Page 30 of The Countess and Her Sister
Darcy watched as Bingley and Lady Susan broke away from the dance to join Elizabeth and Rebecca in their impish dancing, the movements strangely sensual and provocative, though seeming somehow perfectly natural.
Elizabeth spun and swayed with her laughing partner, the shimmering emerald overlay moved like liquid air over her gown, and a few dark curls had come loose from her long, elaborate braid.
One of the small yellow roses pinned into her thick braids came loose and fell into her décolletage, and Elizabeth giggled as she tucked it into Rebecca’s hair instead.
The entire atmosphere of the party, the crescendo of the violin as the dance quickened, and the sight of Elizabeth losing herself to the revelry and glowing in the flickering candlelight was enough to drive Darcy to madness.
He wanted her – he had twice been on the precipice of telling her so, and he was desperate to make his sentiments known, to claim her at last. There could be no denying the tension between Lady Jane and Bingley; though they were not even partnered for the dance, their careening spins and sweeping steps around one another told Darcy he had no cause for remorse in his choice.
But his eyes were only for Elizabeth by the end of the dance – she was the only woman in the room for Darcy as she gave one final spin and the music faded away.
Her skirts swirled about her, and he stalked toward her just as she stilled.
She rested a hand on his chest and swayed but steadied herself.
The music faded away and the entire room seemed to take a collective breath as Darcy gazed down at Elizabeth. He took both her hands in his and smiled down at the slightly disheveled sight of her as the candlelight created an ethereal glow around her.
The music swelled again – a waltz. Darcy bowed his head until it was nearly touching hers. “Shall we, Miss Bennet?”
They began the figures, the elongated steps drawing them closer to the other dancers, but then Elizabeth stopped.
“Forgive me,” she breathed. “I believe I need some air.” She lifted her mask from her face and Darcy did the same, clutching hers as well as his own, the matching pair signifying something that had a feel of destiny.
Darcy followed her from the ballroom, capturing a ribbon from the back of her bodice between his fingertips.
He cast a fleeting glance around before drawing back the curtains in an open doorway to the balcony, and then he pursued her in the cool darkness.
The waxing moon lit her face and the exposed skin of arms with a milky glow; Elizabeth shivered for a moment, and then spread her arms wide and moved toward the railing of the balcony.
She looked out on the city and gave a contented hum as Darcy moved to stand next to her.
There was a sense of something forbidden as they stood together, gazing out at the townhouses across the square and the glow of distant lights, so few at such a late hour.
He indulged in the sensation, allowing his hand to brush hers, and stroked her gloved fingers with his own.
The moment felt peaceful and perfect, a harmonious lull after the excitement in the ballroom.
Darcy’s eyes slid shut as Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder.
She hummed a few strains of the waltz they had abandoned, and then fell silent as a falling star shot across the sky so quickly Darcy thought it must have been his own fancy.
Elizabeth softly said, “I live a life such as I never imagined, growing up at Longbourn. I am the happiest I have ever been. I owe it to Jane, and I wish her happy.”
Then Elizabeth turned about, leaning back against the railing; Darcy swiftly drew her protectively close. She took another step away from the railing with a laugh, and then withdrew something from her bodice. “I stole Richard’s flask when we were dancing.”
The look on her face was so triumphant, so disarmingly sweet in its wickedness, it was all Darcy could do not take her fully in his arms. Darcy gently lifted it out of her grasp, realizing it was rather light.
Elizabeth was well and truly in her cups, and Darcy could only join her, for it was perhaps not the right moment to speak his heart to her.
As he finished its contents and tucked the flask into his coat pocket, he heard a soft laugh that did not come from Elizabeth.
She let out a little gasp and sprang with mischievous steps toward the end of the balcony, which turned round a corner.
She peered around the corner, and again Darcy could not resist the pull; he perused her in cautious silence, and looked over at what held her interest.
The moonlight was brighter on this side of the house, and it was unmistakably Lady Jane and Bingley who were sharing a passionate kiss a few yards away. Her voice barely audible, Elizabeth murmured, “My, that was fast.”
Darcy drew Elizabeth backward, the way they had come, to leave his friend and her sister in privacy. She spun into him as they retreated, and grasped at the lapels of his coat and she moved closer to him. She leaned her face against his chest, trembling with muffled laughter.
The feel of her body against him only made Darcy draw her closer, and when his arms encircled her, her laughter faded and Elizabeth smiled up at him.
She tugged at his coat, standing up on her toes and sliding her body against his as she arched her neck and pulled him into a kiss.
Her lips moved against his with hungry enthusiasm, and Darcy gave in to the dizzying sensation as he deepened their kiss.
Their masks tumbled to the ground as he ran his hands down her back, savoring the feel of her hips in his grasp.
And then he broke away, for fear that he would forget himself entirely.
She was intoxicated, and he was still a man of honor, even if he was utterly in her thrall.
Elizabeth only leaned against the stone edifice behind them and gave another hum of contentment.
“ Now I am the happiest I have ever been.”
He brushed his lips against her forehead, holding her hand gently in his. “As am I, though I fear you are not yourself.”
“I am always entirely myself, Mr. Darcy, and now I am entirely at liberty to be carried off by my own fancy. And I look very fine in my costume, do I not?”
“You are the most beautiful woman I ever beheld, Elizabeth, even if you are out of your senses,” Darcy teased her. “You are very fetching and very foxed, and I should not be alone with you.”
She giggled softly. “But you are, and you look so dashing in your cape and breastplates, with your hair a little mussed. It is a pity this is not your usual attire.”
A thin, wide strip of fabric, fastened only at the shoulder and wrist, fell loose about her arms, exposing her shoulders. Darcy traced the fabric in his gloved hands and then reached out to stroke her face. “You are exquisite.”
He could say no more before there was a familial chuckle.
Bingley had resumed his mask, and he bent to pick up Darcy’s and Elizabeth from where they had fallen.
Bingley was alone; Lady Jane must have returned to the ballroom through another entrance.
He smiled at the shameless couple as he offered them their masks.
“What an interesting development. Darcy, we might be brothers!”
“Where is Jane?” Elizabeth smiled at Bingley, and in a sing-song voice, she said, “I think you know.”
“Miss Bennet ought to go and find her sister,” Darcy said, soberly aware of the awkward situation.
“Does she not look uncommonly fetching tonight?” Elizabeth grinned, then reluctantly put her mask back on.
Bingley guided Elizabeth around the corner, toward the other entrance to the ballroom.
Then he clapped Darcy on the shoulder as they lingered beyond the door Darcy had come out of.
“I think we ought to remain a while. I shall pass the time by congratulating you, old chap! I hoped you might get on with it!”
“I fear I shall think myself a boorish beast come morning,” Darcy groaned. “I have not been much of a gentleman.”
He had been delighted, if not surprised to find Elizabeth such a passionate creature, and the memory of her kiss might sustain him a lifetime, though Darcy knew not whether she truly wished to grant him such liberties.
He hoped there was some truth to the old adage, in vino veritas – that Elizabeth had only been beyond dissembling her sentiments, expressing what she truly felt for him.
If this was not the case, if he had been a libertine fool in succumbing to her bewitching allure, Darcy knew not how he would recover. After having a taste of her ardor, Darcy was desperate to finally, soberly, and with eloquent deliberation, claim her as his own.