30. Lizzy
Lizzy
He dived under, and a taut arse clad in black boxer briefs filled my view.
Thank God, he’d kept his underwear on. Now he was swimming up and down the lake at speed.
His ripped shoulders, glistening with water, the sureness of his stroke as his hands pulled efficiently at the silken lake, sent similar smooth ripples through my body.
He didn’t resist the water, didn’t work against it.
He glided with the flow, the sleek liquid slipping off his back.
I realized I was holding my breath, my heart beating faster.
What is wrong with you, woman? He’s swimming.
I should announce myself. Or hurry away. So why didn’t I?
Mesmerizing glimpses of his muscled back reaching to do the strokes and bulging pecs made me into a drooling mess.
What was I doing, lolling around watching this man swim? This was an invasion of his privacy. I had to use this opportunity to sneak out of here. There was no way he could find me here watching him. I was going to look like a stalker.
Should I run back to the house, call a taxi to the B none of his staff could see him. So he probably had.
I should call out right now and let him know I was here. I was sure he’d be horrified. Annoyed. Irritated, at least. Yes, it was time to go.
I crawled along the ground backward to find a way out without being caught.
But maybe I was wriggling back onto the path he was going to take?
He was pulling on his shorts and T-shirt now, which seemed damp.
Maybe he’d run here or something. Maybe he’d gotten his driver to drop him off up the road and he’d run the rest of the way.
Whichever way I crawled could be in his path.
I’d climb up a tree instead. Once he was on the move, he wouldn’t likely look up. I hadn’t climbed a tree in years, but I used to be good at it.
I slithered backward along the ground, keeping a close watch on him until I was behind a tree.
While his back was turned, I scrambled to standing, clutched on to a branch and pulled myself up.
First branch. Higher. At least the branches were close to one another.
I clutched on to the next layer of branches and pulled myself up again.
I froze. He was coming. Right this way.
Oh shit, he was going to pass right under me. Surely he wouldn’t look up? Quietly, I kept working my way up the tree. Then he was too close. I held my breath as he went past.
Crack.
Which branch was that? Not the one I was perched on?
Creak.
Darcy looked up. How much could he see? Maybe the leaves disguised me.
“Who’s there?” he called.
I squeaked.
Creak. This time, the noise was longer, louder. I wavered from side to side. “Shit,” I said under my breath. Go. Leave. Go, Darcy.
“Do you need help?” he called. At least he couldn’t see me. Who did he think I was? One of his staff’s children?
“I’m fine,” I called in what I hoped didn’t sound like my voice.
Crack.
The leaves shifted so I had a clearer view of him. He was walking toward me as another huge crack sounded, and the branch fell from under me.
I cried out and toppled toward the ground, branches scraping my legs and arms. Beneath me, Darcy dove to one side to escape the downfall. Too late, I was falling, falling, tumbling headfirst, my legs in the air now. I landed splat on top of him—and he fell backward to the ground.
“Ow!” he yelled out.
“Oh shit. Oh God. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
I was eye to eye with him, but the rest of my body was splayed over him indecently. I was sitting astride his chest, my legs sort of wrapped around his neck. He looked up at me with huge eyes.
“What the hell? Lizzy Bennet?” He let out a choking sound. Because I was sitting on his neck.
Apologizing profusely, I scrambled off him. He cried out as I smushed his face and chest and arms with my hands and knees and elbows.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I said.
Gingerly, he rolled over, got on all fours, and then stumbled to his feet.
He shook out his legs and arms, and then he moved his jaw with one hand. “Holy shit.”
“Are you okay?” I peered into his face. “Did I get you anywhere?”
“I’m okay.” He looked at me with shock. “Are you okay?”
I was aching and sore, but that was the least of my worries. I braced myself for his disdain and anger. He was quite right to be angry.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know you were home.”
I flinched. I’d told him that I wanted space, that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him again, and yet a scarce one week later, I’d made a three-hour journey north to his home. I was watching him swim in his briefs, invading his privacy. I must seem totally bonkers.
But he didn’t seem angry. I gritted my teeth, waiting for at least his annoyance. Was he going to ask why I’d climbed a tree?
“I’m back a week early,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
He said it with mild curiosity, not even like he was mad, as I’d expected. What on earth was going on? Still, I braced myself for whatever he was going to throw at me.
Don’t let him focus on the fact that I was perving on him.
“I climbed up a tree because I was—” Shit, what the hell was I doing up a tree? What would anyone be doing up a tree? “I was…bird-watching.”
He rubbed his forehead, looking dazed, as his wet hair dripped down his face.
“But what are you doing at Pemberley?” He raked back his wet hair.
“I thought you were away. I came up with Tabitha for a break. I’m so sorry—this is horribly embarrassing. I’ve put you in a terrible position.”
He studied me, his face warm and kind. “Come up to the house. I need to get changed.”
That was it? I’d expected a scolding tone, but he’d said it gently. Maybe the scolding was coming. Maybe even Tabitha was going to get a reprimand too. Oh no. Not Tabitha. I had to make sure that didn’t happen.
We walked together across the open grassy front, him barefoot and carrying his shoes and socks.
He seemed a different person here, more relaxed.
Still, I felt horribly self-conscious, scruffy with leaves and branches clinging to me.
I tried to come up with a way to start a conversation and yet wanted to rush away from him as quickly as possible.
“Were you out running?” I asked.
“I ran from the train station. I’ve done it all my life when I arrive home. I started when I was at boarding school. I love it. My route takes me along a country lane, fields, and a forest, and then I end up at the lake, where I go swimming. Someone fetches my luggage.”
That did sound like a wonderful tradition.
He blinked and gave me a boyish smile, drips sliding down his cheeks and hanging on to his eyelashes.
Somehow all his grumpiness had been washed away with the water.
I remembered how happy he’d been diving and swinging into the water hole near the Amor Inn.
“Oh, that does sound great. How was your run today?” I asked nervously, even though this was sounding like an amiable exchange between two acquaintances.
Should I come out and ask him if he was angry? Get it out in the open? I didn’t feel as angry with him as I had. But still, mortification singed me, every bone in my body tense. My only goal now was to get back to Tabitha, tell her what had happened, and drive away and not come back.
“Not as eventful as what came after.” He sounded kind of bemused.
I grimaced. “Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“It’s okay. I guess that kind of thing happens when you’re a keen bird-watcher.”
He glanced at me pleasantly as we climbed up the small grass hill toward the building. His shorts and T-shirt were getting damper by the minute and clung to his body, but I was too anxious to enjoy the clinging.
“Yes. Yep. I am very keen indeed on the watching of the birds,” I replied.
“Tell me. What bird caught your eye?” His smile was innocently curious.
“What bird now?” I was confused.
“What bird was so astonishing it made you climb up the tree for a better look?”
“Oh, I see. Yes, ha! It was the…” Playing for more time, I looked back at the cluster of trees and smiled fondly as though envisaging the particular species. “The black-spotted, red-crested, blue-tailed warbler.”
Oops. I got a bit carried away with that one. Too many descriptors. My editor would have slashed at least one of those.
“Interesting. Now I can see why you climbed up a tree. That is quite the warbler.”
Really? Shit. I was good! No wonder I was an author. I could spin such a compelling yarn.
“It really is.” I nodded sagely as we climbed the hill.
“I’ve always thought it was the most interesting of the red-crested family,” he said.
“Oh, me too. Me too.”
Wait, was he having me on? I peered at him sideways, but he seemed serious. And it felt like he was going to launch into more bird talk that I couldn’t fake my way through.
I ran up the stone stairway and burst through the front doors to escape any more of this increasingly specific bird chat.