His hand rose, fingertips hovering just shy of her cheek.
“Elizabeth—”
“Lizzy! LIZZY! Where are you?”
Kitty and Lydia's voices shattered the moment like glass.
They sprang apart as though burned.
Elizabeth's heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. Mr. Darcy looked as though he had been struck—his composure cracked, his hand still raised in the space where her face had been a moment before.
“I—” Elizabeth started.
“LIZZY! Mama wants you!!”
The voices were closer now, accompanied by the crunch of footsteps on frozen grass.
Mr. Darcy lowered his hand slowly, his jaw tight with frustration. But when his eyes met hers, they held no disappointment—only a fierce, barely contained promise.
“Tonight,” he said quietly. “At the gathering. We will speak again.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth's voice came out breathless. “Tonight.”
They stepped apart just as Lydia rounded the corner of the hedge, Kitty at her heels.
“There you are!” Lydia exclaimed. “We have been calling for ages. Oh—” She stopped, her eyes widening as she noticed Mr. Darcy. A knowing grin spread across her face. “Mr. Darcy. Howinteresting.”
“Miss Lydia. Miss Kitty.” Mr. Darcy's voice had gone formal, but Elizabeth could see the flush creeping up his neck. “I was just taking my leave.”
“Were you?” Lydia's grin widened. “How unfortunate. And beneath the mistletoe, too.”
Elizabeth could have throttled her.
“Good day, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy bowed, his gaze lingering on Elizabeth's face with an intensity that made her cheeks burn. “Until this evening.”
“Until this evening,” she managed.
She watched him go, his tall figure retreating down the lane, and did not move until Lydia tugged impatiently at her sleeve.
“Comeon, Lizzy. Mama is in hysterics about the table linens.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be pulled toward the house, her thoughts still spinning, her lips still tingling with a kiss that had not quite happened.
THE FINAL PARTY AND THE MISTLETOE KISS
It was Christmas Eve,and Darcy had not seen Miss Elizabeth since their walk.
The hours between had crawled past with agonizing slowness—but not, for once, because of doubt. She had saidyes. Had watched him step closer with welcome in her eyes. Had whispered the word he had scarcely dared to hope for, and then Lydia's shriek had shattered everything.
Tonight, she had promised.Tonight.
The word burned in his chest like a flame.
He dressed with more care than usual, changing his cravat twice before settling on one that seemed appropriately festive without being ridiculous. His valet watched with barely concealed amusement but wisely said nothing.
The house glowed with candlelight as servants made final preparations. Evergreen boughs arched over doorways. Ribbons wound through banisters. The air smelled of pine and cinnamonand the particular warmth of a house made ready for celebration.
And there, hung throughout the public rooms, were Caroline's inevitable sprigs of mistletoe.
