“Yes, a bit. It’s different than other dances because partners don’t change,” said Elizabeth. “It’s just one man and one woman for the entire length of it.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy.
“And it’s scandalous.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“You’ll need to come closer to me.”
“Closer?” Her voice came out as a squeak.
“Yes, closer. You are meant to be in my arms.” He beckoned again, impatient.
She choked, and she took one tiny step toward him.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Miss Bennet.” He took her by the arm and tugged her close, so close that she collided with him.
She peered up at him, and she could smell him, and he smelled woodsy and masculine and—
“Not quite so close,” he said, his voice softer, but still deep. A rumble. It threatened. It soothed.
Her pulse raced.
He took a step back. He put one of her hands on his shoulder and he placed his hand on her waist.
Her body broke out into puckering goosebumps. She felt thrills go all the way to the tip of her scalp.
He held out his other hand and nodded at her.
“What?” she squeaked again.
“Your other hand, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy.
“Oh,” she said. “You want me to…?” Thinking was quite impossible at the moment.
“Put it in mine, of course.” He glared at her.
“Sorry,” she said, and put her hand in his.
“Yes, there,” he said. “Now, it’s very simple. There are five positions, and they are not at all difficult. We will move in a circle around the room.” He gestured with his head.
“When do we let go?” She nodded at their hands.
“We don’t,” said Mr. Darcy.
Her eyes widened. “We are… touching the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” she said in a tiny voice. No wonder this dance was considered scandalous. What had she gotten herself into? When her father and mother saw her doing this at the Netherfield Ball, in front of everyone they knew, they were not going to be pleased, to say the least.
“Is that a problem, Miss Bennet?”
“Well… no, naturally, I…” Why couldn’t she speak properly?
“I don’t smell, do I?”
“No, you have a very nice smell,” she said immediately, and then her face was very hot.
His eyes twinkled. He was amused. “As do you.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He cleared his throat. “The first position is with our feet together, as they are. Do you have your feet together?” He peered down at her skirt.
“Yes,” she said.
“Next,” he said briskly, “step to the side.”
CHAPTER NINE
Mr. Darcy was frustrated. “Miss Bennet, that is the fifth time that you have trod upon my toes.”
Elizabeth winced. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It would be one thing if you were wearing proper slippers, but—”
“You can’t expect me to walk all the way to Meryton in kid slippers!” protested Elizabeth. “I should wear them out on one journey.”
“I would have expected that you would have grasped the steps to this dance rather more quickly than this.”
“I’m sorry,” said Elizabeth, who was mortified. The truth was that the dance was not difficult at all. She rather imagined that if it were her and Jane practicing the steps while Mary played the piano at home in Longbourn, she could have mastered it in a quarter hour, but with Mr. Darcy here, it was substantially more difficult.
There was something about Mr. Darcy that was incredibly distracting.
There they were, whirling about the room together, his hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder. They were moving so close to each other that his feet went underneath her skirts at times!
She had never been so close to a man before, not like this, and the intimacy of it, it was making it hard to concentrate.
She was embarrassed. She was sweating at the back of her neck and afraid he could see it. She was trying ever so hard not to mess up the steps, but it seemed to be all that she did.
Mr. Darcy let go of her. “If Mrs. Fortescue were in any condition to do this, I would tell you to forget about it.”
“Oh, I am not that bad, am I?”
“This is meant to be a demonstration, Miss Bennet. It should not look as though some girl with no experience dancing is twirling about and going the wrong direction half the time. The dance doesn’t look right if we keep colliding with each other.
“No, of course not. I am sorry. I know this is important to you.”
“It’s important to Mrs. Fortescue,” he said.
She surveyed him. “You’re quite concerned about her.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. What Jane had said about Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Fortescue, could it possibly be true?
“Listen, we’ll have to try this again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, we need more time. We’re not ready. Go home and practice. Come back ready to do this properly, if you please.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do my best.”
“You aren’t doing your best now?”
“No, I am. Of course I am.”
“Well, that’s what worries me,” he muttered.
She drew herself up. “Listen, I can do this. You don’t have to be rude about it.”
“Oh, pardon me,” he said, sarcastic. “Well, I’m sorry if I hurt your delicate feelings.”
“You’re quite awful, aren’t you?” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “I’m an awful person who will positively eat you alive if you do not get these steps right. There. Hopefully, I’ve frightened you.”
“Have a care. You might frighten me completely, and then I’ll leave you with no partner at all.” She glowered at him.
“And that would be different than the manner in which things stand?”
“You need me,” she said. “Mrs. Fortescue needs me—”
“Yes, yes, you’re quite right.” His eyes flashed. “But you might channel your energy away from scolding me and into dancing properly.”
“Perhaps you could stop being so critical all the time and try being a bit encouraging,” said Elizabeth. “I heard you give dancing lessons. I can’t believe anyone would come back for a second one.”
“I don’t instruct ladies,” said Mr. Darcy. “I don’t spend a lot of time talking to… ladies.” His voice had grown quieter. He sighed. “I suppose I should apologize, but I’m not going to. You really are a dreadful dancer, Miss Bennet. I can only hope you improve overnight, which I frankly think is rather impossible. Good morning.” He nodded at her and then quit the room.
* * *
Darcy could not bear it. It was insupportable.
He had imagined that dancing with Miss Bennet would be difficult, but he had no idea how difficult it would be. She truly was not as bad a dancer as he had made out to her. She was making mistakes, but it was likely because he was jerking her about the room too quickly and barking orders at her.
He found he had to be sharp with her—to yell, to be sarcastic, to jeer—because he was frightened that speaking kindly to her might lead to other things. Lord knew, he had ideas of the things that he wanted to do with her, and he was horrified at his own imaginings.
Maybe he was truly a very bad man. The things he wanted to do to Miss Bennet, they were shocking.
He wouldn’t, of course.
There would be dancing, and that would be that. Then he would never see her again.
If only the blasted dance didn’t involve the two of them being so close.
Damnation!
He could still recall the way she had smelled, a rather lovely scent, only heightened by her movement around the room, and the
warmth of her skin under her dress when he put his hand on her waist.
When she looked up at him with her wide, brown eyes, there was something about her gaze, something so luminous, that it reached into the center of his being and undid him.
And when she had grown angry at him, the passion that had come over her! That had been too much, truly too much. He’d had to run from her. He’d had no other choice in the matter.
How was he going to get through these next few days, teaching her this dance?
He could not bear it.
He truly could not.
* * *
Elizabeth waltzed the whole way home, whirling through the woods. If she did say so herself, she thought that she had the steps perfect without Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes boring into her.
She was not at all sure how she felt about that man. She felt certain that she should hate him, especially considering how sharp his tongue was and the way he had addressed her. But she did not think that was the predominant emotion she felt for him. To be sure, he was as awful as she had accused him of being, and she did not wish to excuse his bad behavior.
But there was something about the way that he spoke and moved and smelled and looked. All of it taken together was confusing. She didn’t hate him, but she didn’t think she wanted to spend time with him either.
She’d be relieved when this was all over. Whatever it was about Mr. Darcy, she could do without puzzling over it.
She met Jane at the edge of the Longbourn property, and Jane was quick to reassure her that nothing untoward had passed between her and Mr. Wickham, that they had only talked.
“What did you talk of?” said Elizabeth.
“The future, mostly,” said Jane, sighing. “I think I shall be the happiest woman on earth when we are wed.”
Monstrous, thought Elizabeth. She knew that Wickham had no intention of marrying Jane.
What was more, Elizabeth was enabling the entire enterprise.
“I have agreed to meet him tomorrow,” said Jane. “Are you going to dance again?”
“I am,” said Elizabeth gravely. “But I wish that I were not, for I would give anything to keep you from him.”
“I hope you will finally be happy for me at my wedding breakfast, when you see George is not the villain you think he is,” said Jane.
“If he marries you, it will be for some dreadful reason,” said Elizabeth. “You wouldn’t want to be married to a man like that.”
She spent the rest of the day trying to think of some way that she could keep Jane from Wickham, but she was unable to think of anything.
CHAPTER TEN
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy watched as Mrs. Fortescue made her cautious way through the sitting room. She was so far along with child now that she very nearly waddled sometimes. He could not believe she would still chance being seen by anyone, even in a mask.
Of course, he had to admit that she was skilled at hiding her condition when she needed to.
“Mrs. Fortescue, would you not sit down?” he said. “You should not be moving about. Rest, please.”
“I can’t rest,” she said. “I have but two months paid up on this house, and then I shall have to quit the place. Of course, by then, it will be obvious that I am quite far gone with child, and everything will be ruined, including me.”
“Are you still planning to go to your family?” he said.
“I haven’t any better ideas,” she said. “My parents will be horrified, of course, but they will find some way to pass the babe off as my younger brother or sister. Perhaps it can all be salvaged.” She did sit down on the couch. “Of course, I should not keep putting it off. I should go to them now so that preparations can be made. It is only that they will be so angry with me.”
“I’m sorry that it did not work out for you,” said Mr. Darcy. “I had warned you that Wickham—”
“Yes, I know. You needn’t rub salt in the wound.” Her tone was sharp.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. It was not my intention to cause you further distress.”
She peered up at him. “This is why you’re doing it, isn’t it? Because it’s Wickham’s bastard. We both know you need far more money than the pittance I am giving you to be a dance instructor to the militia.”
“You are living on that money,” said Darcy. “You need it. If I had money to keep you from being destitute, I would do it, but I don’t, so I do what I can.”
“But why?” she said. “Because you feel guilty about Wickham, that’s why.”
“I’m not responsible for what Wickham does,” said Darcy in an acidic tone.
“You are always acting so,” she said. “It’s as if you let him steal your fortune and family from you.”
“He has not stolen my fortune,” said Darcy. “I shall still inherit, whenever my father…” He didn’t finish, because he didn’t like to think of his father dying without ever reconciling with his son. Even though there was little chance of reconciliation. His father would not see him and had barred him from Pemberley.
He was quite angry when he heard that Hawthorne Abbey was no longer part of the family holdings, but Darcy had thought that when his father understood the estate was safe—bought back by his mother’s brother the earl of Matlock—that would calm his father somewhat. Instead, this seemed to enrage him more.
Darcy knew the way of it. He wasn’t to even attempt to go back unless he had Hawthorne Abbey back. And Mrs. Fortescue was right. He wasn’t making nearly the funds he needed to buy it back doing what he was doing.
“You are angry with yourself,” she said.
“Perhaps I am, but that has nothing to do with you. I suppose it’s commiseration. We are both his victims. I’ll help you because it’s the decent thing to do. Because I know what it’s like to be taken in by him, and because I know how hard it is when everyone turns their backs on you.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to bear it.”
“If there was something I could do, I would,” he said.
“I know that you would,” she said.
“Perhaps when I inherit,” he said. “Perhaps then, I’ll be able to do something for you and the child.”
“How will that look if it’s my little brother?” she said.
“Yes, if your family has given him legitimacy, I would do nothing to take that from him. But if not, I will help as soon as I am able. I promise you this.”
“People would think things if you did that.”
“People think all sorts of things about me now. I couldn’t care less about that,” said Darcy.
“I guess you don’t,” she said, smiling at him. “You are remarkable in that way. I’ve never met anyone who cared less what anyone thought.”
“I used to care,” said Darcy. “But life has worn me down in that respect.”
“Let’s not talk of unpleasantness anymore,” she said. “When I think of all the times I swore to you that Wickham would be coming to my rescue the moment my husband died, and how you tried to make me see that would never happen, well, it makes me rather ill. Let’s speak of Miss Bennet instead. How did she do today?”
“Fine,” Darcy lied. “Just fine. We’ll make it work. Don’t you worry about that.” The truth was that Miss Bennet was rather dazzling.
But it was monstrous having thoughts like that about her.
She was a young girl who likely wanted a husband, and he was in no position to marry anyone, not for some time.
It was odd, the way his position in life had shifted. He had gone from being the sort of man that every young girl wanted to dance with to being shunned.
The world had been tilted sideways, and he had been thrown down to the depths. Cut off from his family, from his money, from his reputation. He was no one now.
Perhaps he would be again someday. When he was master of Pemberley and everything that came with it, people would likely put aside their concerns about his character. Truthfully, he didn’t care about any of that.
> He cared about seeing his father again before his father died.
He cared about his sister Georgiana, who he had been barred from.
He cared about doing everything in his power to get back the people he loved.
Elizabeth Bennet was a distraction, and he hated himself for being distracted. It showed that he was weak. He’d been hard on her, but it was not because he was truly angry about her dancing prowess. They had been dancing without music. It would be difficult for anyone.
No, he was mostly angry at her because he kept having the most unwarranted, unwelcome thoughts as he looked at her.
That her neck was long and thin and white, that he should like to put his lips to it.
Thoughts like that.
Ridiculous thoughts.
He could never do anything like that with Miss Bennet, and he shouldn’t even be thinking it.
It was himself he should be angry with, but he had taken it out on her instead.
Didn’t make any sense. When it came to Wickham, he punished himself. Now, with something that truly was squarely his fault, he snapped at the pretty girl instead.
He must do better.
When he saw her tomorrow, he would be on his best behavior, and he would not allow himself to think any thoughts about her neck or kissing or anything else untoward. He must keep himself in control. He must.
* * *
But now, the next day, with Miss Bennet in his arms again, it was difficult to keep his word.
He had gotten more and more stern with her as the morning had worn on, and it appeared to be having the opposite effect.
When she’d first arrived, her steps had been much improved. He had meant to praise her, but she’d worn the most ghastly of dresses. It was white. All women seemed to be wearing white these days. The fabric fell from her waist in soft folds, it was a very thin fabric. Then again, all women seemed to be dressing that way these days.
But when she walked in the room, she was illuminated from behind, the morning light coming in through a window, cutting through that fabric and lighting her up, and showing him everything.
Her hips. Her legs. The curve of her calves.
It was all burned into his mind forever, and it had put a thousand wretched thoughts in his mind, thoughts that he could not believe he was even thinking about a woman of gentle birth.
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