I gave him a look. It was not even the full Stare, but it produced the desired affect.
"I apologize, that was uncalled for."
"Icanplay, you know," I said irritably as I stumbled through another difficult passage. "If I've had time to practice."
"Yes, I know. I have heard you," he said with the air of someone trying to calm a madwoman.
I stopped playing. "Do not speak to me like I am the mad one. You are the lunatic as everyone will know when the annulment is finalized," I whispered.
Darcy's eyes glittered with amusement. "What have I done to prove my lunacy?"
"The entirety of your dinner conversation. Talking about the tenderness of the meat and the piquant flavor of the wine and that whole ridiculous nonsense when you went on and on about what Parliament will debate and the troubles in the East."
"Yes, the food and the state of the empire, clearly topics only a lunatic would discuss over dinner," Darcy said with his usual calm tone that made me want to scratch the amusement right off of his face.
But he is the mad one, so there would be no scratching. At least not with witnesses present.
"I know what you were really doing."
"Being a good host?"
"Keeping Mr. Bingley from Jane, though I cannot think why you should wish to."
"We should not discuss this here," Darcy warned, leaning very close to me as he did so.
The heat of his breath against my ear brought on thoughts. Unsettling thoughts. Certainly not pleasant thoughts. No, indeed. Just consuming remembrances of searing kisses, and soft, teasing caresses, and . . . bayonets. I shifted away from him, fumbling at the keys, making the most horrible cacophony I had managed thus far.
As if taking my retreat as an invitation, Darcy sat down on the bench next to me.
"Iwill play, you sing," he said.
"You think you can play better than me?" I asked, all the outrage of earlier returning to my voice.
"I can read music at the very least."
"As can I."
"Then why do you keep playing that B flat as an A?"
"I do not!"
"It should sound like this," he said. He began to play. And almost immediately bungled.
"Oh yes, a veritable master of music. I bow down to your excellence," I teased.
"I need a moment to practice," he said with great dignity.
"If a moment means a month, then yes, I will agree that is exactly what you need."
"You are making me nervous."
"Am I? Am I scowling at your every error? Wincing audibly? Rolling my eyes at your every pause?"
"I did not—" Darcy began then halted, knowing he most certainly had. "You asked me to turn the pages," he finished lamely.
"And that is what you shall do whileIplay."
He caught my hand before I could lay a finger on the keys.
