So Much More...

"Homeless" by Alix James is a wonderfully inventive Pride and Prejudice variation that takes Elizabeth and Darcy far outside their usual surroundings and puts them together in circumstances where they have no choice but to rely upon one another.

I particularly enjoyed the premise of Elizabeth and Darcy entering into a marriage of necessity simply to survive the journey through war-torn Spain. What begins as a practical arrangement quickly becomes much more complicated when the two discover that pretending to be husband and wife is considerably easier than pretending they have no feelings for one another.

Elizabeth is exactly the sort of heroine I love to see in a variation—clever, capable, practical, and absolutely unwilling to sit around waiting for someone else to rescue her. Darcy, meanwhile, is proud and honourable, but his growing realisation that this marriage has an expiration date makes his situation increasingly heartbreaking. Watching these two navigate danger, discomfort, misunderstandings, and their undeniable attraction makes for a thoroughly engaging romance.

The journey itself adds something special to the story. Instead of simply moving from one elegant Regency setting to another, Elizabeth and Darcy have to contend with uncertainty, hardship, illness, and the constant need to depend upon each other. Those circumstances give their relationship a wonderful intimacy, while the banter keeps the story lively and entertaining.

And underneath all the adventure is the question that gives the story its emotional heart: What happens when a marriage that was supposed to be temporary begins to feel like home?

Alix James has created a Darcy and Elizabeth romance filled with adventure, forced proximity, humour, tenderness, and plenty of delicious romantic tension. Homeless is an especially enjoyable choice for readers who like their JAFF with a little more adventure and a marriage-of-convenience premise that gradually turns into something neither Darcy nor Elizabeth expected.

A clever and compelling variation, with an Austen-inspired Elizabeth and Darcy at the centre of an unforgettable journey.

About the Author:

Alix James is a best-selling Austenesque author with nearly 30 books in print.

Always on the go as a wife, mom, and small business owner, she rarely has time to read a whole novel... but somehow she manages to write them! She loves coffee with the sunrise and being outdoors with kids and horses. When she does get free time, she likes to read, camp, dream up romantic adventures, and tries to avoid housework.

Each Alix James Story is a Regency Variation with a guaranteed happy ending, no infidelity, and heroes you can fall in love with.