As she rose to stand, Mr. Smithson shook his head. “Your presence is not required, Mrs. Gardiner. I will speak with Miss Elizabeth alone.”
A ripple of protest went through the room.
“Alone?” Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes flashed. “Sir, that is most inappropriate!”
“I quite agree,” Darcy said suddenly, his voice cold and unwavering. “Miss Bennet is a lady and will not be subjected to such a discussion without proper company.”
“I cannot have her account of the incident being influenced by a person who was also present in the house at the time.”
Darcy’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “If Miss Bennet is to be questioned, then I will be present.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped toward him in surprise.
Mrs. Gardiner exhaled in clear relief. “I would have expected nothing less from Lady Anne’s son,” she murmured.
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly, and he gave Mrs. Gardiner a searching look. After a beat, he inclined his head. “I would like to speak more with you at another time,” he said, stifling a cough.
Mrs. Gardiner’s lips twitched, but she simply nodded.
Elizabeth, thrown by the turn of events, hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Very well. Let us get this over with.”
As she rose to follow Mr. Smithson from the room, she could feel Darcy’s steady presence beside her. Despite herself, she was grateful for it.
∞∞∞
Darcy did his best to keep his eyes from watching Elizabeth’s hips sway as she walked in front of him down the hall at Netherfield to the music room.
It was growing more dangerous by the day—this attraction to her. What had started as reluctant admiration had deepened into something far more. Every moment in her presence sheared away the carefully constructed walls he had spent years erecting.
She was unlike any woman of his acquaintance—quick-witted, warm-hearted, and completely unintimidated by him.
He had spent the last five years being treated with deference—or, at the very least, with cautious respect. But this mere slip of a woman did not seem to think of him as someone to be feared or flattered.
No, she simply treated him as a man.
Andthatwas the most dangerous part of all.
He reluctantly tore his eyes away, searching desperately for something else to occupy his thoughts. As he did so, he stifled a cough.
But even thoughts of his health pulled him back to her.
His cough had improved significantly since the night of the assembly—something that had surprised him more than he cared to admit. The herbs she had given him had worked better than any remedy he had tried before. The tickling pressure in his lungs, once a near-constant affliction, had been reduced to a mere annoyance at night or upon exertion. He could speak more easily, breathe more freely.
For that, he owed her a debt.
And it was one he could repay, in part, by protecting her from this stranger.
Mr. Smithson.
Something about the man sat ill with him. Insurance adjusters were not uncommon in the wake of such devastation, but this one… He was too precise, too shrewd. His eyes were calculating, not merely assessing damages butsearchingfor something.
Or someone.
Darcy’s instincts had been honed over years of navigating both business and society. He had encountered enough men of questionable intentions to recognize when one was standing in front of him.
And now, this man had insisted on speaking with Elizabeth alone.
Darcy’s jaw tightened.
