His eyes never left hers. The stormy blue was quite dark in the ballroom lighting. “You’re very good,” he said earnestly.
“Not really. I’m just following your lead.”
“You’re very good at responding to my cues.” He licked his lips; her eyes followed every movement of his tongue. “Not every woman is so…responsive.”
Surely that breathlessness was simply a result of the dancing, but the sudden weakness in her legs was harder to explain. Did he mean his words to sound so…? Of course not. Find a safer topic of conversation. “You must have had lots of practice,” she said hastily.
“Cotillion classes,” he chuckled.
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “My mother required it. We learned to dance, escort a lady, walk properly, open doors for a date, and so on.”
What a fascinating glimpse into his childhood. “How old were you?”
His eyes grew distant as he considered. “Fourth grade? Maybe fifth.”
“I don’t believe that’s in your official biography,” she teased.
“It better not be,” he growled in mock anger. It was charming. This was a Darcy she could view as a friend.
“Are there pictures?” she asked.
“Yes. But they are safely stored in a box at Pemberley where no one can find them.”
Elizabeth had heard of Pemberley, the Darcy family home in the Hamptons. Surely it wasn’t as large as Carlisle House, but maybe it was just as opulent. “I bet you were very cute in a little suit and tie.”
“Not at all. My ears stuck out, and I wore thick black glasses.”
Their speed had not slowed. The ballroom continued to rush by in a smear of colors and faces. Cameras flashed constantly—a reminder that she wasn’t dancing with just any guy. “I wore glasses at that age, too, and I had skinned knees all the time from rollerblading or climbing trees.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “I’m not at all surprised.”
His thumb was stroking the back of her hand in little circles, sparking shivers that raced down her spine. Focus on the conversation. “I was an awkward girl: all knees and elbows,” she confessed.
There was an odd expression on his face. “Not many women would admit that.”
“I’m sure most people try to impress you. But it’s too late for me.” Elizabeth shrugged, and the president winced. “It’s rather interesting to speak the truth and see how you react.”
His head tilted slightly. “Why is that?”
“I want to know what makes you tick,” she responded promptly. “See the private man lurking beneath the public persona. The man behind the mask.” She was beginning to suspect that man was rather intriguing.
He scowled. “I don’t recommend that.”
Huh. How had her light banter provoked this reaction? “Is this one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ things?” she asked with a smile.
His lips twitched in amusement. “No. I just don’t believe such an activity would reflect well on either you or me.”
What an odd thing to say. What was he worried she would uncover? “If I don’t figure you out now, I’m not likely to have another opportunity.”
The last notes of the waltz were dying away, and around the dance floor couples were exchanging curtsies and bows. They slowed to a stop, but the president still held her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Did he even know he was doing that? “Do as you please,” he said rather stiffly. “But don’t be surprised if the results are not what you expect.”
He gave her a nod and stalked away. Elizabeth stood at the edge of the dance floor, abandoned. What the hell? Maybe he’s just naturally prickly. Or maybe there’s something about me that sets him off. But then why did he ask me to dance in the first place…?
Of course. He wanted to be seen with her in public. If Elizabeth danced with him…she obviously had no hard feelings over the ugly and stupid comment. His apology had dispelled her lingering anger, but now she was feeling used. He had danced with her to repair damage to his reputation; once his task was accomplished, he was finished with her.
Anger surged through Elizabeth’s veins. How dare he? Heels clicking on the wood, she practically sprinted from the dance floor. That was last time she would talk to William Darcy!
***
Darcy swept across the massive ballroom, two Secret Service agents clearing the way. There were only a couple of tables at the event, but one had been reserved for him. Darcy dropped into his chair and took out his phone, mostly so nobody would disturb him. In his current state, he might bite off someone’s head.
What was it about Elizabeth Bennet? Why was he so disconcerted at the idea that she wanted to see the real William Darcy?
The obvious answer was that he didn’t want her to know about his attraction to her, but it went deeper. Under her gaze he felt like everything had been stripped away, and he stood naked before her. He shuddered. That wasn’t even the most unnerving part of the experience. No, the thing that had him most rattled was that he rather liked it. He seemed to enjoy the idea of being dissected for her amusement.
Maybe she could already discern the flaws in his character, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought? At the same time he almost wanted her to get a glimpse of his secret fears and vices. Why on earth would he want something so torturous?
It's me, he decided. I’m easier with her around. She makes jokes I laugh at. It had taken all his willpower not to laugh aloud at her CIA-flavored jest. She treats me with…not disrespect…more like irreverence. He hadn’t known that was something he needed.
What a relief to learn that the mega-dweeb she entered the room with wasn’t her boyfriend! She’s a distraction. I should avoid events where she will be present. No…no…that would be rude…
Darcy’s chair jostled as Bing fell into the seat next to his. Jane gave her boyfriend a quick smile, laying her clutch on the table. “I need to find Lizzy.”
“Hurry back,” Bing said huskily. Darcy rolled his eyes.
After Jane disappeared, his best friend looked at Darcy. “I expected you to still be dancing with Elizabeth. I had to sit down because of my knee, but you could keep going.” Bing had a high-school soccer injury that troubled him occasionally.
Oh, I wish…. Darcy shook his head. “One dance was enough.”
“But—”
“There will be pictures of her on all the sites tomorrow. You know I only ever dance once with each woman.” The words emerged more sharply than he intended.
“I thought you might make an exception for Elizabeth.”
What was Bing getting at? Covering for his discomposure, Darcy gulped water from the glass in front of him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you like her.”
Darcy nearly choked on the water. “What?”
Bing was unrepentant. “You like her—more than anyone I’ve seen you with since college. In fact, you like her more than anyone. Period.”
“I can’t date while I’m in the White House.”
“I didn’t set up those rules,” Bing countered.
“No. I—”
“Hello, gentlemen.” Caroline Bingley’s nasal voice broke into their conversation as she inserted herself beside Bing. Darcy hastily averted his eyes; he wasn’t about to pursue that topic in Caroline’s presence.
“What have we here?” Jane’s cell phone had slid out of her clutch and rested on the table before Caroline.
Bing scowled and reached for the phone. “It’s rude to read other people’s texts.”
Caroline deftly grabbed it before he did. “Rude?” She read the screen, giving Bing a triumphant look. “Wouldn’t you like to know what the texts say about you?”
Bing hesitated but then shook his head. “No.”
“I think you do.” She smirked. “The text is from Fanny Bennet. I suppose that’s her mother—what a name!” Caroline cleared her throat and read in a passable imitation of F
anny Bennet’s screechy soprano. “Jane, very clever of you to find a way to stay overnight at the White House. Bing seems to like you so much. I’m sure we’ll hear wedding bells soon.”
She tossed the cell phone back on the table triumphantly. Bing had gone still and pale. Darcy’s stomach churned; he had thought Jane—like Elizabeth—was superior to her crass family. “Maybe it’s not what it seems like,” he suggested gently.
Bing gave a humorless laugh. “Or maybe it’s exactly what it seems like: she faked a back injury to stay at the White House and solidify her hold over me.”
The text from her mother was rather damning.
“It’s the money,” Caroline said.
“But they’re rich!” Bing exclaimed.
“You never had them thoroughly vetted, did you?” Caroline shook her head impatiently and muttered “Amateurs!” under her breath. “I did a standard background check and was planning to tell you on Monday. The accountant for On-a-Stick, Inc. recently embezzled a lot of money from the company. They’re teetering on the brink. Without a big infusion of cash, the company would have to sell out or risk bankruptcy.”
Bing went even paler. “Jane never said anything…”
Caroline regarded him as if he were a small child. “Of course not. She’s probably hoping to marry you quickly and then get Daddy’s money to shore up her family’s processed food empire. He’s well-known for investing in troubled businesses.”
All those mild looks Jane had given Bing…she’d never seemed as besotted with him as his friend believed. Certainly not as besotted as Bing. Why hadn’t Darcy noticed that before?
Bing stared into space as though he were struggling to process the sight of a horrific car accident he had just witnessed.
“Bing?” Darcy asked.
“She …did ask me about how Dad chose the companies he invested in…and if I knew anyone who needed PR help from her friend Charlotte’s firm. I didn’t think anything of it.” Darcy had to avert his gaze from Bing’s crestfallen expression.
“Of course she did,” Caroline crowed. Good Lord, was the woman capable of any empathy at all? Even for her own brother?
“There could be an innocent explanation—” Darcy offered.
“No, there couldn’t!” Caroline cried.
Bing’s expression was bleak. “Thanks, Darce, but you know this has happened before.” Bing’s heart had been broken by a gold digger in college. He had been head over heels, but she had only cared about what he could buy for her.
Darcy didn’t want Jane to be like that. But Fanny Bennet’s text left little room for ambiguity. Had the whole family been in on the scheme? Had Elizabeth’s medicine delivery been part of the plan—a way to sneak into the White House? No, then she would have flattered and flirted with him, not exercised her acerbic wit.
Bing’s face was gray and drawn. “Maybe you should talk to Jane about it,” Darcy suggested.
“Yeah.” Bing stared across the room, where his girlfriend was chatting with Elizabeth. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”
Darcy had no doubt that conversation would contain phrases like “this isn’t working anymore.” Maybe Bing was jumping to conclusions, but Darcy agreed with Caroline. It was unlikely there was an innocent explanation. Thank goodness I didn’t act on my disastrous feelings for Elizabeth Bennet! Her family is even worse than I thought.
“I never trusted those Bennet women,” Caroline said. “That Jane Bennet smiles too much. It isn’t believable.”
Darcy tried to catch Bing’s gaze, but his friend was still staring forlornly at Jane.
***
From a discreet distance, Elizabeth watched a drunken Kitty laugh, hanging on the arm of some senator’s son. So far Kitty’s behavior had occasioned many winces but nothing egregious enough to warrant intervention. Why did her family have to be so mortifying? Kitty spilled champagne on her dress provoking louder laughter.
Elizabeth checked her phone. She hadn’t even been at the ball for two hours, yet it already felt like the longest party of her life. The only saving grace was that Bill’s continued interest in Charlotte relieved Elizabeth of those obligations. In the meantime, she had nothing to do except fume about the president’s treatment of her.
“Lizzy!” Elizabeth had a one-second warning before her mother’s hand clamped onto her upper arm. “How did you secure a dance with the president?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
Elizabeth cringed. “He just asked me.”
“He hasn’t danced with anyone else. It must mean something!”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything. He probably just felt bad about calling me stupid and ugly.”
“Now, Lizzy, keep an open mind. Maybe he sees something in you that nobody else does.” Before Elizabeth could reply to this backhanded insult, her mother rushed on to the next topic. “But it doesn’t hurt to have more than one iron in the fire. Your eggs won’t fertilize themselves!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. God, I hope nobody else heard that.
“So I want you to meet this charming young man!” Without waiting for a response, Fanny dragged Elizabeth toward a knot of people.
“I’m here with Bill,” Elizabeth said.
“Pfft! Who cares about staplers?” Mrs. Bennet leaned close and whispered in Elizabeth’s ear. “He’s a congressman, and his uncle does venture capital for troubled businesses. They might invest in our company. Be nice to him.”
Elizabeth glanced at the group of partygoers. “Lydia is already ‘being nice to him,’” she observed.
“She is quite good at charming young men.” Mrs. Bennet gave a fond smile as her youngest daughter flashed her cleavage at the man next to her. “But I fear she may be too young for George Wickham. You’re just the right age.”
“I’m your go-to person for sarcastic quips,” Elizabeth objected, “but I’m no good at charming men.”
“If he’s not the right guy, you don’t need to go on a date with him,” her mother hissed in her ear as they approached the others. “Just be nice to him, chat him up.”
When Elizabeth balked again, her mother ordered, “Do it for the company!”
Damn. Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. That was a plea she couldn’t ignore.
The potential egg fertilizer was obligingly chatting up John Bennet while Lydia hung on the poor man’s arm like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic. George Wickham was tall, with well-defined cheekbones and a sensual mouth. His sandy brown hair was longish, nearly touching his collar, and slicked back from his face. It was a style Elizabeth didn’t particularly care for, but many women swooned over it. Apparently, Lydia was one of them; she tossed her head in annoyance as Elizabeth joined the group.
Fanny brazenly interrupted the ongoing conversation. “This is George Wickham,” she trilled to Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham, this is my second oldest daughter, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and managed to meet the man’s gaze. Her mother’s matchmaking was about as subtle as a falling anvil.
As he took Elizabeth’s hand, Mr. Wickham treated her to a blinding smile. No doubt he paid a fortune for teeth whitening. “Ms. Bennet.” Instead of shaking her hand, he turned the palm down and kissed the back.
“Ooh,” Lydia gasped.
Yes, he was attractive and gallant, but he was not the first congressman Elizabeth had met. “Who do you represent in Congress, Mr. Wickham?”
“Please call me George.” He again flashed that impossibly white smile. “And I represent the 12th congressional district: New York City.”
“Oh, New York,” Lydia echoed in awe. “So you’re a congressman.” He nodded placidly. “What do you do in your free time when you’re not making laws and stuff? Do you go shopping? There’s this little boutique on—”
Mrs. Bennet jabbed her youngest daughter in the ribs. “Ow! Mom, why’d you do that?”
Their mother glanced away airily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
�
��I don’t have much time to shop.” George smiled ingratiatingly. “Crafting legislation and meeting with constituents is pretty time-consuming.”
“Oh.” Lydia pouted.
There was an awkward pause. Finally, Elizabeth’s father cleared his throat. “I was just telling George about On-a-Stick,” he said to Elizabeth.
“I am a big fan of the company’s products,” George said smoothly. “My favorite is Jerky On-a-Stick.”
At least he deigned to eat On-a-Stick products. Unlike a certain president. “That’s good.” Damn, what a lame thing to say. Usually she could hold up her end of a conversation with no problem, but maybe she was still rattled by her encounter with President Darcy. “They’re great products.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth didn’t know why George wasn’t nodding off to sleep given the boredom level in the conversation.
“Dear?” Fanny fluttered her eyelashes at John. “Would you like to dance?” Elizabeth’s dad stared blankly as his wife gave him a meaningful look. Elizabeth restrained an eyeroll; they were about as subtle as a runaway train. “This is my favorite song,” Fanny said.
George raised his eyebrows. While the band was on break, the DJ was playing a pretty hardcore rap song.
“It is?” John gave his wife a puzzled look, but when she gestured impatiently, he gamely took his wife’s arm and escorted her to the dance floor.
Lydia took the opportunity to edge closer to George like a spider luring a fly into its web. Oh God, I am such an awful sister. “Isn’t it cute how they still want to touch each other at their age?” She smirked at the congressman.
George looked slightly uncomfortable. “Er, yes.”
George’s uncle would never rescue the Bennets’ company if Lydia served as the family representative. Elizabeth would have to step in.
She felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her; President Darcy was staring at her again. Wait, no, he was watching George with narrowed eyes, and the congressman was smirking back. Maybe they were political rivals. George Wickham wasn’t a prominent name mentioned in political conversations, but he might be up-and-coming.
President Darcy Page 10
