Unleashing Mr. Darcy

by Teri Wilson

  Oh, she remembered all right. But they’d first met at the Bridal Market. And the other show at the hotel ballroom. How interesting that Helena had conveniently forgotten.

  “Of course. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Helena.” A frown tugged at the corners of Donovan’s mouth. “I thought you were bringing a guest.”

  “Yes.” Her cool gray eyes, framed once again by those ridiculous, overdone lashes, never left Elizabeth’s. It was unsettling. “He’s from out of town. I’m afraid he won’t be here until the ball.”

  “Brilliant. I look forward to meeting him.” Donovan planted his hand in the small of Elizabeth’s back. “I think I’ll show Elizabeth to her room now. I’m sure she wants to get settled.”

  Settled. That sounded like a fabulous idea.

  Though as Donovan ushered her out of the room and she felt at least one pair of disapproving eyes boring into her back, she wondered if such a thing were even possible.

  18

  Donovan breathed a sigh of relief as he steered Elizabeth toward the hall leading to the wing that housed his living quarters. The introductions had gone as well as could have been expected. Helena had behaved herself. And Aunt Constance had been...well...Aunt Constance. In the event of trouble, at least Jenna was there. Surely her sister’s presence would prevent her from fleeing. And Henry and Zara had welcomed Elizabeth with open arms. So all in all, things were looking good.

  Except for the fact that Donovan still wasn’t altogether sure why it had become so important to him to have her around. He just knew that it had. And as Elizabeth herself had pointed out, he was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

  And here she was. Right where she belonged, as far as Donovan was concerned.

  He glanced at her walking beside him, close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he so desired.

  He desired.

  Very much.

  “Donovan, why haven’t you told me about your parents before?” Elizabeth asked, concern shimmering in those fine eyes of hers.

  Her concern was sweet, he supposed. It was also somewhat of a libido killer.

  “It’s not something I talk about often.” Donovan’s teeth clenched involuntarily as they rounded the corner to his wing of the main house.

  “Oh?” she prompted, clearly expecting him to go on.

  He kept his gaze fixed on the long hallway stretching before them and said nothing.

  A sound escaped her, which Donovan recognized as the universal sigh of a frustrated female.

  Fine. Let her be frustrated. He might not have wrapped his mind around why exactly he craved her presence, but he was certain delving into his painful past did not factor into the equation.

  “I’ve no desire to dwell on things that happened over a decade ago.” He shrugged, a vague effort at looking nonchalant.

  Elizabeth bristled. Visibly. She actually had the nerve to give him a dirty look, as if he’d chosen to lose both his parents and virtually become a father to Zara when he should have been living it up with all the other blokes at university.

  Another woman might have tried a more sympathetic approach.

  Then again, when had Elizabeth ever acted like any other woman?

  Behind her veil of irritation at his reluctance to bear his wounded soul, she still looked uncomfortable as hell. Donovan had no idea what to make of that. Half the female population of England—the single half, as well as a few from the married half, no doubt—would have given their right arm for an invitation to a weekend with him at Chadwicke. Donovan knew this. His aunt Constance did as well, which was why she’d been so concerned when she’d discovered he was bringing Elizabeth along.

  Her tirade still rang in his ears.

  Who is she, Donovan? An American, for God’s sake? What are you thinking? She’s trying to trap you into marriage. She’s only after your money.

  His aunt couldn’t have been more mistaken. He’d gone and gotten himself wound up over the one woman who’d have preferred him as a schoolteacher. Or a lorry driver. Anything other than what he was—rich. Elizabeth wasn’t at all interested in his money. She’d made that more than clear. And he was certain she wasn’t harboring a secret plan to marry him.

  He hadn’t even taken her to bed yet. Although he aimed to change that.

  “I suppose I’m sharing a room with Jenna?” she asked.

  Donovan’s footsteps slowed. After covering nearly a mile of Chadwicke’s wide hallways, they’d at last reached his block of rooms. “Of course not. You’ve got your own.”

  “That’s really not necessary. Jenna and I can share.”

  Donovan rolled his eyes. “Elizabeth, do you have any idea how many rooms are in this house?”

  “No.” She glanced up and down the hallway. “I’m quite sure I don’t want to know, either.”

  From where Donovan stood, he could count at least twenty doors. All en suite rooms, and over half of them vacant on a holiday weekend. And this was only one hallway out of a labyrinth of similar hallways. Donovan had been well into puberty before he could find his way around the house without getting lost.

  “Fifty bedrooms,” he said, unable to help himself. “Or is it sixty?”

  “Now you’re just trying to impress me.” She looked anything but impressed.

  “Hardly.” Donovan paused in front of one of the doors. “But say I were...would it be in any way effective?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  He raised his brows.

  “Seriously. No.” She shook her head, and a wave of fresh citrus scent came wafting from her hair.

  Donovan was taken back to that afternoon at the Orangery, a day he revisited often. He wondered if Elizabeth ever thought of it, too.

  He looked into her eyes, wide and wary. Despite what she’d said about Chadwicke, she was impressed. Not in a good way, he realized, but rather the intimidating kind of way.

  Donovan didn’t like seeing that look on her face. Not at all. It didn’t belong there, on the face of a woman he’d come to think of as above all the trappings of wealth. And he wondered if it was possible to kiss that look right off of her.

  “So, is this me?” She gestured to the door behind her.

  “Yes.” But he made no move to show her to her quarters. The tour could wait. Donovan was already beginning to regret giving her a room to herself. Sharing with Jenna, however, wasn’t what he had in mind.

  He wanted her in his room, in his bed.

  He took a step closer and planted his hands on the wall behind her, on either side of her shoulders.

  He dipped his head, inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and whispered, “It’s just a house, Elizabeth.”

  “Liar,” she said. But there was no edge to her voice. And even as she said it, her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  Donovan watched her eyes darken with desire, and a slow, satisfied smile came to his lips. Elizabeth Scott was no longer thinking about his house. That much was obvious. And he’d yet to come close to kissing her.

  She grimaced, but he could see the thunder of her pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. “This might be the most grossly ostentatious place I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ostentatious, is it?” He meant to send a humorous glance over his shoulder at the gilt wall sconce he knew loomed somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the tantalizing dip between her collarbones. “I’m glad you’re here, even though you seem to think I forced you into coming.”

  “You did force me into coming.” She licked her lips. Every cell in Donovan’s body went on high alert, fixated on nothing but the sight of that cherry-red tongue.

  “And Chadwicke has never looked quite as exquisite as it does now, with you between its walls,” he murmured, ha
lf expecting her to laugh at him, even though he was dead serious.

  She didn’t laugh. Instead, she lifted her chin ever so slightly and took a teasing bite of his lower lip.

  And all coherent thought fled from Donovan’s head. If he’d thought he was the one in control here, he’d been sadly mistaken. He gave her one long, last look—a final effort to prevent himself from becoming completely undone—before he took her mouth with his.

  She rose to meet him, skimming her delicate fingertips over his chest before they wound themselves around his neck. Donovan was vaguely aware of one of them groaning. Him? Her? He couldn’t even tell. The kiss was blinding. All encompassing, all consuming.

  As he deepened the kiss and leaned his body against the length of hers, a hot pool of longing swelled deep inside him—so intense it would have bordered on painful, if not for the awareness of where exactly they were. This wasn’t the champagne bar at Harrods, and it wasn’t a flimsy hospitality tent at a dog show.

  This was his home. And right on the other side of the door, no more than a few meters away, was a bed.

  He looked up, slightly dazed. Elizabeth practically purred and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, exploring in a way that clouded his vision.

  He glanced at the door to his bedroom.

  Too far, he thought, not wanting to waste another second. The doorknob to Elizabeth’s room was within arm’s reach, so he turned it and they both tumbled inside.

  It was dark. Donovan couldn’t see Elizabeth’s face, but he could feel the soft silk of her skin and a warmth that seemed to radiate from her, beckoning him with promises of the kind of joy he didn’t even know he’d been longing for.

  She laughed—a clear, happy laugh that soothed Donovan without taking the edge off his desire. In the miniscule part of his brain that was still capable of thought, he was somewhat worried about his behavior. He’d had plans to woo Elizabeth, to romance her into bed. He wasn’t some randy teenager.

  Yet here he was, within minutes of finding himself alone with her, acting as though she was an oasis of sparkling water and he was a man dying of thirst. The bed wasn’t even within view, for God’s sake.

  Where was his usual finesse, that signature Darcy control?

  Elizabeth’s hands slipped under his shirt again, and he decided control was vastly overrated.

  “Where are we, exactly?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

  “Your bedroom.” He buried a fist in her hair even as he cursed himself for not inviting her to stay in his room. “It adjoins mine. We can keep the door closed if that poses a problem.”

  She answered with a nibble to his ear.

  “Good answer,” he said.

  He wanted to see her, to drink in the sight of her eyes darkened with longing and her lips flushed with color from his kisses. He reached behind Elizabeth’s head for the light switch.

  The room came to life, bathed in light. Elizabeth was such a beautiful sight, captivatingly disheveled, but somewhere in the periphery Donovan saw something.

  Something that gave him pause.

  He squinted, not at all certain what he was seeing was real. “Is that...?”

  “What?” Elizabeth, still slightly out of breath, turned in the direction of his gaze.

  Donovan tore his attention from her and fixed it, once again, on her things. Patrick had unpacked for her, as any proper butler would do. Her suitcase was empty, tucked away beneath a large armchair in the corner. The wardrobe cabinet stood with the doors propped open, revealing her clothes hanging neatly inside. And on the open cabinet door hung a garment bag. It was long—designed to protect a gown, no doubt—and white, with swirling gold lettering.

  Marchesa Bridal Collection.

  Donovan was gobsmacked.

  Because the item hanging in her bedroom looked rather like a wedding dress.

  * * *

  Elizabeth glanced at the ridiculously oversize wardrobe cabinet—seriously, where did that thing lead? Narnia?—and her garment bag hanging there in all of its bridal-white innocence.

  For a moment, she couldn’t figure out why Donovan was staring at it like he was. As though it were poised to leap off the cabinet door and bite him on his very fine ass.

  Surely he didn’t think...

  “What exactly do we have here?” he asked, and his Adam’s apple appeared to struggle as it bobbed up and down in his throat.

  “It’s my gown for the ball.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, irritated at how much she wished he would stop asking about her fashion choices and kiss her again.

  He didn’t honestly suspect she’d dragged a wedding gown to Chadwicke, did he?

  He stalked to the wardrobe as if hunting down whatever it was that wealthy Englishmen donning elbow patches and shotguns were always hunting out on the moors, and unzipped the Marchesa bag.

  A shimmery, gold floor-length gown peeked through the opening. The one she’d found that day at the Bridal Market in London with Jenna.

  One corner of Donovan’s mouth curved into an appreciative grin. “Lovely.”

  Elizabeth suddenly had no interest in his opinion on the dress, however beautiful it was. “Oh, my God, are you serious right now?”

  “Of course. It’s a very nice dress.” He took a few steps toward her, smoldering once again. Apparently, she was the one being stalked now. “It will be my pleasure to take it off you the first chance I get.”

  He leaned in for a kiss and Elizabeth sidestepped away from him before she bit him again. Hard enough to draw blood this time.

  She crossed her arms while he stumbled. “I can’t believe you.”

  Donovan righted himself. He looked equal parts confused and annoyed. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You thought that was a wedding dress, didn’t you?”

  He waved an elegant hand toward the garment bag. “At first glance it looked like one. Surely you agree.”

  “I suppose that sort of thing happens to you often...women toting around bridal gowns and trying to strong-arm you into marriage?” Elizabeth wasn’t altogether sure she wanted an answer to that question. But it was too late. She’d already asked it.

  Donovan said nothing. He didn’t have to. His wry grin spoke volumes.

  “That’s more Helena Robson’s style, don’t you think?” Elizabeth said, remembering her at Bridal Market, acting as though the date had already been set.

  It had rubbed Elizabeth entirely the wrong way. And still did, possibly now more than ever. The idea of Donovan thinking she would behave like that, even for a moment, was beyond humiliating.

  Donovan laughed, and something inside Elizabeth snapped.

  “You can rest easy. Your bachelorhood is safe.” To think she’d almost believed she was falling in love with him. All’s fair in love and war. The word had vibrated between them in the Ranger Rover.

  The laughter died in Donovan’s throat. “Is it, now?”

  “Yes.” She was trembling, a physical manifestation of her anger. Or was it disappointment? Elizabeth wasn’t altogether sure. She balled her hands into fists so Donovan wouldn’t see. “In fact, you are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Something indecipherable. “That’s convenient, then.” His lips curved into a world-class smirk. “Since I don’t recall proposing.”

  His gaze traveled up and down the length of her body, but he made no move to close the gap between them. And despite the ridiculousness of the situation, and the fact that he was without a doubt the most arrogant man she’d ever laid eyes on, Elizabeth found herself growing aroused.

  It was shameful, really.

  She wanted his hands on her again. It frightened her how much she wanted it.

  She told herself all she had to do was go to him, wrap her a
rms around his neck, and everything would be as it had been only five minutes before. But her feet stubbornly refused to move.

  “I should go.” Donovan took a step backward. “I need to attend to the details of tomorrow’s polo match.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile. It required a valiant effort as a rising tide of frustration swelled inside her. “Of course.”

  “Dinner is at half seven.” He sounded uncharacteristically wooden.

  “Great, then. I’ll be ready.” As if she were really ready for any of this.

  Donovan angled his head and watched her with a newfound intensity.

  He walked toward her, lifted her hand and grazed her knuckles with a kiss. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

  The soft brush of his lips against her hand was enough to send a shiver up her spine. Donovan, of course, was reverting to his cool, detached, gentlemanly demeanor. One he’d apparently perfected.

  Get a grip on yourself.

  He straightened, and Elizabeth hid her trembling hands behind her back. They stood silently, their gazes locked with one another, for a prolonged moment. Donovan seemed torn, as if he couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. The air between them crackled with tension, most of it sexual in nature—at least on Elizabeth’s end.

  She took a tiny step toward him.

  With a bittersweet smile, he retreated. Then he was gone—out the door with Finneus trailing on his heels.

  19

  Elizabeth watched Jenna flop open her suitcase on the immense four-poster bed in her room and frowned. “Your bags aren’t unpacked yet?”

  “No, of course not. When would I have unpacked?” Jenna pulled out the plastic bag containing her toiletries and marched toward the adjoining bathroom.

  The bedroom was huge, although not quite as vast as the one that had been assigned to Elizabeth. That being said, Elizabeth’s entire apartment back home in Manhattan would have fit conveniently inside either of the bedrooms.