Surely that breathlessness was simply a result of the dancing, but the sudden weakness in her legs was harder to explain. Did he mean his words to sound so…? Of course not. Find a safer topic of conversation. “You must have had lots of practice,” she said hastily.
“Cotillion classes,” he chuckled.
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “My mother required it. We learned to dance, escort a lady, walk properly, open doors for a date, and so on.”
What a fascinating glimpse into his childhood. “How old were you?”
His eyes grew distant as he considered. “Fourth grade? Maybe fifth.”
“I don’t believe that’s in your official biography,” she teased.
“It better not be,” he growled in mock anger. It was charming. This was a Darcy she could view as a friend.
“Are there pictures?” she asked.
“Yes. But they are safely stored in a box at Pemberley where no one can find them.”
Elizabeth had heard of Pemberley, the Darcy family home in the Hamptons. Surely it wasn’t as large as Carlisle House, but maybe it was just as opulent. “I bet you were very cute in a little suit and tie.”
“Not at all. My ears stuck out, and I wore thick black glasses.”
Their speed had not slowed. The ballroom continued to rush by in a smear of colors and faces. Cameras flashed constantly—a reminder that she wasn’t dancing with just any guy. “I wore glasses at that age, too, and I had skinned knees all the time from rollerblading or climbing trees.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “I’m not at all surprised.”
His thumb was stroking the back of her hand in little circles, sparking shivers that raced down her spine. Focus on the conversation. “I was an awkward girl: all knees and elbows,” she confessed.
There was an odd expression on his face. “Not many women would admit that.”
“I’m sure most people try to impress you. But it’s too late for me.” Elizabeth shrugged, and the president winced. “It’s rather interesting to speak the truth and see how you react.”
His head tilted slightly. “Why is that?”
“I want to know what makes you tick,” she responded promptly. “See the private man lurking beneath the public persona. The man behind the mask.” She was beginning to suspect that man was rather intriguing.
He scowled. “I don’t recommend that.”
Huh. How had her light banter provoked this reaction? “Is this one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ things?” she asked with a smile.
His lips twitched in amusement. “No. I just don’t believe such an activity would reflect well on either you or me.”
What an odd thing to say. What was he worried she would uncover? “If I don’t figure you out now, I’m not likely to have another opportunity.”
The last notes of the waltz were dying away, and around the dance floor couples were exchanging curtsies and bows. They slowed to a stop, but the president still held her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Did he even know he was doing that? “Do as you please,” he said rather stiffly. “But don’t be surprised if the results are not what you expect.”
He gave her a nod and stalked away. Elizabeth stood at the edge of the dance floor, abandoned. What the hell? Maybe he’s just naturally prickly. Or maybe there’s something about me that sets him off. But then why did he ask me to dance in the first place…?
Of course. He wanted to be seen with her in public. If Elizabeth danced with him…she obviously had no hard feelings over the ugly and stupid comment. His apology had dispelled her lingering anger, but now she was feeling used. He had danced with her to repair damage to his reputation; once his task was accomplished, he was finished with her.
Anger surged through Elizabeth’s veins. How dare he? Heels clicking on the wood, she practically sprinted from the dance floor. That was last time she would talk to William Darcy!
***
Darcy swept across the massive ballroom, two Secret Service agents clearing the way. There were only a couple of tables at the event, but one had been reserved for him. Darcy dropped into his chair and took out his phone, mostly so nobody would disturb him. In his current state, he might bite off someone’s head.
What was it about Elizabeth Bennet? Why was he so disconcerted at the idea that she wanted to see the real William Darcy?