Page 70 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

Lady Catherine is mollified, though she does look slightly confused, probably because what I said and what she wrote are two completely different things. Maybe mine was better and she’s impressed with her own writing skills? I can only hope. But I got through it, and that’s all that matters at this point.

I could kill Zane, though. And I just might.

I see him standing on the edge of the gathering, his face red from laughing. I shake my head at him but then pull my lips in between my teeth, trying to keep from laughing, trying not to give him the satisfaction.

He points to the letter and then makes a circle figure in the air, telling me to turn it over.

When I do, I see that he’s written a note in the bottom corner.

Meet me in our garden tonightis all it says. I look up to see him giving me a mischievous little grin, and I can’t help thewarmth that spreads from my cheeks down to my stomach. Even if I want to slap him right now.

“ZANE?” I WHISPER AFTER SLIPPING through the gate in the little garden near Netherfield. After the Gardiners—the staff playing Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle—went to bed, I snuck out of Hunsford Parsonage, which is now doubling as the inn in Lambton, and walked across the property to meet Zane, making sure to stay in the shadows as much as possible. I never saw anyone else.

“Hey,” he says from behind, and I jump, even though I know it’s him.

I was antsy to get here, having had to sit through dinner at Pemberley, listening to the Gardiners go on about the vegetation around the estate ... or something. I could hardly listen with the way Zane would bump my leg under the table with his.

He found subtle ways to touch me all evening. Small, lingering gestures in the drawing room after dinner, following our reenactment of the scene where Elizabeth learns of Lydia’s elopement with Wickham. His hand rested lightly on my back, staying there just a moment longer than expected. When we played whist, his fingers brushed against mine in a way that felt deliberate, sending little sparks through me each time. I don’t know what it all means. Zane’s always been comfortable with casual touches, even when we were younger. But this feels different now. Less casual and more purposeful.

“Hi,” I say, giving him a smile when I turn around to see him standing there, cravat untied and hanging around his neck. We’re both still in our dinner wear, but I’m now wearing a woolspencer jacket to keep warm. Though I’m not sure I need it so much right now, as I feel my temperature rising. Maybe it was the walk here, or maybe it’s the man standing in front of me.

He takes a step forward, closing the space between us until we’re facing each other.

“Glad you could make it,” he says.

“I know,” I reply. “The Gardiners, as I’m sure you recall from dinner, are very chatty. And they never break character. Not even once.”

“I hope they gave you the full Mr. Darcy deep dive,” Zane says, his mouth curving into a mischievous half-smile. “I hear he’s everyone’s favorite subject.”

“Oh, please.” I wave a hand dismissively. “They wouldn’t waste their breath on that drivel.”

His jaw drops. “You wound me.”

I laugh. “So,” I say, looking around the garden before my eyes come back to Zane. “What’s the plan tonight?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Same as always. I just want to be with you.”

He looks at me then, his heated gaze roaming my face is enough to make me melt into a puddle right on the spot.

“Well, I’m here,” I say, the words coming out breathy.

“You are,” he says, taking another step toward me, nearly erasing the distance between us.

“And ... you ... are also here,” I say, nervousness taking over. I sound like an idiot, but Zane doesn’t seem to mind.

“I am,” he says, reaching up and tucking some of my curls, left out by my lady’s maid to frame my face, behind my ear.

“Zane,” I say, a mix of anxious and happy butterflies fighting for space in my stomach at his proximity.

“Yes,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me closer until our faces are just inches apart. His gaze flicks to mine, holding it for a moment longer than I expect.

“Um,” I start to say, but my words catch in my throat as he leans down slightly, his breath warm against my skin. Gently, his lips brush the curve of my neck, soft and deliberate. My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, it feels like the world tilts, leaving me weightless.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he says, between soft kisses up and down my neck.

“You have?” I ask, not really believing this is real.

“Yes. You have a very lovely neck.”

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