She leaned just a little closer. “The partridges and pheasants will surely fly up in your path—if only they know how desperate the hunter is.”
Her tone was innocent. Her eyes were not.
He faltered for half a step. Not enough to draw attention. Enough that she would notice.
She had not said it outright. She had not needed to. The clause loomed in his mind—February. The deadline. The inheritance. The miserable, accursed terms.
Had she said something? Had she told someone?
He looked at her—truly looked—and saw no triumph. Only mischief.
“Miss Bennet,” he said under his breath, “I do hope you have not made my circumstances a topic of conversation.”
Her brows lifted with theatrical innocence. “Goodness. Is that what you fear?”
“You seem rather entertained by my... position.”
“I am,” she said cheerfully. “But only privately.”
“And you havekeptit private?”
“I have not so much as whispered it to a single debutante,” she said, placing her hand on her heart. “Though ithasbeen tempting. You really ought to hear how they speculate.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Your restraint is… appreciated.”
“You act as though I had reason to thwart you! If I wished to expose your little predicament, Mr. Darcy, I would have told half the ladies in this room by now.”
“That isnotcomforting.”
“It should be. You make it too easy, you know,” she said with a shrug. “Truthfully, Mr. Darcy, I would not need to whisper a word. I would only need to stand back and let you panic. I have chosen instead to watch you unravel in private. It is far more satisfying.”
He turned to her again, slower now. Her cheek was pink. His pulse—blast it—was climbing.
“Then I suppose I should thank you,” he said stiffly.
“And I suppose I ought to say that you are most welcome.”
They wove through the long figure—forward, hands, turn, and back again. The floor dipped in rhythm beneath their steps, and the music shifted subtly, easing into something more intimate.
Darcy adjusted his grip. Her hand remained steady—too steady—and somehow warmer than it ought to be. Candlelight flickered across her face, catching the gleam in her eye like a secret she had not decided whether to keep.
He should not feel this light. Or this... unarmored. It was dangerous. No one else could make him forget the weight on his shoulders. And he had nearly forgot it now.
“You do enjoy this,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Watching me flounder about.”
“Certainly. You make an excellent study.”
He arched a brow. “I imagine I do.”
They turned. Came together again.
“And what is it you are studying, Miss Bennet?”
Her smile tilted, dry and devastating. “How long a man can court every woman in the county while pretending not to be desperate?”
He stumbled—internally. His feet held their place, but something below his ribs jolted, sharply.
