by Teri Wilson
Even so, he could easily see the exaggerated roll of her eyes in his peripheral vision.
Another minute of uncomfortable silence followed. Then, finally, Elizabeth spoke. “I’ll bet you’re pleased with yourself.”
“As a whole, yes.” Donovan nodded and slid his gaze toward her.
That creamy complexion of hers flushed a bit, which made him smile. Good. If she grew agitated enough, she’d never be able to hold her tongue all afternoon. And, as astonished as Donovan himself was to realize it, he preferred an angry Elizabeth Scott to a quiet one.
“Is there some reason I should be especially pleased with myself on this particular day?” He pretended to give it the utmost consideration. “It’s been a productive morning, but I don’t recall winning the Nobel Peace Prize or anything else spectacular.”
She aimed a sweet smile at him. Too sweet. “They don’t typically award the Nobel Peace Prize to millionaires, do they?”
Billionaire.
Donovan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “We can’t all be Mother Teresa now, can we? What would be the fun in that?”
“Mother Teresa?” Beside him, Elizabeth all but snorted with laughter. “I assure you, you’re in no danger of encroaching on Mother Teresa’s legacy.”
She let out another throaty laugh. Bliss swiveled her head back and forth between the two of them, as if she wanted in on the joke.
It wasn’t that funny. Wasn’t this weekend’s polo match aimed at raising money for charity? And hadn’t Donovan written a six-figure check to St. Catherine’s Hospice just this morning? Not that he would ever share that information with Elizabeth. If she was determined to see the very worst in him, so be it. He doubted she would be impressed anyway, regardless of the size of the donation. Somehow he sensed she was the type who thought anyone was capable of writing a check. No doubt she believed real charity involved getting one’s hands dirty.
He frowned and briefly considered the possibility that such a point of view may indeed be accurate.
“Quit brooding, Donovan. I didn’t mean to step on your aristocratic toes.” She nudged him with one of her slender shoulders.
It wasn’t exactly the physical contact he’d been hoping for. But it was something.
“I don’t brood,” he said, brooding with the utmost intensity.
“As I said before, you ought to be pleased with yourself.” She’d moved back to her side of the front seat and resumed stroking the fur on Bliss’s back.
Donovan found himself growing spellbound by the rhythmic movement of her graceful fingers and forced himself to refocus. On the road...where he should have been looking in the first place. “Why is that again?”
“You really have to ask?” She huffed out a breath, and the rise and fall of her breasts in his periphery threatened to steal Donovan’s attention from the road once again. He’d had his hands on those breasts. And he intended to again. Soon. “You invited me to Chadwicke for Bonfire Weekend, and I said no. And yet here I sit.”
“Is that what’s got you so riled up?” Donovan shook his head. “You were serious about all that?”
“Of course I was serious.”
He grinned and made no effort to hide it. She was right—he was rather pleased with himself and the turn of events. Convincing Henry to invite Jenna had been a genius move. More desperate than he cared to admit, but genius nonetheless. “Like you said, here you sit.”
“Only because Henry invited Jenna, and she insisted I come along. You may have fooled Henry. And Jenna, for that matter. But you’re not fooling me. I know you’re behind all this.” Elizabeth gestured to the space between them.
Donovan caught her hand, midair, in his, even as she jumped in surprise. But she made no move to jerk away from him, a fact that delighted Donovan.
He turned her hand and inhaled the sweet, faint scent of the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. She smelled fantastic, wonderfully female. Almost floral. Of lavender, perhaps.
Then he pressed his lips to that exact spot and covered it with a languid, openmouthed kiss.
Elizabeth sighed, and her arm went limp in his hand. Donovan smiled to himself and took another leisurely taste of her exquisite skin before weaving his fingers through hers and settling their interlocked hands on the seat between them.
“And if I am indeed behind this weekend’s turn of events, is that so horrible? Does wanting to take you away on a holiday make me the living embodiment of evil?” He grazed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Because you know what they say...”
Elizabeth licked her lips before asking, “What do they say? Do tell.”
She was flustered now, and they both knew it. And oh, yes, Donovan was even more pleased with himself than before.
“All’s fair in love and war,” he said and gave her hand a squeeze.
She slipped her hand from his and returned it to her lap, just out of his reach. “And which one is this? Love or war?”
Thrown, Donovan paused for a beat.
Love or war? That was the question, wasn’t it?
“War, obviously,” he answered, returning his free hand to the steering wheel and tightening his grip.
Because he couldn’t be falling in love with Elizabeth Scott. To do so would be the epitome of bad judgment. She’d drive him mad before they ever made it to the altar. That was, if he ever managed to convince her to consider a trip to the altar to begin with, an idea that seemed nigh on impossible. She’d already made it clear she would have preferred to walk the plank than go away with him to Chadwicke for a simple holiday.
He wasn’t in love with her. It was out of the question.
Then why did you go to such pains to get her to accompany you this weekend?
“Obviously,” Elizabeth echoed, her voice crisp and tinged with irritation.
Or was that disappointment? Donovan couldn’t be sure.
And once again, they fell into silence. Miles passed and the English countryside whizzed by without either of them uttering a syllable. This time, Donovan found he was grateful for the reprieve.
* * *
Elizabeth ran her fingertips over the car window, surprised at its coolness as she regarded the rolling green hills, dotted with the occasional cluster of cottony-white sheep spread as far as the eye could see. Every so often a country home rose from the emerald peaks, some grander than others. But all of them were quite large and, despite their size, exuded a sense of welcome that Elizabeth hadn’t expected. Most were redbrick mansions with ribbons of smoke curling from their chimneys, promising the sanctuary of crackling fires in the hearth.
She’d begun to convince herself that perhaps Chadwicke wouldn’t be quite so awful, as Donovan turned onto a curving road that hugged a picturesque village on one side and a vast stone wall on the other.
Finneus rose to his feet in the backseat. His tail thumped a joyful beat against the leather, and he let out a yip.
Donovan eyed him in the rearview mirror. “You might have let me tell her, you little scamp.”
“Tell me?” Elizabeth tightened her grip on Bliss in case she had a mind to join Finneus’s little party and leap over the seat. “Tell me what?”
The car slowed, and Donovan guided it with expert precision through a tiny break in the stone wall.
“We’re here,” he said and nodded toward the wide expanse of green before them.
Elizabeth turned in the direction of his nod and found she was in no way prepared for the sight that greeted her. A lake glistened sapphire-blue in the sunlight and flowed beneath a long, arched bridge that looked as though it had sprung up from another time—one when gentlemen wearing waistcoats roamed the countryside on horseback and ladies in flowing gowns strolled beneath the shade of parasols. A horse-drawn carriage would have been more in keeping with
the scenery than Donovan’s Range Rover. Elizabeth gulped and resisted the urge to say something ridiculous like You have a bridge...and a lake, because beyond the glittering water stood the house.
Wide and imposing, it stretched from one side of the horizon clear to the other. Rather than being box-shaped like the other country homes they’d passed along the way, it featured a tall portico in the center flanked by turrets. Instead of red brick, it was crafted of great masses of stone. It looked far more like a mysterious Baroque castle than any house Elizabeth had ever seen.
Surrounding it was an undulating parkland of hills, gardens and trees. All of it so lush and green that it almost didn’t seem real, as though Donovan had driven them through that hole in the stone wall and into some hidden utopia.
Overwhelmed almost to the point of dizziness, she tore her gaze from the spectacle before her and turned to Donovan.
Who are you, Donovan Darcy? And why do you want me here with you?
His lips curved into the barest of smiles. “Welcome to Chadwicke,” he whispered and pulled the car to a stop in the grand circular drive.
She was sure he didn’t mean for the announcement to sound ominous. There was certainly nothing menacing or threatening about his voice or expression. On the contrary, the look in his eyes bordered on tender. And for a moment, Elizabeth was reminded that this man—the one who’d manipulated her into coming along on this trip she’d dreaded with every fiber of her being—was the same man who’d taken her to the Orangery and Harrods Pet Spa, who’d fed her strawberries and French champagne and kissed her silly until she’d forgotten all about the letter.
Tenderness aside, just the word Chadwicke filled her with anxiety, as if those two syllables, when strung together, were the most terrifying in all of the English language.
She looked away from Donovan and back toward the house.
House. Ha! The word kingdom would have been more appropriate. Elizabeth would have felt more at home at Versailles. Not that she’d ever been to France, mind you. But she’d seen photos. And its splendor looked as though it was about on par with Donovan’s family home.
No wonder the man acted as though the universe was something he could buy and sell. Growing up in a place like this would no doubt give one an air of superiority.
Well, well, this explains a lot, she thought and let out a little laugh.
Donovan smiled, clearly mistaking her giggle for a sign of approval. Pride was written all over his chiseled face. Even more so than usual. Elizabeth found it slightly nauseating. And, to her complete and utter horror, a bit sexy, as well.
He opened her car door for her and peered inside. “Shall we?”
She swallowed and willed her feet to move and carry her out of the Range Rover. They didn’t.
Donovan sighed. “Again? I seem to find myself talking you out of cars with alarming frequency.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
The frustration in Donovan’s expression ebbed and was replaced by that look again. The one that made her feel as though warm honey was running through her veins.
Tender. Most definitely.
“It’s just a house,” he said in a way that almost made her believe it was true.
“Okay.” She hauled herself up out of her seat, setting Bliss on the ground before she stood.
Donovan opened the cargo door, and Finneus hopped down, greeting Bliss with a wag of his tail.
“What about Figgy and the puppies?” Elizabeth moved to help Donovan unload the brood just in time to see a man dressed neatly in a black coat approaching the tailgate.
Another butler.
Great.
If Donovan found it necessary to employ Lawrence to run things at his London home, how many butlers did he have at his beck and call here? Ten? Twenty? She didn’t even want to know.
“Thank you, Patrick.” Donovan nodded at the butler, then turned his attention back toward Elizabeth. “All taken care of. And Patrick will see to it that our luggage is put away.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth gave Patrick a little wave. She hadn’t the foggiest idea if this was proper protocol, but the man deserved some kind of acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
“Miss Scott.” Patrick smiled. “Welcome to Chadwicke.”
“Th-thank you,” she said and wondered how many more people had to welcome her before she would actually feel comfortable here.
Donovan escorted her to the door, threading his hand through hers along the way. An effort to prevent her from escaping, no doubt. Although where she would run off to was a mystery. She had a feeling he owned every blade of grass, every curve of hillside in view. Even the sunshine seemed to have the name Darcy emblazoned on it, as it sparkled more brightly and more golden than she’d ever seen it in London.
“I suppose I’m about to meet your family.” Elizabeth pasted on a smile, even as she imagined a group of people resembling the board of directors of the Barclay School sitting around Chadwicke’s hearth. “Your parents? Are they here?”
Donovan’s jaw tensed. “My family, yes. But not my parents. They passed away when I was twenty-one. Car accident.”
They paused on the threshold, Elizabeth wishing she’d asked about his parents earlier. During the ride, perhaps. Why hadn’t she, anyway?
That was right. She’d been angry. She’d refused to talk to him.
Regret, with a dash of guilt, pricked her consciousness. “I’m sorry, Donovan.”
“It was a long time ago” was all he said in response.
He flung the door open. The sound of voices echoing off the paneled walls as she and Donovan stepped inside surprised her. Other than the Range Rover, there hadn’t been a single car in the drive. Elizabeth had assumed she and Donovan had been the first members of the house party to arrive.
This wasn’t the case, obviously, as they joined a group of a dozen or so people sitting in a room off to the right of the entryway. The parlor, Elizabeth supposed. The walls were a deep, rich red, and the floor was covered with huge area rugs. A cluster of burgundy leather sofas sat facing a great marble fireplace, where a fire roared, giving the room a certain coziness despite its enormity.
All heads swiveled in their direction as they entered. The Cavaliers trotted, largely unnoticed, to the hearth and plopped down in front of the fire. Elizabeth couldn’t help but envy them. Still, she breathed an audible sigh of relief when she spotted Henry and Jenna among the group.
Jenna rose from her seat and gathered her in a hug.
“Can you believe this place?” she whispered in Elizabeth’s ear and pulled away, grinning.
By all appearances, she was having the time of her life.
How does she do it? Elizabeth wondered. Jenna always saw the best in everything—every situation, every person she came across. Elizabeth wished she could be that way. Not so...so jaded.
Of course, there had been a time when she hadn’t been quite so jaded. Before Grant Markham.
“Donovan.” An older woman rose from the seat closest to the fire. “You’ve arrived. At last.”
“Aunt Constance.” Donovan strode over to her and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek.
Elizabeth found this a bit odd. And somewhat sad, once she considered it for a moment. This was Donovan’s aunt, after all. What was left of his family. And her greeting held all the warmth of the Queen of England welcoming one of her loyal subjects.
As messed up and dysfunctional as the Scott family could be, Elizabeth had always felt loved. Loved to the brink of being smothered, perhaps, but loved nonetheless. And she was always scooped up in a tight hug whenever she made a trip home.
“Aunt Constance, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth.” Donovan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Elizabeth Scott.”
Elizabeth suppressed the very real urge to curtsy. “Hello.”
/> The older woman turned sharp eyes on her. “Good afternoon, Elizabeth. Welcome to Chadwicke.”
Her tone was anything but welcoming. And she was wearing a suit that resembled something the First Lady might wear. Or a mother of the bride.
No, not wedding thoughts again. Please, no.
Elizabeth squirmed, wishing she’d chosen something other than jeans and a sweater for herself. Then again, Donovan was wearing the same thing. Perhaps Aunt Constance was the one who needed to reevaluate.
“Elizabeth and Jenna are sisters,” Donovan explained to his aunt as Elizabeth spotted Zara eagerly making her way toward them from across the room.
“Donovan!” Zara launched herself at him.
He let Elizabeth go as he embraced his sister.
Now, this is more like it. Real affection. The thought had barely registered in her consciousness when Zara—finished with Donovan, apparently—threw her arms around her.
“Oh.” Thrown off balance for a moment, Elizabeth hugged the girl back.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Zara whispered in her ear. “It means a lot to my brother. He’s never brought a woman here, you know.”
No. She hadn’t known. Not at all.
In fact, the revelation threw her a bit. She glanced at Donovan, but his expression revealed nothing. In fact, the earlier tenderness she’d found there had vanished. He was back to his usual, detached self.
Elizabeth was caught up in a whirlwind of introductions. Once she was flanked on either side by Jenna and Henry, she finally began to relax. Until Helena pushed her way between them with a roll of her eyes and a distinct sway to her hips.
At least Donovan had had the forethought to mention Helena would be in attendance. And to Elizabeth’s relief, he’d even indicated Helena would be bringing a date. Although Elizabeth didn’t see a date by her side.
She wore stilettos—again—and a tight pencil skirt that Elizabeth would have had difficulty walking in even if she were on the most level of surfaces, much less tromping through the country.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Elizabeth.” She extended her hand for a limp shake. “I’m Helena, Henry’s sister. We met at the dog show last weekend. Perhaps you remember?”
