Still nothing.
The rustle of a page being turned behind her was the only sign he had not turned to stone.
She glanced over her shoulder—purely accidental—and caught the sharp, motionless profile of his face, eyes locked on the same line as before. As if she were not there at all.
It was infuriating.
He could at least pretend to be startled. Or uncomfortable. Or conscious of her existence.
Elizabeth plucked a third book from the shelf and flipped it open with all the force of irritation.
From behind her, calm and utterly unsympathetic, came the voice: “You always approach as though you mean to pounce.”
Elizabeth arched a brow without turning. “You always speak as though you expect it.”
He closed the book with great care. “Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
They stared at each other as he shifted his book from one hand to the other.
“Your sister must have very… mature taste,” Elizabeth said at last, sliding another volume off the shelf. “Is that your excuse today?”
“For purchasing Pope?”
“For haunting the bookshops of Meryton.”
“I might say the same.”
“I am always haunting,” Elizabeth replied. “It is how I maintain my reputation.”
She flipped open the book she had taken—Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women.A dubious find.
Darcy stepped closer. Not much. Just enough to see the title.
His mouth could hardly behave itself, and one brow was flickering dangerously. “Planning to reform?”
“Certainly not,” she said, tucking the book back where it belonged. “I was hoping to find a scandal. Alas. No murder. No seduction. Not even a decent duel.”
“Your tastes are… unconventional.”
Elizabeth moved down the shelf. “I prefer the term ‘honest’.”
“Of course.”
A long pause followed. Neither moved to leave. A breeze from the open door rustled the pages near the counter. A boy sneezed outside.
“Did you enjoy the assembly?” she asked, feigning politeness.
“I did not.”
“How shocking.”
“Did you?”
She smiled. “Of course not. I had to speak to you. Lovely to see you again, by the by.”
He blinked once.
