Page 11 of Twice Chosen

She curtseyed. "Mr. Darcy."

His eyes searched her face. Not politely. Hungrily. Confused.

Elizabeth's smile widened before she could stop it.

Darcy's throat moved. "Would you do me the honor of dancing the next?"

She had intended to tease him. Something about tolerability. The words died.

"You dance?"

He almost smiled. "I have been accused of it."

That was one of her phrases.

Elizabeth's heartbeat stumbled. She had said that to him at their daughter's wedding when he complained that everyone expected him to dance. You have been accused of it before.

Coincidence.

Surely.

She extended her hand. "I would be pleased."

Darcy's fingers touched hers. Warm. Young.

He did not squeeze.

Elizabeth almost felt disappointed.

Then his thumb moved once across the side of her index finger.

A tiny unconscious stroke.

She stared at him.

Darcy froze.

They stood too long.

Charlotte, beside Elizabeth, cleared her throat.

Elizabeth pulled her hand away. "Until the next, Mr. Darcy."

He bowed. "Miss Elizabeth."

He walked away.

Charlotte turned. "What was that?"

Elizabeth watched Darcy retreat. "I have absolutely no idea."

Darcy spent the next fifteen minutes trying not to lose his mind. Elizabeth's smile had not been the young smile he remembered from the assembly. It was his wife's smile, the one she had developed when trying not to laugh at him.

Then her hand.

He had touched it and his thumb had moved automatically. A habit. Not the three strokes. Just one.

Elizabeth had looked at his hand as though struck.