"I cannot."
"Try," I urged. I had no idea why his answer had become so important to me, but it was and he was not going to get away without a reply.
"Who is your favorite, then?"
"Mine is—" Oh damn. Who is my favorite author? It really depends, doesn't it? On what I feel like at the time. I mimed taking a sip from my empty cup to buy time.
"Good tea?" Darcy asked, grinning tauntingly. Clearly he could see I was drinking imaginary tea. Wonderful.
"Delicious," I replied dabbing my mouth delicately with my napkin. If one is going to do something absurd one might as well go all out. "Now, what is your favorite color?"
"My favorite color?"
"Yes." And if you say you do not have one I will throw imaginary tea on you.
"I suppose it is gray."
"No, it isn't."
Of course it is. He would like gray. Neutral, detached, the perfect favorite color for a person who gives nothing away.
"It most certainly is."
"Fine, why do you like gray?"
Darcy pinched between his brows in frustration. I am getting to him. A few questions more and I will have him right where I want him. Now if I only knew what to do with him. . . .
"I do not know. Must one justify one's preferences?" he asked a little desperately.
I stared at him in reply. He may have his Judgmental Glare of Doom but I have a Penetrating Stare of Madness. It has made stronger men than Darcy come over all twitchy. Well, maybe it hasn't. The only man I have ever used it on was Papa whose constitution could not be said to be stronger than Darcy's. However I fully expected Darcy to have some manner of reaction. And outbreak of stammering, an eyelid tick, anything would do. Or he could just answer the question.
Finally he gave in, "I find gray calming. It makes no assertions and it asks nothing of you."
If that was a hint, Mr. Darcy, I am not taking it.
"Is there a reason for this inquisition?"
Goodness, I ask the man a few questions and he calls it an inquisition. Has there been any torture (other than the Stare of Madness)? No. Is anyone likely to be burned as a heretic as the result of this questioning? Probably not.
I recognized it would be better to have a conversation rather than this interrogation (I will concede it is an interrogation, but not an inquisition—that is just hyperbolic). Howeverconversations are reciprocal. I already know he does not like me (though that apparently this does not stop him from disrobing in my presence). I have no wish to reveal anything further about myself so he can dislike me even more.
All I want him to do is answer my queries whilst giving him no information about myself, why is that so unreasonable?
"All I know about you is that you do not smoke," I replied.
"How do you know I do not smoke?" he asked, alarmed. One would think I had discovered his darkest secret.
"When I went into your eerie study to steal your brandy I noticed the walls were white. No one who smokes has walls that white—at least not long."
That and I have smelled him—I've had his tongue in my mouth, if he smoked, I think I could tell. However, I am a lady and a lady never mentions indelicate subjects like having a man's tongue in her mouth even if said man was her husband, so I just left it at the white wall thing.
"I had not thought of that." I cannot tell if he is concerned for the fate of his unblemished walls or if he was disturbed that he had overlooked this detail. The latter, probably. I think Darcy is rather proud of his mind and his ability to anticipate contingencies. So perhaps I know two things about Mr. Darcy.
"My study is eerie?" he added after a moment.
"Extremely." I smirked at his exasperated expression. King of the One Word Reply wants to chide me for reticence. Really, how preposterous.
"It is bare," I said after a good long pause to allow him time to appreciate how frustrating overly succinct answers could be, "No mementos, no art, nothing to reveal your tastes. Most people would find that odd, I think."
