"Marry me," she said quietly.
"Beg pardon?" Darcy said, bewildered.
Glancing beyond his shoulder, she repeated, "If you have a heart inside that great cuirass you call a chest, Mr. Darcy, marry me."
"I—" he stammered.
Elizabeth searched his face with frantic intensity as the sound of rapid hoofbeats grew behind him.
"Mr. Darcy," she hissed, "if you will not marry me, you must kiss me. Right this moment."
He could not help but glance at the parting of her lips.
"Miss Elizabeth, I do not under—"
"Will you help me?" she pleaded, her voice rising as she cut across him.
Somewhere in the distance came a shout, but to Darcy, it was a disconnected detail—divorced entirely from the here and now, where, for some inexplicable reason, Elizabeth Bennet was asking him to kiss her.
His eyes did not stray, even as the faint awareness of approaching horsemen nagged at his subconscious.
"Yes." He knew he wished to say it, but somehow, he could not recall when he had made the decision.
And then she was kissing him.
Like a curtain ripped wide to the sun, he was blinded for a moment by the sheer brightness of it. Heat, breath, and posy sweetness crashed over him as his senses realigned. He could not draw a breath. He was frozen and burning all at once. Then, suddenly, he became aware of the clumsy movements of her mouth over his as her hands dragged roughly at his lapels.
If there was a rational thought within him, he had no command over it. A ripple surged through his chest, and from the mire of half-felt, unrecognizable emotions, a sense of triumph rose—one he could not explain. He smiled into the kiss before leaning in, pressing more firmly against her, surprise giving way to a delight that disarmed him. His arms folded around her as she became heavier, more supple in his embrace.
If he did indeed keep his heart within a cuirass, then it was she who recklessly wielded the bolt that pierced it.
She was like the raw burn of rum on his tongue, and his heart raced like a horse at full gallop as he imbibed the heady sensation of it all.
A horse.
Then, a roar split the air behind him, and Elizabeth tore herself away. She spared him only a single glance—her eyes wide and wild—before stepping past him.
Darcy swallowed and blinked slowly, his body instinctively following her movement.
Two horses came to a barely controlled halt a dozen feet in front of them, their sides heaving as they shook their heads and shifted on their feet. Elizabeth stood straight-backed before them.
"What use am I to you now?" Elizabeth cried. "As you see for yourself, I am ruined."
There was a long, ringing silence that followed her declaration, then her father cast quelling eyes on his companion.
"There is no one to admit to it but those who are here," Mr. Bennet said. "All is not lost, Mr. Collins. Your son need never know of this."
"What use am I to you now?" Elizabeth cried defiantly. "As you see for yourself, I am ruined."
"There is no one to admit to it but those who are here," Mr. Bennet said, casting quelling eyes on his companion. "All is not lost, Mr. Collins. Your son need never know of this."
Mr. Collins turned cold eyes toward Mr. Bennet. "I see you have done nothing to curb her animal spirits. No matter. I shall honor our contract—although you must also pay me pecuniary compensation for the damages this headstrong female has inflicted upon herself."
Mr. Bennet glanced at her for a moment before giving a curt nod.
Elizabeth's frame seemed to shrink slightly as she looked up at her father.
"Papa…" came her soft plea.
Mr. Bennet looked at the ground before her feet as Mr. Collins shifted forward in his saddle as if to dismount.
A sudden horror dawned within Darcy. Without thinking, he stepped forward and clasped Elizabeth's hand. She gasped softly, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on the man about to step off his horse.
"I hope," Darcy said, his voice flat and cold, "that you were not just speaking of my future wife in such an abusive manner. Do you have any idea who I am?"
Elizabeth stepped closer, and Darcy released her hand, only to draw her nearer to his side.
The two men stilled, and Darcy used their rapt silence to deliver another invective.
"Whatever plans you pretend to, if you think to conspire against my bride, you conspire against me—and I am not a man who forgives."