Page 57 of A Certain Appeal
“Make yourselves at home.” I tote the cart to the kitchen. “You want beer or wine?” I scan the counter, then remember the wine ended up in my room last night. I bailed onMarch of the Penguinsabout thirty minutes in and paired my time on the Meryton file with a tasty cabernet.
I turn and almost smack into Tonic, who holds out the bag she carried in. “Thanks.” I place it on the counter. “That wine is in my room. Do you mind getting it while I start putting things away? It should be on the desk.” Tonic nods, turning to go.
“I’ll get it!” Wickham offers, appearing in the doorway with Ginn, and Tonic halts.
“On the desk,” I repeat. He gives me a thumbs-up, disappearing down the hall.
Tonic watches him go, then leans in the doorway next to Ginn. “HowisJane?”
“Better,” I say. “It’s really sweet of you to offer to take him out.”
Tonic sends a quick glance to Ginn, who doesn’t return it, already walking toward Jane’s room. Tonic’s shoulders drop, and she chews at her index finger.
I wonder if Wickham has disturbed their dynamic. “You all right?”
Tonic flinches, then gives me an emphatic nod. “Yeah, totally. Just, um, thinking about Jane.”
While I’m not sure I believe her, I nod and fetch a pair of wineglasses from the cabinet. I point toward the sink. “The other two are on the drying rack,” I say, then frown. “What is taking him so long on that wine?Wickham,” I holler, and scoot past Tonic. “You get lost in here?”
“Sorry!” Wickham stands beside my desk, giving me a guilty smile. “I didn’t get to take in the decor when I was in here last time. Your design skills are no joke.”
I hug my arms, though I appreciate the praise.
Wickham leans in, checking out some family photos above my desk, but his eyes keep darting to the surface, then over to me. He laughs. “I’m sorry—” He holds up the five-by-seven of the pic from the Four of Clubs. It’s officially become my bookmark for the Meryton file, which is open to the page I was looking over before I left for work this morning. “It’s such an amazing shot.”
I laugh, inured to any potential embarrassment at his seeing it.“Thank you. It was a fluke, but I’m happy with it. Have you seen the one Ginn and Tonic took?”
“Ginn has a poster-sized version in her entryway.”
“Just her?” I ask. “They don’t live together?”
“Tonic lives with an aunt in the Seaport.” He places the picture back on the stack of pages, tapping it absently before looking at me with a flat smile. “Has Darcy seen it?”
I grip my arms more tightly. “He bought a deck the first night he came in. Or, Charles did and had Darcy pay.”
Wickham chuckles. There’s an edge in it I don’t like.
He settles against my desk. “Charles Bingley. I never understood his loyalty to Darcy. He worships Will. A total ‘jump, how high’ situation. It’s almost embarrassing. Though it’s probably why Will is so protective of him.” His lips pull in sympathetically and his demeanor softens. “This stuff with your roommate is really screwed up. The Twins said Charles and Jane seemed legit.”
I relax my arms a bit. “I thought so, too.”
He scrubs his chin, leaning more of his weight against the desk. “Charles was always the friendlier of the two—more thoughtful. I wonder what changed. Maybe Will’s influence.” He rests his hands on the writing surface. “Though you were getting pretty friendly with ol’ Darcy the other night.”
The challenge in his tone makes my stomach curdle. “Excuse me?”
Wickham’s smile evaporates, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He taps the desktop, fingers rapping tunelessly against the dark wood.
I blink. What the hell happened to the easygoing flake I had drinks with? “I know you two have a history—”
“Did Will say something about me?” The sharp question is more an accusation than an inquiry.
Or is it an admission?“Is there something to tell?”
Wickham’s jaw goes tight. “He’s not who you think he is,” he says, as though I have even half a handle on what to expect from Will Darcy. “That man will do or say anything to protect what he values.”
The comment lands hard, though I doubt my interpretation is what he wants me to get out of it. “Did you mean to imply that he valuesme, or is there something else you wanted to put across?”
He watches me for a moment, his gaze less severe, more assessing. “No.” His voice is cool. “Though you’ve made a few things easier than they might have been before.”
