Page 96 of The Lost Prophecy

His eyes settled on her face. “Partnership?”

“If we are to confront dangers which involve both of us,” she tilted her head upwards to look squarely in his eyes, “you cannot make every decision alone.”

“Does this mean you intend to confront further dangers with me?”

“It means I reserve the right to decide which dangers deserve confrontation.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“It was not intended to be.”

The musicians ended the set. Couples separated, servants moved through the room with trays and Miss Bingley began arranging the final dance before supper.

Mr Darcy extended his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

Elizabeth paused to consider. “Mr Darcy, my father is very good at arithmetic. You do realise he is constantly counting, do you not?”

“I am aware, Miss Elizabeth. Bingley is aware, as well. Nevertheless, will you dance with me?”

Elizabeth placed her fingers in his.

They joined the forming set. Mr Wickham’s absence had already disappeared under music, conversation, and the county’s greater interest in supper. Mrs Bennet watched Mr Bingley return to Jane, Lydia complained to Mr Denny, and Mr Bennet observed far more than he intended to discuss in public.

Mr Darcy guided Elizabeth through the first figure. He breathed because she had once mocked him for forgetting, though the rhythm was too deliberate to be natural.

“You truly wish to become human, do you not? Mr Wickham said that every master vampire knows it.”

His hand tightened around hers before releasing her for the turn. “Yes.”

Elizabeth crossed the line, circled another dancer, and returned. “And you will never ask me for what you require.”

“Never.”

“Even if I wished to consider it?”

Mr Darcy missed half a step. No one else noticed, but Elizabeth felt the error through their joined hands.

“You do not wish to consider it.”

“That was not my question, though.”

He guided her into the next figure, his composure recovered everywhere except his eyes. “I will not purchase my humanity with yours.”

“You describe the exchange as though only one person has the right to decide its value, Mr Darcy.”

“You would become what you called a monster yesterday.”

“I also said that I was not afraid of you,” she pointed out.

“Those statements are not contradictory.”

“No.” Elizabeth allowed the dance to separate them again. “That is what makes the matter difficult.”

When they came together, Mr Darcy did not pursue the possibility or retreat from it. He simply held her hand with care, his refusal remaining between them more powerfully than persuasion could have done.

They passed the sideboard during the final turn.

The punch bowl tilted towards Elizabeth. Fletcher, stationed nearby, moved to correct it, but the bowl rolled beyond his reach, struck the leg of the sideboard, and displaced a tray of glasses.

Crystal met the floor in a magnificent succession of crashes.

The musicians stopped. The dancers halted. Miss Bingley closed her eyes, while Mrs Bennet turned to the servants in delighted horror.

The county concluded that Netherfield’s household had failed at last. It never learned that Mr Collins had saved them all.