“How do you mean?”
She shrugged. “This is hardly an appropriate conversation, sir, and the setting is public. Someone might overhear us.”
He was insistent. “What do you mean by force? Do you believe he may attempt to compromise you?”
She met his intense gaze and felt herself drawn by his presence.
“You are afraid of him. What do you fear?”
“It may be that I make too much of his remarks. But he has been teasing me since the first day of our acquaintance, telling me that I will be his wife and what fun we are to have. His insinuations are more what one would expect him to make to a mistress or lightskirt than to a young, gently-bred woman. He takes pleasure in making me angry, then looks at me as if I were the fox in a hunt. I truly do not know how to explain why I fear him, but he makes me shiver.” She looked away.
“You are very much afraid of him,” Darcy said quietly. “You are on the verge of tears. What else has he said to you?”
She shook her head.
“Miss Elizabeth, I insist. What has he told you that is so upsetting you are about to weep at a ball?”
“Mr. Darcy, I do not know how to explain why his words and looks have so disturbed me. But he does understand. Only a short while ago, he apologized, saying he regretted teasing me and speaking his mind so freely. He admitted it was unwise to be so open with me before I knew him well enough to understand that he is no monster.”
Her hand hovered over her mouth as she turned away to face the little grove of potted trees.
Darcy cursed under his breath. “The devil. Did you tell your father? Do you think him a monster, Elizabeth? Is that why you fear him?”
“There is nothing to tell except that I am afraid of what he would do to me if I were married and under his power.” She inhaled, a short, sharp breath. “I do not trust him, and I fear him.”
Darcy said, “I must return you to your father. Your next partner will be looking for you. But, Miss Elizabeth, remain at your father’s side. Do not walk off alone. I, too, have seen how that man looks at you, and I believe he will stop at nothing to have you for his wife.”
He escorted her back to her father’s side and then went to find Miss Bingley, his next dance partner.
To her surprise, Elizabeth did enjoy the ball. All her partners were fine dancers, and many were childhood friends. The gentlemen from London were amiable and respectable men, and she enjoyed her dances with them. Now she sat waiting for Mr. Collins to bring her plate. She watched him as he moved through the line. He was elegantly dressed, and his fair hair shone golden in the candlelight. His tall, muscular form and charming address were everything a woman could wish for, and she was sorry that she could not like him. She observed Miss King and Miss Watsontrailing behind him, serving themselves, and guessed they were trying to be near him. Their efforts to secure his attention amused her, and she smiled. He looked up, caught her gaze, and smiled back. Their eyes met for an instant before he turned away to finish serving their plates.
When he returned and took the seat next to hers, he placed her plate in front of her and spoke seriously. “Cousin, what can I do to make you think better of me?”
She sat silently, considering his question. At last, she answered. “I do not know.”
He handed her a fork. “Taste the crab cakes. Miss King says they are delicious.”
Elizabeth cut into the little crab cake. It was indeed very good, and she ate in silence until her plate was empty. Only then did she realize she was hungry. Thinking back over the day, she remembered she had not eaten at all, having been too unsettled by the prospect of being in his company all evening.
He bent his head close to hers. “Elizabeth, why have you taken a dislike to me?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I do not dislike you, cousin.” She paused, then spoke the truth. “I am afraid of you.”
His brow furrowed. “I thought that might be the problem. I have frightened you. Although you are twenty, you have been so sheltered that you are more like a child than a woman. I have managed this affair very poorly, cousin. I hardly know how to act around a young, untouched girl.”
Elizabeth’s eyes fell to her lap. He had spoken the truth. She feared his masculine propensities. He was little better than a stranger, and the knowledge that he had thought of intimacywith her, remembering, too, the way he had looked at her, as though undressing her, had filled her with repulsion. He was watching the play of emotions as they flitted on her face.
“You are repelled by the idea of having intimate relations with a stranger,” he said.
The truth, spoken out loud and from his lips, caused the blood to drain from her face. She felt faint.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I have done it again. Here, drink this before you faint away.”
He offered her a glass of wine, and she drank. Her breathing slowed, but she no longer wished to speak with him. His words repulsed her so much that she felt she might be ill. She longed to get away and never see him again. She raised her eyes and scanned the room. Her father was watching her, as was Mr. Darcy. She struggled to comport herself.
“Elizabeth. Take another drink. You are very pale.” Mr. Collins pressed the wine glass to her again.
He watched her and decided to stop speaking lest he drive her to flee. He had no experience with virgins. Elizabeth looked like a ripe peach, waiting to be picked and savored, and he had not considered how naïve and inexperienced she was in such matters. How had he behaved like such a fool? Had he ruined his chances with her?
