Page 10 of The Slipper Scandal
“I had considered writing a letter,” he said, voice deliberately dry, “but the opportunity did not present itself.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“How tragic,” she mused, as they joined hands. “I imagine it would have been the most romantic proposal in all of England.”
His brows lifted by the barest fraction. “You mock me, Miss Bennet.”
She tilted her head, the curve of her smile entirely too pleased with itself. “Only a little,” she admitted, voice as light as air. “I must amuse myself somehow.”
She was needling him deliberately, seeking a reaction. He would not oblige her. Instead, he turned her neatly through the next step and said, “Now that we are engaged, you feel you ought to know more about me.” It was not a question.
Her eyes lit up. “You must admit that it is a reasonable expectation.”
He felt the danger of having walked directly into a trap.
“What virtues do you most admire in a wife?” she asked, all polite curiosity, but he recognised the glint of mischief in her gaze.
Darcy was not a fool. He chose his answer with care. “A steady disposition. A mind unclouded by foolish whimsy.”
She hummed as though considering this. “That is unfortunate,” she said at last. “My disposition is highly unsteady, and I have been known to engage in the most foolish whims imaginable.”
His fingers flexed imperceptibly. “Yes,” he murmured. “I had noticed.”
“I am afraid that I shall never change.” She laughed, a low, warm sound that set him aflame in ways his scrupulously constructed principles were ill-equipped to extinguish.
She was gazing at him with such a challenging expression that he wondered if she was doing this on purpose. But there was no flirtation here, only that rebelliousness he had marked earlier. And she was smug, entirely too pleased with herself. Infuriating woman. He was attempting to rescue her. Why could she not simply let him?
The music swelled, guiding them into a more intricate step, requiring them to draw closer, then apart, then closer again.
As they separated, Darcy caught the movement of whispering guests, fans fluttering to conceal wide eyes and knowing smiles.
He had never been on this side of tittle-tattle before.
They had become the evening’s primary entertainment, a scandal unfolding before an audience, tamped down only by his proposal.
Miss Bennet had noticed too.
She glanced towards the gossiping crowd, then back at him, and a particular look crossed her face, one that made his spine instinctively stiffen. It was a look of mischief.
If she was about to deliberately embarrass him, she would find him more than capable of withstanding the assault and returning fire.
“Would you like to hear of my vices, Mr. Darcy?” she asked airily. “I would not wish to disappoint you as your wife after you have made such a gallant claim upon my future.”
“By all means, Miss Bennet,” he said smoothly. “I should be prepared for the tribulations ahead.”
She smiled, and something sharp glinted behind it. “I am very fond of novels, even the most ridiculous ones.”
Darcy’s steps did not falter.
“I despise embroidery,” she continued, “and I am dreadfully untalented at it, which my mother considers almost a moral failing.”
He almost smirked. Miss Bennet’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he could not help it. The smirk became a smile.
She had evidently expected shock. She had received amusement. Her next move was more deliberate. She turned her head slightly, lifting her chin. “You should know that I have an unladylike fondness for fencing.”
Nowthatwas interesting. His brows rose slightly. “Do you?”
She arched one eyebrow. “I do.”
