"And you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Are you impatient, Mr Darcy?"
He looked at her. The heat in his gaze was a scorching touch on her skin.
"I am counting the seconds, Elizabeth. Until midnight."
"Why midnight?"
"Because," he said, leading her into the crush of the ballroom, "I have a resolution to make. And I cannot make it a moment sooner."
Robert Fitzwilliam, Viscount Keathley, heir to an earldom, was in a state of panic.
Again.
It was a delightful, euphoric sort of panic, but panic nonetheless. He was dancing a quadrille with Jane Bennet, holding her hand, watching the candlelight catch in her golden hair, and realizing with absolute clarity that if he didn't secure her hand in marriage within the next hour, he might actually explode.
And then there was Darcy.
Robert glanced across the set. His cousin was dancing with Miss Elizabeth. He looked intense. He looked focused. He looked like a man with aPlan. Robert knew that look. It was the look Darcy got when he was restructuring the tenant laws or organizing a library shelf.
Darcy was going to propose at midnight. Robert knew it. He had seen Darcy checking the clock. He had seen the bulge of a ring box in his pocket.
The cheek of him,Robert thought as he turned Jane in the figure.Thinking he can claim the romantic climax of the evening. I found them first. Jane fell for me first. Literally.
He could not let the "Mouse" steal his thunder. He, Robert Fitzwilliam, was the rake. He was the dashing one. He needed to be the first to cross the finish line.
The music ended. Robert bowed to Jane, retaining her hand as the other couples dispersed.
"My Lord?" Jane asked, her eyes shining. "Is something wrong? You look distracted."
"I am seized by a sudden need for fresh air," Robert lied. "And quiet. The orchestra is very loud, do you not think?"
"It is a ball, Robert," she laughed.
"Precisely. Terrible place for conversation. Come along."
He didn't wait for an answer. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and steered her—fast—away from the dance floor, past the lemonade table, ignoring Richard, who raised a glass to him, and towards the library.
The library was empty, and the fire was roaring. It was perfect.
Robert closed the door, muffling the sound of the violins. He turned to Jane. She looked beautiful, confused, and wonderfully alive.
"Robert?" she asked. "We are missing the waltz."
"Hang the waltz," Robert said breathlessly. "Jane. Look at me."
She locked her eyes with his and her expression softened. "I am looking."
"I cannot wait for midnight," he blurted out. "Darcy is going to do something noble and poetic at midnight, I just know it. He has probably written a treatise on sentimentality. I don't have a treatise. I have a lot of jokes, a questionable reputation, and amother who scares me."
Jane blinked. "That is a very honest assessment."
"It is. But I also have this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It wasn't an heirloom. It was new. He had bought it yesterday on Bond Street, trading a very nice hunter mare for it. It was a sapphire, blue as her eyes.
"I love you," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I loved you when you fell on me. I loved you when you laughed at my toga. I loved you when you charmed my father. I don't want to court you for a season. I don't want to wait for spring. I want to marry you. Right now. Or as soon as the banns can be read."
He dropped to one knee, ignoring the creak of his tight breeches.
