If she kept this up, she would not have enough pins remaining to make any repairs to her coiffure.
Before her hand reached her tresses, before he thought better, Darcy reached out and grabbed her wrist. He realized his mistake the moment his hand met hers. A wiser man would have learned his lesson the first time her touch had jolted him out of his senses, but apparently Darcy was determined to act the fool that night, for he held her hand and struggled to remember what it was he had meant to say.
If he had any sense at all, he would stand at the other end of the room. Far away from Elizabeth Bennet.
“May I have my hand back, Mr. Darcy?” she said stiffly.
Face flaming, he let go, feeling powerless over his own body. Never before had his instincts rebelled so disfavorably against him.
Eager to right the appalling liberty he had taken, he steeled himself and took several steps away. “You had better stand back,” he suggested, stiffening his shoulder and preparing himself for impact. This would hurt, but better that than this stupid stupor which had overtaken him.
Leaning forward, using the fullness of his height to thrust his weight forward to advantage, Darcy angled his torso to the side and charged. He hit the door so hard, he saw flashes of light. Backing up, frustrated failure fueling his strength, he rammed against the door again. And again.Blasted English oak.
His shoulder ached. He rubbed it, needles of pain traveling down to his fingertips, the sleeve of his coat flapping loose where it had ripped open. Yet, again, he stepped away, resuming his charging stance for another attempt.
She stepped in front of him, her hands pressing against his heaving chest. “Stop before you hurt yourself further.” Her cry warbled.
Darcy stopped. The last time anyone had cried for him had been his mother the night before she died. The realization that Elizabeth cared, even just a little, made his breath more uneven.
She snatched her hands away and covered her mouth. And that was when Darcy realized how mistaken he was. Her reaction had nothing to do with maidenly affection but with a desire to conceal her laughter. The warble in her voice had not been concern but humor. Was she laughing at him? What he had craved moments ago now vexed his pride. “What is so funny?”
“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy. I do not laugh at you but in appreciation of the irony.” She gestured at the door, as solid now as it was a half-dozen hits ago. “That door is more resolute than either of us. While Mr. Bingley would be happy to know his residence is so well built, I fear our position is less stable.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes, and Darcy realized that Elizabeth’s humor was not intended as a jab but as an attempt at bravery.
Darcy’s agitation instantly calmed. If she could make the best of their situation, then so would he.
She shook her head, and while he did not hear her sigh, he sensed it. “I have spent the last seven years protecting Jane’s prospects. I refuse to be the one to cast doubt on my sisters’ reputations.”
He stiffened. Why would anyone doubt them? Did she not know he would do what any gentleman in this position would do and make an offer for her?
Her brittle chuckle threw him off balance again. “Come, Mr. Darcy, you can hardly believe I expect you to make an offer to me—a lady you consider ‘barely tolerable’—or to attach yourself to a family in every way beneath you… save in one aspect.” She stood taller and spoke more firmly. “Like you, I am the offspring of a gentleman. In that, we are equal.”
The accusation kicked Darcy in the stomach, mostly because she was right to think so poorly of his behavior. He had been angry and resolved to dislike Hertfordshire.
He had hoped that some time and distance away from Bingley would soften Georgiana’s juvenile attachment to his friend, but the letter he had received from her the same day of the Meryton assembly had made plain how little he understood his sister’s heart. And that dreadful assembly had proven how little control he had over Bingley’s. How could Darcy be anything but miserable knowing how Georgiana would expect him to promote the match when Bingley’s eye was too easily turned by a handsome face?
Darcy had been in a dark mood that wretched evening, and Elizabeth had suffered for it. His comment had been cruel and undeserved. Not to mention an outright lie. Elizabethdidtempt him. Hers was the sort of beauty which improved on further acquaintance, the dangerous kind that captivated the heart and engaged the mind. He really ought to stand at the other side of the room. But first, he must make amends. “I regret what I said.”
“Do you?” She arched an eyebrow and looked up at him pertly.
“I would not apologize otherwise.”
“Oh, yes, I have learned that you would rather not speak at all than say anything you do not mean. While such honesty is to be praised, it also condemns you, for we both know that you meant what you said.”
Her terrifying logic made him weigh his next words more carefully. Nothing got by Elizabeth. “I had my reasons at the time, but they do not excuse my poor behavior, nor will they influence what we both know must happen when we are found.”
There, he had said it. They had been alone together too long to escape consequences. It was time to face their fate. If they were intelligent about it, they might avoid scandal.
Her fists now balled at her hips, and Darcy got the distinct impression he had said something wrong.
“Whatmusthappen? I would rather have my freedom than be forced into a union neither of us want. While there is still the possibility of escape, no matter how small, I shall not give up. You are under no obligation to me, Mr. Darcy. I would rather choose ruin.”
She refused him?! Of all the women with whom he could be trapped, was this the one lady who would rather face ruin than marry him? One look at her disheveled hair and his torn coat would be more than enough for even the most liberal of libertines to condemn them. But she would fight until the very end. How could anyone be both so maddening and charming, so stubborn and admirable?
CHAPTER11
Elizabeth bit her tongue. She had refused him! Why on earth had she done that? Elizabeth was not mercenary, but neither was she so foolish to think she or her sisters could survive this scandal unscathed. Her only hope was that one extraordinarily discreet person came to their rescue, or at least someone bribable. But now Elizabeth’s sharp tongue had put paid to that.
If only she had more options, more choices! Apparently, Mr. Darcy had already made his choice, and like the men of his station accustomed to always getting his way, he expected her to acquiesce. Well, while there was still hope that a lenient, accommodating person would free them from this wretched room, Elizabeth would not yield without a fight. She could never be happy with haughty, selfish, disdainful Fitzwilliam Darcy.
