WedisembarkedatMr.Bingley’s townhouse, as he had promised Jane a tour and an afternoon tea with his sisters. She was looking forward to meeting them, but when we discovered they had not yet returned from their own shopping trip, I caught Mr. Darcy’s audible sigh of relief.
He shook his head when I sent him a swift look. “I see your question already, Miss Elizabeth. I can only offer the excuse that we had much business to discuss. Bingley,” he said, turning to our host, “do you suppose Miss Elizabeth and I might borrow your library for a moment?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I have only a small assortment compared to the vast collection you must have at Pemberley, but you are perfectly welcome to them.”
Mr. Darcy stiffened. “Ahem. Yes, thank you, Bingley.”
I doubt Mr. Bingley noticed how he made his friend flinch at the name of his estate. The name meant nothing to me, but it was one more confirmation of the thing I had begun to suspect. I was not in league with a high-society art thief, after all, but a man with the power and wealth to bury my poor, reckless father. And that terrified me.
His look told me, if nothing else might have, that all pretense was now at an end. There was a gravity in his features, a hesitation in his posture when he gestured toward the hall. “Will you join me, Miss Elizabeth?”
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked before him down the hall and into Mr. Bingley’s library. Mr. Darcy closed the door behind us.
“I do not ask where you heard my name, for it matters not. Perhaps I was wrong to keep that detail from you, and I had been seeking a time and place to tell you everything. I pray you understand that my intentions, at least, were benevolent.” He looked away, fidgeting with his fingers. “However poor I was in my execution.”
“Let us start with Netherfield. Why would you not simply tell me who you were back then?”
He studied me and nodded slowly. “Very well. I suppose the truth is less fantastic than the fabrication. Bingley had questions about those lovely vases over the mantel—questions he needed answered before he finished signing the lease. And, I have some experience in these matters, so he asked me to have a look. The housekeeper was away, so we got in the best we could—through the window.”
“That would not be when Mr. Bingley earned his black eye, would it?”
Mr. Darcy’s sober features lightened somewhat. “You have an excellent memory, Miss Elizabeth. His nose was bleeding rather profusely, so I escorted him outside and returned to look at the vases. Curious specimens.”
My face heated. He had gone there purposely to view my father’s vases? How much did he know? I swallowed, and my eyes dropped as I asked softly, “And what did you find?”
“A Venus.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I did not set out to deceive you, Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I never meant for you to know of my presence, but that could not be helped. You took me for a fellow who had been pillaging the local houses and causing all the ladies to swoon in their slippers, and I reasoned it would be almost safer to let you make that assumption than to tell you the inconvenient truth.”
“Which is?”
“That I wanted to kiss you from the moment you first threatened to hit me over the head.”
“You are not very funny, sir.”
“I never claimed to be.”
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. “So you were never the Meryton thief?”
He rounded a chair and eased a little closer to me. “Of course not. I am not trying to boast, Miss Elizabeth, but I have never had a material need or desire that I could not afford to satisfy through honest means. However, if it is some help, I discovered—quite by accident—who this amorous thief was. You may be assured that after this, he will not be troubling the good ladies of Meryton any longer.”
I swallowed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Well, there went some of my questions, at least. But it reared other, more dangerous questions. “So why were those vases so important?”
Mr. Darcy sighed. “You do go on about those.”
“Because I must know! What made you and Mr. Bingley want to look at them, and why—whypass yourself off as a thief?”
“Let us forget the vases for now,” he growled. “And let me address the more important matter. You are a lady of good reputation, and I enjoy a rather honorable standing in society myself. Which would be easier for you to tell your family: that you had encountered the burglar everyone was talking about and came away with a fine story to tell, or that you had met Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, skulking about the neighboring property and inspecting those vases?”
I wetted my lips. “If…” I coughed slightly. “If my mother knew your name… I suspect I would hear no peace on the matter. But why not simply tell me the truth and let me make up my own mind?”
He shook his head. “Pure and simply? I panicked. And that is a deal for me to say, for to anyone who knows me, I am the least flighty, the most stable and reliable gentleman they can name.” He took a breath, then drew a cautious step closer to me. “You startled me, Miss Elizabeth, not least because I admired you from the first second and knew not what to do with that feeling.”
My heart gave a curious thump. What girl doesn’t like to hear a handsome man say he admires her? But I could have endured the confession with perfect equanimity if the gentleman were… oh, I don’t know, Mr. Collins. I don’t even think Mr. Bingley, sweet as he seemed to be, would have the power to unsettle me. But Mr. Darcy did.
And he knew it.
