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The incident at the club created no more than a ripple in Darcy’s circle: Bingley was captivated by this latest dance craze.

What was it? Oh yes, the tango. So far Darcy had resisted his friend’s insistence that he join him for lessons.

How would he be able to venture into polite society without the knowledge of this dance was Bingley’s argument.

What polite society would tolerate such a flagrant display of sensualism was his reply.

Bingley, of course, took it all with his usual good humour.

After several weeks had gone by, he could resist no longer as Bingley invited him to observe their “graduation” from their lessons.

He was to be witness to all his friend had learned and accepted an invitation to his first “tango tea”.

It was just as well. After that defence of Elizabeth and the suffragettes that he made to all and sundry at the club, he needed something to take his mind off women’s rights, the vote, and most of all, Elizabeth Bennet.

They met at the home of a fashionable lady of the Bingleys’ acquaintance.

Again, Caroline was like-minded about the unsuitability of this sensuous dance of the Argentine, which distressed Darcy a bit.

He disliked agreeing with Caroline, as she began to appear narrowminded.

Could it be that he was becoming broadminded?

It must be his friend Bingley’s influence.

As they disembarked from Charles’s Bollée Landaulet, Caroline continued her protestations.

“ I don’t know, Charles. There are many of our set who think this dance is…well… a bit obscene.” Her tone of voice was even, but her face betrayed her distaste.

“ Oh, come now. Once it is all the rage, you will claim that you liked it all along.” He was teasing her. She made no reply. “Besides, I have a surprise for you two.”

The butler greeted them at the door, and the servants soon relieved them of their coats, and the men of their hats. Caroline insisted on wearing hers. They were shown into the ballroom, where Bingley excused himself.

“ I really don’t know, Mr Darcy. What if someone sees us here?

” Caroline Bingley’s gaze darted about the ballroom.

At that, a few others entered, most of them of their acquaintance.

The Applegate heirs were there, as were the older generation of the Fox-Percys.

They were soon joined by their hostess, Mathilda Maxwell.

Upon the entry of the well-connected, Caroline became more obsequious and, finally, mercifully silent.

“ Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming to my little soiree. Once the demonstrations are over, I invite you for tea and cakes, and hope to add you to my list of tango enthusiasts.” The lady threw her arms in the air in gusto, almost dislodging her exquisitely executed pompadour.

“Let us begin.” The gramophone was cranked, and the needle dropped.

The first couple arrived on the dance floor and took up their position, elbows out, the man’s hand at his partner’s back, just beneath her shoulder, her hand on the back of his neck, their other hands clasped.

There was a respectable distance between them.

The dance consisted of a great deal of long steps and twirling about.

The lady’s skirt was split rather far up her leg to accommodate the long, broad steps of the dancers.

The dance was slow, and the couple spent much of the time gazing into each other’s eyes.

When the tango finished, there was very enthusiastic applause from the Applegate crowd, who appeared to be mesmerised by the performance. It was then Bingley’s turn.

To Darcy’s surprise, and obviously to Caroline’s as well, his partner was the girl from the dinner party and the Selfridge window—Jane Bennet.

They took up a position much like the first couple, and during the dance, Bingley held her close, up to the point of, how can one say it?

Intimacy? The young woman seemed to melt into his embrace, their bodies flowing together in perfect harmony.

More enthusiastic applause ensued after their performance.

Darcy felt that there had been enough surprises for one day, when George Wickham stepped up next. And damn the scoundrel, the girl in his arms… that outspoken suffragette, Elizabeth Bennet.

He received no recognition from Wickham, who was concentrating on his partner and giving knowing smiles to the hostess.

Mathilda Maxwell even winked at him. That gesture told Darcy all he needed to know.

That libertine, Wickham, was “entertaining” their hostess.

According to the latest gossip, her husband was absent on an expedition to Egypt or somewhere.

The dance was about to begin, but Wickham and Elizabeth were not in their starting pose but standing a few feet from one another.

As the silken strains of the tango began, they walked in rhythm slowly towards one another, and when they met, he clutched her, bent her head back, as he swept her in a semicircle around him, his hand at the bottom of her back, his face so near her neck he could have kissed it. This was the Argentine tango.

They began with the promenade, which brought them close to Darcy and the rest of the spectators.

Wickham’s eyes were locked with Elizabeth’s.

He then let go of one of her hands and she, holding his neck, and he, holding her waist, did a slow, deliberate turn of several steps in front of the group.

Wickham’s gaze burned into hers as they circled one another like two adversaries and yet again, two lovers.

Darcy couldn’t take his gaze off them. Just watching produced an odd sensation, like a chill and then a fire.

He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, trying to control his arousal.

When he looked up, Wickham clutched her to him once again, and they danced as one graceful yet voracious animal.

She matched his kick with her own, and they twirled off to the other side of the hall as the music came to a close.

This time, Caroline was on her feet applauding, as was the rest of the small crowd. The two of them had, indeed, been magnificent.

***

Lizzy knew that George had deviated from the set of steps in a most sensual manner, and when the music finally stopped, she searched his face.

Was he in love with her? Was he trying to seduce her?

For a long moment after the dance concluded, he held her unbearably close.

He had aroused something purely physical in her that she found nearly irresistible.

If there had been no other people in the ballroom, she would have kissed him on the spot.

He must have read her thoughts, for still holding her close, he brushed his cheek against hers and then whispered, “Thank you for the dance.” Another shiver ran through her.

Then applause came only from one person.

“ Oh, bravo, bravo.” George let go of her at once. She turned her head as a woman approached. Matilda Maxwell came over accompanied by a crowd of onlookers. Wickham did a short bow, the smirk Lizzy found hard to tolerate on his face. “You must introduce me to your talented partner, George.”

Mrs Maxwell proffered her hand to Elizabeth. She curled her lips into a smile, but her eyes sparked with a glint that could have only been matched by a drawn blade. Elizabeth swallowed and attempted to remain passive.

“ This is my colleague and, I hope, friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said evenly.

“ Charmed, I’m sure.” Miss Maxwell released her limp grip on Elizabeth’s hand and stepped back. “This is Miss Campbell, of the Northumberland Campbells, and George, I believe you know Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth stole a glance at George, the colour draining from his face. He then hardened his look into something she would only give her worst enemy. “We’ve met.” He then, rather rudely, walked off.

An awkward silence followed. Lizzy felt that she ought to say something. “Mr Darcy and I have met.”

Mr Darcy must also have felt the discomfort of the situation and began speaking at the same time as her. “Yes, we met over a blancmange.”

Lizzy laughed, and he did also, his dark eyes flashing. She felt the tension break. He could be charming… that was a surprise.

“ Now that we have all been introduced, shall we have tea together?” Mrs Maxwell gave Lizzy a dismissive glance and said, “Would you be a dear, my girl, and go find our Mr Wickham?”

Mr Darcy arched one eyebrow.

“ With pleasure,” she said, although she was affronted by Mrs Maxwell’s condescending attitude. Never mind. She should find George.

***

Darcy didn’t linger long in Mrs Maxwell’s company, opting for the garden on the slight chance he’d run into Elizabeth.

What exactly he was going to say to her was a mystery, even to himself, but in spite of his better judgment, she had captivated him.

It was absurd, really. She was a shopgirl, friendly with that scoundrel George Wickham, an opinionated suffragette, and to be frank about it, not as comely as her sister.

Jane held his friend Bingley spellbound, and he would deal with that later.

Now, it was time to speak to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and confirm his suspicions that she was not of his social class, and she would say or do something to reverse this sudden enchantment and set his heart and mind to rights again.

Mrs Maxwell had a small labyrinth hedge planted in her garden, unique to the confined spaces of Kensington. Looking about, he satisfied himself that she had disappeared therein. He came upon her as she rounded a corner.

“ Oh, Miss Bennet.” They nearly collided, and at first she smiled at him, then her expression hardened. “I wanted to apologise for Mrs Maxwell’s rudeness,” he blurted.

“ Why shouldn’t she treat me as a subordinate? I am only a shopgirl, after all.”

Now he was confused. She seemed angry with him for something. No doubt that was Wickham’s doing. “That is an odd thing to say. I was under the impression that your father was a gentleman with an estate in Hertfordshire.”

“ An entailed estate, Mr Darcy. It couldn’t hold a candle to yours.”

She really was being most abrasive. “I am looking for Mr Wickham and can’t seem to find him anywhere.”

A short silence passed between them, and then she added, “That is your fault, I expect.”

Yes, that was it. Wickham had been filling her head with half-truths, if not out-and-out lies. So be it. “If you expect me to offer you an explanation, you will be disappointed.”

She shook her head and looked at him intently. “No doubt, you have none.”

Her reaction to him was understandable, but it still made him angry… angry and jealous. Jealous of the regard she had for Wickham. “You are a good and loyal friend, Miss Bennet. That much I will give you. I am not one to gossip, nor air family troubles in public. I hope you can respect that.”

She arched one eyebrow, even opened her mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it. They were near a bench in the maze, quite secluded, and he motioned her towards it. “However, I did want to speak to you alone ever since our dinner conversation at the Bingleys’.”

There it was, finally. A smile. To his surprise and pleasure, she sat down. “Are we going to have a great shouting match about women’s suffrage here, Mr Darcy?”

She was amusing…and intriguing. Why did he find himself so attracted to her? Was it that torrid dance? As she sat down, she pulled the fabric of her slit skirt over her thigh and knee to keep her modesty. He tried not to rivet his attention there.

“ You made me think. I don’t change my mind easily, as you probably have guessed, but your arguments for women’s rights were compelling. They have caused me a few sleepless nights.”

Her eyes sparkled with surprise. “Really, Mr Darcy? I am glad. Perhaps you should come along to one of our meetings. There are some men there, and not only the ones who attend only to heckle.”

“ Perhaps I will. I wanted to ask you, though… do you believe in violence to achieve your ends?”

She sighed and thought for a moment. “I, personally, do not intend to become involved in any acts of violence. I promised my sister.”

“ Well, that’s a relief.”

She arched a brow. “But… I also do not think that our goals will be accomplished without it. Men respect violence.”

He was silent for a moment, then looked at her. My god, she was a magnificent creature. He was about to reply when their hostess called out into the garden.

“ Mr Darcy, Mr Wickham, Miss Bennet, do come in and join us for tea.”

He offered Elizabeth his arm and she took it. The same chills and conflicting heat from seeing her dancing rushed through his body again as her gaze met his. “Did I tell you how superbly you tango?”

She smiled again. It bathed him in the warmth of her presence. “No, you didn’t. Please do.”