"No."
"Then your apology is somewhat undermined."
"I came for a book." He gestured vaguely toward the shelves, but his eyes did not leave her face.
"In the dark?" Elizabeth crossed her arms. "You must have remarkable eyesight."
"I know where the book is."
"Then retrieve it and go."
He did not move. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and in the flare of light she saw hisexpression clearly for the first time since he had entered: tense, almost pained, as though he were holding something back by force of will.
"What is it?" she asked, and her voice came out softer than she intended. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong." He said it the way one says a thing to make it true. "I came to -- I wanted to say --" He stopped. Started again. "Your mother. The things she said tonight. About Jane. About Bingley. I want you to know that it does not --"
"Do not." Elizabeth's chin came up. "Do not presume to tell me that my mother's behavior does not affect your opinion of my family, because we both know it does. I saw your face, Mr. Darcy. I saw how you looked at her."
"I was not looking at her. I was looking at you."
The words landed like a slap. Elizabeth stared at him.
"I was looking at you," he repeated, lower, "and wondering how you endure it with such grace. How you manage to be so -- so entirely yourself in the midst of all that chaos. You stood there while your mother announced your sister's engagement to a man who has not proposed, while your youngest sisters made spectacles of themselves, while your cousin lectured everyone within reach about his patroness's fireplace. And you bore it all with a wit and a composure that I --" He broke off. His jaw tightened. "I find admirable. That is all I came to say."
Elizabeth's heart was hammering. She could hear it, feel it, a wild percussion in her chest that had nothing to do with offense and everything to do with the way he was looking at her: as though she were the only solid thing in a room full of shadows.
"You have a peculiar notion of compliments, Mr. Darcy. You have essentially praised me for surviving my own family."
"I have praised you for being remarkable despite circumstances that would diminish a lesser person."
"Lesser." She seized on the word. "There it is. The pride. You cannot help yourself, can you? Even when you mean to be kind, you condescend."
"That is not what I --"
"It is exactly what you meant. You came in here to tell me that you admire me in spite of my family, as though I am a diamond found in a coal mine, as though the coal is something to be ashamed of."
"I did not say --"
"You implied it. You always imply it. Every look, every silence, every carefully measured compliment reminds me that you consider yourself above this assembly, above this neighborhood, above everyone in it."
"Not above you." He said it quietly, fiercely, and she felt it in her bones. "Never above you."
They were closer than they had been. She did not remember either of them moving, but the distance between them had collapsed, as though the room itself were conspiring. She could see the firelight reflected in his eyes, the rapid pulse at his throat, the way his hands were clenched at his sides as though keeping himself from reaching for her.
"You are infuriating," she whispered.
"So are you." His voice was rough. "From the moment I met you, you have been the most infuriating woman I have everencountered. You argue with everything I say. You laugh at me to my face. You challenge me in ways no one else has ever dared, and I --"
"You what?"
He kissed her.
It was not gentle. It was not tentative. It was the collapse of a dam, weeks of tension breaking in a single, devastating instant. His hands came up to her face, fingers sliding into her hair, tilting her head back, and his mouth found hers with a certainty that left no room for hesitation.
Elizabeth's mind went blank. She should push him away. She should slap him. She should do anything other than what she did, which was to grab the lapels of his coat and pull him closer.
He made a sound against her mouth -- something between a groan and a gasp -- and deepened the kiss, one hand sliding from her hair to the back of her neck, the other dropping to her waist, pressing her against him until she could feel the heat of him through every layer of silk and linen between them.
