Chapter Thirty-Three
I waited for a few minutes until I was confident Darcy would be out of the way; then I headed back toward the house.
As I reached the entrance, I saw a pair of servants carrying a heavy-looking trunk down the staircase into the hall.
Did that mean they were already packing up to leave for London?
And if so, was the story finally getting back on course?
I wanted to stop and ask someone what was going on, but then I caught sight of the grandfather clock in the hall.
It was almost midday, so I only had two hours to finish writing before Maggie returned and it was time to try to read us out of here.
Back in my room, I sat down at the dressing table and reread what I’d written earlier.
Sadly, it was just as stilted and unnatural as I’d originally thought.
It was like it had been written by someone who’d never spoken English before, let alone lived in London.
I started scribbling out sentences and writing new ones, but I’d not got far when I heard a knock at the door. Shit, was that Maggie already?
“Come in.”
I turned to see Nick’s face peering around the edge of the door.
“I just wanted to check in and see how you are,” he said as he stepped into the room.
He’d taken off the tailcoat and cravat he’d had on last night and was just wearing his breeches and shirt, the top few buttons undone to show his toned chest underneath, and my stomach did a little flip of excitement.
How had I not realized sooner how attracted I was to this man?
And it wasn’t just his good looks, either, but the way he was watching me with kindness, concern, and OK, let’s be honest—a healthy bit of lust too.
“I’m OK.” My voice came out husky, and I swallowed. “I just told Darcy the truth about his time in London, so hopefully he’ll be less agitated about that now and the story will carry on as it should.”
Nick smiled. “That’s amazing, well done.”
“No, don’t congratulate me. This whole mess is my fault in the first place.”
“No, it’s not.” Nick came to kneel next to the dressing table so he was at my eye level. “This is my fault, Zoe. I should have been honest with you from the start. If I’d told you about my family’s magic sooner, then we could have returned Darcy much quicker, and none of this would have happened.”
I bit my lip, very conscious of how close Nick was to me right now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I know it sounds crazy, but when Mum disappeared, I convinced myself that she’d gone into a novel deliberately, abandoning me for a fictional world.
I was so angry and hurt that I vowed this would be the end of my family’s magic and I’d never talk about it again.
So when you came back into the shop asking questions about Mum’s copy of Pride and Prejudice, I was a proud arse and prioritized hiding my family’s secret over finding out if you needed help.
But that was a really stupid thing to do, and I’m sorry. ”
“Well, if we’re talking about stupid things, I should have told you straightaway that Darcy had appeared,” I said.
“I don’t blame you for not telling me. After all, I hadn’t exactly hidden my hatred of that man.”
“No, but it was more than that,” I said.
“I was so furious after you insulted romance novels that I let that anger cloud my feelings about you, to the point I refused to be honest with you and ask for your help. And by doing that, I didn’t just keep Darcy away from the people he loved, but my actions led to the book being put in such jeopardy. ”
Nick gave a sly smile. “A mixture of our pride and prejudice, then, hey? That sounds familiar.”
It was such a ridiculous statement, given the circumstances, that I burst into laughter.
And then, possibly because of my severe sleep deprivation, or the fact we might both be about to die inside a novel, I found I couldn’t stop laughing.
This made Nick giggle, too, and before I knew it, we were both bent over double, our bodies shaking with laughter.
I finally managed to catch my breath enough to sit back up, and when I did, I found Nick’s face was only inches from mine. We both stopped laughing, but neither of us moved. For several long, electric seconds, we stared at each other, and then Nick Baskerville leaned forward and kissed me.
I’ve had a few kisses in my time. Not a huge amount—I was a late starter in that department—but I’d snogged some randoms at university and had a handful of awkward one-night stands before I met Crispin.
And they’d all been fine; some of them had even been quite good. But this kiss. Oh my God, this kiss…
It started slowly, just like I’d imagined last night when I fantasized about kissing Nick.
His lips grazed mine, barely touching them; then he paused and pulled back slightly, as if asking for permission.
In response, I lifted my hands up and ran them through his thick, tousled hair.
I heard Nick give a small sigh, and then his lips were back on mine, still soft but more insistent this time.
One of his hands slid around my back, grasping my T-shirt, and then I was the one to gasp, my insides melting like one of those chocolate lava cakes as I felt his body press against mine.
I had a sudden, powerful urge to slip my hands under his shirt and touch his skin, but instead I focused on his mouth: on the sweet, slightly minty taste of him; on his tongue, slowly teasing my own; and his teeth, gently biting my bottom lip in a way that made me go physically weak.
I had no idea how long the kiss went on for; it might have been ten seconds, it might have been ten minutes. All I knew was that when Nick finally pulled back, his body untangling from mine as he stood up, every cell inside me screamed to have him back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have… You need to write…”
I paused, my heart hammering against my chest as if I’d just run a marathon.
Nick was right, we probably shouldn’t do this here in a house full of strangers, with the clock ticking down to our impending doom.
But also, here was a gorgeous, wonderful man who had put his own life at risk to come and help me, and if I couldn’t get us out of here, and the world of Pride and Prejudice disappeared, then this might be our last few hours together.
And so I stood up, too, grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, and kissed him again.
This time, there was nothing soft or gentle about it.
One of Nick’s hands twisted into my hair, tugging it slightly to angle my head back so he could kiss me deeper.
I let out a small moan of pleasure and sank my fingers into his shoulders, and this seemed to do something to Nick, as suddenly his arms were wrapped around me and we were staggering backward, our bodies locked together as we crashed into the edge of the bed, tumbling over.
Nick braced his arms as he landed on top of me, and then his lips were on my neck, covering it in delicious licks, kisses, and bites.
“Jesus, Zoe, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said between kisses.
“Really?” I whispered as his mouth found a spot that sent a wave of pleasure through my body.
“Fuck yes. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you walked into Baskerville Books in that see-through dress and told me that if I hadn’t heard of Jane Austen, then you were going to punch me.”
I laughed, my fingers in his hair again as his lips moved down to my collarbone.
“I’m sorry about that,” I gasped. “You just made me kind of mad.”
“You made me mad too,” Nick said. “You’ve quite literally driven me insane since the moment we met.”
His hand slipped under my T-shirt, tracing my ribs until he brushed against the underside of my bra, and I moaned.
I felt Nick smile against my neck as he pushed the fabric aside and his fingers found my nipple.
I held my breath as they traced small, slow circles, his touch burning my skin.
His face was just inches above mine, and despite the heat throbbing through me, I tried to drink in every detail of Nick in this moment: the strong curve of his jaw, his hair disheveled, and his pupils so large and dark that I could barely see the blue of his irises.
His fingers crept down to my stomach, and I shivered with desire as I felt them slowly slide down the front of my shorts to trace the lace of my knickers.
Need was building up between my legs—a hot, overpowering need—but I tried to ignore it as I memorized every detail of this incredible man’s face.
Because if I couldn’t write us out of this story, if Pride and Prejudice really was broken, then I might never get to look at it again.
Nick’s hands had reached the lower seam of my knickers, and a moan escaped my lips as he gently brushed a knuckle across the fabric, sending electric sparks through every nerve in my body. And suddenly, looking was no longer enough.
“Zoe?” Nick said, the word a question and a plea all at once. And there was only one way to answer it.
I lifted up my head, and I kissed Nick Baskerville like my life depended on it.
* * *
Afterward, we lay entwined on top of the bed, both silent as we caught our breath.
“That was incredible,” Nick half panted, half laughed, and when I glanced over at him, his eyes were slightly glassy. “You’re incredible, Zoe.”
I moved my head onto his chest so he wouldn’t see the million emotions that were swirling inside me.
Happiness. Excitement. Exhaustion. But something else as well—a teenage petulance nagging away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
Because honestly, as amazing as this moment was, it was also bloody unfair.
All this time I’d spent hiding away with my book boyfriends, too scared to risk another real-life relationship in case I got abandoned again.
And finally, I’d met someone who appeared to be more perfect for me than any romantic hero I’d ever read.
And it wasn’t just that he was funny, kind, and outrageously sexy.
He’d also fought to save Pride and Prejudice despite his own feelings about the book, and when I read myself into the story, he hadn’t given up on me but had followed me in here instead.
Yet rather than getting to see how this might develop, we were stuck in a fictional story that might be able to unravel, taking us with it.
I felt like Louisa in Me Before You, finally having found the person I wanted to be with, only to realize I was about to lose them forever.
“You’re incredible too,” I said, running my hand across his chest. “But unless I can write us out of here, then we’re doomed, like sodding Romeo and Juliet.”
“I’ve not heard of them; are they from a romance novel?”
I laughed and gave Nick a sharp elbow in the ribs, and he laughed too.
“Look, it sounds like you already managed to get Darcy back on track,” Nick said. “Hopefully, he’ll now go to London with the Bingleys like he’s supposed to, and Pride and Prejudice will be safe.”
“But what if it’s too late and Elizabeth and Darcy don’t develop feelings for each other?”
“There’s still time for them to fall in love,” Nick said.
“As long as nothing else changes from now on, then they’ll still get to see each other again at Rosings Park before he proposes for the first time, and then the Gardiners and Elizabeth go to Lambton and she sees him at Pemberley before the whole Lydia debacle.
You just have to trust in Jane Austen; that woman knew what she was doing when it came to plotting a love story. ”
I raised my head to look at his face. “Hang on, I thought you hated Pride and Prejudice, so how come you know it so well?”
Nick smiled. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Before Mum disappeared, I was a big fan of romance novels. Contemporaries, in particular, but I’d read all the classics too. Plus, Mum and I must have watched the film about a dozen times.”
“Oh my God! So when we first met and you said you’d never heard of Emily Henry or Beth O’Leary, you were lying?”
“Of course I’ve heard of them! I’m a bookseller.”
“Then why did you pretend you hadn’t?”
Nick paused, the smile vanishing. “I told you that after Mum disappeared, I was really angry. Angry at her for seemingly abandoning me for a better life in a novel. Angry at myself for not being there to stop her, and angry at all the women who kept turning up at the shop, in need and looking for help I couldn’t give them.
But most of all, I was furious at romance novels, because if it hadn’t been for the power of their stories, then my mum would never have got herself stuck.
And so I got rid of every romance book we had in stock, tried to make the front window look as uninviting as possible to their readers, and vowed I was never going to read or sell a love story again. ”
He stopped talking, his eyes dark with pain, and I lifted my hand to stroke his face. “And now you’re trapped in one yourself, and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Nick.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault, I chose to come here. And we’re not trapped, because you’re going to get us out.”
My hand dropped from his cheek, and I burrowed my face in his chest again. “I’m not sure I am. Even if I do have the book magic abilities, my writing isn’t good enough.”
“Hey, stop saying that.” Nick reached down and cupped my chin, tilting it up so he could look me in the eyes.
“You’ve got to get that scumbag Crispin Carter out of your head.
You’re not trying to write a Booker Prize–winning novel here, so just relax and let your own voice come through. Write what you know and love, Zoe.”
“You make it sound so easy, but what if I can’t do it?”
Nick smiled at me, his eyes warm as he traced a finger along my jaw. “I know you can. You just have to believe in yourself.”