Bennet, Pride Before the Fall (Love Austen 3)

Darcy fiddled with buttons on the console and cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Today flightless birds outranked cock,” Lyon called out.

At Darcy’s bewildered look in the rear-view mirror, Bennet snorted. “Don’t ask.”

They picked Georgie up. She muscled herself into the passenger seat and grinned at them happily, and Darcy folded her wheelchair into the trunk.

“Glad Dad picked you up,” Georgie said. “I should have thought of it.”

Cliffs gave way to winding roads against a turbulent rocky shore, and easy chatter gave way to comfortable silences. Lyon pressed his head against the glass and closed his eyes, Georgie seemed to be doing something on her phone, and Darcy mostly paid attention to the road. Mostly.

Another five minutes of narrow road passed, and Bennet hummed in amusement. “You want to say something, Darcy. I can tell by the sneaky little looks you keep giving me.”

Darcy’s gaze flashed to his via the mirror. “You’re not wrong.”

“Go on then. Don’t be afraid.”

“There are many things I want to say, and I’m fairly sure you would interrupt to argue.”

“Your smile suggests I make a sport of it.”

“Don’t you?”

For a moment, he glimpsed how Darcy must see him: forthright and frustrating. Bennet laughed. “Lyon,” he prompted. “What do you think? Do I enjoy arguing a little too much?”

“Uh huh.”

Bennet bowed his head dramatically, then met Darcy’s twinkling gaze. “You’ve exposed me. I’m a meddlesome arguer.”

Darcy barked out a laugh—rich and lively, and the first real one Bennet had heard from him—and the road must have dipped because for long seconds Bennet was chasing gravity.

He leaned forward between the two front seats and addressed Georgie. “Your dad may be right about me. I hope he hasn’t put you off.”

Georgie winked at him. “Nope. You’ve made a good first impression.”

Bennet looked at Darcy pointedly. “I’m still not sure how far I trust first impressions.”

Georgie frowned at Bennet with amusement. “What’s that about?”

“The story might make you cringe.”

“Tell me!”

“The first time your dad and I officially met, I was on stage alone at Singles Karaoke Night. Nobody volunteered to stand up with my very fashionable gay ass. Then the emcee asked Darcy.” He glanced over at the man, who grimaced. “Do you remember the rest?”

Darcy shifted in his seat. “I was . . . overwhelmed that night.”

“Overwhelmed? And you chose to head to the pub on singles night?”

“I should have stayed home. Kept my inner turbulence to myself. I shouldn’t have refused so bluntly.”

“Dad refused to sing with you? He loves singing.”

“It was the night after Henry told me he was in love with Cameron and I was feeling . . . I needed space to think.” Dark eyes once more connected. “The first thing I saw when I came into the pub was you. All bright clothes and lively smiles and twinkly eyes. So out and proud. I . . .” Darcy looked away sharply. “You’re right. I was rude. I made an atrocious first impression.”

Lyon groaned. “Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“It’s the curves,” Georgie sympathized, handing over a box of mints. “Suck on one of these, it’ll help.”

Bennet rubbed his brother’s hand to distract him from nausea as he observed how easy Darcy and Georgie were with each other. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around this being the same Darcy. So different to the one in Cubworthy. That man had been serious, matter-of-fact. Curt.

He wasn’t half decided on how he felt about it when they arrived at Olivia’s. Lyon, quickly recovered, snickered and reminded him he needed to get out of the car.

Bennet tore his gaze from the back of Darcy’s head, thanked them again for the tour and the ride, and hurried into the house.

The next evening Olivia, Charlie, and Lyon went off to a movie, and Bennet curled up on the couch nestled under a bay window, enjoying the peace and the view of speckled lights across the town. On the mirroring hill Darcy’s mansion was dark against a violet sky, a cluster of lights beaming from it like a star.

The doorbell chimed and he flushed as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He spied Lyon’s wallet on the coffee table and, shaking his head, trucked it to the door.

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on—oh!”

The whoosh of brisk evening air wasn’t enough to temper Bennet’s suddenly scalding cheeks, chest, body. He’d thought the one encounter yesterday would be it. He hadn’t expected to be confronted again with Darcy’s solid wall of finely-dressed muscle or that keenly intelligent face.

To Bennet’s confusion and astonishment, Darcy asked to come in, and suddenly Bennet was making tea and inviting him to sit at the end of the table, close to the wonderful view.

He should have turned another light on. The lamplight coming from the other side of the living area gave the space a soft, dare-he-say romantic glow. Darcy opened his mouth and shut it again, as though he couldn’t figure out how to start.