Page 5

"Good evening, Mr..." She paused, taking in the black cravat, the embroidery upon his mask and the rest of his dark outfit. "Hades," she said with a grin of triumph. "Of course you are Hades."

"So it seems. May I ask, are you engaged for the first set?"

She said nothing for so long that he thought his heart might leap out of his chest. Was she pleased? Disgusted? He could hardly tell, so many emotions seemed to flicker across her face.

"I am engaged to dance with my cousin for the first, sir," she said stiffly. "But I would be honoured to dance the second with you."

His mouth went dry and words would not form "Very good," he managed eventually. The confidence that had propelled him across the ballroom suddenly drained from him. "Until then, Miss Persephone." He bowed stiffly and walked back to the shadows.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth looked at the retreating back of Mr Darcy with a mixture of confusion and aggravation. His black cape flapped dramatically as he walked across the room, and she had to suppress the urge to laugh. It was preposterous. Not only were they adorned in matching costumes, another cruel trick of the gods, but the man had actually asked her to dance with him. Nothing could have surprised her more.

He had made his distaste for her abundantly clear throughout their acquaintance. The very first time he had seen her, he had declared her tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt his illustrious person, and during her stay at Netherfield, when she had attended to Jane, he had found every opportunity to argue with her, picking apart every opinion she expressed in a constant battle of wits that she found quite exhausting. She supposed he must have noticed their matching costumes and thought it would be amusing for them to dance together, but Mr Darcy did not do things because they amused him. The very idea was madness. He did not dance at all as a rule, least of all with her.

He had looked devilishly handsome beneath his black mask, the firm line of his jaw accentuated by the soberness of his outfit. Yes, he had looked very well indeed, but the trouble with Mr Darcy had never been his handsome face. It was the disdain and pride with which he conducted himself.

Jane came to her side then and whispered in her ear, "What was that about? Please do not tell me you have asked him to..."

"No, Jane, of course not! He has asked me to dance the second set. And have you noticed how he is dressed? Do you not think it odd that we should have matching costumes? Is it not ridiculous?"

"Perhaps it is fate," said Jane with a small smile, before straightening as Mr Bingley approached, smiling widely, and engaged her for the first set.

That meant it was time for Elizabeth to stand up with Mr Collins, and she endured the odious man's conceited conversation and frequent glances at her bosom with as much equanimity as she could manage. Before she knew it, her gloved hand was in Mr Darcy's, and he was leading her onto the floor. Her fingers tingled in his and she had a mad urge to pull her hand from his and run out of the room, out of Netherfield and into the cool night air.

She had spent much of the previous day pondering the matter of Lydia's ridiculous book and the face she had seen in the mirror. One moment she was convinced it was all nonsense, and the next she was worrying that if she did not kiss Mr Darcy before midnight, she would be cursed to marry the next gentleman who proposed to her. And with Mr Collins hovering about her like an over-zealous fly she was not inclined to take any chances. It that did not bear thinking about.

Perhaps she could sensibly explain the situation to Mr Darcy and ask him to oblige her with a chaste kiss, and all would be well. But she could not imagine spinning such a tale to him without sounding like a complete lunatic. She imagined approaching him in some quiet corner of the ballroom and saying, "Good evening, Mr Darcy. I wonder whether you might do me the very great favour of kissing me? You see, I have been practising witchcraft with my sisters, and unless you oblige me before midnight, I fear I shall be condemned to marry my cousin."

Oh, goodness. He would think her quite mad. She could practically see his eyebrows rising and his mouth drawing into that familiar disapproving line as he informed her that such behaviour was entirely unbecoming in a young lady. He would probably insist on informing her father, who would find the whole business vastly amusing and offer no useful assistance whatsoever. And what if he refused? She could hardly imagine anything more mortifying than asking Mr Darcy for a kiss only to be informed, for the second time in their acquaintance, that she was not handsome enough to tempt him.

They took their places in the set, and Elizabeth found herself unable to think of a single sensible thing to say. Mr Darcy was standing beside her, his gloved hand still holding hers, and she was horribly conscious of the warmth of his fingers and the gentle pressure of his thumb against the back of her hand. She had danced with many gentlemen in her life and had given little thought to the sensation of holding their hands, but at this moment it seemed impossible to think of anything else. She wondered whether he could sense her discomfort and ventured a glance at his face. He appeared as composed as ever, looking across the ballroom with his familiar hauteur.

She was grateful when the musicians struck up and they were obliged to separate, for she was beginning to feel very foolish. The dance was one she knew well, and she took her place opposite him with relief, determined to concentrate upon the steps and put the entire business of the curse from her mind, at least for the next half-hour. It was an ordinary dance, after all, and Mr Darcy was an ordinary gentleman, albeit an exceptionally handsome and disagreeable one. There was absolutely no reason why she should be so unsettled by his company.

For the first few figures, they danced in silence. Elizabeth smiled at the other couples and tried not to notice how frequently Mr Darcy's eyes seemed to fall upon her. Was he judging her skill? She was perhaps not at her most sprightly this evening, but it was no reason to stare so. He was an excellent dancer, she had to give him that, moving with an easy grace that she would not have expected from such a stiff and solemn gentleman. She had imagined he would dance as he conversed, with an air of vague disapproval. But no, he seemed to take genuine pleasure in it, and when he took her hand to guide her through a turn, she felt the strangest little flutter in her stomach. Really, it was most unfair that a man who was already so handsome should also be such an accomplished dancer. And if he enjoyed it so much, why on earth did he spend the last assembly standing about looking miserable?

When they came together again, he took her hand and Elizabeth felt a second unwelcome sensation in her stomach. She looked resolutely towards the musicians, who were playing with enthusiasm, and tried to remember whether she had eaten anything that might account for the peculiar fluttering.

Mr Darcy seemed perfectly content to remain silent. Elizabeth had always found this one of his more irritating habits, particularly when they had been in company at Netherfield. For when he was not nettling her, he was as silent as the grave. A gentleman ought to make some attempt at conversation when dancing with a lady, even if he found her tiresome, and she had half a mind to reprimand him. But then she remembered that she was hoping to persuade this particular gentleman to kiss her before midnight, and decided that it would be wiser not to mar their dance with an argument.

She glanced up at him and found him looking directly at her. Really, did the man never tire of staring? She had caught him doing it several times during her stay at Netherfield, and it was most disconcerting. Tonight, she found herself, again, painfully conscious of his attention and looked away before he could catch her blushing. Goodness, the man did have a way of making one feel as though one were being examined for some dreadful failing.

They completed another figure, and as he took her hand once more, this time his fingers closed more firmly around hers.

"I hope you are enjoying the evening, Miss Elizabeth," he said at last.

"Very much, thank you, sir," she said, not meaning a word of it.

"I am glad."

And that, apparently, was the extent of his conversational ambitions.

Elizabeth almost laughed. Here she was, with Mr Darcy standing right in front of her, having spent the entire day wondering how on earth she was to persuade him to kiss her, and she could barely manage a civil conversation. Ordinarily, she had no trouble finding something to say to him, even if it was only to disagree with whatever opinion he had just expressed. But tonight, when she had more important things to discuss, she could think of nothing at all. At this rate, she would still be standing here at midnight, exchanging remarks about the weather while Mr Collins prepared to make her his wife.

"I confess, Mr Darcy, I had not expected you to enter quite so enthusiastically into the spirit of the masquerade. I had thought you would find the whole business beneath you. I suppose Mr Bingley must be very persuasive when he sets his mind to it."

Darcy glanced down at his black attire and then met her eye. He was so tall and imposing that it made one feel insignificant under his stare. "I fear you mistake my attendance for enthusiasm, Miss Elizabeth," he said soberly. "Bingley was insistent that I take part, and as his guest, I could hardly refuse him."