Chapter 20 #2
Elizabeth put her phone away and pulled her thoughts from the chaotic directions in which they were heading.
Work. Book. Laundry. Grocery. Ugh. A glance at the man inches away, tanned and handsome, ruined her discipline.
She knew too much about him now, like that spot behind his ear that was especially vulnerable to her touch and the gasp she could induce with one small but intense kiss.
He knew her little secrets now, too, and persevered to show her that her body deserved the worship he lavished on it.
He knew what he was doing under the covers, and she was grateful for his higher education.
She sighed and rested her eyes on his profile and her hand on his thigh.
He turned, and even through his sunglasses, she could see his smile reach his eyes.
“One word, Elizabeth, and I’ll turn us around. We have everything we need at Pemberley. No one will bother us.”
“And we can catch our dinner from the sea and make salads of dandelion greens?”
“Our own Walden Pond,” he quipped. “Our fortress of love.”
“Oh, it would be so wonderful,” Elizabeth said wistfully. “But we can find paradise in the city too. Even in August.”
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.
She smiled, over the moon in love and still amazed by this dream world. He drove carefully, wending them through traffic as WQXR played Brahms.
“Rich texted me again about the dinner on Thursday with his parents, my Uncle Michael and Aunt Patricia. I should be there, what with Annabella’s arrest.” Darcy’s eyes settled on hers, and he looked a bit unsure. “I’ve never taken anyone, but thanks to Rich, they know about you.”
“I’ll go.”
“Are you certain? It isn’t too much?”
Elizabeth shook her head. They’d talked, and she’d worried endlessly about the week ahead.
She would be mired in the following week’s book launch, and he had to follow up on Annabella’s arrest, run up to Boston on business, and get back in time for this dinner—apart and distracted, and then together and surrounded by other people.
She hated the idea of her bed, her apartment, without his hard, solid warmth beside her.
“Of course, it’s fine. I’ve already met the De Bourghs, but I’m rather intrigued to meet the people who spawned your charming, chatterbox, playboy of a cousin.”
Darcy chuckled. “He’s not feeling that way these days. He’s not used to being discarded, and two women have broken up with him in the past few months.”
Elizabeth thought a moment. “It’s your turn to be the supportive cousin. Maybe that will keep the focus off of us.” Off of me.
“He’s a solid friend. Despite his penchant for oversharing, he’s a good listener with a clever talent for cutting me to the quick. Rich was rooting for me to get past my stupidity and figure out how to talk to you.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hand and scooted as close as the console box would allow. “Oh, talk is cheap now that I’m reacquainted with your kissing skills. And some other lovely bits.” Her fingers smoothed down a wrinkle on his shorts.
He was going to have pull over and take her in the backseat if she kept touching him that way. He cleared his throat, but his next words still came out hoarsely.
“Are you sure you can’t stay with me tonight?”
She sighed. “I can’t. I have to do things at home, and I have to be at the office really early.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Um, you could stay with me.”
“Are you certain?” He heard the hesitation in her voice.
Although she’d insisted she felt fantastic and hadn’t held back in expressing her desire for him, he’d noticed her walking a bit gingerly.
And he wondered whether she needed a night to rest and to process all that had occurred over the weekend.
He’d happily do all of his processing at his desk tomorrow if it meant another evening with her.
“Yes…I mean, I need to check about Jane’s plans. She sometimes comes home Sunday or Monday night to get fresh clothes. I don’t know why she doesn’t just move in with Charles.”
Darcy sensed her hesitation. “You know what?” He tried to bury his disappointment. “I have an early meeting too. Dinner tomorrow, though? I’ll send a car.”
“I’ll pack a bag.” She squeezed his hand in reassurance.
Odd how they could be nervous after a weekend exploring each other’s minds and bodies, but reality was setting in. They needed to discuss various and sundry things they’d been avoiding. Elizabeth finally took the plunge.
“Um, when do you think I’ll need to meet with the lawyers about Wickham?”
“The next few weeks, I think.” He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’d like to be there with you if that’s all right?”
Elizabeth nodded, grateful for the support but wondering how his travel schedule would allow it.
“What if he’d planted drugs in my purse?” she suddenly exclaimed. “Do you think he planned to? If I’d ever been anywhere alone with him, he might have, but—”
“But you were smart, Elizabeth. You didn’t trust him. You sensed that he wasn’t right.”
“I did,” she said after a deep breath. “As I knew you were. I denied it, but I knew you were a good man.”
“Well, I suppose I owe it all to my excellent nursing skills.”
She smiled, her eyes sparkling behind her sunglasses. “I believe your bedside manner, and all that it entails, is unparalleled.”
Within two hours of dropping Elizabeth off at her apartment, Darcy received a plaintive text. “Home alone. Wanna come over and play?”
He was at her door in just over an hour.
The next day, within minutes of his walking back into his office from a board meeting, Sara let him know that Rich had called twice.
Darcy rolled his eyes. His cousin had texted him three times last night, and he’d done little beyond acknowledging that yes, he was alive and well and happy and they could talk the next day.
His evening had been busy, focused on helping Elizabeth soothe her muscles by giving her a gentle massage.
He made it clear he knew she was worn out, and just being with her, holding her, was enough.
If holding her had been all she’d wanted at Pemberley all weekend, it would have been enough.
Thank God it wasn’t. During that Sunday morning’s thunderstorm, he’d noticed her rub her leg where the scar was, and he now asked her about it.
“It aches when it’s really humid or when a storm is rolling in,” she explained. “Titanium pins are a bit sensitive to weather patterns.” He traced the scar with his finger and then his lips from her ankle to her shin and asked for the full story.
“I was a sophomore. Field conditions were awful, and I was running full bore down the field when another player ran toward me. I turned to run the other way, but my spikes were planted in the turf. My foot didn’t follow my ankle. Broke the tibia in two places and torqued it.”
She saw his grimace. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It was horrible at the time, and I missed a week of classes, but I made it up. Spent six weeks on crutches taking sponge baths.”
He gazed at her, awed by her calm, matter-of-fact explanation.
“My soccer career ended, but shit happens.” Self-consciously, Elizabeth rubbed the scar and wiggled her toes.
“My sexy philosopher.”
“That’s an oxymoron, Mr. Cambridge Grad.”
He pulled her close. “Your family took care of you?”
“Jane did.”
“But she was a student too,” he said, shocked.
She nodded. “She went to class. She was a senior. My dad was busy with some infighting in his department, and Barbara was working long hours and trying to take care of Mary and Lydia. Maddie came by, but Ava and Alex were just babies, and she couldn’t do much.”
He peered closely at her, almost afraid of the answer to his question. “And your mother?”
“Sylvia was on tour. She sent a card. And a happy-face balloon.”
“You were what—nineteen?”
She nodded.
Five years ago. He had been hitting rock bottom, and she had been recovering from life-changing surgery with only her sister for support. Another thought hit him: she always referred to her mother as “Sylvia.”
Elizabeth picked up the remote. “Look, the Mets are winning. Would you like to check on the Yankees?”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes.
He’d studied her long enough to see how well she hid her emotions, and he’d have to make an effort not to hate her parents.
They still hadn’t discussed her mother’s appearance at the engagement party or her absence from Elizabeth’s life.
The telling of his story had been bleak enough.
Now, sitting in his office, he shook off the memory.
He preferred to think about how she’d reached for him and they’d made slow, tender, careful love in the double bed in her tiny room.
The bed squeaked, and the floor creaked, and he knew it was a terrible location for such activities long-term, but being under her sheets and making coffee in her kitchen, surrounded by all things Elizabeth, made the tiny twinge in his back worthwhile.
Darcy picked up his phone and scrolled to the picture he’d taken of her on the beach in his sweatshirt, smiling at the camera.
At him. He smiled and distractedly dialed his cousin’s cell.
“Finally,” Rich exclaimed. “You broke my heart, man. I thought you’d tossed me over because Elizabeth looks better in a bikini than I do.”
Darcy waited a beat. “I hear manscaping is all the rage. Why don’t you get deloused and waxed and buffed and give that bikini a go? I’ll call all my friends for a pool party.”
“Ha,” Rich barked. “All your friends…that would only take you two minutes. Besides”—he sighed dramatically—“Bingley is engaged. I’ve lost my chance with that blonde angel.”
Darcy couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, what do you want?”
“Dinner.”
“I’m busy. Elizabeth is coming over.”
“Well. Good for you.” There was silence for a minute. “Everything is good then?”