Unleashing Mr. Darcy

by Teri Wilson

  And he’d already told her that his good opinion once lost was lost forever. She’d hardly made a good first impression. Or second, for that matter.

  But there was just something about him...

  She rolled her eyes. Pathetic. Really, Lizzy. Get ahold of yourself.

  Elizabeth inhaled a deep breath. “Focus. Eyebrows. Plucking. No daydreaming, and absolutely no thinking about Donovan Darcy.” She zeroed her gaze on Hyacinth. “Time to make you good and crunchy.”

  “Crunchy? Is she a dog or a bowl of cereal?”

  Elizabeth recognized the voice in an instant. Of course she did. She’d known it her entire life. It was the same voice she’d shared whispers with, lying side by side in the dark on nights when her biggest worries had been broken crayons and lost toys. The same voice that had called out encouragement when she’d first learned to ride a bike. What she couldn’t figure out was why that voice was in London.

  “Jenna?”

  Elizabeth turned, half expecting to discover she was only hearing things. But instead she found her sister standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Surprise,” she said.

  “I don’t believe it.” Tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes. God, she was a bigger mess than she’d thought. “Jenna, you’re here. In England.”

  “Those are happy tears, I hope?” Sue appeared next to Jenna, but didn’t wait for an answer. She simply nodded her satisfaction. “Brilliant. I knew you’d be delighted. I’ll go make you girls some tea. It will give an old woman something to do. Keep working, Elizabeth. Remember...crunchy eyebrows!”

  Jenna jerked her head in Sue’s direction as she vanished in the general vicinity of the kitchen. “What on earth is she talking about?”

  “Don’t ask.” Elizabeth folded her sister in a tight embrace. “Jenna, what are you doing here? I’m so happy to see you.”

  Jenna shrugged. “I told you I’d get out here the first chance I could. The Temperley London Bridal Market starts tomorrow. I figured I’d never find a better excuse, so here I am.”

  “And Sue knew you were coming?” Elizabeth walked back to the grooming table, lest Hyacinth decide to make a getaway.

  She didn’t, of course, since she was one of Sue’s Border terriers and not the mischievous Miss Bliss. The dog hadn’t so much as moved a toenail.

  “Yes. I called yesterday, but you were out. Sue answered your cell. We decided to make it a surprise. I assured Sue that Scott Bridal would book me a hotel, but she insisted I stay here with you.” She sank onto the plush red leather sofa opposite the grooming table and glanced around at the dog beds lining the walls, where Violet, Daisy and Rose lounged with their shaggy legs stretched straight out in front of them. “This is a bedroom for dogs, isn’t it? Wait. Forget I asked. I don’t need to know these dogs live better than I do. Where were you yesterday, anyway? Sue made it sound like you were on a date. Obviously, I need to get caught up on things.”

  “It was not a date.” Hyacinth winced as Elizabeth apparently plucked with a tad too much enthusiasm.

  Oops.

  Jenna narrowed her gaze. “You seem awfully adamant. What gives?”

  Elizabeth glanced out the sash window toward Donovan’s home. His downstairs lights glowed orange and shimmery through the afternoon rain. “Remember Donovan Darcy?”

  “Of course I do. Don’t tell me that’s who you were with.” Jenna’s eyes grew wide. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

  Elizabeth gave her a brief rundown of bumping into Donovan on the street, learning that Zara was his sister and ending with her visit with his puppies. And his butler.

  “So let me get this straight. He lives right across the street?” Jenna twirled a strand of her blond hair around her fingers.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth pointed to the window. “Right over there.”

  “And now you’re dating?” She exhaled a dreamy sigh. “I knew something wonderful like this would happen while you were over here. It was meant to be.”

  “We’re not dating.” Despite her protest, a flutter rose in Elizabeth’s belly.

  “Mark my words. It’s only a matter of time. What’s the problem? Do you still think he’s an ass?” Jenna frowned. “Never mind. Don’t even answer that. If he’s an ass, he’s an ass who’s hotter than Daniel Craig. I repeat—what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that Donovan Darcy and I are a world apart from one another. May I remind you I spent yesterday afternoon with the man’s butler?” Lawrence had certainly been nice to her when she’d gone to see the puppies. He hadn’t been as formal as she’d expected, but he was still a butler, for heaven’s sake. “Donovan invited me over to see his puppies, and I spent the afternoon with his butler. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still an ass. Only now, I know he’s an ass who’s so wealthy he has more in common with Grant Markham than he does with me.”

  “Lizzy.” Jenna’s gaze turned tender. “Just because Donovan is wealthy doesn’t mean he’s a thing like Grant Markham. That man has stolen so much from you already. Don’t let him take this away from you, too.”

  Was that was she was doing—letting Markham continue to wreak havoc with her life?

  No, of course it wasn’t. She was more than anxious to rid herself of the memory of Markham touching her, the smell of his breath as he’d leaned close, dragged his fingertips along her wrist as he’d insisted women like her were merely commodities to be bought or sold.

  She shuddered. Some memories were hard to erase. And the bruises they left behind—the invisible ones that left marks only on the soul—were even harder.

  “I’m not letting him steal a thing. There’s nothing going on between me and Donovan Darcy. He was just being nice, that’s all.” Nice? Did she just say that? It didn’t make a lick of sense. Somehow she was certain being nice wasn’t exactly Donovan’s style.

  “If you say so.” A playful gleam came to Jenna’s eyes. Clearly she didn’t believe a word of Elizabeth’s protestations.

  The trouble was...Elizabeth wasn’t altogether sure she believed them herself.

  * * *

  Donovan stared at his computer monitor, the black letters swimming before his eyes. He blinked a few times in an effort to refocus his attention back to business. He’d begun to feel as though he were under some sort of spell.

  Bewitched.

  By Elizabeth Scott, of all women.

  They had nothing in common. She reviled him, and he found her obstinate, difficult and far too quick to leap to improper conclusions.

  He also found her beautiful, witty and utterly bewitching.

  It was a problem, to say the least.

  He’d thought the problem could be resolved by simply avoiding her, even going so far as leaving the house for an entire afternoon the day before when he knew good and well Elizabeth would be dropping by to see Figgy’s puppies. At his invitation, no less. He’d all but fled, leaving Lawrence to deal with her.

  The escape plan had backfired in his face.

  Unlike Helena Robson, out of sight didn’t mean out of mind where Elizabeth Scott was concerned. To both Donovan’s surprise and displeasure, she still consumed a good part of his waking thoughts...not to mention where his mind wandered when he slept. Elizabeth had been the subject of a rather erotic dream or two.

  “Mr. Darcy.” Lawrence bustled into the office.

  “Lawrence.” Donovan glanced up, and he found himself wondering what Elizabeth had thought of what he suspected was her first encounter with a butler.

  Catching himself thinking about her again, he frowned. What does her opinion matter? It’s of no consequence. “Yes, Lawrence. What is it?”

  “You have a phone call, sir. It’s your aunt Constance,” Lawrence said.

  “Thank you.” Donovan picked up the phone and injected a note of enthusias
m into his voice. If Helena was a thorn in his side, his aunt was nearly as sharp. “Aunt Constance. Hello.”

  “You’re home.” The voice on the other end came through flatly. “I would have thought I’d hear about your arrival first-hand, rather than reading about it in the newspaper.”

  Donovan frowned. “The newspaper?”

  “My dear nephew, it seems as though the Daily Mail is taking a keen interest in your activities of late. That’s what comes with being London’s most eligible bachelor, you know.”

  Bloody perfect.

  Donovan had enough on his mind without having to worry about a tabloid following his every move.

  He sighed. “For once you can believe what you read in the paper. I’m back. I took the day off yesterday.”

  “I see.” She paused, refraining from commenting on his atypical day out of the office. Donovan was sure she had an opinion on the matter, but as an equal partner in the Darcy Family Trust—not his boss, thank God—his aunt wasn’t in a proper position to complain.

  “Zara and I had a nice trip to the States. And Figgy had her litter while we were gone.”

  “That’s good to hear. Any show prospects?”

  “I’ve got my eye on one of the pups.” He smiled down at Pudding. Already her freckles had grown a shade or two deeper. “I hate to cut you off, but Henry Robson will be here soon with some papers for my signature.”

  “Then I’ll make this quick. I’m calling about the party at Chadwicke.”

  Donovan took a look at his diary. Guy Fawkes Night and its accompanying annual house-party weekend at Chadwicke were fast approaching. He’d completely forgotten. Then again, he’d had his fair share of things on his mind. For once, the thought of going to his country house for a weekend pained him. He was possessed with a sudden, and entirely inappropriate, urge to invite Elizabeth to come along.

  He knew at once it was an insane idea.

  But he allowed himself a brief moment to indulge in the fantasy of her there...her thick hair whipping in the country wind, her porcelain complexion growing pink in the autumn sunshine, stealing a kiss from her in the bedroom where he’d grown up.

  His chest seized.

  “The house party,” he repeated to his aunt. “What about it?”

  “I’ve invited your friend Helena Robson.” She said it with an air of finality that turned Donovan’s stomach.

  He clamped his teeth together in an effort to not scream in frustration. “Why?”

  “She stopped by yesterday for tea.”

  Of course she did. He should have known she’d resort to desperate measures after Zara’s comment about him meeting someone in America. This was lower than he’d expected, however. Even from Helena.

  “Such a delightful girl. And she comes from a wonderful family. You and her brother are dear friends, after all,” his aunt said.

  He sank into his chair. “I wish you would have spoken to me first, Aunt Constance. I can’t disinvite her without offending Henry, but Helena is the last woman I want to spend the weekend with.”

  “What’s the problem? Her brother is coming, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but that’s different,” Donovan ground out. “Henry isn’t dead set on marrying me.”

  She laughed a bit too loudly for Donovan’s taste. “Donovan Darcy, you could do worse than Helena Robson.”

  Not much worse.

  Donovan gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white with anger. “It’s never going to happen. That I can promise you.”

  “There’s one thing I’ve learned in my old age, Donovan.” She cleared her throat, prolonging the moment as if she were about to impart the greatest of all wisdom to her nephew. “And that’s to never say never.”

  Donovan rubbed the dull ache that had taken up residence in his temples the moment he learned Helena would be at Chadwicke, and got off the phone as quickly as he could manage.

  He was still sitting nursing his headache when Lawrence appeared once again in the doorway. “Mr. Robson is here for you, sir.”

  Donovan rose to his feet and came around the front of his desk. “Send him in. And thank you, Lawrence.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Donovan rested against the edge of his desk with his feet crossed at the ankles and waited for Henry to enter. As he stood there, he realized the window opposite his desk likely afforded him a clear view of the Barrows’ house across the way. He crossed the room and peeled back the edge of the sheer curtain with the tip of his finger.

  Nothing.

  No Border terriers. No Bliss. And most important, no Elizabeth.

  A stab of disappointment pierced his chest. It felt oddly like heartburn.

  “Donovan, mate.” Henry’s voice boomed as he entered the room. “What on earth are you doing? Spying on the neighbors?”

  Donovan took a giant step back from the window. “Of course not.”

  Oh, good God, I am. His horror at this self-discovery was tempered only by the fact that Henry had no real idea what he was doing or who he was looking for.

  “What’s so interesting out there?” Henry trod directly to the window and threw the sheers wide open.

  Donovan did his best not to wince.

  Henry shrugged, unimpressed, and sank into one of the chairs opposite Donovan’s desk. “Looks like the usual to me. London. Blah. How long until your house party at Chadwicke? I’m ready to get out of the city.”

  “Three weeks.” A mere twenty-one days before he left for the countryside.

  The idea of inviting Elizabeth once again invaded his thoughts. He dismissed it at once, but it refused to go quietly. Visions of her at Chadwicke danced in his imagination. When he tried to seize upon them, they vanished like smoke, elusive as Miss Scott herself.

  Forget it. He just needed to stick with the avoidance plan.

  He ordered all thoughts of Elizabeth Scott to vacate his head at once, and concentrated on Henry. “Aren’t you supposed to be in court this morning?”

  Henry laughed. “Good one. You know I never go to court.”

  It was a running joke between them. For as long as Henry had been a prominent London barrister, Donovan could count the number of times he’d been to court on one hand. He chalked it up to Henry’s good-natured demeanor. With his boyish flop of blond hair and his easygoing smile, Henry often charmed his opposing counsel into whatever he wanted for his client without ever darkening the door of a courtroom.

  Donovan probably would have found it baffling had he not known Henry since he was a young boy. For someone born into old money, Henry Robson was remarkably down-to-earth. He was also deceptively brilliant, possessing a keen legal mind that belied his happy-go-lucky exterior. It was a lethal combination that served him well as a barrister. He’d been handling all legal matters pertaining to the Darcy Family Trust for years, as well as Donovan’s personal affairs.

  “Donovan?” Henry leaned his head against the brandy-colored leather and leveled a knowing gaze in Donovan’s direction. “You’ve been keeping something from me.”

  “Ah...” Donovan struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation. He hadn’t intended Elizabeth to be a secret, necessarily. But he’d gone about not thinking about her with such a single-minded focus that he’d forgotten almost everything else. Between her and Figgy’s litter, he’d been consumed.

  “Here I haven’t seen you in weeks, my best mate. And now I discover you have a secret.” Henry shook his head as he rose to his feet. He frowned for a second, maybe two—a long time for someone with Henry’s good-humored nature. Then his face split into a wide grin, and he clasped Donovan on the shoulder. “You’ve got puppies. I had no idea.”

  “The puppies.” Donovan followed him to the whelping pen where Figgy watched their approach with cautious interest. “Yes. They w
ere born while Zara and I were in America.”

  Henry bent over the whelping box to get a closer look. Figgy wagged her tail in greeting, and the puppies stumbled around on the pile of blankets, craning their tiny necks in search of the new visitor. They were due to open their eyes any day now. Donovan fully intended to be the first person they saw.

  “Cute little devils. And they look as though they’ll make good show prospects.” Henry aimed a searching gaze over the puppies, no doubt evaluating them through the eyes of a novice dog-show judge. Even though the pups were little, they could still be examined for the obvious things, like level toplines. Henry’s judging status was still provisional, but with Donovan’s guidance he was making great progress.

  “Thank you.” Donovan lifted one of the quartet of pups—a male with an unbroken expanse of chestnut across his back that promised a beautiful blanket coat—and handed him to Henry. “I think they’re rather lovely myself.”

  While Henry let the pup burrow into his polo shirt, Donovan gathered Pudding in the palms of his hands. Her freckles were still there. It wasn’t as if they would, or could, disappear. Still, every time he looked at her, Donovan half expected them to be gone. He’d never bred a Cavalier with freckles. The fortuitous timing made him marvel at the tiny ginger markings all the more.

  “Do you have buyers for them already?” Henry sank back into the wing chair with the puppy curled into a ball on his lap.

  “There’s a list.” It was extensive, necessitating the creation of a spreadsheet to keep track of the buyers who wanted a Chadwicke Cavalier. “There’s always a list. I’m keeping one for myself, though.”

  “You know Helena would give her eyeteeth for one of these puppies. Her birthday’s coming up. Maybe I should reserve one for her. Is there room on your list for your oldest friend?” Henry looked at Donovan, his expression open and trusting. Donovan had seen that expression many times over the years and come to love its bearer like a brother.

  If the puppy had been for Henry, Donovan would have handed one over, no questions asked. Forget about waiting lists, contracts and payment, he would have gladly given Henry a puppy. Particularly since Henry was becoming more and more involved with showing dogs. He’d already gained provisional credentials for judging all of the toy breeds and a few terriers, as well. Donovan was mentoring him when his schedule allowed, teaching him all he could about the finer points of conformation. Tomorrow they were scheduled to judge together at a show in Mayfair.