“Well, then,haveyour satisfaction!“ he shot back. “OfcourseI knew who you were! Anyone who has eyes and ears within fifty miles of London knows who the Marquess of Ashwick’s daughter is!”
Elizabeth blinked. “It is not by any design or quality ofmine, sir. My father’s name alone—”
“You think that, do you? Have you any idea what is said of you in the gentleman’s clubs? How many wagers have been placed on your marital prospects, the exact size of your dowry, your measurements at the modiste’s, and even on your virtue?”
Her face heated. “How should I know any of that?”
“Well,Ihave heard it all and then more—things you could never imagine. Things that would give you nightmares when you close those pretty long lashes of yours. So yes,Lady Elizabeth Montclair, I knew your name before we met. But I guarantee you had never heard mine before.”
He began to stalk off, but Elizabeth followed, catching him by the elbow and forcing him to stop. “Just what is that supposed to mean? I said I knew your sister, did I not? I am not so unfamiliar with the name Darcy.”
That drew a look from him that was altogether… she had no word for it other than to describe his expression as terrified. How odd, indeed!
“Meeting my sister once does not mean you are acquainted with my family,” he managed at last.
“Now, that is a very strange thing to say. Are you trying to call me a snob, Mr. Darcy? I said I fancied her. Occasionally, I even have a generous feeling towardyou, but you are acting rather like a petulant child just now.”
“I—” His body surged forward as if he were about to unleash a tirade of justice upon her, but then he clenched his teeth and drew back. “I amnotcalling you a snob,” he insisted.
“Yet you seemed so slighted when you said I must not know your name. HowshouldI have known it, I ask you?”
His throat bobbed, and he looked away. “It is of no consequence.”
“Yes.” She fisted a hand on her hip. “You have the very look of a man to whom this conversation is ‘of no consequence.’”
Darcy exhaled slowly, glancing on ahead at Bingley and Jane. They were nearly out of sight by now. “We should continue.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Never in her life had she heard a man with “no secrets” defend them so vehemently. But there was no getting more from him—not when his teeth locked together like that and his eyes glittered with suspended wrath.
Just then, Jane’s voice called out from ahead. “Lizzy, are you coming?”
Elizabeth drank in a sigh. “You are quite right. Let us catch them up and save this conversation for another day.”
“I would rather not continue it at all, if it is all the same to you.”
She squinted up at him. “It is not, but far be it from me to make the one man whose job it is to protect me despise my very face.”
He had been in the very act of turning away again when she said that, and he stopped, regarding her with the oddest look. Frustration, perhaps, but there was a good deal of… was that tenderness mixed in? Surely not.
He blinked, and his chest rose and fell once. Twice. Finally, his lips parted and his voice, when he spoke, was rather husky.
“That is something you need not fear, madam.”
“Good.” She dared to step a little closer. “Then, if you please, sir, we ought to look like a gentleman and a lady out for a pleasant stroll. Do you mind?”
He narrowed his eyes and watched her in clear amazement as she reached boldly for his arm. She had to do it all herself—crooking his elbow so his fist fell just so in front of his chest, tucking her hand between his ribs and his sleeve, and angling her steps to match his. All the while, he looked as if he had forgot how to breathe.
“There,” she declared in satisfaction once they started again. “My good sir knight, now I have no fear of rut or puddle or stone in my path. We shall make much better progress.”
His mouth, which had been slightly open, clamped shut just in time to form a faint smile. “I think our ‘progress’ was not hindered by your lack of an arm to lean on, but rather by sharp tongues all around.”
“And now, I am determined to be nothing but merry, sir. If you will be a good fellow and keep attempting to smile, we may almost have a pleasant morning.”
At that, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the most vexing man alive… well, he laughed. Not loudly or vainly, but once the darkness cleared from his eyes, he produced a sound that pleased her very much. With a deep rumble in his chest, a tickle against her gloved hand and a thrill that laced from her ears all the way down her spine, he laughed.
And suddenly, she was feelingentirelytoo aware of him.
Of all people, it had to be Fitzwilliam Darcy who made her blood race like that.
