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He leaned closer, his breath tickling my skin. I tipped my chin up ever so slightly, and his lips ticked up in the corners, as if they wished to smile, but had other priorities at the moment.
I exhaled shakily, then raised my eyes to his. He closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. It felt warm, and tremulous and delicate. He pulled back, looking at me with hazy eyes.
“My God, Elizabeth. You undo me.”
There was a noise in the corridor and he stepped back, leaving me to lean on the shelves behind me, a rush of cool air taking up the place he had stood only a moment ago.
I heard Darcy say something to someone near the door, then he was before me again.
He touched my cheek with the back of his fingers and smiled softly. “The map is in my uncle’s study. If you will wait here, I will fetch it.”
I could do nothing but nod silently, my composure not yet restored.
He left the room and I made my way to a chair next to the warm fire. My fingers skated over my lips as I thought about what had just happened.
“It’s you!”
I looked up and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam standing a few feet away from me.
“The angel.” He knelt down next to my chair, then he reached out and touched my hair, his eyes filled with awe.
“Excuse me, sir. What are you doing?” I said, trying to sound haughty and offended while I was terrified on the inside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “How did you get in?”
“Sir, I do not know what you are talking about, but I would appreciate it if you would remove your hand from my hair.”
I must have succeeded in modulating my tone for he leaned back and seemed surprised for a moment, then rose and sat in the chair directly across from mine.
“You are not an angel?”
I held in my laugh. No one had ever called me such before. “No, I am not. I am as human as you.”
He looked bewildered. “Have we met before?”
“I do not believe so. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, from Hertfordshire. I have come here this evening with my aunt, Mrs. Monroe.”
“You are Darcy’s Miss Bennet!” he cried, as if he had just solved a puzzle. Then his face fell. “But then, why do I know you?”
“You do not know me. What is your name?” I knew exactly who he was, but I needed to pretend I didn’t.
“I am Richard Fitzwilliam, second son to the earl of Matlock and a colonel in his majesty’s army,” he said proudly, sitting up a little straighter and smiling charmingly.
Oh, dear. Was he flirting? “I am pleased to meet you, colonel.”
He continued to look at me searchingly and the bewildered expression did not leave his face. “You look remarkably like—” he stopped himself.
“Like who, sir?”
Like yourself, Elizabeth. Do not toy with the man!
He shook his head. “Like a lady I met recently.”
“Was she a kind lady?”
His features softened. “The kindest I have ever met. She did me a great service.”
I smiled. “Then I am glad I remind you of her.”
