Each word was a lash, and Darcy accepted them as his due. “You are right to censure me,” he said, taking a step toward her. “My words at the assembly were unconscionable. They were the words of a proud, arrogant, and ignorant man. I regret them more than I can express. If you can find it in yourself to forgive me, I will be forever in your debt.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched until it had weight. He had rehearsednothing. Now he stood emptied of everything but the waiting.
“I did not anticipate your apology, sir.”
“What did you anticipate?”
Her shoulders shrugged. “Possibly excuses, justifications, perhaps even anger that I dared to throw your words back at you. Never a man of evident pride, lowering himself to genuine contrition. Sir, why did you not depart this room instead of face my hurt?”
He had been catalogued. Not flattered. Not condemned, necessarily. Simply understood, which was worse than either.
“Because your hurt was of my making,” he said, after a moment, “A gentleman does not wound and retreat. Or he should not.” A beat. “I should not have wounded you at all.”
Miss Mary added, “An apology. Something our father has never done.”
Miss Mary’s words struck him like a door swinging open onto a room he had not known existed.This is what we know. This is what we live with.He felt the ground shift slightly beneath his understanding of Elizabeth Bennet.
“Aye, Mary. He has not.” Miss Elizabeth took uncomfortable seconds to study his face. “You wish to be in my debt, Mr. Darcy? You wish for penance?”
He was not accustomed to being examined. Men of his position were observed. Appraised for wealth, for standing, for eligibility. But notstudied. He did not know what she was searching for. Whatever it was, he was not certain he wanted her to find it.
“I do.”
She crossed the room until she stood directly beforehim, her eyes searching his face as though looking for some hidden truth. “Then kiss me.”
Darcy’s breath caught. The words took a moment to arrange themselves into meaning. He was—for perhaps the first time in his adult life—entirely without a response. Not because the request was incomprehensible, but because some treacherous part of him understood it immediately and completely. That understanding shook him more than the request itself.
“I beg your pardon?”
If he had known a genuine apology would producethis, he thought wildly, he would have mastered the art considerably sooner. He made a silent, somewhat bewildered vow to apologize to her every day for the rest of his life.
“You heard me.” Her voice was unruffled, though her hands trembled at her sides. “Give me my first kiss, Mr. Darcy. Let it be of my own choosing, with a man I select, rather than a duty extracted by a husband I do not want. That is the penance I require.”
He had not imagined penance could take this form. He was certain it did not qualify as punishment.
He should refuse. He should remind her that such an action would compromise her beyond repair. He should behave as a gentleman and leave this room immediately.
From near the desk came an audible gasp. He did not look away from Miss Elizabeth. He could not. Somewhere to his left he was dimly aware of Miss Mary raising hershoulders as if to say,Do not look at me.
He did not.
Miss Elizabeth raised her chin, her eyes defiant, but he could see the vulnerability beneath the bravado. This was not merely a request for a kiss. This was a woman seizing her autonomy before it was stripped from her forever.
“As you wish,” he whispered.
He stripped off his gloves. His fingertips brushed her face gently, giving her time to retreat if she desired. Her skin was soft, still damp with tears. As they considered each other, Darcy felt his heart hammer against his ribs with such force he wondered if she heard it.
Then he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.
He had meant a mere brush of a kiss to satisfy her request. But the moment their mouths met, every carefully maintained tenet dissolved. Her hands clutched his coat, and she made a small sound—surprise or pleasure, he could not tell—that undid him completely.
He deepened the kiss, his mouth slanted over hers, tasting the salt of her tears, the sweetness of her lips, and an essence indefinably, entirelyElizabeth. His hands roamed from her face to her waist, pulling her closer. She came willingly, molding her body against his in a way that sent fire racing through his veins.
Then Miss Mary cleared her throat, breaking the spell.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Darcy had to exercise every fragment of self-control he possessed to keep from pulling her back into his arms. Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, her lips parted and swollen.She looked dazed, thoroughly kissed, and more beautiful than any woman had a right to be.
“I—” She seemed to have lost the power of speech.
