Page 9 of The Lost Prophecy

Elizabeth fanned herself, trying to shake the memory of that unnatural cold. “He is searching for the beauty he failed to discover at the assembly. Pride may compel him to confirm his own judgement.”

Charlotte’s eyes stayed on Mr Darcy. “His pride did not appear injured when you refused him.”

Elizabeth turned the fan over in her hands. She had prepared herself to enjoy his outrage and been denied even that. “That was severely disappointing.”

“I think he offered because he truly wished to dance with you,” Charlotte said without teasing, which was worse.

“He offered because your father manoeuvred him into a corner.”

Charlotte smiled faintly. “Sir William has manoeuvred Mr Darcy towards three other ladies tonight, and he has resisted every one of them without moving from that wall.”

Elizabeth moved the fan slowly, although the crowded room was not warm enough to require it. Mr Bingley listened to Jane while she spoke, his eyes fixed on her face. Their understanding required no analysis. Mr Darcy’s behaviour, by contrast, provided contradiction without a word of explanation.

Elizabeth stared at the carved ivory in her hand. “He declared me tolerable less than a week ago. A man cannot pass from stony indifference to interest merely because I laughed at him.”

Charlotte’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Perhaps very few ladies ever do.”

Before Elizabeth could answer, an officer approached to request the next dance. She accepted and entered the set, determined to give Mr Darcy no further consideration for the rest of her natural life. Yet when the complex figures brought her near the mantelpiece, she found his dark gaze following her again, steady, intense, and entirely unblinking.

Her fingers still remembered his freezing touch.