Page 146 of Companions of Their Youth
But tonight…
Tonight she was engaged.
Tonight, she would let herself be happy.
The carriage door opened, and the steps creaked as someone climbed in.
Darcy.
He slid onto the seat beside her and reached to close the door, drawing them into a warm, quiet space of shadows and lantern light.
She smiled, tilting her head toward him. “Did it all go well?”
He gave a low hum of amusement. “Your mother was elated, Miss Bingley was… unhappy, and most others were surprised, though they seemed to be pleased for us.”
She grinned. “And you? Which group do you fall into?”
He turned toward her fully, one brow arched in that way she now found completely irresistible. “My own category, I am afraid. Far above all the others.”
His gaze was steady, intense. Her breath caught at the sheer warmth in it.
A small shiver ran through her.
He frowned at once. “You are cold.”
“No—” she began, but he was already rapping twice on the roof to signal the driver, then wrapping an arm around hershoulders. His palm settled against her bare skin where the fabric of her torn gown had slipped, just above the place where the stitches were.
The carriage lurched forward, and she leaned instinctively into his side.
He reached for the folded carriage rug and pulled it across both their laps, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She sighed into his chest.
He was warm. Solid. The scent of his coat was cedar and smoke and something distinctly his own. She had never felt quite like this before—not even with Mark, and certainly never with her father. There was a comfort in Darcy’s presence, yes, but also a thrill. A sense of safety entwined with something deeper, wilder.
Something she had not realized she wanted until he gave it so freely: intimacy.
She tilted her head to look up at him.
He was already looking down.
The kiss, when it came, was soft—tender as a breath, hesitant as if he feared he might overwhelm her. His lips brushed hers gently, asking rather than taking.
Her heart surged.
She kissed him back.
The love she had held inside her for so long burst forth in that moment—not with drama, but with complete, instinctive joy. She leaned into the kiss, her hands rising to his chest, and his fingers curved around her side, holding her more firmly.
She felt his surprise at first.
Then he deepened the kiss.
It was not desperate or hasty, but something full and rich, like a promise made without words. She gave herself over to it—marveling at the way her skin tingled, her heart soared, her breath mingled with his. Instinctively, she pressed herself against him, yearning to remove any distance between them.
She felt his breath hitch, felt the change in him.
Then the kiss was no longer tentative.
