For half a second, Elizabeth wished the words unsaid. They were too direct. Too near to confession. But his expression did not close. If anything, he looked almost startled, as though the idea mattered more than she intended.
“Do I appear severe?”
“Sometimes.”
“And now?”
She ought to have teased. It would have been safer. Instead, she found herself answering with a honesty that surprised her. “No. Not now.”
The fire shifted in the grate, and a small fall of ash broke the silence. Somewhere in the hall a maid passed, her footsteps softened by distance. Netherfield seemed to hold its breath around them.
Mr. Darcy looked down first. “I am glad of it.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around the arm of her chair.
This was dangerous ground. Not improper—nothing in their words had crossed any visible line—but dangerous all the same. He had a way of making ordinary conversation feel as though something greater moved beneath it. She had felt the same in the cellar two years before, though then she had been too overwhelmed by gold, grief, and mud to understand it.
She searched for firmer footing and found it in the book upon his knee. “Have you reached the foolish essay yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you must persevere. I assure you it rewards endurance with irritation.”
“A strange recommendation.”
“I have always thought irritation a useful stimulant.”
“So I have noticed.”
She laughed. “That sounded almost like an accusation.”
“Observation,” he said again.
“Coward.”
His brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“You hide behind observation whenever you are too prudent to admit an opinion.”
“I had not realized I was so transparent.”
“You are not. I am unusually penetrating.”
“That must be very inconvenient for those around you.”
“Only those with something to hide.”
He stilled, just slightly.
Elizabeth wished at once that she had chosen different words. Something to hide. Between them, the phrase was hardly innocent. She thought of Netherfield, the Crown’s reward, Mr. Philips’s caution, and the knowledge Mr. Darcy now held. His expression did not change much, but the air shifted.
“Then I must be careful,” he said quietly.
Her heart gave a foolish little twist. “Must you?”
“I believe so. You have already discovered one hidden treasure. I would not wish to underestimate your talent for finding concealed things.”
The answer should have made her uneasy. Instead, because he said it with warmth rather than threat, she found herself smiling. “Then I shall promise not to pry, provided you promise not to hide anything dangerous.”
