She laughed—a real laugh, startled out of her—and the sound cracked something open in his chest. He had heard her laugh before, but not like this. Not alone with him, not in his private chamber, not with all the barriers stripped away and nothing between them but truth.
She ate with gusto. He poured wine for both of them, and tried not to stare at the way her fingers wrapped around the glass, the way her lips touched the rim. She was simply eating bread and cheese, and he was cataloguing every movement as though she were performing some sacred ritual.
“The chessboard,” he said, when she had finished and set down her glass. “Would you like to play?”
“Yes.”
“Shall we, then?”
He gestured to the chairs. She sat in one; he took the other. The board lay between them, a safe barrier, a pretence of propriety. He moved his king’s pawn forward two squares. She mirrored the move.
For a time, they played in silence. The game unfolded in the careful, measured exchanges of two players who understood each other’s minds. She was good, better than he had expected, and he found himself leaning forward, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed as he studied the board.
He reached for his bishop. His fingers closed around the carved wood, and he lifted it, considering his options. He glanced up and caught her watching.
Not the board but his hands. Her gaze was fixed on his fingers where they cradled the piece, and her expression had gone soft, unfocused, her mind clearly elsewhere. She was not thinking about chess. She was not thinking about anything that belonged in a game between a gentleman and his governess.
Heat flooded through him. He allowed himself a smug smile and set the bishop down.
“Honestly, Miss Bennet. You are not paying attention.”
Her eyes snapped to his face, colour rising in her cheeks, but she held his gaze firmly.
“Honestly, Mr Darcy? If you ask me for honesty, then I shall ask the same of you. And this could go in ways we are both unprepared to admit.”
“Honesty,” he made a gesture, still holding the bishop. “Very well. Elizabeth.”
He used her Christian name deliberately, a line crossed with full awareness.
She did not correct him, nor did she look away.
“Very well, Mr Darcy.” Her voice was calm, but he could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. “In all honesty,I do not think we are playing chess. I think we are dancing around the truth, and I am tired of the dance.”
“Then tell me your truth.”
She was quiet for a moment. She looked at the board, at the pieces frozen mid-game, at his hands resting on his knees. When she spoke, her voice was matter-of-fact, stripped of pretence.
“I am seven-and-twenty. I have no fortune, no prospects, and no designs on marriage. I am fairly certain I shall die a spinster, and I have made my peace with that.” She lifted her eyes to his. “But I am still a woman. And you are a man of the world. You have admitted in the past that you admired meardently.”
“I still do.” The words came immediately, without thought. “You know that.”
“Yes. I gathered.” A small smile touched her mouth. “The problem, Mr Darcy, is that I am still young. And you have opened doors I never imagined I would cross. You have shown me—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “What am I to do with you?”
He held very still. The question was not rhetorical. She was asking him, genuinely asking, and the answer he wanted to give would burn everything he had built tonight.
“Elizabeth.” He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them by inches. “I admire you most ardently. You are never absent from my thoughts. But I am a gentleman, and I gave you my word. I will not do anything untoward. I am not Wickham, Elizabeth. I will not ruin you.”
She considered this. The silence stretched, and with every second that passed, Darcy’s certainty crumbled. She was going to leave. She was going to thank him for the supper and the conversation and retreat to her chamber, and he would spend the night burning.
She did not leave.
“Well,” she said quietly. “That leaves us with a predicament.”
“What do you mean?”
Her chin lifted and her eyes met his without wavering.
“I mean I desire you, Mr Darcy. Most ardently.”