Right from the beginning she develops an unholy fascination with his neckwear. Bow ties…really? It makes her angry that something so eye-catching is being worn by a man who does his best to be aloof from everyone.
She bumps into him one morning at Netherfield in the hallway. Too busy furiously texting her mother about when they can return home to pay attention to where she's headed, she rounds a corner straight into him. His focus is elsewhere too, one hand reaches out on impact to keep her from falling—the other is occupied with the length of fabric draped around his shoulders. They both step back awkwardly and he hurriedly knots his tie—like it's inappropriate for him to be seen in public without one.
The twists and pulls of his fingers against the fabric knot her stomach with irrational anger. As if he wasn't already imposing enough, all six feet of him, topped off with burning blue eyes that revile and judge. The ever-present, official looking knot at his throat makes him even more intimidating, her wardrobe feels somehow inferior.
Before Darcy she's never known a strip of fabric to be so captivating. Running down the chest, stopping just short of the belt, or looped into a little bow just under the chin...it draws her attention to the column of his throat, to the pulse in his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, the wide expanse of his shoulders. She hates how aware she is of him. She just…she hates him.