Chapter Seven

The realization startled him into missing a step, which provoked a glare from Caroline.

He had met hundreds of beautiful, rich, and accomplished women—none of whom had claimed anything above a slight talent for magic. Not one of them had done anything nearly as scandalous as applying to the Academy. They all had perfectly respectable, well-connected families. And he had remained unmoved by them all. In fact, he had surmised that he was incapable of love and settling for Caroline was the most rational choice.

Now this iconoclastic daughter of an impoverished country gentleman had knocked Darcy flat on his back—without any effort. What a terrible time to realize it.

He could easily envision himself paying court to Elizabeth, but it was a fever dream, a fantasy. I am promised to another. I will not be forsworn. He had a contract. In fact, he had a contract with Bingley, his best friend. He was obliged—by bonds of friendship as well as honor—to abide by it. He had given his word as a Darcy, and that meant something to him. Meant everything, in fact.

He shoved aside wayward fantasies of wooing Elizabeth. Kissing Elizabeth. Holding Elizabeth. He would not imagine such things. He could not.

Their party would depart from Netherfield soon, and he would likely never encounter her again. The mere thought opened a gaping hole in his chest. Who would imagine a man could even dance with such emptiness inside him? By rights I should not even be capable of standing.

If thinking about losing her leaves me so empty, what effect would the actuality have on me?

Darcy had a sudden urge to get very, very foxed; perhaps he could schedule that for later in the evening.

He reminded himself why he was marrying Caroline. She was an accomplished hostess. She was acquainted with all the right people in the ton and the Convocation. His father had liked her, and Darcy had always trusted his father’s judgment. Perhaps Darcy did not love Caroline, but she was precisely the right woman for a man of his standing.

They would leave Hertfordshire once this goblin business was completed. They would stand up in church and recite vows. He would smile at her, and she would never know his heart had been touched by another woman.

He practiced smiling at her now, apprehensive that it appeared rather forced. But Caroline returned the gesture with a smile showing all her teeth.

“We really should set a date for our nuptials.” Her innocent words further ripped at the hole in Darcy’s chest, and he continued dancing only through an effort of will. She was absolutely correct that he could not possibly delay forever. “Perhaps in the autumn?” he suggested. “That should allow sufficient time to make preparations.”

Caroline pouted. “The preparations have been made. Perhaps around Easter? A spring wedding would be lovely.”

Panic caused his heart to race. “I will consider it.”

“Excellent.”

At least their union would please someone.

They fell silent after that. The dance seemed interminable, but eventually Darcy found himself escorting Caroline from the dance floor. Once the second set had passed, he would be free to dance with Elizabeth. Fortunately, the butler took Caroline off to the dining room with a question about the champagne.

Finally, Darcy glimpsed Elizabeth leaving the dance floor. Collins had a possessive hand on the small of her back and she appeared quite uncomfortable. Darcy wasted no time. The moment he arrived that avaricious fool would cease touching her.

Did he imagine the relief on Elizabeth’s countenance when he approached? Of course, she would most likely be relieved to encounter any man aside from Collins. She smiled and obligingly took his arm as he led her to the dance floor.

Darcy was suffused with happiness as they faced each other, waiting for the dance to begin. If only he could suspend this moment in time, live in it forever. The moment when Elizabeth was his and smiling at him with genuine warmth in her fine eyes.

Perhaps that was the path to happiness. I will push Caroline and the future from my mind. I will just take pleasure in this time with Elizabeth.

He lost himself in the steps of the dance, the intricate movement of his feet, the slide of his hand in and out of Elizabeth’s grasp. The rise of color in her cheeks. He reveled in the exertion, his partner’s smile, the rise and fall of the music.

Unlike with Caroline, they did not speak much. Elizabeth appeared just as interested as he was in sinking into the dance and enjoying the moment. The steps of this dance did not call for any magic, and Darcy was briefly disappointed he could not display his expertise. The dance was over far too quickly, and he was bowing to Elizabeth. He was not ready to relinquish the balm of her presence, the serenity he experienced with her.

Experiencing a grasping need to extend his time with her, he suggested a visit to the terrace so they might enjoy cooler air. She agreed readily, causing him undue elation.

He could not prevent himself from touching her back lightly with his fingertips as if she needed his guidance to find the French doors. If only he could be the person with permission to touch her—not just on her back but everywhere.

The outside air was cool but still warmer than expected for the time of year. The chill in the air meant that the terrace was sparsely populated, and Elizabeth strode to the corner furthest from the few guests who lingered outdoors. Darcy followed, feeling honored. She had not accompanied Collins to the terrace.

“I am pleased at the opportunity to speak with you privately.” Her voice was low, words intended only for his ears. He could not help noticing the way the moonlight reflected in her eyes.

Darcy struggled to check his wayward imagination. She did not come here for an assignation.

“I am in possession of all the ingredients save one,” she said with a proud smile. “I need a juniper berry, and then all will be prepared for the containment spell.”

Yes. The spell. Summoning a goblin. Oakham Mount. Darcy dragged his thoughts back to the matter that should be his greatest concern. Goblin attacks were effective at throwing a bucket of cold water on his ardor.

“Will you be ready by the end of the week?” she asked.

“The spell is complex,” he said. That was not a lie. “But I believe so.” He had no desire to place her in danger. But if he did not honor his promise, she would do it without him. She was desperate and reckless enough.

She regarded him for a long moment, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Why is the sight so compelling to me?

Goblin. Summoning. Spells. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “How will we compel the goblin to speak with us?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Wyndham used a suasion spell on the creature. But I have no intention—”

“Suasion spells are illegal,” Darcy said quickly, “if you could find one. They were all destroyed by the Convocation.” Suasion was a violation of another person’s mind, a subversion of their will. One of the greatest crimes a mage could commit.

“Yes, I know,” she said sharply. “I do not want to use it. I was about to suggest that we could simply ask the goblin to speak with us.”

“Ah. That…might work.”

He sidled a little closer to her. She smelled so…tantalizing—a faint rosewater scent.

Goblins. Summoning. Spells. He took a deep breath, willing his body to cooperate. “I must warn you again that what we are planning is exceedingly dangerous. I do not want you to get injured.”

She met his gaze, smiling gently. “I am certain you will make it as safe as possible.”

Undoubtedly she did not intend for her words to sound seductive, but the simple statement of faith caused him to lean closer to her, wanting to be as near as possible to the person who made him feel so…cherished. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

She moved infinitesimally closer. “I have no reason to doubt you.”

Tenderness, pride, and love mingled together, welling up in Darcy’s throat and strangling his voice. What could he possibly say in the face of such trust?

A new tune wafted from the open French doors at the other end of the terrace. Elizabeth turned her head toward the ballroom. “Is that ‘The Wizard’s Duel?’”

“Yes. Would you like to join me for another set?” The dance was new and somewhat scandalous. It was the last dance he should perform with Elizabeth, but he could deny her nothing.

She gave him a sad smile. “I never learned it. My father considers it…inappropriate.”

Darcy glanced around the terrace. It was quite spacious, and they were now alone. With no windows at this end of the terrace, nobody in the ballroom could observe them. “I would be happy to teach you.” He gave her a very precise bow.

A startled, grateful smile was his reward. After a moment, she remembered to curtsey.

He took her hands in his, holding them in the correct position. “One hand is clasped so and the other outstretched. We move in a circular direction, and occasionally I will twirl you and lift you briefly from the ground.”

“What fun!”

“This is the basic step.” He demonstrated the three-part step and the circular motion. “Shall we attempt it together?”

Elizabeth allowed him to slowly guide her in a circle. As in the ballroom, they found an easy rhythm immediately. It was startingly easy to imagine kissing her, taking her to his bed. That dance would be effortless as well.

When it came time to twirl, Darcy wrapped the ether around Elizabeth, levitating her and spinning her slowly. She shrieked with glee and demanded, “Again!” Darcy was helpless to deny her anything. He spun her around twice, three times, each time a little higher until she was nearly four feet from the floor. She laughed each time, delighted and carefree.

I am engaged, he reminded himself. Scandal attaches to her name. But as he watched her flushed and joyful face, both scandals and fiancées seemed far away and unimportant. How marvelous life would be with a woman who took such delight in everything.

He finally lowered her to the floor, holding her close as she regained her balance. Is she too dizzy to continue the dance? Then she glanced up at him, her eyes veiled by lashes. “The music is still playing, sir.”

He eagerly swept her up into the dance, twirling her twice more. Immersing himself in the rhythm of the movement, he wrapped etheric energy around them both as they twirled, dipped, and circled in perfect harmony.

When the dance finally ended, they were standing so close that Darcy was practically holding Elizabeth in his arms. He allowed himself to savor her scent and the warm body against his, momentarily indulging the fantasy that she could be his.

Glancing down, Elizabeth gasped. They were both hovering a foot off the floor; he had unintentionally levitated them both. He had not lost control of the ether so completely since he was a green student in the Academy. Gently, he floated them down to the floor. Fortunately, the terrace was still empty. If they had been observed, it would have drawn much attention.

Even so, he could not bring himself to immediately release her. Her cheeks were flushed from the activity, and her lips were parted slightly. A rebellious tendril of hair curled over her cheek in a most endearing way. Darcy could not resist. His fingers caressed the tendril before slowly tucking it behind her ear.

He courted all kinds of scandal, yet he could not tear himself away. Elizabeth was very still in his arms, making no move to depart. Her expression was so open, he could not help himself.

I must know how her lips taste.

He bent his head slowly, giving her time to pull away. But she did not. As their lips touched, the swift, light kiss he had intended instantly intensified. She tasted of champagne and chocolate and joy. She was just as responsive when kissing as she was when they danced. They were perfectly synchronized.

Their bodies pressed together, thigh to shoulder; Darcy could sense her rapid heartbeat through layers of clothing. Kissing Caroline had been a duty that was best over quickly, nothing like this. With Elizabeth, he never wanted it to end.

A shout of laughter from the ballroom shocked Darcy back to awareness. They risked discovery and scandal. It would only require one person to venture out to the terrace. Elizabeth started and pulled away out of his arms, which were instantly aching and empty.

They stood a foot apart and regarded each other. Reason had returned, but Darcy’s longing to kiss Elizabeth had not diminished. She was breathing rapidly as she unnecessarily smoothed her hair; a composed mask settled over her features. “You are engaged to Miss Bingley,” she said flatly, a splash of cold water on his ardor.

“I am.” Darcy swallowed. Everything inside him screamed that he should tell her of his love. Tell her he would leave Caroline. “You have my deepest apologies for taking such liberties,” he managed to choke out. “The fault is entirely mine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by such actions?”

Did she believe this was part of some devious plot? Or that he was a rake who seduced young women? It was intolerable that she would think such things of him. His defense was no more than the truth. “I wanted to kiss you,” he said helplessly—and then closed his mouth against an admission of love.

Perhaps in a secret corner of his heart he had hoped to be discovered and forced to marry her, but that would not be fair to her. “I do apologize,” he repeated. “I am not the sort of man…” He stopped, ashamed. Obviously he was that sort of man.

But she nodded, accepting his apology. He counted it as a victory that she had not slapped his face; she appeared as dazed as he felt. Perhaps that was her first kiss. He burst with pride.

She cleared her throat, averting her gaze. “I should return to the ballroom. Do not follow immediately.”

He nodded and turned toward the balustrade that ran along the edge of the terrace. Having already risked her reputation, he could do nothing further to jeopardize it. When he peeked back a moment later, she was gone.

***

The rest of the ball passed in a whirl. Elizabeth managed to distract herself sufficiently that she did not obsess too much about the events on the terrace. She did not speak with Mr. Darcy again and managed to avoid being cornered into a conversation with Mr. Collins.

Jane fell asleep immediately once they were in their bedchamber, but Elizabeth lay awake, staring at the moon shining outside her window. All of the thoughts, feelings, and questions she had suppressed during the ball were crowding into her mind. Foremost was the question of why Mr. Darcy had kissed her.

And more importantly, why did I let him?

Until recently she had believed that Mr. Darcy disliked her. She was the brash woman who had scandalized everyone by demanding admission to the Academy and insisting on practicing magic no woman should know. Her family had little standing, and Elizabeth herself possessed nothing like Miss Bingley’s elegance and sophistication. She was aware that some people considered her pretty, but if anyone had suggested she might appeal to someone like Mr. Darcy, she would have laughed.

Yet he had been eager to dance with her and apparently took pleasure in her company. He had listened to her and respected her opinions. This would be a small thing to most people, but Elizabeth had spent most of her life being dismissed by nearly everyone save Jane and her father. It was truly a novelty.

But respecting her opinion was a far cry from wishing to kiss her. When had Mr. Darcy crossed that line? And why?

Did he harbor tender feelings for her? Or was he just reacting to the excitement of the dance? He hardly seems like the type of man who blithely traipses around the country kissing women, but what would I know? I hardly possess a wide experience with men.

He had appeared truly mortified by his own conduct, and his apology seemed sincere. But she doubted whether he actually regretted his actions. If they encountered similar circumstances, she could not be sure he would not kiss her again. Of course, Elizabeth could not truthfully say she regretted the kiss either.

As it was happening, the kiss had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Almost inevitable. In that moment she understood Mr. Darcy on a deep and profound level, and that she was revealing her innermost self to him in turn. Elizabeth had not known that a kiss could be like that…like two souls becoming one.

But it was an illusion. It must be. Surely I am imagining that we have a connection. I am lonely. He is handsome and accomplished. I do not know him that well, and no matter how passionately he kisses me, it changes nothing. He is still engaged to Miss Bingley, who is eligible in all the ways that I am not.

Perhaps if I were a different person…Never before had she regretted pursuing magic at the expense of her reputation. Elizabeth believed she had discarded all her old childhood dreams of romance and knights on white horses. But apparently it only took one kiss to rekindle them and return her to being a girl with fantasies of handsome princes.

What a silly goose! I cannot change who I am, and I should not wish for it. Particularly for the sake of a man who is promised to another. Not that there could be anything between us even if he were not engaged. Men of Mr. Darcy’s stature do not marry daughters of lesser country gentlemen.

Still, she could not help returning to the question of whether Mr. Darcy was sincere. Was he simply playing with her heart—as rich men were wont to do—or did he truly experience affection for her?

No, it matters not. Regardless of the answer, I cannot permit a repetition. Mr. Darcy’s profuse apologies suggested he would not attempt to kiss her again, but she must take pains not to be…kissable. She would be aloof and remote—and avoid standing too near him. She could not rely on him to protect her heart and reputation; that was her responsibility.

They did plan to meet at Oakham Mount in a few days, but fortunately, goblin summoning did not lend itself to romantic thoughts. She would meet him as an acquaintance who shared a common task. No doubt once the summoning was accomplished, they would go their separate ways. He would join other paladins to fight the goblins and soon quit Hertfordshire directly. Then this would all be a memory.

***

The next morning, Elizabeth dressed for the day and descended to breakfast—determined to follow through on her resolution to keep her distance from Mr. Darcy. Unfortunately trials of a different sort lay ahead of her as Elizabeth’s mother informed her that Mr. Collins wished to speak with her privately. She endeavored to avoid what was sure to be an uncomfortable scene, assuring her mother that she could have nothing to discuss privately with the man. But her mother was insistent on leaving them alone in the breakfast room.

“Your modesty does you credit,” Mr. Collins said before launching into a longwinded explanation of why he desired to wed Elizabeth—ending with, naturally enough, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. “Her manners are beyond anything I can describe. And I think your wit and vivacity must be acceptable to her when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite.”

“Do you believe my practice of magic will be acceptable to her?” Elizabeth pressed.

Mr. Collins frowned. “All young ladies practice a little magic.”

“I practice above a little,” Elizabeth allowed.

He rubbed his chin, momentarily at a loss for words. “Er…yes. I expect that my moral authority will benefit you…guide you onto the proper paths for a young lady. Your parents have been rather…lax.”

Elizabeth gaped at him. If he objected to a wife who practiced magic, why had he chosen her?

Mr. Collins stared at a painting above the fireplace. “And naturally you will prove an advantage to me in the little household magic that every mage is expected to know. But only in private, you understand.”

Oh. Oh. He was aware of his own shortcomings as a mage—although he refused to even speak of them—and expected Elizabeth to compensate for his magical ineptitude while he took credit for it. What a delightful wifely duty that would be.

“Mr. Collins, I applied to the Academy of Magic.”

“I know, dear cousin. But your obvious charms compensate for that small lapse in judgment. I can assure you that no ungenerous reproach will ever pass my lips on that score once we are married.”

Elizabeth could only surmise that her “charms” were primarily her appearance since the man did not seem to value anything else about her. “I have fought goblins with magic.”

He paled. “You will have no need of such…skills when you are my wife.” His voice was low as if he feared others would learn of her transgression.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Goblins never attack in Kent?”

“I will protect you!” In response to her skeptical expression, he added, “I am quite accomplished at some sorts of magic, such as making plants grow quickly, and upon occasion I have moved pebbles.”

Elizabeth was struck by an image of her cousin attempting to battle a goblin with a fast-growing vine.

When she did not reply immediately, her cousin hurried to continue. “Now, nothing remains but for me to express my undying admiration and love.” He beamed as if he was bestowing a great gift upon her.

“I am conscious of the honor of your proposal,” Elizabeth said. “But I fear it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline.”

Disconcertingly, Mr. Collins grinned. “I understand that it is usual for young ladies to reject the addresses of a man they secretly mean to accept.”

It took a moment for Elizabeth to understand he was rejecting her refusal. “I assure you I am not one of those young ladies. I am perfectly serious in my refusal.”

“You are uniformly charming! I am persuaded that my proposal will be acceptable when sanctioned by your excellent parents.”

“I am in earnest! We could not make each other happy.”

Mr. Collins nodded sagely. “Indeed. Indeed. When I do myself the honor of speaking with you next on this subject, I shall hope to receive a more favorable answer.”

“I can assure you, sir, that I do not aspire to the kind of elegance that consists of tormenting a respectable man.” She folded her arms over her chest and attempted to appear as stern and forbidding as possible.

He gave her a condescending smile. “I am by no means discouraged. Perhaps I will enjoy a better response when we speak of it tomorrow or the day following. I will not relent, I assure you.”

Elizabeth envisioned every day beginning with a ridiculous proposal from Mr. Collins. She opened her mouth and then closed it. How could she prevail in an argument with such a stupid man? At a loss for words, Elizabeth whirled on her heel and strode out of the room.