She did not.
The brush of his lips against her cheek was feather-light, yet it sent a warmth spiraling through her that felt a great deal like an inferno. When he pulled back, his gaze held hers, and the faintest curve of his lips hinted at somethingmore. Gone were the daring taunts she had leveled at him over a game of Snapdragon. This was real, this… this could be forever.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but Elizabeth barely noticed. Her cheeks burned, her heart hammering in a way that had nothing to do with the attention around them. Instead of stepping back, she stayed where she was, her eyes searching his.
Darcy inclined his head slightly, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable warmth. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“For what?” she asked, her voice sounding somewhat even, though her pulse was anything but.
“For giving me the honor,” he replied, his tone edged with something almost teasing, though his sincerity was clear.
Before she could reply, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s laughter bellowed behind them. “Bravo, Darcy! A true masterclass in Christmas decorum.” He clapped his cousin on the shoulder, his grin unabashed. “Perhaps you could leave some of the mistletoe for the rest of us.”
Darcy gave a faint smile but didn’t look away from Elizabeth. His gaze, steady and intent, made her feel as though the crowd had melted into nothing more than background noise.
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “I believe, Colonel, that the mistletoe is for everyone. No one has claimed exclusive rights.”
Darcy’s brow lifted. “Perhaps some traditions deserve a second indulgence.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her smile daring. “Perhaps.”
And, so he indulged. Goodness, the man tasted like mulled wine and honey, and she could have lost herself there. They stayed like that for a moment longer, the room’s hum of voices and music fading into the periphery. Whatever had fractured their understanding before seemed, in that instant, to begin mending.
She was not sure her heart would ever stop racing.
Darcy and Elizabeth hadonly just rejoined the flow of the party, their quiet smiles lingering from the tender moment beneath the mistletoe when Georgiana appeared at Elizabeth’s side. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes bright as she approached them.
“Miss Elizabeth! We have gathered a group in the drawing room for some Christmas fun, and your presence is absolutely required.”
Elizabeth glanced up at Darcy, clearly reluctant to let go of his hand, but the warmth in Georgiana’s invitation was undeniable. Darcy felt the faintest twinge of disappointment as she turned to his sister, her easy laugh answering Georgiana’s plea.
“Required, you say?” Elizabeth teased. “I suppose I must not disappoint.”
Darcy tightened his hold on her hand for a moment, his voice low as he said, “You will come back, will you not?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her smile softening. “Of course,” she said. Rising onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek—light as a snowflake, yet it left him frozen in place.
Georgiana blinked, her gaze darting between them before she quickly collected herself. “Do not let me interrupt,” she murmured, though her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement.
Darcy reluctantly released Elizabeth’s hand, and Georgiana linked arms with her, guiding her away into the lively throng. Darcy stood rooted for a moment, watching as the two women dearest to him in the whole world disappeared into the drawing room. His fingers flexed at his side, aching to hold Elizabeth’s again, but he let her go, for now.
Because for now, Georgiana needed this moment with Elizabeth—needed a sister, a friend, and though Elizabeth probably did not know it yet, she needed Georgiana. There were still things Elizabeth could not see, things he wanted her to understand. And if anyone could bring Elizabeth into the fold of his world, it would be his sister.
But still, her absence left him feeling… incomplete.
“Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice interrupted his thoughts, accompanied by a hand clapping his shoulder. “If you stare any harder, you will frighten the poor girl away.”
Darcy straightened, his expression carefully neutral. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course, you do not,” Fitzwilliam replied dryly. “But if you are not going to do something about it, perhaps I should take my chances.”
Darcy turned sharply, fixing Fitzwilliam with a glare that could have silenced Parliament. “You will do no such thing.”
Fitzwilliam grinned, entirely undeterred. “Ah, so youdointend to do something! Glad to hear it. I was beginning to worry you had resigned yourself to kissing her once, then admiring her from a distance for the rest of your days.”
Darcy glanced toward the drawing room, where Elizabeth’s laughter carried faintly through the open doorway. A warmth spread through his chest at the sound, steadying him even as it unsettled him. “I kissed her twice, in case you were not counting, and I have not resigned myself to anything, Fitzwilliam.”
“Good,” Fitzwilliam said, leaning slightly closer. “Because if you have been waiting for the perfect moment, Cousin, it is here. If I were you, I would make sure this night ends with her knowing exactly where you stand.”
