Page 85 of A Searing Acquaintance
Then began the day’s final round of kissing each other senseless. The spelling bee winner could claim victory as she kissed his chin and neck and reduced him to gasps and moans, but the man who was a novice at love did know his geography, and mapped his feelings into every kiss, every nibble, and every caress. It all led to him making a rather difficult, but very contented, walk to the car ten minutes later.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That night, Darcy fell asleep in a bed in a room in an apartment where the woman he loved had spent the day. He loved her. He’d fallen in love with her months ago and had managed to tell her something to that effect back in April. Despite his best efforts to quash it and move on, his love hadn’t waned. The moment he saw Elizabeth at Pemberley, he knew he was fooling himself, trying to wear himself out through work and travel and by longer and harder runs through whatever city he was in. He’d been running from grief for years, and since April, he’d been running from the loss of hope and then, with Coco, the loss of connection. He’d been prepared to let the dear dog go; through the wonders of medical science, he was gifted with more years than imaginable with her by his side. After she died, though, he felt unmoored, untethered—similar to how he’d felt when his father had died. But this time, instead of wallowing in the loss, he had this woman he loved, and although he didn’t have her love in return, he had her esteem to earn—her respect to regain. So he worked, traveled, listened to music, ran. He went to baseball games. And he hoped something would change.
It did, starting at Pemberley when he was covered with grease and still bathing in self-recrimination. Annoyance at a mechanical breakdown turned quickly to gratitude because it led him, literally, to Elizabeth. Her eyes had lit up in surprise, and as the hours and days passed, the surprise was leavened by warmth and interest and sweetness,and a connection was made. He’d felt it, and he was sure she had too. Whatever they forged there had weakened around the scandal with Wickham, but those details were meaningless now. That hard, frozen ice he once trod with her had melted, and a few weeks’ worth of thin, fragile ice had broken. They had fallen in, together.
On Sunday morning, Elizabeth lay in her bed reliving the previous day. Like Darcy, she slept late. Like him, she was still a bit blurry when he sleepily texted: “Good morning.” She read his message, rolled over, and curled up with the phone. She smiled, remembering the moment when, somehow, in all of that messy kissing at her door, he managed to ask for her phone number. It was hilarious, really. Over a span of nearly ten months, they’d met and made out, fought and sparred, made up and made out—repeatedly—and now he was finally asking for her phone number. “A great testament to my dating skills,” he’d said ruefully.
Was there a sweeter moment than when Will—yes, that was the name she whispered when their faces were barely inches apart—sheepishly pulled away as that oversight dawned on him? He laughed awkwardly, breathed unsteadily, and finally managed to rather abashedly explain that he’d never had her cell number. He’d gotten her address from Charles when he sent flowers after the gallery dustup, but he’d never felt entitled to ask for her number. It broke her heart a little to realize how much he’d felt for her when she hadn’t been thinking of him at all. Not thinkingmuch, anyway. To know she’d hurt him so and caused him more pain overwhelmed her. He didn’t want her to dwell on their past, to talk about it, or worry over it. He just wanted them to be. And he’d had enough rough times in his twenty-eight years, so who was she to argue?
Twenty-eight… When was his birthday?He deserved a happy one, and he deserved someone who would love him, all of him. She was pretty sure she could do that.
Elizabeth Bennet was a woman of hearty appetites, evident from the way she dove into a platter of smothered nachos. Darcy laughed as he watched her, and he made a great show of using his fingers to pull acheese-smothered chip from the pile. Elizabeth nodded approvingly, as she had when he’d ordered the food without jalapeño peppers.
She thumbed through the game program, staring at the photos of current and retired Yankees, and felt like a fool. She could have saved so much heartache and extra work for herself—and spared this man sitting next to her from having to think about, let alone deal with, George Wickham—if only she hadn’t rejected him so quickly and dismissed any idea of knowing him better. If only she’d agreed to Fitzwilliam Darcy’s simple request for dinner and conversation. If only she’d taken a few minutes to get to know him, to remember what he’d told her, to learn that he not only loved baseball but also knew baseball players. If only. Elizabeth burrowed deeper into Darcy’s side; the arm he’d wrapped around her tightened and he kissed her cheek.
“Having fun?”
“The best.”
“And did you check the game program closely?” he asked in a solemn voice. “I think you’ll find that Yankee Stadium places no team color requirements on its fans. No sock police are on staff here.”
Elizabeth allowed that he was correct before quickly demonstrating that her recent discovery of his vulnerable spots required at least some hands-on examination.
It was the best time Darcy ever had at a baseball game. Everyone else could follow the action and cheer and yell and eat peanuts, but all he cared about was holding onto Elizabeth and watchingher. He was grateful Rich hadn’t shown up. The last thing he needed was a ribbing from his cousin over his cluelessness on the pitching rotation, the name of the batter, or at times, even the score. Besides, sharing Elizabeth’s company with his chatty cousin—or anyone else—was low on his list of desired activities. There were far more interesting things to pay attention to. But alas, the game eventually came to an end with a Yankees loss and he had to cede to reality, head home, do some paperwork, and pack.
Elizabeth kissed him goodbye and once again climbed into the backseat of a town car. It was a tad overwhelming being driven about and having someone else—allowingsomeone else—to take care of her. She really didn’t mind riding trains and buses; she’d done some of her best thinking and people-watching while on public transit. But it made thisman happy to do whatever he could to make her life easier, so again she smiled and thanked him.
It was at Pemberley in May that Elizabeth realized how much she loved his voice. She liked to listen to him talk, to hear him speak with that proper British accent leavened by American informality and softer consonants. When she dreamt of him, it wasn’t his face that appeared in her dreams; it was his voice. She thought he could even make ordering nachos sound sexy.
Elizabeth spent her Sunday night alone in her bed, wondering how she’d explain her new and wonderful reality to Jane tomorrow—and to Charlotte, who’d announced herself cured of her cold and desperate for some girl talk and anything that wasn’t Bill’s mother’s lentil soup. Elizabeth promised her Thai chicken salad and grilled vegetables, and thought that the bottle of chardonnay Charlotte was contributing to the evening would loosen every tongue. Two bottles would be dangerous. She pondered hiding the apartment’s wine stash. Perhaps she’d ensure the windows were closed before they popped the first cork. After all, Charlotte was renowned for her powerful vocal range.
“So, domestic bliss still blissful with Bill?” Jane leaned back in her chair. She’d been a bit disappointed that Charlotte was joining them for dinner as she’d thought up a long list of questions for Elizabeth. It had been difficult trying to decide whether she should tell Charles the happy news, but after three minutes of hand wringing, she’d blurted it out. She couldn’t keep such important information about her sister and the best man from her fiancé, could she?
Charles was thrilled, of course. He had nearly given up on his friend making the move he was sure Darcy wanted to make by finally letting down his guard and opening his heart. Charles hadn’t been able to wipe the smile from his face, even after sending Darcy a single text: “You dog you. Finally. Congrats. She’s a keeper. Don’t screw it up.”
Now the focus was on Charlotte, who looked happy, boasted fulfillment—of every kind—and was far too eager to garner her friends’ opinions on Botox and dermatologists. After suffering through the third selfie of Charlotte riffling her fingers through Bill’s new hair, Jane changed the subject. There was an elephant in the room, and she needed Charlotte to get out of the way.
“The world is a wonderful place. Charlotte’s on cloud nine, I’mplanning my dream wedding, and a baby panda was born today at the Washington Zoo.” Then Jane zeroed in on her target. “So…how wasyourweekend, Lizzy?”
“My weekend was unexpectedly wonderful.” Elizabeth saw the confusion on Charlotte’s face and the anticipation on her sister’s. She decided the abridged version was best. “I ran into Fitzwilliam on Saturday. We talked, had lunch, and he took me to dinner. Yesterday, we went to the Yankees game…” Her attention was caught by the vase of wildflowers on a table near the windows. “It was great. I think they lost.”
Her audience was rapt: Jane sighed and her eyes welled up, Charlotte stared with her mouth hanging open. Elizabeth drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest as she continued, “Today he flew to San Francisco on business, and on Friday he’s taking me to Pemberley. He’s wonderful and sweet, and I was wrong about everything, and I’m extremely happy.We’reextremely happy.”
Three, two, one…
“Oh. My. God!” Charlotte, her reflexes dulled and her tongue thickened by three glasses of Two Buck Chuck, threw her arms in the air. “You don’t hate his socks anymore? I knew you liked his ankles.”
Elizabeth burst into laughter while Jane beamed at her.
A week that might have meant long evenings together and a home-cooked dinner or two instead turned into a test of patience. The three-hour time difference and work demands limited their actual conversations. Elizabeth was caught up in planning press events for the upcoming book rollout, and Darcy was tied up in meetings, lunches, and dinners. Texting became their primary mode of communication: narrating their activities, making funny observations about their days, and anticipating the weekend ahead at the beach.
A few times that week, Darcy had to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming this new reality—that Elizabeth, in fact, had truly become part of his life. Certainly, his dreams were full of her, erotic dreams that left him aching in tangled sheets. He sent her flowers on Tuesday and stumbled over the message he asked Sara to add to the card. The best he could come up with was a simple, “Missing you. XO.” Even that turned his ears red.
He was back in New York late Thursday. By midmorning Friday,Elizabeth had arrived at his place, weekender slung over her shoulder. He’d argued with her, preferring to pick her up himself. But she’d laughed at his misguided, albeit chivalrous sense of geography—“I’m in Jersey, we’re going to the Hamptons”—and finally relented and agreed to take the town car he sent to fetch her.
“Hello, Miss Bennet.” The doorman smiled at her and sent her upstairs in the elevator. She tapped her foot impatiently as it rose slowly skyward. When the elevator doors opened, a gray-haired woman in a wrap skirt and sneakers, canvas tote in her hand, was standing before her. Elizabeth flashed a smile and stepped into the hallway.
