She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him. His lips swept over hers, kissing her hard. It felt exhilarating when Darcy’s tongue entered her mouth, bringing the two of them even closer together. She stroked his jaw, his cheek, and he gave a soft moan against her lips.
He pulled back from kissing her and rested his forehead against hers, leaning into her and gently pressing her into the bookcase. For a moment, they both stood there, with her in his arms and both of them breathing heavily.
She felt joyful, enjoying his closeness and the knowledge that Darcy cared for her after all.
“I am sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I should have?—”
“What?” she cried, startling him so much he stepped back. “Why are you sorry?” A sickening fear that he still had feelings for L or admired Mrs Sullivan settled in her stomach. “Is there someone else?”
Darcy’s mouth fell open, and before he could speak, the door opened and Mrs Sullivan and Colonel Fitzwilliam walked in.
“There you are,” he cried cheerfully. “Of course, you would be in the library when you ought to be social.”
Darcy’s cousin appeared not to notice anything amiss, but Elizabeth caught Mrs Sullivan’s eye. Her gaze darted from her to Darcy and seemed to take in the entire scene. Elizabeth felt herself blushing fiercely. Had the woman who wished to be in her place caught her in an embrace?
Mrs Sullivan gave a heavy look to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who did not understand, and then she glared at Darcy and gave him a disapproving shake of her head before striding toward her.
“Miss Bennet, I have been missing you all evening. You cannot leave me to talk with these people without a friend at my side.”
Mrs Sullivan linked an arm through hers and all but dragged her back into the corridor toward the rotunda.
“Good heavens,” she muttered. “Your aunt will never allow me into her home! She will never even let me speak to you again if she learns I left you alone to be taken advantage of. And to think Mr Darcy capable of such an outrage.”
Realisation dawned, and as wounded as she was that Darcy’s heart might not be free, she could not allow the woman he might choose to think him capable of that. “He did not importune me,” she said as she was tugged along. “I, I am so sorry, Mrs Sullivan. I was a willing participant, but I am sorry, and I want to be your friend.” She loved Darcy, but she hated the idea of Mrs Sullivan losing all respect for her. “Please forgive me.”
All of her thoughts were a muddle. Who did Darcy care for more: her or the woman hauling her back into public view?
Mrs Sullivan slowed their pace and patted her on the arm with her other hand. “Well, kissing behind a curtain is hardly a scandal, is it? It is nothing every young person has not done once or twice. And no one saw you together but me and Fitzwilliam. Besides, as you are my friend, I can forgive you anything, not that you were to blame.”
They were now back among the crowd, but Mrs Sullivan still kept their arms linked. In a softer voice, she added, “And all I saw were two people standing rather close together. Oh, my dear, you look stricken. I would never speak against another lady, you know. I would never hint that a few moments alone implied anything improper.”
Mrs Sullivan would stay silent, either because she loved Darcy and still wanted him for herself, or because she was a loyal friend and Elizabeth did not deserve her.
She kept an arm around hers while Colonel Fitzwilliam chatted with all the little groups. Darcy eventually re-joined them, but Mrs Sullivan kept them apart with her conversation and her physical presence. Mrs Sullivan would not let go of her until they were in the carriage half an hour later. Darcy sat across from Elizabeth, and although he caught her eye and gave her a small smile, there was no opportunity to talk.
He clearly had some affection for her, but was it enough to forsake L and Mrs Sullivan and marry her? It took all of Elizabeth’s self-control not to cry during the awkward and mostly silent carriage ride home.
Chapter Fourteen
Darcy awoke early the morning after the lecture to his man telling him that Fitzwilliam was in his dressing room and impatient to see him. Rubbing his eyes and only bothering to get half dressed, Darcy made a vague drinking gesture in the hopes of getting coffee and joined his cousin.
“It is seven; why are you here at this awful hour?” Darcy asked when he finally had a cup of coffee. “We are not meeting your parents for hours.” He was to spend the afternoon with his aunt and uncle to sing the praises of Fitzwilliam’s chosen bride.
“What happened last night?” Fitzwilliam said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Clara is furious with you.”
“Did she say why?” He took another long drink, hoping his mind would clear. It was a late night at the Surrey Institution, and then he spent half the night tossing and turning, thinking about Elizabeth. He had impulsively kissed her and then had not the time to declare himself before they were interrupted.
“No. She seems to think it would lessen my opinion of my favourite cousin and my only family member who will champion her, but she won’t say why. So here I am to demand an answer before you and I have a very uncomfortable afternoon with my parents.”
Now that he had some coffee and a moment to think, Darcy knew why Mrs Sullivan thought ill of him. He must have looked like he was importuning Elizabeth last night, leaning her against a bookcase and forcing his attentions on her. Fitzwilliam had noticed nothing amiss, but another woman had. Now he would have to admit to the whole of it and suffer his cousin’s teasing.
“I kissed Elizabeth last night,” he said in a low voice, staring into his coffee cup, “before you and Mrs Sullivan entered the library. She caught us, or caught us in each other’s arms.”
Fitzwilliam’s face turned quizzical, and then he laughed. “Oh, she thinks you are a scoundrel!” He laughed again and sat at the table to pour himself a cup of coffee.
“Yes, how amusing,” Darcy said drily. “Let us hope Elizabeth does not think I am one. She said nothing to me after we kissed.” Mrs Sullivan had been with her the entire time, though. The widow must have been afraid to leave them alone again.
“And Miss Elizabeth may have felt humiliated in front of her new friend to be put in such a position.” Darcy grew embarrassed at opening them both to criticism, and felt wretched for kissing her and leaving unsaid everything he felt for her.
