Page 20 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

Across the room, Mr. Darcy looked up from his chair. His eyes went from Mr. Collins to Elizabeth, and stayed there.

At two o'clock she left the crutch by her bed, as she always did. She hopped down the passage to the library, wondering whether he would be there. Parrish was back now. He had no need of her anymore.

He was there.

He stood by the fire in a clean shirt and a coat that fitted him. Parrish had shaved him and dressed his hair and tied a proper cravat. He looked like himself again, the proud man at the assembly. For a moment she hardly knew him.

Then he turned and saw her, and his face changed, and she knew him perfectly.

"You came," he said.

"Did you think I would not?"

"I thought you might not. Now that I have a valet again."

He gave her his arm to her chair without being asked, and she took it without thanking him. "Mr. Collins," she said, when she was settled, "has observed my fortitude."

"I saw."

"He admires it very much. After economy."

He made a small sound. She looked up and found that he was trying not to laugh.

He stopped smiling. "He has fixed on you," he said quietly.

"He has fixed on a wife. I am merely the nearest."

He looked at her strangely. She remembered, too late, where she had heard those words before. I thought of chestnuts. You were nearest.

"That," he said, "is not why a man chooses anyone."

She said the first ridiculous thing that came into her head. "Your neckcloth," she said, before she could stop herself, "in the soup."

"His neckcloth."

"His. I beg your pardon. My fortitude failed me."

He laughed then, properly. He laughed so hard he had to sit down, and she laughed with him until her side ached. It was the first time she had heard him laugh like that. It made her want to hear it again, every day, for a very long time.

When it was over, he was sitting very close to her. Closer than he usually sat. His knee was almost touching hers. "Parrish ties it too tight," he said. He tilted his chin at his cravat. "I have told him so for nine years."

"Then let me."

"You told me you cannot tie a cravat."

"I cannot. But any fool can loosen one."

She reached up and tugged at the knot. She frowned and tugged again, harder. It gave all at once, and the whole cravat slid sideways under his chin. "There," she said. "Now it is ruined. Parrish will never forgive me."

Her fingers were still at his throat, just as they had been at the waistcoat. His skin was warm. She could feel his pulse under her knuckles, quick and hard.

She left her hand where it was.

He looked at her, and she looked at him. The fire ticked. Afterward, she could never say who leaned first. Perhaps it was both of them.

His mouth touched hers.

It was very gentle at first, barely a kiss at all. His hands hovered at her sides, useless, not touching her. So she held him instead. She laid her palm against his cheek and kissed him back.