Page 2 of Mr. Darcy’s Fiery Passion

"I thought of chestnuts. You were nearest."

She nearly laughed. She caught it in time.

He took a chestnut from the paper and split the shell with his thumbs. The meat was still steaming. His hands were long and pale in the firelight. A thin white scar ran across the knuckle of his first finger. He peeled the skin away in one clean piece and held it out to her.

She drew off her glove and took it. Her bare fingertips brushed his palm.

Compose yourself, Elizabeth. They are only hands.

"You do not care for gloves, sir?"

"Not for chestnuts. The leather smells of them for a week."

"And you could not ask a servant to peel them for you?"

"I could. I prefer to do things myself."

"So do I," she said, before she could stop herself.

He looked at her then. His eyes went to the chestnut in her fingers, and then to her mouth as she bit into it. Heat climbed into her cheeks. She told herself it was the fire.

"Your mother has gone to a great deal of trouble," he said.

"My mother has gone to a great deal of trouble for Mr. Bingley. The rest of us are merely scenery."

"And the rockets? Miss Lydia tells me there are rockets."

"There are. I walked into Meryton for them myself this morning. Papa would not spare a man for the errand."

"You walked? Alone?"

"It is not far, sir. My feet cost nothing, and they take me where I please."

He opened his mouth to answer.

Her mother reached them first, towing Jane by the hand. "Mr. Darcy! Is not my Jane in great looks tonight? Mr. Bingley has said so twice. I heard him." Mrs. Bennet beamed at Jane, who had gone pink to her ears. "There is not a girl in the county to touch her. Everybody says so."

Mr. Darcy glanced across the fire at his friend. His face gave nothing away. "Miss Bennet is very handsome, madam."

"Handsome! She is a beauty. Though Lizzy has her points, I suppose, when she will stand still."

"Mama," said Elizabeth, "Mr. Darcy does not care for beauty in the country. He finds us all tolerable at best."

It was out before she could stop it. Jane's hand tightened on hers in warning.

Color rose along Mr. Darcy's cheekbones. It was the first time she had ever seen him at a loss. He looked at her, and for a moment she thought he would answer.

Mrs. Bennet had not heard a word. "The rockets! Jane, come, you must stand by Mr. Bingley for the rockets." She swept Jane away across the grass.

Mr. Darcy said nothing at all. Elizabeth finished her chestnut. She was not sorry. She would not be sorry.

Her father reached them next. "Mr. Darcy." Mr. Bennet had a taper in one hand and a rocket in the other. "Lydia informs me you are a great reader. Is it true, or does she say that of every tall man?"

"It is true, sir."

"Then you must come and see my library before you go. I have a Baskerville Milton that nobody in this county has the wit to envy."

Mr. Darcy's face changed. "The 1758 quarto? My father had the same edition. He read it to me every winter at Pemberley."