Page 38 of A Searing Acquaintance
Darcy rubbed his hand across his face. “I don’t know why I ever thought we made sense.” His lips moved but no more words followed. He nodded his head and moved off into the darkness. “Good night.”
He left behind a wide-eyed, stunned, and furious Elizabeth Bennet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
No. That did not just happen. No.
Darcy managed to exit the Seaport with some semblance of dignity still in place, collapse into the backseat of a cab, and mumble his address to the driver. He stared unseeing at the traffic lights, neon signs, and bright store windows as he felt himself shutting down. He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly opened them. Whatever difference he was looking for—whatever change he hoped for—didn’t happen. His eyes stung, but they saw nothing.
“I just don’t get you.”
Was she mocking him? What didn’t she get? That he’d fallen for her months ago, helping her walk across a rainy field? But she didn’t know—didn’t have a clue. Somehow, over the past five months, he’d managed to convey that he found her wanting and that she was nothing more than an ill-considered one-night stand, a tomboy tagalong to Jane and Charles, and a serial dater of muscular male athletes. How had that happened? How had he done that?
He remembered when he’d first known. She made him laugh that night so many times. He didn’t always let her see it. He was too well practiced at withholding his emotions and hiding his reactions, especially around women. But Elizabeth sat there, her hair a mess, wrinkling her nose when she touched his bristly cheek, mocking his name as she’d once mocked his socks, prompting him to talk about his family and reveal bits of himself. All Darcy thought about was howmuch he wanted to know her, to kiss her, and then she kissed him—and kissed himoffthe next morning.
He never thought she’d want to forget that night. He assumed that, like him, she must have regretted what had happened—or what hadn’t happened. That, like him, she must have been denying or grappling with the feelings they stirred in each other. But now it was obvious she had not. Their interpretations of that night were different, and each remembered what was said—and meant—very differently.
Did she rememberanythingthey had talked about? Or just the aftermath when he’d pulled away, ashamed of himself for taking advantage of her?
Safely home with jacket off and tie loosened, Darcy sat slumped on the couch, staring through the windows at the lights of the city. As the night wore on and the numbness wore off, warring emotions of humiliation and anger descended.I told her I’m in love with her. I’m such an ass.He took a long drink of Scotch and rubbed his face.Why is she determined to dislike me—to mistrust me?
Then a cold realization hit.She likes Wickham. She believes that goddamned liar!Darcy sighed shakily.I need to warn her. She doesn’t love me—she might not even like me—but she needs to know.He needed to warn her about what kind of man George Wickham was—what he had done. He needed to warn her that his feelings for her, if Wickham had noticed them, might mark her as a target.
His thoughts ran in every direction but led back to the same conclusion. As he watched the sunrise over Central Park, he said it aloud: “I’ve made such a bloody mess of things.” These were the first words he’d spoken in hours, and the sound of his voice stirred Coco from her bed by the fireplace. She stood and yawned, then padded over and laid her head on Darcy’s knee. “Hey girl,” he said quietly, patting her head gently.
As he glanced over at the chair where a small black cat snoozed, the alarm on his phone chimed. Darcy stared at it, then picked it up and scrolled through his messages. Charles. Rich. Sara. Charles again.Am I supposed to be somewhere today? It’s Sunday. He sighed and clicked on his calendar. He’d never liked February’s limpid grayness, and July was full of awful memories. But now April was a shitty month too.She hates me.
“You’re capable of more, but you don’t even try. You worry about consequences, but you care more about a dog’s dietary habits than you do aboutpeople’s feelings. Your actions have consequences for others too. It’s not all about you.”
“She’s right,” he said, his voice rusty and soft. “I need to talk to her. She needs to know abouthim.” First, though, he needed to sleep. “C’mon, girl.” Darcy stood up slowly and headed down the hall to his bed. Coco padded softly behind him.
“I think about you all the time.”
Elizabeth couldn’t fathom the words Darcy had said to her, and she couldn’t forget the pain in his eyes. How could eyes that had looked upon her so coldly turn so anguished? In the months she’d known him, she’d seen amusement, boredom, anger, concern, and passion in his eyes. How could one man’s eyes be so expressive? How could he be in love with her? How could he think she had similar feelings for him?Him?He thought she was a silly, sports-obsessed tomboy who didn’t meet his standards. Didn’t he?
Snug in her bed, a long rain-soaked Sunday stretching ahead, Elizabeth hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn’t re-direct her thoughts, couldn’t focus on any other topic. Since last night, when she’d muttered the age-old female excuse to Jane and fled to a cab, her head had been spinning. Books, movies, the headlines—nothing could get her mind off ofhim. She couldn’t listen to music; hearing plaintive yearnings of love and desire was the last thing she needed. It was a dark and rainy April day to match her gloomy mood. Even the flowers in the pots on her windowsills were drooping.
She couldn’t talk about it: not to Charlotte, who called and begged her to go to a hot yoga class, and not to Jane, who arrived home from Charles’s place to find Elizabeth monosyllabic and staring at the same page of the Sunday newspaper for nearly an hour. Unable to prompt a conversation, Jane sighed and began shooting her odd looks. And she certainly couldn’t talk to anybody in Queens when the family gathered later in the day to celebrate her father’s birthday.
It seemed endless. Ted Bennet spoke little, preferring to sit back and watch the squabbling between sisters and cousins. Lydia was mostly oblivious, barely lifting her eyes (or thumbs) from her phone, while Mary watched the clock and complained about the paper she needed to finish by Tuesday. Aunt Maddie and Uncle Joe were there with their children, Ava and Alex. Elizabeth was able to lose herself, albeit briefly,watching them play videogames. When the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, the kids, led by Jane and a grumbling Mary, scattered outside to set up croquet. Lydia stomped out with them, frustrated with the adults for vetoing her plans for beer pong. Aunt Maddie lingered behind and sat next to Elizabeth in the living room.
“I haven’t seen you in such a long time, Lizzy. How are things?”
“Fine.” Elizabeth smiled softly and watched through the window as Mary lectured her eight-year-old cousin on proper mallet technique.
“You’re very quiet. What’s happened to my usually effervescent niece?”
“I’m just a little tired. Late night.”
“Oh, you were with Jane at the Seaport? Hot date?”
Elizabeth grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Hardly. More like a fixer-upper. Charles misjudged my taste in men, or I misjudged Charles. Let’s just say, I made sure to go home alone.”
“Not even a goodnight kiss?” Maddie joked.
Elizabeth’s stomach lurched.“I think about you all the time.”
“Are you all right?” Maddie put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and peered closely at her niece’s wan expression.
