21. Lizzy
Lizzy
The music started, a traditional waltz.
“Lizzy, I would love it if you would honor me with a dance,” Darcy asked. He held out two hands in the waltz position.
Butterflies flew through me. “Really?”
“Do you waltz?” he asked, almost in a challenge.
I was more of a wildly throw your body ’round the room dancer, but I did know how to waltz. Mum had taught Jane and me to dance, hoping we would marry into a class that hung out in ballrooms.
“Yes, I do,” I said. But did he? On Friday night when I’d asked him, he’d said he didn’t dance. What had changed?
He smiled and raised his hands higher in position, and with a nod from me, he stepped forward.
Without another word, he put his hand on my lower back, sending jolts down my legs.
He joined hands with me and held our clasped hands at a level I knew was perfect.
I put a hand on his shoulder. He pulled me to his chest, and I gasped a little at his sudden closeness.
He moved me backward with a smooth one-two and a side step. I kept expecting him to fumble or step on my toes, but the hand on my back was firm, as was his palm in mine. He was guiding me, and he was light on his feet. But he was still gazing at me, his attention uncomfortably silent and searing.
“Right about now, you might venture a comment like, ‘What a lovely tune,’” I said teasingly.
His eyes narrowed. “The violins are kind of annoying,” he said.
“And then I might remark on the drapes,” I went on.
“The naked bodies on the drapes? Interesting. What would you say?” He suppressed a smile.
Yes, I had noticed those unclothed, cavorting bodies. Yikes. Bad choice of topic. It surprised me that he’d noticed, but he was a property developer after all.
“Um, okay. But I suppose my point is, civilized people make conversation.”
He grunted.
Maybe he didn’t understand? “A few polite words—”
Suddenly, I was spinning in a circle, swept around by imperceptible nudges with his hand in mine, his other hand on my back, his knees, his hips.
“Oh!” I cried out.
He spun me around again and then bent me backward, holding me there, his face a kiss away from mine.
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” I squeaked as he held me there.
He swept me back to a dizzying upright position.
“I said I don’t, not that I can’t.” He gave me a sly wink.
I caught my breath. “And now you’re winking for real. Am I in a dream?”
His midnight-blue eyes glittered in reply.
God, his dancing was masterful. He could move his body in subtle ways.
I tried not to think about what other ways he could use that subtlety.
I felt myself blushing at the thoughts. Usually, I struggled with my partners, wanting to lead, go the opposite way, but I let him take over, and soon, we were whirling and gliding and doing all sorts of fancy foot moves I didn’t even know.
I felt giddy and overwhelmed and swoony.
What else could he do that he wasn’t letting on?
What other surprises did he have up his sleeve?
I wanted to share something about myself that might surprise him, like I was an accomplished sourdough bread maker or golf-Frisbee thrower, but I had nothing tucked away that came to mind, either athletic, odd, or alluring.
I recovered myself as we kept dancing, his body moving mine around with ease, with a gentle but firm press of his hand on my back, sparking every inch of me.
“I’m impressed,” I said, trying not to drown in his blue eyes, which were twinkling with amusement. “You’re guiding me like a Strictly professional.”
“A Strictly? I don’t know what that means.”
“Strictly Come Dancing. It’s a dancing show on the telly.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t know it?” Did that surprise me? Probably not, because he seemed focused only on what interested him. And right now, he’d turned all that focus on me, and his intensity was making me squirm.
“Afraid not. My brother updates me now and then, but I promptly forget what he tells me.”
Now it was my turn for a sly look. “I don’t know if I believe you. It feels like you never forget a thing.”
“That makes me sound like a stubborn old bloke. I prefer to think of myself as resolute in a more manly way.” His lips twitched to indicate he was joking. “I do not bend. Truthfully, lose my trust, and you don’t get it back.”
He seemed serious now, and my body slumped slightly at the return to his former intransigent self.
“That sounds very final,” I said.
“It is.” He shook himself, seeming to regret the change in tone, and he put on a smile. “But it seems like nothing is lost on you either.”
“I’m a writer. That’s part of the deal, a lifelong observer.”
“You’re certainly the expert on romance. Tell me—what’s the most romantic thing someone can do? Recite their own poetry?” He was clearly half-joking.
Actually, I would be happy being on the receiving end of the funny, desperate things Roberto had called up to Nala. Not exactly poetry, except his words had been heartfelt. But I wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable with Darcy.
“Dancing is romantic, even if your partner is only halfway decent,” I said instead.
“Ha! Touché. As a fictional beau said, ‘You have the wittiest ripostes.’”
That’s exactly what the duke in my most recent novel had remarked. I’d written it last year. Did this mean Darcy was reading my books? A coil of pleasure and pride unraveled inside my chest.
“Ha! Darcy Wainwright, are you reading one of my romances?”
“I started your most recent one when we got back. You challenged me, and I never back down from a challenge. Within reason.” A smile tugged at his mouth.
Hmm. He was flirting with me—most definitely flirting.
“That is good to know.” And I loved this teasing side of Darcy, found myself wanting to flirt back. I looked up at him through my eyelashes, most definitely flirting back.
He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his slight touch sending a rush of blood through me. I felt dizzy.
“And besides your ripostes, incidentally, you have the most beautiful eyes.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Actually, there’s nothing incidental about them. Are they green? Are they brown? I find myself willing to spend some time thinking about that question.”
His hand pressed more strongly against mine, and I took a deep breath. I felt the same way about his mesmerizing eyes. They went blue-black when he was silent, but they were bright blue right now.
“Careful, Mr. Wainwright. You warned me you were not charming, and yet you are almost guilty of sliding into that territory.”
“Not at all. Truthfully, I’ve no patience for flattery and obfuscation. I say what I think, and I always speak the truth.”
I spluttered out a laugh, disbelieving. “Are you seriously suggesting you always think and speak the truth?”
“I suppose I am.”
He seemed taken aback at first by my laughter, then his face flickered into slightly offended, followed by amused.
I shook my head. “Stunning. It must be so comforting to know more than others. No time wasted in self-reflection or internal debate. Honestly, what’s it like to be certain of yourself and your views?”
Instead of being annoyed, a smile played around his mouth. “It certainly leaves more time to ponder eye color, and surely that must be a good thing.”
The music stopped, and a wave of disappointment fluttered through me. I noticed the others around me—Emma and Knightley, the Balfours, Jane and William.
“I’ve decided your eyes are green,” he said, still holding me close.
He was being so disarming, it made me blush.
I buzzed with nerves, jittery in his strong arms. Was this happening? I suddenly felt shy and confused.
“There’s actually no such thing as green eyes. It’s a trick of the light,” I blurted, maybe even trying to ruin the moment. Suddenly, I was scared. “It’s what’s called the Tyndall effect. My eyes are brown, but you think they’re green because of the light.”
“Ms. Bennet, now it’s you who’s being unromantic,” he drawled. “I wonder if I’m rubbing off on you in the wrong way?”
His skin and mine rubbing together came to mind, though I was pretty sure he hadn’t meant it that way. But my body already told me I liked the sound of that.
The music started up again.
Darcy pulled me closer and pressed his hand more firmly against my back. “Giving you a heads-up on direction. If I dance you backward, we will move through the open door and into the library. Okay?”
“Why would we want to dance in the library?”
With one move, he swung me through the door, then down the hallway and through the open door into the library. His strong directing legs teased mine through the thinness of my silk dress.
We stopped in the middle of the library lit only by lamps, surrounded by dark oak paneling and stacks of leather-bound books. Out the stained-glass window I knew were hills and a sunset, but I didn’t want to look that way.
Everything in this world had narrowed to the small, charged space between us.
“Because,” he murmured, “all night, I’ve been wanting to be alone with you and kiss you.”
Kiss me? “Oh.”
Every bone in my body melted, my stomach flipped, and sweat broke out on the hand I had clasped in his. I wanted that too. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted to press my body harder against his.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you,” he went on, tugging me even closer.
I could feel my eyebrows shoot up. “Funny way of showing it.”
“What can I say? I’m a complete ass.” He cupped his hands on either side of my head and rubbed my lips with his thumb. “May I kiss you?”