He raised an eyebrow. “Magical mistletoe?”
She could not resist the opportunity to tease. “Likely it is but an old wives’ tale, to be sure. But can you afford to risk it?”
“I think I will take my chances. Unless you object, Miss Elizabeth?” His voice was low.
Her mouth went dry. “I... it is traditional, after all.” And she had only herself to blame, since she had hung it there!
“Who am I to break with tradition?” he said in barely a whisper, his eyes growing dark.
Heat rose in her cheeks. She glanced to the side, unable to meet that intent gaze. He would kiss her cheek, would he not?
Then a finger came under her chin, turning her head to face him directly, and his mouth descended on hers.
Her breath caught as an odd feeling churned her insides. Then his lips covered hers, warm, so much softer than she had expected, sending a rush of longing through her. And it was not just a brief brush; his lips clung to hers, as if he were drinking in some essence of her through their caress. It was intimate beyond anything she had ever experienced.
Other young men had occasionally stolen a kiss from her, but it had never felt like this, like something new had come to life deep inside her. She was almost dizzy with it. She wanted to grasp his coat to support herself, to be even closer to him. This vital connection was exquisite, and she longed for more.
Then it was over. The warmth fled from her lips as he raised his head. She opened her eyes to stare at him - when had she closed them? Sometime during that astonishing kiss, which had been eye-opening in every other way.
His breathing was uneven, just like her own. His eyes were soft, even darker now than before. “Yes,” he whispered. “That is indeed potent mistletoe.”
She rallied her scattered thoughts. “I did warn you.”
“So you did.” He did not sound displeased, though, far from it.
Could this truly be the same proud, unpleasant Mr. Darcy she had known before, the one who only looked at her to criticize?
Then she came to her senses. What were they doing, staring into each other's eyes after a kiss that had been far more than what was required under the mistletoe - and in front of his young sister? If her cheeks had not already been burning, they certainly would be now!
She rubbed her hands together, trying to force her recalcitrant body to behave. She turned to Miss Darcy, hoping not to see alook of horror on the poor girl's face. Would this have reminded her of kisses from the cad who had betrayed her?
But the girl's hands were clasped together, and her face was alight with hope. Surely she could not believe that kiss had meant something!
Hurriedly Elizabeth said, “And now I truly must depart.” Could she sneak off before Mr. Darcy found a lantern? Spending more time in his company right now might be torture of a different sort.
Then she glanced up at him. Would it be such a bad idea? It would give her an opportunity to see if his new agreeability could last through a long, cold walk. After all, she had been completely wrong about Mr. Wickham. Could she have made a similar mistake about Mr. Darcy?
She stole a glance at him. The warmth of his expression kindled hope inside her.
Why had Mr. Darcy insisted on walking with her if he intended not to say a word? It was like the last time she saw him, when they danced together at the Netherfield ball, and she had teased him that they must have some conversation. Apparently that astonishing kiss had not changed anything for him. Or it might had not been as surprising and unusual to him. He must have kissed many women like that, and she was no different from the rest. Or even less than the rest, since his disapproval of her had always been clear.
What if he had only accompanied her in order to remonstrate with her or warn her to stay away from his sister?
With that lowering thought, she gathered her courage. There was one thing she needed to tell him, because it was true. “I doapologize for my interference. I should have left your sister alone when she first said she ought not speak to me.”
He gave her a surprised look. “I am glad you did not. Today is the first time I have heard her laugh in nearly half a year. You have my deepest gratitude for that.”
What did he want from her, then? “It was a pleasure to meet her. She is a sweet girl.”
“Yes.” He tightened his greatcoat around him as if the temperature had dropped. “I have a rather odd request to make of you, which may seem impertinent given the conversation we shared during our dance at the Netherfield Ball, but I have only my sister's happiness in mind.”
So he remembered that night, too? She had not been under the impression that he had paid the least attention to what she had said then, and she could hardly remember it herself. “I will try not to take offense.”
He took a deep breath. “I am aware of your acquaintance with Mr. Wickham. I would greatly appreciate it if you did not mention his name in my sister's presence. She would find it... upsetting.”
As if she had any desire to speak of him! The very thought made her stomach lurch, but Mr. Darcy could not know that her opinion had changed so radically. “Of course. I am no longer under the impression that he is a respectable man.” Then it struck her. Miss Darcy was devastated by a man who had charmed her, and now this warning from Mr. Darcy. “Oh, no! Was he the one... Oh, I am so sorry! That is none of my business. But what a horrible, horrible thing to do to a vulnerable child.”
“My sister has a dowry of thirty thousand pounds.” He said it as if that explained everything, which she supposed it did. “It will not be the last time she is targeted by a fortune-hunter, but I wish it had not happened while she was still so young.”
