“Sir, what…” She stopped herself.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?”
She tightened her jaw, then forged ahead. “You puzzle me exceedingly, sir. Upon our first meeting, you seemed so good-humoured—clever, even funny, and willing to be pleased.”
“And you wonder what became of that genial fellow, Miss Elizabeth?”
She blanched. “Well, I… not in so many words, perhaps. But you do seem… altered.”
“Come, now, Miss Elizabeth, you are nothing if not frank. What makes you think I was not simply euphoric from some illicit indulgence? I was, after all, a bachelor on a pleasure outing. It would not be such a shocking thing.”
“From you? Indeed, it would be shocking. I believe I have the measure of your character, sir, and I declare, if you were indulging in snuff, I am Queen Charlotte.”
A slight tug appeared at the left corner of his mouth. “Then perhaps you misjudged me, or I was putting youon that day.”
“Try again.”
Mr Darcy lifted his head back in a genuine laugh—the first, in fact, that she had heard from him since their first meeting. “Then what is your judgment, Miss Elizabeth? Why can you not simply presume I was in an exceedingly good mood?”
“Then I would beg to know why you have been so dour ever since.” She stopped, forcing him to do the same and turn back toward her. “Or do you simply prefer being in a foul temper, unwilling to speak or make yourself agreeable in any fashion unless you can be the one in command of the situation?”
His eyes narrowed. “You make me sound rather petty, Miss Elizabeth.”
She crossed her arms. “I speak as I find. Am I incorrect?”
Mr Darcy opened his mouth, but then there was a crease in his brow, and his words stilled. “You are, but…” He winced and shook his head, his brow pinching sharply as a hiss escaped his lips.
Elizabeth started forward, her hand extended. “Mr Darcy, truly, you look unwell. Forgive me if I gave offence, I—”
He put his fingers to his temple and sucked in a breath, then forced his eyes open. “It was not your words. It…” He shook his head again. “Never mind.”
“Youareunwell.” She arched a brow and waited for his eyes to steady and focus on her face. “How long?”
Ice shot through Darcy’sveins at her words. He dropped his hand—curse it, it was shaking again, twitching like a vile thing, even as his left eye felt like it was being stabbed with a hot blade. He tucked his hand behind his coat, and his voice cracked when he demanded, “What can you mean by that?”
Her eyes softened, and she gave him a strange look. “How many things can that question mean? How long have you been unwell? I assume you must have got some fever or something since our first meeting. That would explain—”
“Nothing at all. I have no fever, Miss Elizabeth.”
She puckered her mouth. “Well, youlooklike you have a tremendous headache. That is exactly the face my aunt Gardiner makes when she has one of her megrims.”
He blinked. “I…”
“There it is! I have it, for your face just confessed all.” Her brow crumpled in sympathy. “These last few days, I thought you were merely unsociable, but you were in horrible pain!”
“Oh, I am entirely unsociable.”
“Liar. Your friendships prove otherwise. Mr Bingley and Mr Wickham are perfectly amiable, and they have nothing but generous things to say of you.”
There it was again—that stabbing throb, but this time, his stomach joined the rebellion. And he could not be sure that it was only this… malaise, whatever it was. It was hearing Miss Elizabeth speaking in such glowing terms about Wickham.
“I would caution you,” he growled, “not to believe everything you hear, Miss Elizabeth.”
“So, are you saying they are deceiving me about you? I should disbelieve them, should I? I thank you for the caution, sir.”
Thatcertainly blew up in his face. Darcy frowned and slid a long look to her but found her smirking and only waiting for him to meet her gaze. “I did not mean that, specifically, but…”
“But you meant something, sir, so out with it. Are you saying there is someone or something I ought not to trust? And, having given that caution, what proof do you have that I should trustyou?”
