Chapter Eight
Elizabeth knew she had little time to search the viscount’s study.
It was a well-appointed room with leather-upholstered chairs, a large fireplace, and several rows of bookshelves made from a heavy, dark wood.
The moss green paper on the walls seemed to absorb all the light, making the room dark and mysterious.
Endeavoring not to be overwhelmed by the size of the task before her, Elizabeth marched up to the viscount’s desk, which could double as a boat in an emergency.
She had just started her search when she heard an odd noise behind her. She whirled around, apprehensive of seeing the viscount or one of his servants. She did not expect Mr. Darcy, nor did she understand why he growled like a wild dog.
“Sir! Why are you here?”
His expression was dark and thunderous. “Was our entire agreement some sort of game for you? Is Harwood using you to humiliate me?”
Had excessive pride addled his wits? “What do you mean?”
“I assume you are here to await his pleasure?” he said with a cruel twist of his lip.
Once Elizabeth grasped his implication, her cheeks burned. “How dare you? You know nothing about me to cast such aspersions on my character!” First, the viscount and now Mr. Darcy; why did men credit her with loose morals?
He paced toward her. “For what other reason would you be in his private study?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Perhaps there existed a perfectly rational explanation—or a good lie.
But it eluded her, and she was forced to resort to the truth.
“I told you that the viscount has my father under obligation. He possesses my father’s voucher for ten thousand pounds.
” The truth was almost too humiliating to admit aloud. “I am…searching for it.”
He blinked several times as his posture eased. How odd! He is relieved to discover I am committing theft?
“You are planning to steal it?” he asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Viscount Harwood cheated at cards. And he threatened to collect on the debt if I do not—” She choked on the words. “If I do not—g-grace his bed.” She could not meet Mr. Darcy’s eyes.
But her head jerked up when he swore. Mr. Darcy’s countenance paled. “Damn him! I did not think even Harwood— The blackguard!”
As gratified as Elizabeth was that Mr. Darcy believed her, time was growing short. “Will you kindly leave me? Jane is dancing with the viscount, so I have, at most, half an hour.”
She did not wait for a reply but returned to the desk and began opening drawers. A few seconds later, Mr. Darcy stood on the opposite side of the desk. “Please allow me to assist you.”
“You should leave! You should not become entangled in my family’s business.”
“Harwood deserves to be punished for his perfidy, and two people can search more quickly.”
“Very well.” Though she was still vexed with him, refusing his offer of help would be exceedingly foolish.
Mr. Darcy opened the set of desk drawers on the left while Elizabeth opened the right. They shuffled through the contents but did not find the voucher. Elizabeth searched through the papers on the desk to no avail. Darcy examined a series of ornate snuffboxes on the bookshelf, but they were empty.
With a diminishing number of places to search, they stood side-by-side and surveyed the room. The only remaining possible hiding places were the bookshelves containing hundreds of books, a daunting prospect.
“Who knew that his drinking and gambling activities allowed so much time for reading?” Elizabeth murmured.
Mr. Darcy chuckled. “If we search through all his books, the ball will end before we finish.” Elizabeth groaned. Then she spied a small pile of papers placed haphazardly on the very top of one bookshelf. “What is that?”
The shelf was quite tall; even Mr. Darcy could not reach the top.
Elizabeth needed to stand on something. Unfortunately, the room lacked a ladder, the leather chairs were too low, and the desk chair seemed far too rickety.
Mr. Darcy shook his head as she regarded it.
“It might break under your weight, and then he would know we had been here.”
They both stared at the pile. Never had any papers sung such a siren call to Elizabeth.
“I could lift you.” Mr. Darcy suggested, interlacing his fingers. “As if I am helping you onto a horse.”
Elizabeth judged the height of the bookshelf and concluded she was desperate enough to attempt a bad idea. “Very well.”
Mr. Darcy removed his coat before facing her and lowering his interlaced hands. His gaze caught and held hers. Her breathing stopped. In a second their bodies would be touching very intimately.
But then he coughed and lowered his eyes. I must be the only one affected.
Elizabeth cautiously placed her slippered foot on his hands, attempting to ignore how her leg slid against his arm. Their proximity fired all her nerves, and his sandalwood scent was distractingly appealing.
He hefted her into the air until she could grab the top of the bookshelf with one hand. Allowing it to bear some of her weight, she clutched at the papers with the other hand and placed her free foot on a lower shelf for stability.
She fanned out the papers, which were all vouchers of some kind. But one did bear her father’s writing.
“Is it there?” Mr. Darcy’s voice betrayed some strain.
“Yes!” She risked releasing her grip on the shelf as she pulled out her father’s voucher and shoved it in her pocket. Mr. Darcy’s arms were beginning to tremble. Hurriedly, she returned the remaining papers to the top of the bookshelf.
He made an inarticulate noise of distress. “I do not believe I can—”
But he never finished his sentence. His arm jerked, and Elizabeth’s foot slipped in his grasp. Her knee buckled, and she fell, landing on top of him with her skirts twisted around her knees.
I knew it was a bad idea, she thought as they sprawled on the carpet, a pile of arms and legs.
Elizabeth was momentarily stunned; her body would not obey her commands to move.
Mr. Darcy’s breath was hot on her knee, and her elbow dug into his groin.
One of his hands rested rather inappropriately on her leg.
The study door burst open.
***
Seconds before, Darcy heard a servant’s voice murmuring, “I did see Miss Elizabeth come down this corridor, madam. But I doubt she would be in this—” Then the door opened.
A woman shrilled. “Lizzy? The viscount is dancing with Jane. You must make clear your interest—”
A middle-aged woman dressed in the fashions of three years ago and a footman froze at the sight of them on the floor. Darcy imagined they resembled the victims of a carriage accident—minus the carriage.
After an eternity of immobility, Elizabeth contrived to scramble from Darcy’s body. He climbed to his feet as quickly as possible.
“Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, help….” The woman’s voice was growing fainter, perhaps because she had forgotten to breathe. Darcy surmised this was Elizabeth’s mother. Wonderful. The situation improved by the second.
Darcy stifled a groan. His shirt was untucked and his cravat completely flattened. Elizabeth’s stockings had fallen, and one of her slippers had been mysteriously thrown to the other side of the room. Her hair was disheveled. Elizabeth appeared thoroughly compromised.
The footman smirked. Mrs. Bennet scrutinized the room as if hoping to find a hitherto unnoticed chaperone.
Darcy hurried to reassemble his clothing and don his coat while Elizabeth retrieved her slipper. Meanwhile, the woman in the doorway cried weakly, “Oh, my nerves! My nerves! I shall swoon!”
She remained completely upright. However, her cries attracted another footman, his face alive with curiosity. “Do you need a vinaigrette, madam?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, recovering from her near swoon remarkably quickly. “Who is that man and how much is he worth?”
Elizabeth frantically straightened her gown and stockings. “Mama! Er…He was helping me reach a book, and we fell.”
The first footman tittered. The second disappeared down the hall.
“What in the world were you doing in here with him?” Now Mrs. Bennet’s voice could have woken the dead. “Who is he?”
The footman made no attempt to hide his amusement. No doubt he anticipated what a wonderful story this would make.
Darcy had never before considered emigrating to the Americas, but it was a rather appealing prospect at the moment.
Elizabeth gestured between them with a distracted air. “Mama, this is Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, my mother, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy, who has ten thousand a year?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
Darcy’s cheeks heated. And I had believed it was not possible to be more embarrassed….
“No. Yes. That is not important—” Elizabeth’s voice squeaked. “What is important is…we were just— I was….” Elizabeth’s eyes darted about the room as if hoping to find a plausible excuse lurking in a corner. “Obtaining a book…from the top shelf.”
“What book could you possibly need that desperately?” her mother asked faintly.
A maid now hovered in the doorway, no doubt attracted by Mrs. Bennet’s cries. Soon guests would hasten to observe the commotion. This was a disaster.
Then Viscount Harwood himself pushed his way into the room with the other footman. “Why are you in my study?” he demanded of Darcy. “What are you about?”
It was all Darcy could do to avoid glancing at the pile of papers on top of the bookshelf.
The viscount must not suspect a thing. If he discovered the voucher now, the viscount might involve the law.
Elizabeth’s family would face scandal and financial ruin.
Silently, Darcy cursed her father and every card he had ever played.
Better that everyone believe they were having an assignation than guess the truth. Darcy hovered protectively near Elizabeth, wishing he could somehow shield her from this unpleasantness. This would be ruinous for her reputation. And it was all Darcy’s fault. He needed to fall on his sword.
“Miss Elizabeth and I…er…desired a private conversation,” Darcy said.
The first footman and the maid did not bother to conceal their snickers.