Page 16 of Once He Made a Beginning

I should not be attracted to her in this way. I should not be feeling the way I do. Am I not betrothed? To... His mind stumbled, searching, grasping for the name that would not come.

To...

It was as though she had robbed him of his senses. It was as though the only thing that mattered was the two of them, at that moment, and what they were on the precipice of doing.

They were so close and drawing closer still. Her breath, warm and beckoning, mingled with the cool, damp air surrounding them. Darcy’s pulse thrummed, not just in his chest but in his temples, the tips of his fingers—every part of him attuned to her. The earthy, fresh scent of rain filled his lungs, but it was the subtle hint of lavender from her dampened hair that consumed him. Each breath he drew was filled with her essence, rendering him utterly captive to the moment. He could almost feel the softness of her lips, so near, as though time itself had slowed, enveloping them in a world that seemed entirely their own. The air between them crackled with unspoken promises, the thunderstorm a mere whisper compared to the storm within him. With no turning back, he closed his eyes.

As suddenly as it had started, the rain ceased. The ensuing silence effectively breaking the spell the storm had cast, drawing them apart, interrupting what could have been.

Freeing themselves from their intimate embrace after a moment’s hesitation, both stood.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Darcy straightened, offering her his arm with a formal stiffness, though his heart still raced from their prior intimacy. “Pray, allow me to accompany you back to Rosings.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, preparing to surrender his coat.

He waved off her gesture. “I insist. What would Anne think—or the colonel, for that matter—if I left you to fend for yourself in such a state?”

Anne!Darcy silently reiterated, mentally reprimanding himself. How could her name have escaped me? We are betrothed, are we not?

He extended his arm again and upon receiving no further protest from her, they walked together toward Rosings. Despite his efforts to maintain a sense of detachment, something about the ease of their mutual pace unsettled him. It felt right, more right than it should have—this quiet harmony between a man and a woman whose presence lingered in his mind. Darcy’s thoughts turned to his engagement to Anne, a shadow over his unsettled feelings.

I must do whatever must be done to rectify my situation with my cousin.

Elizabeth did not know how to feel about what had been on the verge of taking place between Mr. Darcy and her. But his reacting as though nothing had happened once the storm subsided, immediately insisting on accompanying her to Rosings with no acknowledgment that mere moments past they had been in each other’s arms did not bode well for her sensibilities.

Has his selective amnesia manifested itself into short-term amnesia?Was that something that was even possible? As much as she did not intend to make herself unhappy about his ensuing attitude or lack thereof, she could not help but be concerned.

Preferring to put a more positive take on things, she supposed he was merely embarrassed over his comportment—heaven knows she ought to be. For all intents and purposes, she was a stranger to him, or at the very least, a recent acquaintance. She would not easily forgive herself if what they had almost done had been the means of causing a setback in his recovery.

Still, thoughts of where a kiss between them might have led could not help but intrude. Her fingers brushed over her lips as she wondered what might have been. Her feminine sensibilities were not immune to the effects of spending so much time with a man like Mr. Darcy with his handsome features and noble mien. While she could not say with certainty that her heart had been touched, neither could she swear that it had not. And thus arose her conundrum—the persistent concern over what would happen if Mr. Darcy’s lost memories of her returned, and equally pressing, what if they never did?

Lying in her bed later that night, wishing she could fall asleep, her busy mind recounted every word, every look, and every touch that led to the two of them almost kissing. All this and wondering, with more optimism than dread, what the next day would bring.