Page 17 of One Night with Mr. Darcy

“You don’t get embarrassed.”

“No, I do. All the time.” He gazed at her lips. “I really want to kiss you.”

“Mr. Darcy!” She looked at the door. “I should likely go. You’re not yourself.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Please stay.”

“I don’t know if I’m myself either.” She straightened up. “I’m only ever going to kiss Mr. Collins.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” He groaned.

“I suppose… if I’m to ever have a chance of another kiss, it’s now, tonight. I don’t know when he’ll propose, but it will be soon, and I shall have to agree. For my family. For Jane.”

“No, you don’t have to,” he said. “You could marry me instead. I’ll take care of everything. I can easily see to your family, you know that.”

She gave him a look. “Mr. Darcy, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” he said.

“You wouldn’t say this if you were sober.”

“Wouldn’t I? Why do you think I’m this drunk? I realized he was going to marry you, and then I tried to dance with you, and you hate me, and I’m… you’re all I want, and you won’t have me.”

Her lips parted. “Truly?”

“Let me kiss you,” he said. “I have said a number of times I shall marry you. Let me kiss you, sweet Elizabeth.”

“Well…” She smiled, shy but pleased. “All right.”

She tasted like adventure and forbidden fruit and port.

It was a pity he wouldn’t remember it.

CHAPTER FIVE

HER HAIR WASdown. Well, not entirely down, but bound only in a long, glistening braid that hung over her shoulder. She entered the sitting room where he was waiting for her, her cheeks flushed, her bosom heaving. “It’s very late, Mr. Darcy.”

He had stood when she came into the room. He nodded at her. “Yes.”

She stepped inside. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched at the side of his cheek. He really didn’t know. He should not have come. This was some kind of wretched madness, and he didn’t know why she wrought it in him. Every time he was near this woman, she seemed to bring out some side of him he would have sworn didn’t even exist.

She turned and looked at the door to the sitting room, as if she was considering shutting it.

Interesting. She would shut them away? That wasn’t proper. He eyed her, suddenly wary, something pricking at the back of his neck.

Why did he—?

He was accosted by an image of her, spread out on a bed, bare, her rose-tipped breasts tightened in tiny points, her eyes closed, her breath coming in noisy gasps. He sat back down, hard.

“Mr. Darcy?”

He looked up at her.

Whatever she read in his expression made her shut the door. She slammed it and then hurried over to him, pulling another chair over so that they were seated close enough that they could have touched. But they didn’t touch.

He made a strange noise in the back of his throat.