Page 13 of Twice Chosen

Darcy said quietly, "Have we met before?"

Her eyes widened. "No."

Too quickly.

"You seem remarkably certain of my habits."

"You appear predictable."

"Do I?"

"Some men do."

Darcy leaned slightly closer when the dance allowed. "And some women?"

Her chin lifted. "Are mysterious."

He almost laughed.

There she was. Or enough of her to torment him.

He decided to test.

"Do you prefer apricot or orange preserve?"

Elizabeth's foot nearly caught her hem. She recovered. "What an extraordinary question."

Darcy's heart hammered. In their first year of marriage he had repeatedly forgotten she hated orange marmalade. By their third, the breakfast staff no longer placed it near her.

"Answer."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Apricot."

Darcy's breath left him.

"Many people prefer apricot," she said.

"Indeed."

She studied him, then added casually, "And some gentlemen put far too much cream in their coffee."

Darcy stopped moving.

The couple behind nearly collided with them.

Elizabeth's face went white.

He had taken coffee that way only after forty. As a young man he drank it black. Elizabeth knew. No one else.

"Miss Elizabeth."

She turned away. "Mr. Darcy."

The dance ended. They bowed. Neither spoke.