Page 168 of Bitterness of Spirit & The Painting

“I am afraid he will not be in a position to be seen for a while.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

He averted his eyes, glancing around.

“If one is impertinent and mocks someone who is already furious with him, one might find one’s good looks temporarily marred.”

Elizabeth looked at him, dumbfounded. “You punched him?”

“Let us say I corrected his manners. And I hope this will be the last time we talk about Wickham. We have already wasted too much time on this troublesome nuisance.”

He stood still, gazing at her. Water was dripping from his hair and his unbuttoned shirt that revealed his neck and torso.

“You should go to sleep now,” he whispered.

“Yes. I am glad we spoke. I hope to see you again soon, Mr Darcy.”

His hands trapped her unexpectedly and she was forced to turn, unable to conceal her tears.

“Soon? What do you mean?”

“We are returning home,” she repeated childishly.

“I know. Bingley and I will escort you.”

“You will?” she looked at him in disbelief, fearful to hope or even to ask further.

“Miss Bennet, we are both exhausted and apparently unable to carry on a reasonable conversation,” he jested. “Which is perhaps for the best, or else I would be tempted to ask you the question I have been delaying.”

She raised her eyes to him. “Question?” she whispered.

He gently removed a lock of hair from her temple and her body touched his wet clothes. Chills ran through every fibre of her body and she shivered, although she felt warm.

“The question that I have kept hidden for several months, hoping for a new opportunity to address it. The one that I so dreadfully made a mess of once, that I fear to repeat it.”

His hoarse voice, as tender as it was, melted her heart and his gaze penetrated hers. While her hopes returned, against her fears and even against her beliefs, so did her tears that moistened her eyes. She was still close to him, her face lifted to his, as she replied, “Could it be the question that I once rejected and have since ardently wished to hear again?”

Wordlessly, he embraced her and her arms encircled his waist—for the first time in her life. She rested her head on his chest, then his hands, strong yet gentle, cupped her face and his thumbs wiped her tears.

“When I heard about Wickham and Lydia I feared that it was all over. I would understand if you wished to avoid the scandal.”

“We have spent several nights alone by the sea. We have spoken of things that one would not even dream of sharing with another soul. I let you know that my ardent love has perhaps become more patient but has grown even stronger. And you believed I would leave because of a small scandal?”

She forced a smile at his harsh reproach. “I told you that you trust me more than I trust myself, Mr Darcy. And perhaps more than I deserve.”

“And I still disagree with that, Miss Bennet.”

She rose onto her toes, lifting her face towards him and caressing his cheek.

“Mr Darcy, please ask the question,” she begged.

His lips gently touched her chin, as he whispered, “Miss Bennet, would you—”

“I would sir, most willingly,” she hastily interrupted him, watching the expression of heartfelt delight appear on his face; but only for an instant, as his lips captured hers and she closed her eyes, abandoning herself to his arms, knowing nothing else but his strong body pressed against her, the taste of salt and sweetness on his lips and the warmth of his bare neck where her arms eventually rested.

“Miss Bennet?” he whispered after a long while. “We should return home this instant, or else another scandal—much bigger than Lydia’s—will soon affect both our reputations.”

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