Unleashing Mr. Darcy

by Teri Wilson

  Intimate? With Grant Markham?

  It wasn’t the sort of thing a man liked to hear about the woman he was sleeping with. Ever. But hearing it while the sheets on his bed were still warm from their lovemaking made it sting all the more.

  And wasn’t Markham married?

  Rage churned in the pit of Donovan’s stomach. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Thankfully, the look of disgust on Elizabeth’s face told him she couldn’t believe it, either.

  “That is completely untrue, and you know it,” she seethed. Her voice was laced with panic. Her eyes darted to Donovan, as if pleading for help.

  He’d never felt so powerless in his life. Not only was he at a loss as to what to do, he didn’t have the first clue what he was even up against. Instinct told him to take his fists to Markham and pound him into the ground. A lifetime of good breeding told him to get to the bottom of things first.

  He glanced around the ballroom and found every pair of eyes glued to the scene. Why in God’s name did everyone love a scandal so much? “I think we should all calm down for a moment,” he said.

  Elizabeth took a step backward, separating herself from his touch. Donovan could practically hear the wall come crashing down between them. She gave him a look filled with raw pain. “Calm down?”

  “Lizzy,” Jenna said, her voice pleading.

  “Yes, I think that’s a wise idea. Don’t you, Miss Scott?” Markham’s mouth twisted into a salacious smile. The very thought of that mouth touching Elizabeth made Donovan physically ill. “After all, some of us present have secrets. Documented secrets. Secrets that I’m sure you would prefer to remain hidden. I’d be happy to discuss things with you in private, if you wish.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes darted around the group. She looked as panicked as a hunted animal.

  Something was most definitely wrong here, and it seemed as though it went far beyond an implied intimate relationship, the idea of which Donovan had quickly come to realize was bollocks.

  “I’ve a nice room just a stone’s throw from here.” Markham, who’d clearly detected Elizabeth’s alarm, took a step toward her, seizing upon it. “Why don’t you come with me and we can take up where we left off last time? Or we can stay here and I can share some most interesting things with our host, Mr. Darcy. Choose carefully, Miss Scott.”

  “Oh, my.” Helena smiled into her champagne glass. “This is awkward.”

  Donovan stepped in front of Elizabeth, placing himself between her and Grant Markham. He leveled his gaze at Markham. It was a struggle to keep his voice even when fury was simmering beneath the surface of his collected exterior. “Elizabeth is not going anywhere with you. Do I make myself clear?”

  Markham gave a noncommittal shrug. Beside him, Helena bit her lip. An attempt to look contrite, no doubt. Donovan knew better. This mess had her name written all over it.

  “Very well, then.” Donovan cleared his throat. “You’ve upset Miss Scott. I believe an apology is in order.”

  He turned, expecting to find Elizabeth behind him. But she was gone.

  “Bloody hell!” Other than his voice echoing off the tall ceiling, there wasn’t a sound to be heard in the ballroom—not so much as a whisper. Since the dancing had yet to start, even the musicians stood silently behind their instruments.

  Donovan was well aware of the fact that he was making a spectacle of himself, but he was beyond caring. The damage had already been done.

  He spun back around. Markham was shaking his despicable head. “Pity about her running off like that just when things were getting interesting. Although what I find more interesting is that someone of your stature has chosen to get his thrills by toying around with one of the Great Unwashed. She’s a bit beneath you, don’t you think? Although I can certainly see the appeal.”

  Helena coughed, choking on a sip of champagne.

  Consumed with rage, Donovan nearly overlooked the telltale slip of Helena’s carefully arranged composure.

  “I would have thought my darling Helena would be more suited to you. What a pity she’s otherwise occupied tonight.” He reached out and stroked Helena’s bare shoulder with a deliberate graze of his fingertips.

  Donovan’s neck grew hot. He was on the verge of losing it completely, in front of everyone. And he didn’t give a damn. He slid his gaze toward Helena, and the guilt-stricken look in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

  “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Donovan spat. “Is that how you convinced him to come here and embarrass Elizabeth?”

  She reached for his lapels, clawing at him in obvious desperation. “But I did it for you. Don’t you see? You had to know the truth about her....”

  Donovan was so angry, he could barely see straight. But his vision must have been better than he thought, because when he drew his fist back and aimed it at Markham’s face, it made contact with startling accuracy. There were a few gasps, and somewhere he heard his aunt Constance wail his name, but mostly the only sound in the ballroom was that of Markham landing with a thud on the polished floor.

  Jenna gasped.

  “And he’s down for the count,” Henry muttered. “Good party, mate. The best. Really.”

  Donovan knew Henry was only trying to defuse the situation, but he was too far gone to stop now. He gave his throbbing hand a good shake, then aimed a murderous look directly at Helena. “As for you...”

  “Donovan.” She threw up her hands. Champagne sloshed out of her glass and down her arm. She didn’t seem to notice. “I know this is all a shock, but you needed to know. Elizabeth is not what she seems. She’s not good enough for you.”

  “Stop. Stop talking right now.” He stalked toward her until she was backed up against the nearest wall. Out of respect for Henry, he lowered his voice before speaking again. “I can’t believe what you’ve done to get that man to come here and do your bidding.”

  The color drained from Helena’s face, and she dropped her gaze to her feet.

  “Oh, Helena. Really?” Henry shook his head. He didn’t appear shocked at his sister’s behavior so much as disappointed. And when he spoke, he made no effort to do so in a quiet tone. “You slept with him? You slept with him. He’s married, Helena. But I’m sure you already know that, not that you care. This obsession you have with Donovan has made you lose your senses. What you’ve done makes you a whore in the most literal sense. And you think Elizabeth isn’t good enough for him?”

  She looked past her brother and gave Donovan a final, pleading look.

  He couldn’t stand the sight of her another minute. “I want you gone. And let’s be clear—you are no longer welcome in my home.”

  He turned back toward the ballroom entrance. All he cared about now was finding Elizabeth and getting to the bottom of this catastrophe.

  A hand fell between his shoulder blades. He turned to find Henry behind him.

  “She went that way, mate.” He pointed his champagne glass toward the exit that led to the garden.

  Donovan exhaled an exasperated sigh and searched Henry’s face. For what, he wasn’t exactly sure. Guidance? Encouragement, maybe? All he found there was the sad awareness that his sister had orchestrated the current state of affairs. Jenna stood with her gaze swiveling back and forth between the two of them, by all accounts stunned into inactivity.

  Donovan shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about me, mate. Go get her.” Henry nodded toward the door.

  He cut a path through the crowd. All the people who’d yelled and cheered him on to victory on the polo field that morning stood by in silence and watched him go.

  Donovan’s head swam with nonsensical questions. Why was everyone just standing there? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything to help?

  He knew he was making little sense, but coherent thoughts were rarely th
e hallmark of a desperate mind. And his was most definitely desperate.

  The jog across the length of the ballroom seemed endless, and he was out of breath when he spun out of the double glass doors into the cool air of the formal gardens. Twilight had fallen. Floodlights shone from the ground, strategically aimed to illuminate the artistic shapes of the trees, but otherwise the garden was bathed in darkness.

  Donovan squinted but saw no sign of Elizabeth. Not even a glimpse of the shimmery gold of her dress. At a loss, he headed down the walking path, gambling on the idea that she wouldn’t stray onto the lawn with her elegant high heels.

  The gamble paid off.

  He found her on the farthest bench down the path. She was curled into a ball, with her arms wrapped around her legs. The full skirt of her dress billowed around her, and her bare feet peeked out from its hem. Her shoes lay discarded on the gravel.

  Even in her distress, she was lovely. With her bare shoulders caressed by moonlight, she took his breath away.

  He took a steadying inhale and came to a stop directly in front of her. The daggers she shot at him with her eyes told him in no uncertain terms he wasn’t welcome to sit beside her.

  “Elizabeth, we need to talk.” His tone was calm, deliberate. A sharp contrast to the riot of emotions going on inside him.

  “Are you sure you want to talk to me? You don’t want me to calm down first?” She waved her arms around, motioning toward the trees that stood as silent witnesses to their exchange. “Or does it even matter anymore, now that there’s no one around to hear?”

  He angled his head toward her. “You think I was worried about what those people would think?”

  “Weren’t you? Isn’t that why you wanted me to calm down?”

  “Please stop saying calm down.” His temples throbbed. As did his fist.

  “Irritating, isn’t it?” She shot him an icy stare.

  And in that moment, Donovan realized he’d had enough of fighting with Elizabeth Scott. As far as he was concerned, the two of them should have been wrapped in one another’s arms out here in the moonlight. Not fighting. He felt as though the wheels of time had been suddenly reversed and they were back to the way it had been in the beginning, when they could barely carry on a civil conversation.

  He exhaled a weary sigh and took a step toward her. “Elizabeth, love...”

  “Don’t call me that.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Not now, please.”

  At that moment, the first threads of panic wound their way into Donovan’s chest. He’d assumed that whatever was going on here could be worked out. She would let him sit beside her, and he would hold her hand and convince her to talk to him. He would listen and eventually kiss the tears from her cheeks. And somehow, they would end up falling back in bed together.

  He was beginning to question the probability of things playing out that way. “Elizabeth, talk to me. Who is Grant Markham to you?”

  She flinched at the sound of his name.

  Donovan’s hands balled into fists, and the panic he’d only begun to taste blossomed into full-blown rage. “Did he force himself on you?”

  “No,” she answered, in a voice that was barely audible. “Not that he wouldn’t have liked to.”

  He jammed his hand through his hair and reminded himself to breathe again. He’d rarely seen this side of Elizabeth. She seemed broken, for lack of a better word. And her demeanor was in such contrast to the strong woman he’d come to know that it terrified him to think what had happened to bring it about.

  “He’s one of the parents from the Barclay School.”

  “The school in New York that sacked you?” He remembered with perfect clarity the day she’d gotten the letter. She’d been almost catatonic with grief. It had been the only other time he’d seen her like this.

  It had also been the day they’d shared their first kiss, so Donovan typically looked back on it with fondness. He supposed he’d allowed himself to forget about the sacking, to some extent.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth nodded and stared off into the distance. Her eyes glazed over as she spoke, recounting the details. “His son was one of my students. I gave him a failing grade at midterm—a grade he earned—and he was suspended from the lacrosse team.”

  A small surge of relief coursed through Donovan. Perhaps this was all a school-related misunderstanding gone horribly wrong. He nodded and lowered himself onto the bench beside her.

  He considered it a small victory when she didn’t object, but rather continued telling her story. “At the parent-teacher conference, Mr. Markham tried to talk me into changing his son’s grade. I refused, and...”

  Her voice trailed off, and she blinked back a fresh wave of tears.

  Donovan slid closer to her, his impatience bordering on the breaking point. “And?”

  “And he tried to bribe me. When I turned him down he said, and I quote, ‘Women like you—the ones who come from nothing—always have a price.’ Then he touched me.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “What?” Donovan roared, ready to leap to his feet, march into the ballroom and finish tearing Grant Markham limb from limb. While doing so would no doubt have proven immensely satisfying, he knew there was more to the story, and if he left now, he might never know the full truth.

  Still, it pained him to stay put. “Elizabeth, what exactly do you mean he touched you? I need you to tell me what happened and I need you to do it now.”

  He hadn’t meant for it to come out quite so harshly. But it was all he could do at the moment to keep his temper in check. He wondered if Markham was still out cold. Donovan half hoped Grant had come around so he could have the pleasure of relieving him of consciousness once again.

  Elizabeth turned sharp eyes on Donovan. “He touched my wrist and moved his fingertips up my arm while he stared at my breasts. It wasn’t an obvious attempt at a pass, but it was most uncomfortable. Is that what you wanted to know? Are you happy now?”

  Not obvious?

  Grant Markham’s intentions were obvious enough for Donovan to want to kill the man. He’d tried to buy Elizabeth. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to intimidate her into submission.

  Donovan’s blood churned, pulsing angrily in his ears, in his temples and behind his eyes. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep himself from cursing.

  Stay calm.

  “Am I happy? Of course not.” Donovan paced back and forth before finally coming to rest in front of Elizabeth. He crouched down, gently touched her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “What else? There’s more, isn’t there?”

  She nodded. “I responded the only way I knew how. I slapped his face.”

  He let out a laugh that sounded oddly manic, even to his own ears. “Good girl.”

  “No, Donovan. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. I humiliated him. And he retaliated by humiliating me, in turn. He accused me of trying to extort him. He told the board of directors I’d demanded money to change his son’s grade, and I was fired.” Her voice had an edge to it now, and her eyes sparked with fury.

  What she was saying was ludicrous. Beyond ludicrous. It was impossible. “How can that be? Surely no one believed him. How could he prove such an outlandish accusation?”

  “He didn’t have to. He’s rich and powerful and I’m nobody, Donovan. Of course he won. You don’t understand,” she spat. “But how could you? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. We have nothing in common, Donovan. You’re one of them.”

  That didn’t sit well with him. Not at all.

  He stood and glanced toward the house. Even from here, Donovan could see the ball had resumed in his absence. His guests were dancing and having a grand time, and Grant Markham—the man who’d damaged Elizabeth and reduced her to a trembling shell of her former self—was among them.

&n
bsp; No wonder, Donovan thought. No wonder it had been so hard to earn her trust. And it was no wonder he’d lost it again, when she’d seen Grant Markham standing in his home, drinking his champagne.

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He reached for her hand. It lay limp in his own. “I wish I had. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

  She leveled her gaze at him. “I don’t exactly consider it my finest moment.”

  “I disagree.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

  “What?”

  “You stood up for yourself. You refused to give in.” How he wished he could make her see things the way they really were. She was more powerful than she gave herself credit for.

  “But now he’s here, Donovan. At Chadwicke.” Her lips trembled again. The same lips he’d kissed not long ago. “Helena brought him here to humiliate me all over again. She told your aunt Constance things about me at the polo match. I wondered how she knew so much about my life in America. Now I know—she was trying to get rid of me. What kind of person does that?”

  Donovan ground his teeth together. “I’ve dealt with Helena. You have my word on that.”

  She took her hand back and wrapped her arms around her legs again. Something in her eyes alarmed Donovan, but he told himself not to panic. Now that he had a clearer understanding of things, he could go about fixing them.

  “I can’t go back in there. What am I supposed to do now?” Elizabeth turned her face toward him. There was a weariness about her he’d never seen before. It made his heart ache.

  Donovan ran his fingertips along the side of her face, and with that one touch, he knew. Perhaps he’d known all along. “I think there’s only one thing you can do.”

  “What’s that?” Her eyes shimmered with uncertainty.

  He smiled. “Marry me.”

  * * *

  She must have heard him wrong. Surely she had. He couldn’t possibly have said those two ridiculous words.

  She swallowed, barely able to repeat them. Even in her mind.

  Marry me.

  Marry me?

  Was he joking? “Donovan, be serious.”