Unleashing Mr. Darcy

by Teri Wilson

  After a prolonged glance at Henry, Montgomery replied, “My wife—Charlotte—she’s tied up this morning. I’m sure she would have loved to meet you.”

  Donovan was forced to let out a cough. He’d always assumed Montgomery was gay. He supposed he ought to have learned by now not to judge a book by its cover, no matter how flamboyant that cover might happen to be.

  Montgomery, married?

  The poor woman.

  “We’re sorry to have missed her, as well.” Ever the diplomat, Henry filled the awkward silence. “Shall we get started with my Pekingese lesson, then?”

  “Of course, of course. Follow me, boys.” With a flick of his wrist, Montgomery waved them down the hall.

  After making way for the trio of waddling balls of hair that were Montgomery’s dogs, Henry fell in step behind him.

  “I’ve got a few matters to attend to. Commence with your lesson,” Donovan called out after them. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Henry cast a desperate glance over his shoulder before disappearing down the pink marble hallway.

  Donovan shook his head. Pink marble. Pekingese figurines. The legendary bedroom slippers.

  Whoever she is, Charlotte Montgomery must be one tolerant woman.

  Once alone in the entryway, Donovan slipped the Daily Mail out from under the dog-show magazine. He flipped through it, searching for the Society page. There was no mistaking it once he found it. His eyes widened as he took in the enormous typeface.

  Dog Show...Or Snog Show? Donovan Darcy and his mystery woman engage in a bit of extracurricular fun at the Ashwyn Dog Show over the weekend.

  Snog show? Really?

  Donovan shook his head. It was somewhat clever, he reluctantly admitted to himself. Then he let his gaze wander to the accompanying photo. Once again, one of their photographers had caught him and Elizabeth in a compromising position. This time, in the hospitality tent at the dog show. The black-and-white image was a bit grainy—shot with a long lens, no doubt—but it had clearly captured the moment. Donovan’s head was dipped, and he was nuzzling Elizabeth’s neck. The look on her face was one of pure ecstasy—eyes closed, generous lips parted.

  Donovan stared at it, transfixed, as a ripple of pure lust made its way through him.

  He slammed the newspaper shut and buried it once again beneath the magazine. What was becoming of him? A simple photo of himself and Elizabeth could awaken feelings he’d never before had trouble keeping tightly under wraps. It was problematic, to say the least. Deeply troubling. Disconcerting, really.

  Even so, he couldn’t quite help the smile that crept to his lips. A smile that had nothing whatsoever to do with Montgomery and his doggy slippers.

  * * *

  Elizabeth wound the quartet of leashes around her hands and led the Border terriers—along with Bliss, of course—to the corner. Today of all days, she needed to walk. To get outside, breathe some fresh air and exercise. Actually, she felt more like strangling somebody. But since Donovan Darcy wasn’t within strangling distance, a walk would have to suffice.

  Snog show.

  She couldn’t get the ridiculous words out of her head. What was wrong with the British press? She’d never seen anything so childish. So immature. So humiliating.

  How was it possible that she’d been in London for a matter of weeks and her picture had been in the paper not once, but twice? And they weren’t just ordinary photos. They were private. Intimate.

  The whole ordeal was inconceivable. The entire city of London probably thought she was a slut...all because she’d kissed Donovan Darcy a few times.

  She blamed him completely. On some level, she knew it wasn’t entirely fair to hold him responsible. But if he wasn’t Donovan Darcy, mega-millionaire, none of this would have happened.

  Elizabeth exhaled a frustrated breath and pushed a stray curl back up into her ponytail. If he were here right now, I’d tell him exactly what I think of this mess.

  In all truth, she’d probably edit her thoughts just a tad. He didn’t need to know that seeing her image splashed all over the tabloids—twice!—had birthed a very profound, very real fear that one day she would open the Daily Mail and find the ugly Markham mess revealed for all the world to see. What if they discovered she’d been suspended from her job in the States because she’d been suspected of extortion? The prospect made her sick with worry.

  Exactly how long would it take for the tabloids to uncover the true identity of Donovan Darcy’s “mystery woman”?

  A wave of nausea hit Elizabeth as she passed the cupcake bakery. She was forced to stop at one of their cute little café tables and sit for a minute. The dogs milled about at her feet, tangling her legs in a spiderweb of leashes.

  Elizabeth’s gaze darted to and fro, looking for photographers who might be lurking in the bushes or disguising themselves as innocent cupcake diners. She saw nothing. Then again, she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary at Harrods or the snog show.

  Dog show!

  She took a deep breath and told herself she was being paranoid. No one was interested in a woman walking a pack of dogs. There weren’t throngs of photographers following her around. She wasn’t a princess. Or a movie star. If they were tailing anyone, it was Donovan.

  Elizabeth quit looking for imaginary paparazzi lurking in the shadows and went to work untangling the leashes from around her legs. She was sitting, head bent, ballet flat dangling from the big toe of her right foot as she tried to extricate herself from the tangle of twenty-six feet of leather, when another set of fingers slid up her thigh.

  “It looks like you could use a hand there.”

  Elizabeth’s heart leaped to her throat at the sound of Donovan’s voice. And damned if an intoxicating shiver didn’t snake through her as his fingertips made contact with her flesh.

  She swatted his hand away. “Not helping. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it’s my ankles that are bound together. Not my thighs.”

  Donovan shrugged. His languorous gaze roamed from her feet, up her legs and lingered at the hem of her day dress. “Pity.”

  Elizabeth stepped out of the leashes before he could offer more assistance and rose to look him in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

  “Finneus and I are out for an afternoon walk.” He glanced down at the Cavalier, wagging in ecstasy upon greeting the other dogs.

  “In a suit?” Elizabeth snorted.

  Looking impeccable as always, he smoothed down his tie. A silk tie...as though he were on his way to meet the Queen rather than out for a walk. “Sorry if I look a bit formal. Believe it or not, I’ve been working. At my job.”

  He winked.

  She gave her eyes a hearty roll and made every effort to ignore the knot at his collar, perfectly crafted, of course. A half Windsor this time. An assertive man’s knot, according to her mother and the stylists at Scott Bridal.

  God, she was in trouble. Couldn’t he have worn a Small knot or a Four-in-Hand? Would it have been too much to ask to feel at least a little in control of things?

  Donovan’s brown eyes searched hers. “You’re looking at my tie as if you’d like to lynch me with it.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. “You look quite handsome, actually.”

  She could see the pleasure creep into his gaze, along with a hint of suspicion. “A compliment. Where has my spirited Miss Scott gone?”

  “Still here.” She raised her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll say something to offend you before long. That is, if history is any indication.”

  “Something to look forward to, then.” He winked and the tingling sensation returned, dancing across Elizabeth’s skin and leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  Yep, trouble. Most definitely.

  A teenage couple ambled past with their arms around one another’s waists
. The way they gazed at each other—with naive adoration—made Elizabeth look away. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that innocent, that trusting. She took a cautious step away from Donovan.

  He frowned at the empty space between them. “I’d thought we might walk together. I have a place I’d like to show you.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a wise idea.”

  Donovan’s jaw tensed, and his sharp eyes narrowed. “You were right. It’s been all of two minutes and I’m offended.”

  “I guess you haven’t seen today’s paper,” Elizabeth hissed.

  “Actually, I have.” Donovan lifted a brow. “What in God’s name does that have to do with walking my dog?”

  “Everything.” She took another protective step away from him. She could already feel her body betraying her, leaning toward Donovan as if caught in some invisible, all-powerful force. “It has everything to do with it. I have no desire to see myself in the Daily Mail again tomorrow, throwing myself at you. I can’t imagine what’s next...a photo of me half-undressed, with your hands all over me?”

  “Now, that would certainly be a picture worth seeing.” The corners of Donovan’s lips turned up most provocatively.

  “You think this is funny?” Elizabeth’s voice rose louder than she intended. The dogs looked at her, alarm written all over their sweet faces. She took a calming breath. “You might find all this media attention amusing, but I don’t. Not a bit.”

  “Don’t let it get to you. Trust me. After a while, it becomes easy to ignore.” He reached out to stroke her arm.

  “No touching,” she said evenly.

  Donovan’s hand stilled. He looked at her with an expression somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Excuse me?”

  “I told you—I’m not going to see myself in the paper tomorrow in another compromising position. So, we can walk together if you like, but no touching.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Donovan’s voice carried an edge, but he stayed out of arm’s reach and motioned for her to step in front of him. “Shall we?”

  “I’m serious. No touching.” Elizabeth began walking.

  The dogs trotted out in front—Violet, Hyacinth, Daisy, Rose and Bliss, joined by an excited Finneus. As they rounded the corner and headed toward the park, Elizabeth was conscious of little else but Donovan seething alongside her.

  16

  They fell into a silence more comfortable than not, even though Elizabeth remained acutely aware of Donovan walking beside her. His presence wasn’t exactly easy to forget. Elizabeth commented once or twice on the weather and her pleasure that the nighttime drizzle had disappeared with the rising sun. Donovan responded with barely a nod of his head.

  They passed through Hyde Park Gate and headed west toward the Gardens, walking for some time without saying a word. Elizabeth began to contemplate the possibility that the entire walk would pass without them ever having a real conversation. The idea had its appeal, since half the time whatever came out of his mouth infuriated her.

  Then she realized he’d probably prefer her to keep her mouth shut. And she had the sudden urge to talk all the more.

  “Donovan,” she said, tossing him a glance. “I said touching was off-limits, not talking. It’s your turn to say something now. I commented on the weather. Now you should say something about the color of the fall leaves, perhaps. Or the way the dogs seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  “Do you talk by rule, then, when you’re walking the dogs?” He smiled. As handsome as he was on any given occasion, he looked infinitely more appealing when he smiled.

  Elizabeth swallowed and looked away. “Sometimes.”

  “Very well. I’ll oblige and say whatever you wish me to say.” He pointed an elegant finger to a cluster of trees so heavy with crimson leaves, they blocked out the sun. “The fall leaves are lovely this afternoon. How’s that?”

  “It’ll do.” She started to giggle, but the laughter caught in her throat as a stately redbrick compound came into view, surrounded by a dramatic black iron fence. The gates to the fence were topped with gilt embellishments that glowed like molten gold in the afternoon sun. All around the mansion were finely manicured gardens, row after row of boxed hedges and flowering plants that bloomed despite the bite in the air.

  It was all so beautiful it took Elizabeth’s breath away. “Where are we?”

  The corner of Donovan’s mouth hitched up in a satisfied grin. Clearly he was pleased at her reaction. “This is Kensington Palace.”

  “My first palace,” she breathed, trying to take it all in. To the right was a path flanked on either side with perfect oval topiaries, like the ones in front of Donovan’s house on Sumner Place. Only these were oversize, at least twenty feet tall. Stately conical giants that made her feel like Alice stepping gingerly into Wonderland. “We don’t have palaces and castles back home.”

  “We have our fair share over here. But this one’s always been a personal favorite. Queen Victoria spent her childhood here, you know.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at him, wondering if he could possibly know what she was thinking. She suspected he did. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Dash, her famed Cavalier King Charles spaniel, lived here, as well.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. With anyone else, she probably would have been embarrassed about how excited she was to be standing here—in the exact spot where Dash and a young Victoria once lived. But she figured if anyone understood, it would be another Cavalier devotee. Someone who felt the same way she did. Someone like Donovan.

  She fixed her gaze on his. He looked back at her, and a startling rush of warmth filled her chest. “Thank you for bringing me here. This is quite an unexpected surprise.”

  “Consider it a peace offering for that business in the paper,” he said. He made no move to touch her, but his gaze drifted to her lips.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard and reminded herself to stand her ground.

  She turned her back to him, heart pounding. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, end up on the pages of the Daily Mail again. She could just see the headlines now: Donovan Darcy’s Mystery Woman Identified as Disgraced Teacher from America!

  Wouldn’t Helena Robson just love that?

  “Come with me,” Donovan whispered and placed his hand against the small of her back, the heat from his body searing through the wispy fabric of her dress.

  Elizabeth scooted forward.

  Donovan practically growled, “So we’re sticking to that no-touching rule?”

  “Absolutely. If you can’t abide by a simple rule...” She lifted her chin but couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

  Dangerous as it would be to give in, she didn’t quite trust herself to follow through with the plan. He’d caught her off guard by bringing her to Kensington Palace. Not only was it an atypically sweet gesture, but it suggested he knew her in a way that didn’t seem possible given their vast differences.

  Donovan exhaled a sharp breath. “Of course I can abide. I give my word not to lay a finger on you. Follow me, then.”

  With his spine ramrod straight and shoulders tensely squared, he led her down a path, through the shadows of the colossal topiaries, to a smaller building. “This is the Orangery, built by Queen Anne in the early 1700s. Now it’s a restaurant, famous for having the best tea and orange cake in England.”

  The Orangery. Its name had a lovely ring to it, a sweet simplicity that belied its splendor. It was a smaller, yet equally lovely, version of the palace.

  Elizabeth glanced at the six dogs standing beside her and Donovan. As well behaved as they were at the moment—exhaustion-induced, no doubt—she knew they’d never be welcome inside the Orangery, Bliss’s and Finneus’s resemblance to Dash notwithstanding. “Too bad we can’t go in.”


  Donovan’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I thought you might say that. So I’ve arranged a little something special.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than a waiter, neatly dressed in black and white, with a tea towel slung over his arm, came bustling toward them from the Orangery’s front door.

  “Mr. Darcy,” he said, nodding at Donovan. “Your table is right this way.”

  Your table? Elizabeth mouthed as they followed the waiter.

  Donovan winked one of his deadly winks. It settled in the depths of Elizabeth’s stomach with a jolt of electricity.

  The waiter led them to a lone outdoor table. It was situated directly in front of the Orangery, with a perfect view of the palace and its maze of hedges and rosebushes.

  A crystal cake plate sat in the center of the table, with two enormous slices of orange cake balanced on it. The icing was at least an inch thick and Elizabeth could smell the mouthwatering combination of butter, sugar and tart oranges before she even sat down.

  And if the finery of the accompanying white china and miniature orange-tree centerpiece weren’t enough, two large silver bowls sat on the ground in the shade of the table. Water for the dogs. He’d thought of everything.

  It was the sort of grand, over-the-top gesture that only a wealthy man could pull off. A man of certain distinction. Elizabeth should have been disgusted. Or, at the very least, uncomfortable. If she’d been on the outside looking in on this scenario, she would have described it to Jenna with a heavy dose of cynicism and a roll of her eyes.

  But try as she might, she couldn’t muster an ounce of indignation. Quite the opposite. She found herself touched by Donovan’s thoughtfulness.

  Bewildered, but touched.

  Maybe she wasn’t quite as jaded as she’d thought.

  * * *

  Donovan watched Elizabeth’s eyes drift closed as she took a bite of orange cake.

  “Heavenly.” She sighed.

  Heavenly indeed, he thought. Although those thoughts didn’t necessarily refer to the cake.