re. Hadn’t he?
Caroline Bingley, Virginia Longworth, Camelia Cassidy…all smart, pretty, ambitious women with the “right” kind of family name. The kind his parents expected him to marry. However, their images didn’t linger in his mind. He was ambivalent about ever seeing them again while eagerly anticipating the day he might encounter Elizabeth Bennet once more.
Oddly, what he remembered most from the state dinner was her silences. At first she had been nervous in his presence; then she had been angry and hadn’t hesitated to let him know it—not just through her sarcasm and standoffish body language but also by her refusal to engage with him in conversation.
Even before he entered politics, Darcy had spent much of his life surrounded by people who sought to curry favor with him, who wanted something from him: jobs, money, approval, political alliances, friendship, even marriage. Elizabeth Bennet hadn’t wanted anything from him. How refreshing. How…fascinating.
That’s odd. A light was turned on in the Yellow Oval Room. His guests had congregated there for a while after dinner, but Darcy remembered switching off each table lamp when they left. Was Bing in there burning the midnight oil? Had Jane’s crisis deepened? I should have checked on them earlier.
Nothing seemed out of order as Darcy took a cursory glance around the room. But as he turned to go, a faint rustle of clothing emanated from the sofa closest to the window. Darcy crept closer, as silently as possible. If Bing had fallen asleep on the sofa, Darcy didn’t want to wake him.
But the form curled asleep on the sofa was not Bing. It was Elizabeth.
Darcy did a double take, but no, he wasn’t hallucinating. The person on the sofa was definitely Elizabeth Bennet. He seized the opportunity to view her unobserved, eyes feasting on her slumbering form. It was simultaneously delightful and entirely inappropriate. His memory had not overestimated her beauty; if anything, he had underestimated it. He felt like a prince who had stumbled upon an enchanted princess. What the hell am I thinking? I must be more sleep deprived than I thought.
Elizabeth’s head was propped on a cushion, and her sock-clad feet were curled together. The dark hair spread almost wantonly over the pillow was practically begging Darcy to touch it. Her lips were slightly parted, so lush and kissable. Her body was elegantly proportioned; the loose t-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide the shape of her breasts, her hips. Watching her, a soft smile curved his lips.
She was…so…unguarded. He should allow her to enjoy the sleep she so obviously needed, but he wished he could awaken her just to see her green eyes and wide smile.
His sleep-starved mind manufactured many possible reasons for her presence—mostly involving confessions of her attraction to him, which were followed by the removal of clothing. His imagination would never have run riot in such a way if he weren’t so weary.
But of course. Elizabeth was here for Jane. Who had injured her back. He was a fool to think otherwise.
Darcy had no idea how much time passed as he watched Elizabeth’s chest softly rise and fall. Every minute he promised himself that he would leave before she woke, but he always found reasons for delay. Then, inevitably, it happened. Her head lifted, her eyes opened, and she noticed him.
She shot to a standing position with the alacrity of a security guard found sleeping on his watch. Her face flushed a deep red. “M-Mr. P-President! I—Bing said—Jane’s back—medicine—not sleeping—sorry!” With one hand she tried to smooth her hair into place, although it looked delightfully tousled. With the other she wiped her mouth. Had she drooled a little? Good Lord, Darcy even found that endearing.
Which he should not. It was unwise to find it—or anything having to do with Elizabeth Bennet—endearing. He needed to grow a spine and hurry her out of the Residence before someone discovered her and made assumptions about her presence.
In the face of his silence, she continued, albeit rather more coherently, “The S-Secret Service knows I-I’m here. B-Bing let me in.” Her eyes blinked blearily.
“You came to see Jane?” She nodded with wary exhaustion. Darcy cleared his throat. “Can I call you a car to take you home?” Wait, did that sound like I want her to leave?
“N-no thank you,” she stammered. “I-I brought my own car.”
“Then why are you still here?” Damn, that came out wrong.
She drew herself up to her full height, her lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m not snooping for state secrets or anything.”
He’d offended her. Somehow he always managed to say the wrong thing in her presence. “No, no…I mean…it’s no inconvenience. I just—I didn’t want you to stay because you felt you were trapped.” Good Lord, I’m babbling now.
Avoiding his gaze, Elizabeth rubbed her face as if trying to wake herself up. “I promised Jane I wouldn’t leave her alone.” Her voice was sharp.
Surely he could say something to her without messing up. She’s a guest. Maybe I could try for a reset. “I beg your pardon. I’m being a terrible host. Would you like a bed?”
Her hands fell away from her face. “I’m sorry?”
“To sleep in,” Darcy added quickly. “While Jane is here.”
“Sleep, yes! But no.” She shook her head. “I’d rather stay close to her room.”
“Your devotion to your sister is quite commendable.”
Jane.
He must seem like an insensitive lout. Or more of an insensitive lout than he already appeared. Why hadn’t he asked about her sister first? “How is your sister—now? Is she any better?”
Elizabeth’s eyes darted toward Jane’s room. “I brought some of her pain medication. I think she’s sleeping now. Bing is in with her.”