She had only caught her breath for a moment before being requested to dance by a young gentleman who eyed Mr. Darcy with some trepidation the whole while he asked her to step out. She demurred, and saw the curl of Mr. Darcy's lips as he stood there, holding her crystal glass of punch in his hands as he returned with it.

"You do not wish to dance another set?" he asked, as he watched the young gentleman depart. She blushed and looked down, accepting the punch with a small thank you.

"I think it best I sit this one set out," she replied. He nodded sagely, and then turned to her.

"The Charrington's have one of the finest collection of art in London," he commented. "All the most modern masters fight to have a piece included in their hallway. Would it please you to see it?"

She looked up at him and swallowed, her mouth dry. She quickly gulped down another mouthful of punch and then nodded. Anything, she would see anything he asked her, with the candlelight glowing on his skin as it was, she felt altogether quite flushed. She would not dance another set until he asked, she thought. She needed the rest, for the activity had left her quite breathless.

He held out his arm and she took it, wondering at the height difference between them. Did he regret, having so slight and short a future wife? She wondered upon that thought as they left the main hallway. There were a sprinkling of gentlemen and ladies throughout the first floor of the Charrington's house, but it felt as if they were encased in a soap bubble, that no one would intrude upon the private moment they were having. They stopped in front of the first painting, and she turned to look up at it. Then she felt something, his fingers, catching on her hand, and she glanced at him.

His lips were parted, and his eyes gleamed as he looked upon her. She noticed that they were within sightline of another, older, couple, but not within hearing.

"Mr. Darcy?" she asked, and was astonished at how her voice shook. He looked at her with even deeper intent.

"In vain I have struggled. A feeling as if I myself entrapped you, when fate acted out my wishes that I never gave voice to. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire, and love you," he said, and then stopped, frozen, as if he was surprised at his own admission.

Elizabeth could scarce believe her own hearing as she stared up at him, startled, her cheeks flushed. Mr. Darcy thought her glowing, an incandescent woman who was brighter than ten candles, one hundred candles all lit. He longed to stroke his fingers through her artfully curled hair, destroying the work of her maid. He ached to kiss her.

She held her breath and then said, in a soft voice,

"Mr. Darcy-"

He bent and kissed her then, stealing from her lips a sudden affection he had no right to yet. Heat ran through her entire body, crown to toes, and she sighed out against his lips. Then he pulled away, and looked shocked at himself.

"My apologies, please, I must beg your forgiveness that was-"

"No, Mr. Darcy," she whispered.

"I expect too much, that was wrong of me. You have been ill-used by Mr. Hurst, and I will not do the same injustice towards your person, towards your dignity," he was going on and on, and Elizabeth knew if she did not stop him with a reassuring word that the man would continue until he ran out of breath.

"Mr. Darcy, it is quite alright," she said, her eyes sweeping low as she noted the other couple had politely turned away. "A couple, engaged, might have a moment with one another to exchange such small affection so as to keep the feelings strong for their wedding." She felt overcome by the kiss, her lips burning from the touch of it, and if she had not been determined to not make a scene, she might have sunk to the floor in a puddle of petticoats and skirts. As it was she was quite lost as to what to think. She looked up at Mr. Darcy, and felt the usual discomfort and general dislike of his character was very absent, right out missing. He was always handsome, very charming in his looks, but she fairly thought he glowed to her vision. She wished that he had not pulled away from their kiss so very quickly.

Her cheeks burnt with the shame of her thoughts. She was as bad as any little tartlet in one of the gothics that Lydia liked to read, when the girl read at all.

"Were my advances not… were they not unwanted?" Mr. Darcy asked, his eyes crossing her face quickly, back and forth. He looked tentative, as if he was afraid of what her answer might be. She felt a sigh leave her lips and she lifted her hand, putting it on the breast of his fine jacket. The fabric was soft to the touch, and he was firm beneath it. She could not believe the audacity of her own actions, but the way his eyelids dropped, and the line of his jaw went tense, she did not believe he was unhappy with her touch.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, and his voice was so low it was almost a growl that electrified her. Could she forget, everything? She had not been sure of this marriage to begin with, but faced with no choice, was she simply making the best of a bad situation? Or was there something more?

She ached to be kissed again, and it was all she could do not to lean up and catch his mouth with hers. But surely, she could not do such a thing! It was only the atmosphere of the ball, the trembling, giddy excitement of a marriage that was impending, all of it tumbling within that made her act with any sense.

"Mr. Darcy, I-" she was about to confess some small feeling on her part, because there was definitely something growing inside of her for him, her rescuer, a shining knight that had come for her twice now when she had been needing saving.

But he cut her off, bending down and kissing her again, so thoroughly she melted into his arms without another thought to proper behavior. The feel of him, broad and firm against her as he held her tight, his arm curling around her waist, his hand sprawled out in the small of her back.

It was so very wrong, but the hall was shadowed, and the elderly couple had moved down a few paces and were not looking at them. She shivered at his kiss until he pulled away again, leaving them both breathless.

"I overstep," he said, his voice rough and harsh.

"No," she insisted, feeling faint.

"I will take you back to your sister," he insisted, "I cannot… I clearly cannot be trusted to mind my own behavior in your presence." He offered her his hand. "My deepest apologies."

She felt the urge to press her fingers to her lips, to soothe the burn that still lingered there. What was this strange feeling, inside of her? She looked up at him, and all of his faults and pride fell away, leaving only Mr. Darcy, handsome, kind, focused on her and her alone. How had she not seen it before? The times she thought he looked at her with disdain, it was merely a disguised passion, a hidden interest. He had kept his feelings shuttered, so as not to give himself away.

All this time, Mr. Darcy, in love with her? She let her hand rest gently on his arm, ignoring the tremble in her fingers as he escorted her back to the main ballroom. She had the sudden desire to see Jane, and run off with her to some hidden corner so they might speak of it.

At least, she thought, as she looked up at Mr. Darcy while he gazed straight ahead, his jawline tight and tense, she no longer was dreading their wedding.

A/N: Thank you for your continued kindness and support! This was the first full-length Pride and Prejudice novel I wrote, and despite it's imperfections, I do love it. I have many more stories to share with you, so I hope you love them as well. If you truly cannot wait for me to update, this full novel and the rest of my published works are available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and more. Just search for Nora Kipling.

I haven't written for some time, due to being in such grief after my father's passing, but your kind words are inspiring me to write something new. It is time to turn the page, so to speak, and learn to live again.

Much love,

Nora