A/N: My first ever P&P fic (well, more like drabble) inspired by the latest movie rather than the book. This is one particular scene that I fell in love with, apart from Matthew Macfayden, of course, who was one of the most drool-worthy Darcy's ever.

Disclaimer: Own nothing. Sadly. ((Tear))

Touch

Elizabeth walked up to the carriage, mind running over the chastising her sisters would receive once home. Imagine the presumptuousness of Kitty and Lydia, so blatantly asking poor Mr Bingley about that ball! She would never be able to go to another of Mr Bingley's balls without blushing – she was certain of it.

She watched as Jane exchanged a demure smile with Mr Bingley before he helped her into the carriage. Elizabeth had high hopes for her most beloved sister, and she was also certain that wedding bells would be ringing within the year. She would come and dance at the wedding too, providing that a certain brooding man wasn't present; a certain annoying standoffish cold natured man that irked Elizabeth to her core. The same man who stood before her now, emotions carefully masked.

Steel blue eyes looked down at her as she bobbed a respectful curtsey. "Mr Darcy."

He bowed. "Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth was fully prepared to hike her skirts up and clamber into the carriage as she did most times, no matter how much her mother would berate her for afterwards. She needed no helping hand – she managed well enough alone, even though she would horrify Kitty and Lydia with such behaviour before two very rich, very important men.

So she was more than a little surprised at the touch of a warm hand encircling her own, and even more so when she looked up and her brown eyes met the blue eyes of her self proclaimed nemesis.

Something unreadable was in those eyes, something strong that thrilled Elizabeth to the core; not like the temper he possessed that inflamed her so. The warm, gentle touch of this man was shocking to Elizabeth, and surely that was why she was feeling light headed.

Damn her traitorous heart for fluttering at his touch! Surely she should recoil, be repelled at the hand that so tenderly held her own instead of becoming delirious and disorientated. Was it possible to lose oneself in one's touch? Elizabeth thought, her breathing unstable.

This never happened to people like her; no, this only happened to the heroines in the romance stories that Kitty and Lydia so devoured. She did not find his eyes hypnotising; she did not find him handsome. She did not find his touch intoxicating and she did not want to know what it would feel like to be held in those arms. She did not, she could not and she would not.

Surely this was a fine line that she, Elizabeth Bennet was treading. She would not allow herself to fall for this insufferable man. The teasing she was sure to receive from her sisters! The embarrassment of having to reveal her love to such an unfeeling mortal! A god would not possess the courage needed, and it was rich to think that she would.

All too soon she had to detach her hand from his own, lest look so forward that she might denounce her family's reputation. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was breathing as the carriage pulled away, and for once she did not hear her mother's berating.

Darcy watched from a balcony as the Bennet carriage pulled away. His gaze strayed to his right hand and his mind caressed the memory of her hand in his own.

Little did they know that the biggest of hopes was ignited by the slightest of touches.

A/N: I hope I did this scene justice, and sincerely hope that I got the whole scenario right. I also hope that Ms Austen isn't turning in her grave at a hormonal teenage girl's fluffy adaptation of one of the greatest books ever.