Page 173 of A Debt Inherited

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice perfectly even, “may I have the honour of the second set?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a single beat. “You may, sir.”

Bennet kept his face mild, his hands folded over his cane, while his heart behaved very badly indeed.

Darcy offered his hand. Elizabeth placed hers in his.

He led her away.

No Walls Between

Longbourn, December 1812

Elizabeth found Darcy alone in the library.

He stood by the window with a book unopened in his hand.

“Do I interrupt something?” she asked.

“Only my thoughts.”

Elizabeth closed the door. “Those are generally improved by interruption.”

His mouth shifted. She knew that movement now. At Redbourn, she had known only his voice; since October she had learnt the expressions that belonged to it.

She crossed the room. He held out his hand.

She took it.

“I remembered something this morning,” she said.

“That sounds ominous.”

“Something you said through the wall.”

His fingers stilled upon hers.

“You said a great many things.”

“Most of them instructions you disregarded.”

“I disregarded only the unreasonable ones.”

“You were remarkably liberal in your judgement of that distinction.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You told me to escape and leave you.”

His expression sobered. “Yes.”

“I never told you that I turned back.”

Darcy stared at her.

“When I reached the wood, I heard you shout,” she said. “I had my chance. Wickham was behind me, but I might have kept running.”

“You should have.”

“There. Precisely that tone.”