Bennet. The name was a plague upon Netherfield Hall. To Darcy's mind, the whole damn county would do quite well without such a formidable army of daughters so keen to tittering and giggling.

He stared out of the window of the dining room and winced at the scrape of utensils on his dear friend Bingley's china. Then there was the mother. Not one sensible thought rested in that vapid head of hers. Darcy stared harder at the glass, hoping that the incessant wails of happiness from Mrs. Bennet to the half-empty room would soon cease. Especially given that her mouth was full.

The same could not be ascribed to the two eldest sisters, of course. Darcy could not assign to them the same insensible, tasteless characteristics that could be laid at the feet of their relations. The eldest Miss Bennet, soon-to-be Mrs. Bingley in two months, could only be characterized as a kind, if reserved woman. Miss Bennet had barely recovered from her illness before Bingley had sprung the question to her, and she gladly accepted. Whether her affections for Mr. Darcy's dearest friend were sincere, he knew not; however, he did know that the lady held him in great regard, and they would be happy together. As someone who had earned wealth through trade, the marriage to a daughter of a gentleman—no matter how poor, lackadaisical, or indifferent Mr. Bennet appeared—would only put Mr. Bingley higher in regard in the social orders.

On the other hand, their marriage in two months meant that Mr. Darcy would have to suffer not only the Bennet family for the foreseeable future, but their second eldest daughter as well.

His hands, gripped behind his back, tightened into fists.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Despite her fair eyes and the flush of her cheeks after healthy exercise, the woman sought to be a pain in Darcy's backside.

"I cannot fathom what cruel acts I must have performed upon your person to receive such a gloomy glare for half the night, Mr. Darcy."

Of course Darcy had stared the night before. Her dress, though a plain white and adorned with a simple ribbon that contrasted nicely with the ribbons that festooned the dresses of her younger sisters, had been cut in the style of three seasons ago. It was a lower cut that accentuated her sharp collarbone and a pale décolletage. Darcy had overheard the tittering of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst about the newest trends of higher necklines and lace; Miss Bennet, if she heard, had ignored it as she sat diagonally from Darcy and across from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Then, damn him, Fitzwilliam would not cease speaking to her. They had spent half of the night speaking of the places Fitzwilliam had been to during his honor of service. While they had maintained a respectable distance from each other when they retired to the drawing room to their enjoyment of the night, Darcy had found himself drawn nearer to their conversation and had heard more laughter from Miss Bennet than he had expected. Fitzwilliam, though an intelligent and well-spoken man, did not have the same caliber of wit as Miss Bennet, and Darcy barely understood why she would be interested in hearing tales of foreign countries when to his knowledge Miss Bennet had never ventured further afield than London.

When Darcy had interjected their conversation with the same thought, Miss Bennet had risen that sharp brow and re-introduced him to her ever-sharp tongue. "Though I may lack in the desire to visit such countries in a time of war, I do find myself curious as to the foreign cultures that must exist in these places. Do you believe that a person needs to have traveled extensively before they can be curious about the world beyond their own?"

"Surely a secondhand retelling cannot provide the adequate satisfaction of such curiosity."

Her laughter had echoed through the hall. "Mr. Darcy, it comforts me to know that you still disapprove of my notions of entertainment."

He smiled back. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I did not realize I expressed any sort of disapproval of your activities."

"It is your disapproving eye, not your tongue, that offers such. Just as now, when you gave us a very satirical glance before you approached."

"I assure you," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, interrupting their stare, "my cousin means no censure of our topic of conversation. Though he enjoys his estate in Derbyshire greatest of all, Mr. Darcy has recommended to me more than once that travel is a great pleasure to him."

"I admit as such," he allowed. "Though I do not go abroad as you do."

Miss Bingley had come upon the small party without Darcy's awareness, and interjected with glee, "Mr. Darcy is a wonderful traveler and has told us many of his recollections about his journeys across the country on his important business. Oh, what fond memories I have of seeing the sights outside of town. Miss Bennet, you must have an amusing story of your own?"

"I confess I do not," she replied demurely, removing her gaze from Darcy to Miss Bingley. "I am looking forward to a tour of the Lakes with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in the next year. I am quite happy with the arrangement."

"These are your charming relatives from Cheapside that your sister has told us about?" Miss Bingley slid a cat-eye smile toward Darcy, who said nothing.

Darcy had quit the room then, a strange, unwanted feeling in his soul as he looked upon the amused smile of Miss Bennet at Miss Bingley's machinations. His dour countenance as he crossed to the door had made Miss Bingley, determined to keep him in her presence, step back with a half-finished exclamation. Muttering apologies for his headache, he had ascended to his room and straight to bed.

Damn Bingley's love for the one woman in Hertfordshire with such an abominable, pretty sister! Darcy had been unable to make himself undress for bed, and paced about his room for some employment. Elizabeth Bennet was beneath him in station with no connections and very little to recommend her. But he could not remove from his mind the idea of her laughter echoing in the rooms of Pemberley, admiring those eyes over meals every day, and more. So much more. It had become ungentlemanly how many of his thoughts of Miss Bennet made him blush.

Eventually, growing tired of his pacing, he sat and wondered what had upset him so in the conversation. He couldn't pinpoint a place where the conversation had taken a wrong turn. All he could remember was his gut twisting as he saw Elizabeth's smile and a deep-seated knowledge that his affection had gone too far for his own good.

A diversion. That was what he needed. A book would calm him and interest his busy mind that was ill-employed with thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet. The books he had brought with him to Netherfield Hall did not interest him, and so thus unsatisfied he made his way to the library.

He heard laughter from inside the drawing room as he passed, and thanked the God Almighty that he could pass the closed doors unmolested by Bingley or, even worse, Miss Bingley. The Bennets were being hosted overnight after the celebratory family dinner, and thus the Bennet family lingered. Through the walls he could hear Mrs. Bennet's rapturous talk of the bounties that Netherfield Hall would provide for her Jane—not to mention throw her other daughters in the paths of rich men—and he entreated his legs to move faster.

He slipped into the library, ensuring the door latched quietly behind him and attracted no attention. When he turned from the door, he locked eyes with Elizabeth. A quick glance told him that no one else occupied the room.

He bowed. "I apologize, Miss Bennet. I will make my leave."

"You do not have to leave on my account, Mr. Darcy. I will return to my room shortly."

Did she wish to be in his presence, without a chaperone? Darcy's heart thumped with the possibility of her affection as he straightened. Of course, he had known it would be so were he to admit his own feelings—his position was greater than hers and it was only right for her to hold him in high regard—but there had been a sliver of fear around his heart that had wondered if Miss Bennet's spry wit and sharp words had hidden a dislike for him.

It appeared not, he observed, as she bent her head back to the book in her hands. The candle set precariously on the bookshelf beside her shoulder provided enough light for her to read without squinting.

"Do you always read your books while standing?" he asked, strolling to the far side of the room.

"Only when I am choosing one before bed," she said tartly.

"To bed so soon?" he inquired.

"I could ask the same of you." He looked up to find her gaze on him, a sly smile on her lips. The twinkle of laughter in her brown eyes made him start. "Miss Bingley was most concerned about your fit of illness, Mr. Darcy."

"Miss Bingley suffers continual concern for my self," Darcy replied. As I do you, his mind supplied. Darcy stomped on the thought and returned his attention to the far bookcase which unfortunately held some of the worst sermons he had ever read. The bookcase near Miss Bennet, however, contained a volume of the local fauna within the county that had piqued his interest when he discovered it last week. Drawing closer, he found his gaze going not to the bookcase for this particular book, but to the cover of the book Elizabeth held open in front of her.

"If you wish to read philosophers, I can recommend several. That one, I am afraid, would not suit your love for artistic expression."

Blinking at him, Elizabeth . "Whatever gave you an idea that I value artistic expression over logic and clear thinking?"

"Perhaps I am mistaken. I merely remember how you played at Lucas Lodge." He remembered how, though not practiced or plainly talented, her playful and happy countenance had made the music enjoyable and quite pleasing especially compared to her younger sister's studied skill but forbidding nature. "You played quite well."

Her mouth lifted in a quiet smile and she looked down.

"Do you disagree?" he asked, finding himself moving closer.

A blush dappled her cheeks and she kept her eyes on her book. "Yes, I do, sir. I am not very good at fingering, nor do I show the dexterity as others do. I also do not practice as much as I should, which is an unattractive quality in an accomplished pianist."

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I must disagree with you, Miss Bennet."

He found himself closer to her than he expected. Close enough to smell the rosewater and lemon from her hair. He swallowed. He had never encountered a woman as bewitching as Miss Bennet.

She noticed his nearness and rose an arch eyebrow. "I cannot fathom what cruel acts I must have performed upon your person to receive such a gloomy glare for half the night, Mr. Darcy, and now you stand over me most alarmingly."

She raised her chin, an endearing display of challenge in her sparkling eyes, and Darcy wished nothing more than to run his fingers over her exposed collarbone.

He resisted, if barely, and spun around to face the bookcase. "I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Bennet. I have found the book I wish to retire with. Goodnight."

As the door closed behind him, he heard her shocked laugh. He gritted his teeth and climbed the steps to the first floor two at a time holding the wrong book. The woman must have seen how close he had come to cracking and laughed at him to show that she knew she had him within her grasp. Many families had tried to capture Darcy's hand for their daughters. Darcy had been able to outmaneuver them at every turn.

This time, he feared, he could not. The Bennets had won Bingley, and their second eldest was in danger of winning his heart. If she was a worse woman, she could have trapped him within the library.

If I were a worse man, I could have trapped her.

His heart still hammered at the thought of what it would take to compromise a daughter of a gentleman. Not much—however, his imagination journeyed down paths that led him to press her against the bookcase and feeling her pleasing figure against his own. How she would giggle and sigh as he tickled her neck with his lips. How her skin would feel soft and warm under the back of his hand. He had gone to sleep and fought a war with his comforter, sweating and pale as he dreamed of things that could have been.

Now, Darcy clenched his fists as he stood at the window, his sleep the night before interrupted hourly as he woke up to Miss Bennet's name on his lips. He saw no possible path where his esteem and regard for Miss Elizabeth Bennet would decline. He loved her completely, despite himself.

"Where is Elizabeth, Jane? We are supposed to return to Longbourn in half an hour and she is not here."

Jane Bennet managed to break away from her conversation with Bingley. "Her trunk was in the hall, mama. She expressed a desire to walk this morning."

Darcy started. All of this time he had wasted waiting for the woman, and she had already breakfasted and left for a walk!

Ten steps took him to the door before he had decided to find her. As the door closed, he heard Mrs. Bennet's shocked cry of, "What a disagreeable man! He has stood by the window without a word for an hour!"