Chapter 7 #3
And there he was—in dark gray trousers, a black shirt, and a black jacket. The man in black. Wearing the same pair of overpriced Italian shoes as when they’d first met. Looking thinner, perhaps a bit tired, but glowing with intensity.
“Hello. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. And you?”
“Fine.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
Charles sighed loudly. “Oh, sit down, for God’s sake. My neck hurts looking up at you.”
Darcy helped Caroline into a chair and took the empty one beside Elizabeth. “This isn’t quite the way I’d hoped to have dinner with you,” he said quietly.
“Trust me—this isn’t the way I wanted to have dinner with anyone.” Elizabeth took a sip of water and turned to her new seatmate. “Are you good with your fists, or do you prefer swords or pistols?”
“Pardon?” Darcy bit back a smile; she was parrying with him already. The flowers had been a good idea.
“I’m afraid you might be challenged to a duel.” She flashed him a smile and raised her eyebrows.
Darcy tilted his head toward her. “A choice of weapons? I wouldn’t suspend any pleasure of yours.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked over his head.
“Excuse me. That’s my seat.” Bill Collins stood behind Darcy, balancing two plates piled with food, a bottle of Stella Artois sticking out of each jacket pocket.
Darcy turned around slowly and eyed Collins.
“You’re with Elizabeth?” At Collins’s nod, Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
“You’re with him?” he asked in a low voice that betrayed his disbelief.
“Would you prefer George Wickham?”
“I can explain that.”
“Hey, Bill.” Charles reached behind Jane and tapped his arm. “There’s an empty seat by my sister.”
“But, but…” Bill’s head swiveled back and forth.
He sighed and carried his overflowing plates to the empty seat beside Caroline.
He set one plate there and put the other in front of the horrified woman.
A small bit of gooey cheese dripped onto her Michael Kors bag.
Darcy felt an urgent squeeze on his arm and heard an angry hiss in his ear. “Get him away from me.”
“Er, sorry, Caroline,” Darcy replied in a cool voice. “If you’d care to mingle a bit, I noticed your old friend Chet Pilmon at the bar.”
Caroline seized her bag and disappeared. Bill picked up the plate intended for Elizabeth and began scraping scallops, endive, and gnocchi onto his own dish.
“Well, that was a bit awkward,” Jane said softly.
“You think?” While Elizabeth certainly didn’t want to spend an evening with Bill Collins chewing in her ear, she thought Fitzwilliam Darcy was one rich, officious jerk for taking the man’s seat. Even if he did smell better. And look better.
Bill cleared his throat. “I’m Bill Collins, Elizabeth’s companion for the evening. And you are…?”
Darcy nodded and thanked Bill for the seat. “Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Fitz—? Are you related to Annabella De Bourgh? She’s brilliant!
” Bill, his mouth full of spinach puffs, flushed with excitement.
“I’m sorry to have missed her event last month.
You do know her motto, don’t you? ‘Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.’ Brilliant. ”
“Wait a second,” Charles said. “Isn’t that from Dilbert?”
The Knightleys overheard the conversation and immediately engaged Collins in a spirited discussion of performance art and free will.
Elizabeth listened for a moment, eyebrows raised.
What do you know; the man has depths. Deeply buried under layers that needed lots of pruning and reshaping, but he’d obviously done more than simply skim the newspaper’s Arts & Leisure section.
Darcy glanced at an amused Elizabeth. “I’m sorry your dinner was hijacked. May I get you a plate?”
“No, thank you. I like to window shop.”
She and Jane rose, and Darcy and Bingley followed them to the scattered serving stations.
They returned with full plates, and the table’s occupants—minus Caroline—spent a half-hour talking about the food, the theater, and Bingley’s big idea for reviving an obscure eighties video game.
Darcy mostly listened, and Elizabeth wondered why he made an effort to come to such a nice event only to sit around like a stodgy old man.
As soon as Jane and Charles started sharing desserts—and forks—Elizabeth headed to the ladies’ room. When she emerged, Collins awaited her.
“Elizabeth, what do you say we get out of here?” he asked eagerly, his words slurred. “Charles said you live in Jersey. I can show you the city. Have you been to the top of the Empire State Building? New York’s grid system is fascinating to see at night.”
“Um, not since I was five years old,” she said slowly.
He was no one she wanted to spend time with, especially when he was obviously inebriated, but his business—and probably his friendship—was important to Charles.
She stared at the bits of dried cream sauce in the corners of his lips.
God, Bennet, think of something. Quickly.
Bill smiled and shrugged. “We’ve barely had a chance to talk. I’d like to know more about you. I hear you’re an athlete.” Liquor spoiled his attempt at a suave demeanor. “Perhaps you could give me some advice on working out?”
Involuntarily, her eyes swept his physique. It looked plenty built up to her, just in all the wrong places, especially his midsection. Tonight’s overindulgence in high-end beers was obviously not an anomaly. Suddenly, she felt his hand sliding up her arm. He squeezed her biceps.
“Oh my, you are buff.”
“Get your hands off of me. Now.” Elizabeth shook her arm free and pulled back from him. “Bill, I hope you’ll continue to do business with Charles, but you have no further business with me. You need to go home, alone, and sleep it off.”
She wheeled around and walked outside to find some cool air. She couldn’t escape the feel of Bill’s moist hand on her arm and his breath in her face.
“Are you all right?” Another voice, deeper and with a British accent, came from behind her.
Dammit. Seriously?
Darcy had been standing over at the espresso bar, his arm trapped by Caroline, his ears only vaguely attuned to her vivid update on last week’s social gossip, and his eyes trained on the ladies’ room.
He’d seen Elizabeth head in there a few minutes earlier and soon spotted Bill Collins hovering near the doorway.
He felt terrible for her situation. Charles’s whispered confirmation of Bill’s client status and Elizabeth’s unknowing role as his “date” both amused and horrified him.
They clearly had divergent ideas about the evening, and Darcy didn’t appreciate the way Collins had been eyeing Elizabeth.
Microbrews and fried bread puddings were not a good mix with his personality.
After Elizabeth had risen from the table, Collins disappeared.
Darcy excused himself and followed a moment later.
He ended up standing with an over-served, highly caffeinated Caroline but quickly pulled away from her when he saw Elizabeth trapped by Collins, his hand on her arm.
Elizabeth pushed him away and stalked out.
Darcy noted Collins watching her, confused and disappointed.
He walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Be smart. Get a cab and go home.”
Then he headed outside and found Elizabeth with her arms crossed, leaning against the railing overhanging the boardwalk and looking up at the stars. “Are you all right?” Elizabeth stared at him. “I’m sorry, I saw he was waiting for you, and I thought you might need backup.”
She still didn’t say anything, and Darcy began to worry he’d come off as a stalker.
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m fine. He’s just overenthusiastic and socially clueless. So what’s the deal? Are you my new bodyguard, protecting me from men you disapprove of?”
Darcy nodded and gave her a rueful smile. “I suppose so.”
He abruptly leaned toward her and pointed up at the sky. “Look at that. You can actually see the Pleiades tonight.”
“The Seven Sisters?”
“Right.” He smiled, pleased but unsurprised that she knew the constellations. “You don’t always see so many stars—”
“—this close to the city.” Their eyes met.
Elizabeth pulled away and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Collins isn’t a long-lost Darcy cousin, is he?”
“God, no. Why would you ask that?”
“I’m kidding. It just seems that whenever I see you, I run into one of your cousins. A De Bourgh here, a Fitzwilliam there.” She stared off toward the tall ships docked at the pier. “Your family has a luxury suite at Yankee Stadium. Wow.”
“My cousin mentioned the game. I hope you enjoyed it, despite him.”
She laughed. “Oh, he’s a fun one. Quite a talker. You two are very different.”
“I’m not much like any of my cousins.”
“Your American cousins?”
“Any of them,” He turned around and leaned against the railing. “Are you going to see him again?”
“Richard? Not unless I need a tour of the UN. Or he offers up those extra seats again.”
My seats, actually. He caught sight of Elizabeth, hair fluttering in the gentle breeze and her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
Looking at him as she did that night at Netherfield.
She has the most beautiful, intelligent eyes, Darcy thought.
Her lashes appeared naturally thick, and there were flecks of gold in the green irises. And they sparkled. God, she’s beguiling
He took a deep breath.
“Elizabeth, I don’t want to talk about my cousin. Or any of the men you’ve dated. I want to talk about us.”
He reached for her, brushing his finger against her cheek. “I think about you all the time.”