She hesitated—just long enough to enjoy the way his hand twitched slightly at his side—before she grinned at him, her eyes twinkling. “You may, sir.”
A sharp, strangled noise came from nearby.
Miss Bingley’s fan snapped shut with a violent crack. Her smile, plastered on for the benefit of those behind them, wavered like a candle in a draft. A muscle twitched in her cheek as her gaze darted between Elizabeth and the two gentlemen.
“My, Miss Elizabeth,” she said in a voice sharp with forced civility. “How very popular you have become. One might thinkyouwere the hostess.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Fitzwilliam, ever the diplomat, swept in with a grin. “And yet no one has yet claimed your first set, Miss Bingley. What a shocking oversight.” He bowed deeply. “May I have the honor?”
Miss Bingley, momentarily caught between rage and triumph, managed a tight nod. “If you insist.”
“Oh, I do.”
Elizabeth caught the faintest twinkle in the colonel’s eyes and had to look away quickly before she laughed aloud. Miss Bingley then turned her gaze towards Darcy’s, giving him a pleading expression beneath batting eyes. The colonel, however, once again provided cover as he offered Miss Bingley his arm and led her away.
Turning his attention back to Elizabeth, Darcy asked quietly, “Are you well?”
“I am,” she replied. “Though my stomach feels like I have swallowed a flock of sparrows.”
His expression sobered slightly. “We will keep you safe.”
She nodded once, the ballroom doors opening before them to reveal a dream of light and motion.
Darcy offered his arm. “Shall we, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” she said softly, placing her gloved hand atop his. “Let the evening begin.”
∞∞∞
Darcy could scarcely believe it.
Elizabeth was radiant.
She stood across from him at the head of the set, cheeks faintly flushed with color, eyes bright with that quick, curious spark that never failed to undo him. Her gown—a rich cream silk embroidered in gold—clung to her figure in a manner that was entirely modest and yet entirely distracting. The candlelightcaught in the dark waves of her hair, pulled half up with deliberate softness, and he could not stop staring.
She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman in the room.
And she had saidyes.
It still stunned him to remember. The knowledge of it burned in his chest—warm and steady, like a brand seared into his heart.
He knew was not for proposals or passion. Tonight would decide everything. Their safety, their future, Benjamin’s very life.
And yet for the length of this dance, he was determined to steal one perfect moment from the edge of chaos.
The music began, and Elizabeth stepped forward, meeting him with practiced ease. Their hands met and parted again as they turned. There was silence between them for a time—only the rustle of skirts, the glide of slippers, and the swell of violins. Each time their hands touched, a jolt shot up his arm. The heated glances between them made him wish he could sweep her off her feet, carrying her away so they could be alone.
Darcy felt all eyes on them, but for once, he did not care.
Finally, Elizabeth tilted her head and said lightly, “You are very silent, Mr. Darcy. Are you consulting your mental list of eligible young ladies to whom you will next refuse a dance?”
He smiled. “Only narrowing it down to those I have not already offended beyond redemption.”
“That will be a very short list indeed.”
“Then I had best stay close to the only one who still tolerates me.”
She arched a brow. “I tolerate you now, do I?”
