Page 29 of Courting Elizabeth

I answered. I let her make me laugh.

Not once did I ask what she felt for me.

When she yawned a second time, I stood.

“You need rest.”

“You're already giving orders.”

“I'm making a remarkably accurate observation.”

“That sounds more like the man I married.”

I accompanied her to her apartments. Her lady's maid waited inside, as propriety demanded, despite the presumed intimacy of the night.

Elizabeth turned on the threshold.

“Good night, Fitzwilliam.”

My name on her lips pierced me with an almost cruel sweetness.

I bowed over her bare hand.

“Good night, Elizabeth.”

I did not bring my lips to her skin this time. I knew I would not have the strength to stop at that single gesture.

The door closed.

I went to my own chamber, dismissed my valet, and remained standing before the fireplace.

The composure that had sustained me in Elizabeth's presence was no longer necessary.

I placed both hands on the marble mantel and lowered my head.

My name. My fortune. My protection.

The anger returned—less sharp than at Longbourn, but heavier. It turned against her, then against me, before losing any clear target.

Elizabeth had accepted the security I could offer her family. She had not denied it. Part of my pride wanted to reduce her consent to that single truth, to make my wound easier to bear.

But she had also said she feared losing me.

She had spoken of desire. Of esteem. Of a heart that was changing.

And long before this morning, she had warned me that her opinion was not fixed.

I straightened slowly.

I had not been deceived.

I had deceived myself.

I had heard her reservations as a man certain that his love, his rank, and his fortune made the outcome inevitable. I had taken every blush for tenderness, every gesture for a promise, and her consent for the confession she never voiced.

She had then lacked the courage to disabuse me. That fault existed. I would not excuse it in one night.

But no accusation would create the feeling I desired in her.