Page 41 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

“Then I prefer to suffer honestly.”

The first clap of thunder rolled in the distance. I raised my eyes.

“Kitty was right.”

“We are ten minutes from the house.”

The rain began before he finished speaking. Large drops struck the leaves, then a sudden downpour enveloped us. Darcy removed his coat and placed it on my shoulders despite my protest.

“You will be drenched.”

“I already am.”

We ran to an old abandoned garden pavilion near the edge of the wood. The roof leaked in two places, but the interior offered relative shelter. I entered laughing, breathless, my skirts heavy with water around my ankles.

Darcy remained near the opening, as if the distance of a few steps could preserve the proprieties the storm had just battered.

“You are ridiculous,” I said.

“I am attempting not to be.”

“You are shivering.”

“It is not the cold.”

His gaze dropped, despite himself, to my dress. The damp fabric clung to my arms and waist. I drew his coat over my chest, suddenly conscious of every contour the rain had made visible.

He turned away.

This delicacy troubled me more than a lingering gaze would have.

“You may look at me,” I murmured.

He remained still.

“Elizabeth.”

“I have not given you permission to ignore me.”

He turned slowly.

The rain hammered the roof. The space between us seemed to shrink without either of us moving.

“You don’t realize what you’re asking of me,” he said.

“I only ask that you not act as if my presence no longer matters to you.”

“It never will.”

He took a step.

I did not retreat.

“At Hunsford,” he continued, “I believed you returned an affection you did not feel. Since then, I’ve feared reading into your every gesture what I want to see.”

“Then ask me.”

“What should I ask?”