She smiled gently at him, her eyes bright with affectionate amusement. Darcy raised his eyebrows and waited happily.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I believe we’ve aced charm school.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy lived in one of New York’s most exclusive residences on Central Park West: the Beresford, the building that a young Elizabeth Bennet had always thought looked like a castle.
He’d asked Elizabeth whether she’d mind waiting in his apartment while he changed. The rain had picked up, and she hadn’t been quite sure of her neighborhood options, and well, she’d just kissed the man—quite thoroughly—and made it fairly clear she really liked him, so of course, she’d taken his hand and followed him up to the nineteenth floor. Above the trees, looking over the park. At least it wasn’t the penthouse. The trip up had left her breathless, but the view left her stunned.
He brought her a towel and asked whether she’d like her sweater tossed in the dryer. It was awfully damp, so Elizabeth nodded and handed it to him with a request to use the air-fluff setting so it wouldn’t shrink. She shivered a bit in only her T-shirt and Capri pants, and he quickly returned with a blue sweatshirt, oversize to be sure and smelling like whatever it was he exuded. Woodsy and spicy. Nice and warm. Faded and soft. It was his. He offered her water, tea, juice, and soda, and she took some water just to placate his eagerness to make her comfortable.
That was good…for now. As she watched him walk off quickly toward his bedroom, Elizabeth felt the loss of his warm presence. She blushed thinking on how she had melted into his kisses. She’d kissed one or two men since she’d last kissed him, but she’d never felt anything like what Fitzwilliam Darcy could do to her. Yet as much as she now knew about him, there was immeasurably more she didn’t know. There was nothing she feared learning—besides his obviously tragic family history—but knowing his goodness and his essence as a kind, generous, gently witty man who knew how to kiss and mightpossiblylove her wasn’t enough. She needed to know what he’d been doing all those months they hadn’t seen each other, what books he’d read, with whom he’d spent his time, what exactly he did for a living, and what on earth he’d seen in her that prompted such strong feelings. It was all so overwhelming.Hewas overwhelming.
He was overwhelmed.Elizabeth is here. Here. In my home, wearing my clothes. She’d been in his arms, and she’d told him he was in her thoughts all the time. As Darcy pulled off his suit, slowly and dazedly, the events and images of the past half hour truly hit him. Elizabeth’s face, her dazzling eyes opening slowly and her lips pink and soft as they drew back from their kiss. Her little gasp when his eyelashes brushed her cheek. He groaned. He’d repressed the memory of their last kiss that night at the Seaport. She hadn’t wanted that kiss, and he’d wished almost immediately that he could take it back. But he hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t let go of the memories they’d created on that sofa at Netherfield. Her soft skin and artful lips, those absolutely perfect breasts… He’d had to quash down those images quite painfully when he’d seen her poolside at Pemberley. Thank God for sunglasses and thick beach towels. Two days of potential humiliation. He’d never stared at Caroline or his feet so much in his life. And now, just minutes ago, he’d kissed Elizabeth again and held her and discovered that she smelled the same and tasted the same as she had last November, but her eyes…this time they really saw him. And her feelings, she’d said, were definitely not the same. He couldn’t believe it.
Darcy tossed his damp pants and jacket on a chair, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off his socks, and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth.If she had made a joke in the park about my lack of a toothbrush, I wouldn’t have kissed her. I couldn’t have.But she didn’t joke, she smiled. And then she kissed me, not caring how I looked or smelled or tasted.He pulled off his watch and quickly seized his toothbrush.
Elizabeth is waiting for me.
Elizabeth looked around the apartment. No, this wasn’t an apartment;shelived in an apartment. This was a nineteenth-floor mansion with park views. It was stunning. She’d never been in a twenty-eight-year-old man’s apartment that looked like this. No leather and chrome furniture or bookcases devoid of books but full of Xbox games. No, this was decorated beautifully and comfortably, but for living in as a home rather than a showplace. As Pemberley had been. She walked over to look at a painting. It was a Winslow Homer. AnoriginalWinslow Homer.Okay…And the rug was so thick and plush. She glanced down at her toes. She’d left her wet shoes at the door. She suddenly felt grateful that she’d let Jane talk her into another pedicure. And that she’d shaved her legs that morning.
Finally, she decided she shouldn’t be peering at his things. Not now. She should sit quietly and wait.Yes, that’s a genius idea. I’ll have seat on the $5,000 sofa in his $20 million apartment overlooking the park and wonder about my sanity.
She picked up her bag and pulled out her phone and earbuds.A little music should be calming. Or the headlines. Anything to keep my mind from wandering too far to the edges.She glanced at the back of a slate gray chair facing the windows.That’ll do.She walked around it to sit down and found herself gazing into the yawning face of a small black cat.
“Oh, hello,” she said, surprised. “What’s your name?”
Elizabeth perched on the matching ottoman and reached out a finger. The cat sniffed her and then, satisfied that the intruder was neither dangerous nor tasty enough to eat, began purring and resumed its nap. Elizabeth smiled, gave it a gentle rub on the head, and untangled the cords on her earbuds. She never saw the other cat crouching near her bare toes. It batted at the cords, and as she laughed, the creature grabbed them in its teeth and trotted away.
“No, come back!”
The cat skittered down the same hallway Darcy had disappeared into before stopping and looking balefully back at her. It dropped the white cords, pushed open a not-quite-closed door, and padded inside. Elizabeth took a few steps further down the hall, then stopped and glanced through the door as she leaned over to pick up her buds.Oh holy night. It was Darcy’s bedroom. There he was, in all his glory,backside to her, dripping wet and furiously toweling off. He was a man in a hurry; she was a woman glued to the spot. He was a man with an absolutely perfect bum; she was a woman with a full-body blush. Elizabeth moved as quickly as possible back toward the living room.
She stopped at the kitchen and retrieved the glass of water he’d poured for her. After drinking it down, she opened the massive refrigerator door to retrieve the pitcher for a refill. The cold air felt good on her face. She was mortified. How many times could she stumble into the man—covered in grease, disheveled from a night on a bad couch, buck naked and wet—before she grew up and blossomed into a woman who knew when and how to enter a room?
God. Did he ever not look good?She was staring at half a dozen prepared meals inside the refrigerator, neatly stacked and clearly labeled in a feminine hand, when she heard his voice.
“Elizabeth?”
If he’d taken a moment to think about it, Darcy would have realized that he hadn’t hurried this much to shower and dress since his boarding school days. But he wouldn’t take one second to think about his past. Not today. He was still processing his good fortune—the amazing turn of events that brought Elizabeth Bennet here to his home. There had been one brief moment in the shower, though, when he’d leaned his forehead against the tile and tried to absorb the warmth, the happiness he was feeling, but then the fear and worry crept back in. What if she was just grateful and had come here merely because she felt obligated? He’d put her on the spot. Why had he presumed she wanted to sit in his apartment and wait to eat while he showered? What if she’d reconsidered that kiss—those kisses? What if she’d left? He shouldn’t doubt her, not now. But still… He’d been presumptuous, as he had so many times before. Elizabeth was all that mattered. He had to take care and proceed slowly.
But right now, he had to hurry.
Darcy left his hair wet, skipped shaving, and threw on the first pair of jeans within his reach. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of loafers and quickly left the bedroom, still buttoning his shirt as he entered the living room. It was empty. He re-traced his steps and peeked into the dining room. Empty. Then he heard a noise from the kitchen and found her there with her head in his refrigerator.
“Elizabeth?”
She slowly pulled her head out of the refrigerator, closed it, and turned around. She was blushing, and she looked so very beautiful.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” he said.
He was looking at her earnestly, his hair damp and uncombed, his face unshaven.Eminently kissable.Elizabeth groaned to herself. She bit her lip, smiled, and glanced at her watch. “Fitzwilliam, it’s fine. It’s barely been ten minutes.”
She took a breath, and the urgency of her irrational desire to kiss him subsided. Mostly. “You were so fast. Do you have one of those Jetsons speed-of-light showers?”
He was giving her the same dumbfounded expression she’d seen in the cab.
“Ohhhh, really? You never sawThe Jetsons?‘His boy Elroy’?” she sang the last bit of the theme song.
