Page 68 of A Certain Appeal
“I should let you get back to work,” he says distantly, but makes no effort to extract himself. His thumb follows the line of my cheekbone, his other hand still massaging my thigh, maintaining a circular path that traverses from hip to knee. Less dangerous territory than where we were, but the ache he roused between my legs is relentless.
Slowly, I unravel myself from him, easing my hands from his neck to his chest. I relax my leg enough that it begins to slide from his hand, but he doesn’t let it drop. Instead, he guides me back to standing by gliding his hand along my thigh until his palm casually cups my rear, which is a very neat trick. When he steps back, the cool of the room fills in the space between us. I roll my shoulders at the sudden chill.
He’s still close, watching me with a faint smile. My eyes keep dropping to his mouth, his kiss-bruised lips. I bite my lower lip to keep in a laugh; it’s a really,reallygood thing I got rid of my lipstick earlier.
Ice weaves through my rib cage.Jane!Oh, God, I just threw myself at the architect of Jane’s misery. “This doesn’t change—”
“I know.” His face goes stony and he takes another step back. Hepulls an envelope from his back pocket and holds it out to me. “I hope this helps.”
I press away from the wall to accept the envelope. “You holding someone for ransom?”
“Just... read it? Please.” He’s written my name on it. His penmanship is excellent.
“Sure.”
“Bennet.” He has one hand on the curtain of the coat closet and starts to draw it back. “I’m going to fix this,” he says firmly. “Everything with Jane and Charles. I’m sorry. I’m going to take care of it.” His gaze drifts over my face, darting lower just long enough to test my resolve. His eyes meet mine again, and he smiles. “I’d really like a chance for better circumstances.”
He passes through the curtain. I wait a beat, wondering—hoping?—he’ll come back, then sag into the wall again. The lack of oxygen and rerouted blood flow and the sheer unbelievability of what just happened set the room spinning around me. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. Holy...
I shake my head, trying to rattle my brain back online, while the tightness low in my belly makes a compelling case for throwing myself out of the room and up the stairs after him. I force myself to wait in the alcove for another minute before exiting. Disappointment blooms when I see that neither guest waiting for the restrooms is Darcy loitering for a second round of ravishment.
The envelope is heavy in my hands.Better circumstances...
I’m still in a daze as I stagger toward the dressing room. My lips are tender, buzzing from the friction, and my blood thrills through my veins. I run my index finger along the bottom of my corset, finding the errant bit of metal responsible for cutting the interlude short. Idon’t know whether to curse the thing or thank it. If it hadn’t poked me, how much farther would his hand have gone?
Andrea intercepts me in the hall. She swirls her martini. “You missed the Twins’ silk. Ginn had to wrap it after the set.”
I stop short.Shit—I forgot about their performance. Or, really, the world, for a few minutes. “I’m so sorry, Andrea. I—”
“It’s sound, luv.” Her voice is gentle. “They explained what happened on the stairs, said you might be needing a moment.” She purses her red lips. “That handsy bastard. The nerve of some people! We got rid of him, just so you know. The staff’s been informed, and Martin will keep an eye out at the door. He’s not welcome here again.” She pats me on the shoulder. “We always have your back, you girls. And those stairs are treacherous.” Her tone is leading. “Good thing we have liability insurance.”
I smile, blinking back sudden tears. Whether the house would back me up didn’t even cross my mind; I guess I took it for granted that they would.
Andrea must see how close I am to crying, because her head cocks sympathetically. She lets out a gentle, “Oh, kitty cat.”
A moment later, a shrewd smile spreads across her painted face. She takes my chin in her hand, turning my head side to side. Her laugh is a brilliant cackle.
“Snog rash. You little minx.” She releases me, then pats my cheek. “Good for you.”
At home, I sit in bed. Distantly, I’m aware of having brought my Meryton file with me, but when I look at the drawings, they hardly register. Almost nothing about my evening does.
Darcy’s letter sits in the middle of the open folder. The envelope bears the distinct upside-down logo of the Standard Hotel, and the paper inside is coordinating stationery. I hesitate, looking at the folded pages.A chance for better circumstances.
Unfolding the paper, I find four solid pages, written in a neat, though cramped, hand, and a pair of business cards. One is for his uncle, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., partner atDarcy, Darcy, and de Bourgh.On the back is a note: Should you require further testimony on the subject of George Wickham, feel free to contact Fitz.Interesting.
Card two is for Marley at Pemberley, with the accompanying explanation that she’s a family friend who can discuss what happened in the weeks following the passing of Darcy Senior. I eye the letter. What have I gotten myself into?
Bennet,
Allow me to assure you, this isn’t a retread of last night. You owe me nothing, and that includes your time. But I humbly ask that you read this, if only to have a fuller picture of the circumstances surrounding the grievances you listed: my separating Charles from your dear Jane and shameful treatment of George Wickham.
What I observed in Charles was unlike anything I’ve seen in him before. Never has he been so freely affectionate with a partner, nor so light and at ease. But instead of respecting the source of that affection, I only considered how it might be used to hurt my friend, and I took that consideration too far.
Charles’s confidence has never been steady. I confess to using that knowledge to undermine his hope that Jane returned his affections. Jane’s own enthusiasm, as well as Andrea’s repeated allusions to how Charles’s involvement in the club would be“beneficial” to Jane and applauding Jane for landing a “sugar daddy,” convinced me I was acting in my friend’s best interest.
I won’t condemn my instincts, but I can regret acting on them without doing my due diligence. You were right; I never once allowed that Jane’s attachment to Charles might have been as legitimate as Charles’s obvious affection for Jane. For that, I am profoundly sorry. I should have discussed their relationship with you before jumping to any conclusion. However, I feared confirming the worst—that you, too, were in on some ruse—more than I wished to exonerate your friend. This was sheer cowardice on my part. Cowardice, and a predisposition toward distrust I hope to, if not validate, at least explain to your satisfaction in the course of this letter.
For now, as it was my action and inaction that caused this separation between our friends, I will take it upon myself to mend the rift.
