“Richard didn’t say that! He just said Charles hasn’t always been realistic in his relationships and Darcy wants him to be cautious.” Charlotte leaned toward the mirror and smoothed down a cowlick. “Besides, it sounds like Darcy has reason to be cautious. Houses? Ancient family lands? A Yankees luxury suite?”
“He’s a player! He sent me flowers because he insulted me and now he’s determined to add me to his little black book. I guess he thinks I’m easy.” Elizabeth crossed her arms and glowered. “Darcy’s the sleazy one. He slept with George’s fiancée. He better not screw with Jane and Charles.”
Charlotte turned and stared at her friend. “Think about it, Lizzy. Richard might be a chatty ginger, but he’s a sweetheart. And he and Charles are awfully protective of Darcy. He can’t be all bad, right?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“You liked the flowers. And why is this George guy the font of all wisdom? He must be flawless. If you’re not going to date him, introduce him to me. My mother is on my case about grandchildren.”
The thought that perhaps Darcy wasn’t so very bad lingered in Elizabeth’s mind throughout the next few days. He was kind to animals and helpful when she hurt her ankle. Charles liked him. And the flowers he’d had delivered after his rude comments at his cousin’s horrible art performance were a nice gesture. But he was a snob who slept around, and he had an emotional on-off switch that he flipped far too easily.
What Elizabeth knew of his parents and what she had observed of his cousins could explain his moodiness and arrogance. Moneyed privilege had its price. But not everyone had deep pockets; some people had to just deal with what life handed them. She’d emerged unscathed from her mother’s virtual desertion and her father’s preoccupation with his new family—right? She was emotionally healthy and good at forming solid relationships—right? It didn’t say anything about her social life that her last kiss, perhaps the best kiss of her life, had been from Fitzwilliam Darcy.No, it did not.
On the following Wednesday morning, she told George about the Yankees game. George’s face turned cold then angry upon hearing of her afternoon in the Darcy box. His expression softened when he explained why none of his calls to his friends in the Yankees organization had been returned.
“It’s my fault your book won’t have any of the Bronx Bombers, Liz.” He stirred more sugar into his coffee and sighed heavily. “He’s screwing over both of us.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked carefully.
“It’s because of me that Darcy told them not to talk to you.” His sad eyes bored into hers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Man, it’s a beautiful day.” Rich pointed toward the white sails skimming across Conservatory Water in Central Park. “Bet you ten bucks that skiff wins the race.”
His cousin laughed quietly and eyed the pond. “That skiff? Can you be more specific? You meanthattall white one orthattall white one?”
“You simply will never be a New Yorker if you don’t learn to bet. No sport is complete without a wager.”
“Vegas is for betting, not to mention debauchery. I’m happy towager, but I prefer there be realistic odds.” Darcy pointed at a squirrel. “Let’s see if Coco chases it. I’d lay down five dollars that she won’t.”
Rich snorted. “Ha, that’s just because you know she’s given up the chase and would rather chew on some store-bought toy than flea-bitten Central Park vermin.” He looked at his own dog. “Young Studley could take that squirrel in thirty seconds.”
“For God’s sake, give that dog a normal name.”
“He has a normal name. He just doesn’t answer to it. He prefers Studley.” As if on cue, the Doberman pinscher turned and looked up at the men.
“The truth hurts.” Darcy nodded. He glanced down at his dog, her brown coat laced with gray and her steps slower as they neared the boat pond. He pointed to an empty bench. “Let’s take a breather, all right?”
He pulled a wadded nylon bowl from his pocket and unfolded it. Setting it on the ground by Coco’s nose, he poured water into it. “There you go, girl.”
Rich held back Studley and watched Coco slowly lap up the water. “Coco looks great. Good call on the surgery.” He cleared his throat. “She still the only lady gracing your bed?”
“From gambling to dogs to sex, eh?” Darcy pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. “Your multitasking mind is in a rut, Rich. You still dating your way alphabetically through the delegations? Was it the Maldives or Ukraine you so enjoyed exploring?”
Rich snorted. “I’m a professional. I’m not in the habit of sleeping my way around the UN.” He sat back on the bench and crossed his arms. “Michelle is off to Mumbai, and my happiness might be at an end.” He sighed. “Though I had a lovely lady beside me yesterday at the game.”
“Ah, opening day. How was it?” Darcy leaned over and scratched Coco’s ears.
“You meanwhowas it? You already know how it was—the Yankees won eight to three. Butwhoit was—that was Elizabeth Bennet. The one at Annabella’s fiasco.”
Darcy froze as Rich’s words slowly sank in.How? Her? Him?He sat up and stared at the sails on the miniature sailboats whipping around the pond. So they hit it off that night, he realized. While trapped by his aunt’s recital of complaints against him, he’d kept an eye on Rich and Elizabeth and grimaced when he saw Rich hand her a business card.Bloody hell. He never stops charming pretty girls.
“How did that come about?” he asked in a flat voice.
“She’s a Yankees fan. Never had good seats before and was thrilled to sit in the box.” He glanced at Darcy. “You never told her we have a suite?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Darcy let out a breath. “I don’t know her well enough to have had that conversation.”
“Really? That’s not the impression I had. She seemed to know you pretty well. She’s met Coco and knew Georgie named her.” He looked carefully at Darcy.
