Page 22 of Her Affections and Wishes

“I do not understand you. I hold you in a great deal of esteem, as well.”

That soothed her, but esteem was not love. “You spent all evening evading…me,” she finished weakly, not realising until now how awkward this would be.

Darcy stopped walking, and utter perplexity washed over his face. “I chose you first for several games. I sat next to you and⁠—”

“You avoided kissing me,” she interrupted. “You avoided being paired with me for the forfeits,” she corrected in a quieter voice.

His confused look fell away, and a more intense one replaced it. He took a slow breath. “Did you want me to kiss you?”

There was no suitable answer to that. The truth was mortifying to say, but a lie would create something insincere between them. A deep resounding “yes” formed in her chest and almost burst from her lips, but she could never admit it.

“I do not blame you for not wanting to,” she whispered, avoiding answering his question. “If you cannot stand to give me half a kiss in a game, you must dislike me immensely after what happened at Hunsford.”

Darcy took a step nearer, and she felt near to trembling. A smile flashed on his lips. Or did she imagine it? The Darcy she knew was too reserved for anything like a smug smile. But she had been wrong about him being stern. Darcy gave her heated looks and admired her person and talked openly with her. Or was he just triumphing that the woman who rejected him now regretted losing him? It would be only natural, even for a good-hearted man like him.

Who knew what was on his mind. Her own thoughts were all in a muddle and her breath came out in short pants. Darcy’s candle flickered in his hand as he moved closer to her.

“Half a kiss?” he repeated in a low voice that struck her all the way down to her stomach. “Miss Bennet, I won’t kiss you by halves, I promise you. If I ever kiss you, it will not be a half kiss as part of a game.”

He then handed her the candle, wished her a good evening, and strode away into the dark.

Chapter Five

Once Darcy turned down the passageway after Elizabeth struggled to admit she wanted to kiss him, a grin burst from his lips. It would have been ungentlemanly to show his triumphant feelings, but he was ridiculously happy. Elizabeth might love him after all. Coming to Woodcote had rendered him still more sensible of the treasure he had lost, and he now had another chance at exquisite happiness in having such a wife.

Nothing could diminish the ardency of his love for her, and now it felt possible that she might feel the same for him. He had not wanted to kiss her before an audience, even if it was all part of a game. It would mean too much to him, and it would pain him to know it might mean nothing to her. He hated that he had unintentionally slighted her, but there was heat in Elizabeth’s eyes when he said he would someday kiss her thoroughly. He would propose to her before they left Woodcote.

Was tomorrow too soon?

“Mr Darcy?”

The voice that met him did not belong to the one woman he would not mind lurking outside his door.

“I am going to bed, Miss Metcalfe. Whatever it is, it must wait until morning.”

“I only wanted to ask if you had a fondness for Elizabeth Bennet. I can hardly credit it, for she is such a poor, inconsequential person, but it seems to me there is something between you.”

Julia had no right to address him on the topic, but he had to deny it. He did not want her to be unkind to Elizabeth in jealousy. “We are friends, and my friend might marry her sister. You may ask her about it when you go to the races tomorrow. I understand you are disguising yourselves as boys to run about as free as you please?”

“Will you look for me if I go?” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes he had seen a thousand times.

“The men and I are attending together,” he said firmly. “At the ending post. Where I will stay.”

“Then no, there is no appeal in dressing in breeches.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I think I will remain at home and sleep in, for I plan to stay up late.”

She was hinting staying up late with him. “Your mother must be wanting you⁠—”

“I am exactly where my mother wants me to be.”

If Lady Metcalfe sanctioned a liaison hoping to get a proposal out of it, he would have a trying week. He shrugged off her hand. “I do not need a companion for the evening.”

“What about for life?” she asked, boldly meeting his eye. “We could stay up together and see if we suit.”

He had been about to say something about never seducing a virgin, but since she was so confident, he doubted the noun still applied. “The faculties that please for an evening may not please for life. Do not ask me again.”

Anger flashed through her eyes. “I had hoped to make a stronger impression on you.”

He contemplated her finely proportioned figure and beautiful countenance. “If the qualities of your mind were but half as captivating as your person, most certainly the impression would be irresistible—to a weaker man.”