Page 46 of Courting Elizabeth

“I do not forgive you yet for making Jane suffer,” I repeated. “But I thank you for giving me the truth when silence would have served you better.”

“Elizabeth.”

“And I regret that last remark.”

“It was sincere.”

I did not respond immediately.

Because I wanted to show him that his frankness had not been in vain without letting desire erase my anger.

I rose onto my toes and briefly pressed my lips to his.

It was the first kiss I had initiated entirely, and I broke it before it could become something more.

He remained still. His hands settled at my waist without drawing me closer.

“I will not take this kiss as forgiveness,” he murmured.

“Good. It is not.”

“But may I still hope?”

I held his gaze.

“Yes.”

A knock sounded at the door before we could find more words.

“Sir?” called the steward’s voice.

We separated. The knock came again.

“Enter,” he said in a perfectly controlled voice.

The steward seemed to notice nothing, but I left the study with my face burning.

In the corridor, I brought my fingers to my lips, touched by the restraint he had just chosen.

I had not forgiven Fitzwilliam.

I had kissed Fitzwilliam without yet forgiving him, and he had accepted that distinction.

Chapter 12

DARCY

The evening Elizabeth opened the connecting door, it was not to enter my bed.

I was sitting near the fire, still dressed, a forgotten book on my lap. It was nearly midnight. I had dismissed my valet and loosened my cravat, but I no longer expected any stirring from the other side.

The handle turned.

I rose so quickly that the book fell.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway.

She wore a pale green dressing gown tied close at the throat. Her hair was braided over one shoulder. Without jewels, without gloves, without the architecture of her gowns, she seemed at once younger and infinitely more intimate.