“Mr. Collins,” he said, his voice cold and clipped, “I will thank you not to involve yourself in matters beyond your comprehension. Your interference in this situation has caused more harm than good.”
Collins blinked, his expression faltering. “But I only sought to—”
“That will be all,” Darcy said firmly, cutting him off. Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.
Twenty-One
The hum of theballroom felt stifling as Elizabeth stepped onto the dance floor’s edge, her movements brisk and sharp. Her thoughts churned with Caroline Bingley’s revelation, each repetition of the wordwagerigniting fresh waves of fury. Her chest tightened with every glance toward Darcy, the man who had dared to make her the subject of such a ridiculous game.
Civility. Politeness. Duty.
She clenched her jaw as those words rattled in her head, taunting her. How dare he? HowdareMr. Darcy, with all his self-important airs and guarded mannerisms, reduce their interactions to some shallow obligation born of a wager? Every moment she had shared with him tonight—every lingering look, every hint of warmth—felt tainted now, as if she had been foolish to ever believe it genuine.
Elizabeth’s gaze swept the room until she found him. Darcy stood near the far wall, his posture stiff, his expression carved from stone as he listened to Mr. Collins. The clergyman was gesturing wildly, his voice carrying faintly over the din of the room. Though Elizabeth could not make out the words, she sawthe flicker of irritation in Darcy’s eyes, the subtle tightening of his jaw.
Good, she thought, her anger bubbling higher.Let him be irritated. Let him feel even a fraction of what I feel now.
She took a step toward him, her resolve hardening. But before she could close the distance, another figure intercepted her path.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said an older acquaintance, a matronly woman with an overbearing fondness for gossip. “What a lovely evening this has turned out to be, has it not? I hear Mr. Darcy was quite attentive to you at supper. Surely, there must be some truth to the rumors?”
Elizabeth barely heard the words. Her gaze remained fixed on Darcy, her pulse pounding in her ears. She muttered a curt, “If you will excuse me,” and brushed past the woman without a second thought. The other guests in her path fared no better; Elizabeth moved through them with singular determination, her every thought consumed by the need to confront him.
Her anger flared brighter as she neared, noticing that Darcy barely acknowledged Mr. Collins’s endless prattle. The clergyman, oblivious to any lack of interest, continued speaking with exaggerated animation, puffing out his chest as though he were sharing some great wisdom.
Elizabeth stopped a few paces away, her hands trembling at her sides. She should not do this. Not here, not now. Confronting Darcy in the middle of the ballroom, under the eyes of half the county, would only add fuel to the gossip that already swirled around her. But the words burned in her throat, desperate for release.
Darcy glanced up then, as if sensing her presence. Their eyes met, and the tension between them crackled like a lightning strike. Elizabeth’s breath caught, her anger momentarily faltering under the weight of his gaze. There was somethingthere—something raw and unguarded that left her stomach twisting in ways she did not want to name.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, his voice low but unmistakable, cutting through Mr. Collins’s endless chatter like a blade.
Collins turned, startled by the interruption. “Ah, Cousin Elizabeth! How fortunate that you are here. I was just—”
But Elizabeth barely heard him. Her focus was entirely on Darcy, the simmering anger surging back to the surface as she squared her shoulders.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. “I wonder if I might have a word.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched like a rock, but he nodded. “I have nothing to say.”
Oh, so he was going to take that tactic, was he? She lifted her chin. “Well, I am afraidIdo.”
Collins looked between them, his mouth opening to protest, but Darcy silenced him with a glance that could have frozen the Thames. “Excuse us, Mr. Collins.”
The clergyman sputtered indignantly but stepped back, leaving them standing together in the shadow of the great chandelier. The hum of the ballroom seemed louder now, the distant sounds of laughter and music a sharp contrast to the charged silence between them.
Elizabeth spoke first, her voice low but trembling with barely contained emotion. “I have just been made aware, Mr. Darcy, of a certain… wager you made with Mr. Bingley.”
Darcy stiffened, his expression hardening. “Miss Bennet, I—”
“No,” Elizabeth cut him off, her eyes blazing. “You will allow me to finish. I would like to know, sir, whether your decision to dance with me tonight, to sit with me at supper, was made out of genuine regard or merely to satisfy the terms of some trivial bet.”
Her words struck him like a physical blow. Darcy’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face visibly working as he fought tokeep his composure. “Miss Bennet,” he said carefully, his voice low and trembling with restrained fury, “you presume much.”
“I presume?” Elizabeth’s tone was sharp, cutting through the din of the ballroom. She stepped closer, her voice lowering but losing none of its edge. “What else am I to think, Mr. Darcy? To discover that every kindness, every gesture, was simply your way of fulfilling a wager? A game?”
Darcy’s face darkened, his frustration spilling over. “And what of your own wager, Miss Bennet?” he shot back, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “Should I assume that your attentions this evening were born of genuine regard? Or were you merely playing a role, seeking my favor as part of your own farce?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, her fury briefly faltering. “Playing a role?” she repeated, her voice trembling with disbelief as her face flushed with unwelcome conviction. “What are you talking about?”
