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She smiled softly, her skin glowing in the firelight. “He sounds like the perfect playmate.”
“He was.” I swallowed thickly. I needed Richard to come home. I would not be easy until he was on English soil, safe and sound.
“I feel the same way when my sisters are in distress.”
My brows shot up. “Did I say that aloud?”
She laughed lightly. “Yes, you did. Do not worry, Mr. Darcy. I shall not tell a soul that you love your cousin and are concerned for his welfare.”
I smiled at her cheek and she tilted her head as she looked at me.
“It is refreshing, actually,” she said.
“What is?”
“Seeing families who care so much about one another. I know more than one set of brothers, let alone cousins, who do not care a whit for each other. I think it is admirable you care so deeply for your cousin. It is a sign of a good heart.”
She flushed with her statement, but she kept her eyes on mine. I admired her bravery. She was not afraid to say what she meant and it was dangerously attractive. I sipped my brandy, letting the liquid burn down my throat.
I could control myself. I would not lean over the space between us and kiss her, no matter how badly I wished to. Her lips could call to me all night long, with their knowing little smirk and their plump pinkness, but I would not give in. I was Darcy of Pemberley. I had more self-control than that.
“Why do you scowl at me so?” she asked, a hint of a tease in her voice. “Have I offended you somehow?”
I could not help the smile that took over my face. “No, you have not offended me, Miss Elizabeth. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“The opposite? What would that be? You approve of me?” she was teasing, but she danced terribly close to the fire.
“I approve of you a great deal.”
There must have been something in my voice or my expression, for she sat up straighter and her expression went blank.
“I should go upstairs,” she said quietly.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. Please, do not go. It is seldom I get to have a pleasant conversation with a lady and I do so enjoy yours.”
She hesitated, biting the inside of her lip as she tried to decide what to do.
“Shall we take turns reading?” I suggested in a desperate attempt to make her stay.
Clearly, she had not been expecting that and she sat back in surprise.
She recovered quickly and said, “Do you read well? With proper feeling and rhythm?”
She was teasing me again and I could not get enough of it.
“Hand me the book and you shall find out.”
She smiled in that way that made my stomach knot and passed me the book. “You choose the poem,” she said. “I have high expectations, Mr. Darcy.”
“You shall not make me nervous, Miss Elizabeth, even though you are trying to rattle me. I shall not be intimidated.”
She laughed in delight and I felt ridiculously proud of myself. I made Elizabeth Bennet laugh.
“Very well, I shall be a good sport. Read on!”
I chose a poem I was familiar with and skimmed over it, then cleared my throat, took a sip of brandy, and began to read.
Georgiana had told me many times that I had a good voice for reading. I knew my voice was deep and resonant. I had ears, and I had been told it often enough. Besides, I had it on good authority that I sounded like my father, and he had had a wonderful reading voice.
