Page 27 of Twice Chosen

The following day Darcy returned the favor at Longbourn. Mr. Bennet had lent him a volume of essays, and Darcy remarked casually, "Richard dislikes this author."

Elizabeth looked up too quickly. "Your cousin?"

Darcy's expression sharpened. "Colonel Fitzwilliam."

She ought not to know his Christian name. Not yet.

Elizabeth smiled and adjusted the edge of her sleeve. "I assumed. Lady Catherine has nephews, does she not? Mr. Collins mentioned them at least three times yesterday."

Possible.

Barely.

Darcy did not challenge her.

At Netherfield dinner, he placed the salt cellar beside Elizabeth before she asked. She stared at it. He looked innocent. Any gentleman might have noticed she required it.

Elizabeth deliberately left her left glove on a chair when the ladies rose after dinner.

In another life Darcy had spent more than fifty years retrieving gloves, spectacles, books, shawls, and once an entire reticule she had forgotten in a bookseller's shop in Bath. He had complained endlessly about the habit and never once stopped doing it.

Darcy picked up the glove.

Then he stopped.

Elizabeth watched from the doorway.

He looked at the glove in his hand as though it had accused him of something.

Any gentleman might retrieve a lady's glove.

Elizabeth nearly groaned.

Darcy crossed the room and offered it. "You dropped this."

"Did I?"

"Frequently."

Silence.

Darcy realized his mistake.

Elizabeth's pulse began to pound. "Frequently?"

His expression did not change, but she recognized panic in the slight tightening of his jaw. "Women frequently drop gloves."

"Do they? Your experience is extensive?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed.

There.

That look.

Elizabeth almost laughed. "Careful, Mr. Darcy. Your pride is showing."

He leaned slightly closer, keeping his voice low enough that the others could not hear. "You have seen it before?"