Her lips parted as she stared up at him; his face was so close to hers. “We ought to be very frightened, if we had any sense at all.”
He nodded, and his breath sent a shiver over her skin. His fingers pressed into her waist. “Wearein danger.”
“Yes,” she breathed, hardly able to speak as something tugged at her insides. “One might call it a disaster.”
“Elizabeth.” He reached up to softly stroke her face, and she leaned into his touch, her head fairly spinning from the conflicting sentiments of confusion, elation, safety, shame, and delirious abandon. She arched her neck upward, and his hand slid down her neck, along her shoulder, and then across her back. His eyes were locked on hers, full of some unspoken question, and she stood up on her toes, moving her face closer to his as she permitted his embrace.
His arms tightened around her as his lips finally met hers, at the very instant when she realized how her heart might have fallen to pieces if he had waited a moment longer to kiss her. Her arms cautiously circled around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his lips so wonderfully soft as they beckoned to her own.
Elizabeth kept her eyes closed, lost to the feel of his body against hers. As his hands began to tangle in her hair, a few pins came loose from the simple chignon, and she smiled as their lips moved together. She mimicked his movements, curling her fingers in his own thick curls.
Swept up in their ardor, she began to tug at him, and he laughed as he kissed her. She began to do the same, sheer glee burbling out of her as his lips moved across her cheek. When they reached her ear, he breathed her name and crushed her against his body.
They were both panting with laughter, their bodies swaying as they clung to one another. He released her from his embrace and cupped her face in his hands, but Elizabeth was unsteady on her feet, and she took a step backward that caused her arms to fly outward as she tried to brace herself. She rested against the fireplace as Mr. Darcy also began to stumble. And then the fireplace shifted.
There was a cry from Emma and Mr. Willoughby from the next room, and the fireplace swiveled around entirely, the rough stone scraping so loudly that Elizabeth staggered in confusion.
When finally she and Mr. Darcy steadied themselves, they had stepped into the music room. Emma and Mr. Willoughby were seated together on the piano stool, looking entirely bewildered. Emma clapped her hands and sprang up from her seat. “How marvelous! Oh, Lizzy, your hair!”
Elizabeth brought her hand up to her disheveled chignon, which she hoped her friend would attribute to her manner of shambling into the room. “I did not mean to do that,” she said with a rueful laugh.
“I can see that,” Emma said with playful hauteur. She stalked forward and swiftly made a few adjustments to Elizabeth’s chignon, giving her a wink.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I suppose you were right about your uncle pickpocketing the keys when he embraced Mrs. Rushworth last night, Willoughby. Either that, or he is working in collusion with another.”
“I doubt it very much. He considers himself far cleverer than most men, and thinks even worse of ladies.”
“But he is very civil to all the ladies,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps more than any of us could wish.”
“Especially my aunt,” Emma said with a look of disgust.
“He must have trusted Mrs. Clay enough for her to discover whatever secret he is hiding,” Mr. Darcy observed.
“I think it likely he simply underestimated her,” Mr. Willoughby said. “And now we are locked in here, and I think I can guess why.”
There was a heavy silence; they all knew what he meant. Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “We ought to have warned her.”
“I thought we would have more time,” Emma said with a sigh. “I thought surely Sir Walter could not manage any harm while we are all supposed to be in groups. Sir Edward is supposed to be with him, after all!”
Mr. Willoughby’s eyes darted about as if he were trying to puzzle it all out. “And you trust Sir Edward implicitly?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth cried. “And is not Mr. Bertram supposed to be with him, as well? I cannot imagine a stranger grouping to be in cahoots together.”
“Forgive me, Willoughby, but if anyone were likely to be in league with Sir Walter, it would be you,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Willoughby looked wounded. “I have risked my life telling you what I know. If he discovers that I am working with you, we shall all be in danger.”
“Wearein danger,” Elizabeth said. Remembering how she had said the same to Mr. Darcy just minutes before, she shivered a little. She could not meet his eye, now.
“Mrs. Clay did tell me that she feared for her safety,” Emma said. “Perhaps she will take precautions, even without our warning.”
“Let us have some more distraction, eh? I daresay your friends liked your performance at the pianoforte well enough, my dear.”
Elizabeth raised a brow at Mr. Willoughby’s familiar endearment, and Emma blushed. “Shall we tell them?”
Mr. Willoughby smiled. “I know it is hardly an appropriate time for such things, but I have made the most of my time alone with Miss Woodhouse. Oh dear, that sounds… well, what I mean is that she has made me a very happy fellow, and accepted my offer of marriage.”
Elizabeth gaped at them. “What? Emma, I do not understand.”
