Page 11 of The Slipper Scandal
Darcy nearly laughed aloud at this. She was prevaricating. He could see it in the way her lashes flickered, the way her chin jutted out just a little too much.
He tilted his head slightly, giving the impression that he might believe her. “And where, precisely, do you fence?”
She waved a careless hand. “Oh, here and there. Whenever the opportunity arises.”
He exhaled through his nose, as though considering it. Then he met her gaze before looking her up and down. “Unusual,” he murmured, “but not entirely improbable.”
Her brows twitched together, just slightly. She had not expected him to humour her, either. Interesting.
The dance was nearing its end when she turned her assessing gaze back upon him. “Would you like to know my favourite pastime, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy was already certain he would regret asking, but he simply could not refrain. “Pray do enlighten me,my dear.”
Her nostrils flared, and she leaned in just slightly, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Strategy, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy stepped wrong—just barely, but enough that she noticed.
She smiled.
He quickly recovered, guiding them into the final steps of the set. “A peculiar pursuit for a lady,” he murmured, keeping his voice equally low. “Pray, how does one hone such a skill?”
Elizabeth’s fingers pressed ever so lightly against his sleeve, a feather-light reminder that she was not intimidated by him. “Observation, mostly. A careful study of my opponents, an understanding of their motivations, and”—her eyes gleamed “—a keen ability to anticipate their next move.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “You must be excellent at chess.”
“Oh, I am,” she said with a solemn nod.
He was no stranger to social manoeuvring, but Miss Bennet was not simply parrying his words for sport. She was assessing him, attempting to determine his weaknesses, plotting her next offensive. Her desire to be free of him was warring against his determination to save her reputation—and his own.
He ought to be disgusted. Any man with sense would take her obvious reluctance as a gift, an escape from a match neither of them had sought. Miss Bennet had made no secret of her intent to rid herself of him, had barely concealed her glee at each imagined fault she ascribed to her character. But he found himself wishing to know her better. She did not flatter, she did not simper, and she certainly did not behave like the host of eager young women who had tried to attach themselves to his fortune in the past. She was the very opposite of a fortune-hunter. He found this, and her . . . fascinating.
Darcy had no desire for a reluctant wife, nor any delusions that this sudden engagement would be the sort of match he had long been expected to make. But neither could he leave her to ruin.She might claim not to care, but she had flinched at his mention of sisters.
And then there was, of course, the matter of his own reputation, which he had guarded too well for too long to see torn apart by scandal. He had a sister of his own to protect. No, this engagement would hold, at least for now. If she wished to escape him, she would have to be far cleverer than she had been thus far. Because whether she liked it or not, he was not going anywhere. In part because, against his better judgement, he wanted to see what she would do next.
The orchestra swelled into its final flourish, and they parted, bowing and curtsying with precision. Darcy studied her, the way she held herself with perfect poise, the faintest flush on her cheeks from the exertion. There was not a trace of embarrassment in her expression as she studied him with her fine eyes. No, she was not cowed by him, not in the slightest.
As she rose from her curtsy, her lips curved into the slightest smirk. “You are watching me very closely, sir,” she murmured.
“I find you intriguing,” he admitted, voice quiet. “As an opponent, that is.”
She frowned, as though surprised by his candour. But then she tilted her head, that glint of mischief returning. “Opponent?” she pretended surprise. “How very odd. I had thought we were meant to be partners.”
Darcy was saved from replying by the approach of Miss Abernathy and her mother, who had clearly been waiting to perform their part of this charade.
“Elizabeth, my dear!” Mrs. Abernathy beamed, clearly overjoyed at the sight of them together. “Such a lovely dance. And Mr. Darcy, so very gallant. What an excellent match.”
Darcy merely inclined his head.
Miss Bennet, however, had a response at the ready. “Indeed,” she said, voice sweet and nearly genuine, “Mr. Darcy is mostnoble.”
The word was spoken with a heavy dose of irony. But he would not waver. “Shall I escort you to the refreshments, Miss Bennet?”
She had not expected this invitation, though he knew she would rather face Lord Ellington again than admit it. “I should be delighted,” she replied.
And somehow, despite knowing full well she was plotting his downfall, Darcy offered her his arm. She took it without hesitation.
Miss Bennet was playing a game, and she wanted him to know it. But it did not bother him in the slightest.
