President Darcy

There he was! Smiling and waving at the crowd. But he hadn’t seen her. As the car slowly drew closer to where she stood, Elizabeth started smiling and waving frantically. Hopefully, somehow, she’d stand out from the crowd, and he’d recognize her presence for the apology she intended.

The moment he recognized her, his eyes grew wide. And she realized all over again that he actually had the power to make her heart stop and steal her breath from her body—even from behind tinted glass. She grinned like an idiot, but her hand fell to her side. All her attention was focused on the president.

He was no longer smiling. Instead his forehead was creased, and his lips were slightly open as he followed her with his eyes. Was he unhappy at her presence? Maybe he never wanted to see her again. That would be understandable after all the unforgivable things she’d said. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. You came to deliver a message, nothing more, she reminded herself. Only now did she realize that she had secretly hoped for something else.

Their eyes remained locked as the car glided past Elizabeth’s position. He even turned his head to keep his gaze fixed on hers as long as possible. Others in the crowd stared at her, pointing and murmuring.

Then he was gone. She could only see the back of the limo while another black SUV prepared to turn into the driveway. The crowd started to loosen up as people chatted and sought the easiest ways to disperse. Elizabeth’s whole body felt weighted down and incapable of the slightest movement. I accomplished what I set out to do. He noticed me. Nothing else was ever possible.

Exclamations of surprise suddenly drew Elizabeth’s attention. People in the crowd pointed and yelled. The limo had stopped. Right before reaching Pemberley’s gates, it had come to a complete standstill.

Then it began backing up.

“What the hell?” someone behind Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Maybe they’re going out for a gallon of milk,” the woman next to Elizabeth joked to her friend.

Elizabeth couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her thoughts were scattered. Above all, she tried not to hope this had anything to do with her. It was probably some security thing. She remained frozen in place as the limo reversed until its rearmost door was directly in front of her.

The door opened to reveal the president. He was not smiling, but his eyes sparkled as he extended a hand to her. He looked utterly delectable in black jeans and a close-fitting blue t-shirt the same shade as his eyes. “C’mon,” he said to her. “Get in!”

Chapter Thirteen

She hesitated. Was he talking to her? Shock had even stolen away her voice. Her eyes fixed on his hand, trembling slightly as it offered her a second chance.

Will’s face softened. “Please, come.”

Game over. She could no more have refused that entreaty than she could have commanded her heart to stop beating. She placed her hand in his, relishing the warmth as his fingers curved around hers. People in the crowd around her yelled and cheered—and filmed with their phones.

Will pulled her gently into the interior of the limo, bringing her from bright sunshine into abrupt dimness. He gestured to the seat next to him, and she fell onto it gratefully. A man in a suit—a Secret Service agent?—swung the door shut behind her and then spoke into his phone; the limo lurched forward.

Will turned toward her, giving her a slight smile for the first time. “Hello, Elizabeth. What brings you here?”

***

Darcy’s day had not improved. The short flight to New York had been uneventful, but that hadn’t eased his throbbing head. Bing had briefed him on the latest threat to nuclear non-proliferation, and Darcy had spent much of the plane flight wrangling on the phone with two difficult congressmen who seemed determined not to support the administration’s position. By the time he finished the second call, he was nauseated, irritable, and tired.

The presidential limo, nicknamed “the Beast,” was extremely secure but, surprisingly, rather cramped on the inside—with only two seats facing forward and three seats facing back. Today the close quarters irritated him more than usual. Perhaps sensing this, Bing and Fitz had tried to lighten his mood with jokes and banter, but Darcy had growled at them until they fell silent. Now, half listening to Bing’s report on flooding in Mississippi, Darcy kept his temper in check by dreaming about a cool, dark room at Pemberley.

When the gates of Pemberley loomed into sight, Darcy had been overwhelmed with relief. He just wanted the sanctuary of his private suite and a respite from the scrutiny—even the well-meaning concern of his friends.

The only thing between him and his sanctuary was the usual crowd of gawkers clustered at the gate, baking in the July sun and holding signs either cheering or condemning him. Darcy steeled himself, knowing he would need to wave and smile at the crowds; if he didn’t, a local paper or cable news station would report how he was unfriendly to the voters, or it might launch rumors that he appeared ill. Never in his life had Darcy felt less like greeting random strangers, but he plastered on a grin and managed a feeble wave.

When he first saw her, he dismissed her as a hangover-induced hallucination. “Elizabeths” had popped up all over Washington for weeks; upon a second glance, they were always revealed to be women with dark hair who bore almost no other resemblance to the actual Elizabeth Bennet.

But the resemblance didn’t fade upon a second look; it grew stronger. Another second of staring confirmed that he was, in fact, viewing the actual Elizabeth Bennet. She met his eyes unflinchingly and with a wide smile, but her blush suggested an endearing touch of embarrassment.

What the hell is she doing here? What did her presence mean?

Taken off guard, Darcy’s smile and wave faded. He could only gape at her, twisting his head to keep her face in view until she was out of sight. Everything he’d dreamed of saying to her—the apologies and explanations—flashed through his mind. How could he leave them unsaid when she was so close?

Elizabeth wouldn’t have trekked all the way to Pemberley if she still cursed his name. She had smiled and waved, hadn’t she? If he didn’t talk to her now, he might not get another opportunity.

Darcy hit the intercom button. “Tucker, stop the car,” he ordered the Secret Service officer who was driving. As the limo abruptly halted, Kinski, the head of his security detail—who sat opposite Darcy in the back of the limo—was instantly on alert. “Is there a problem, sir?” His hand was already reaching under his suit jacket for his shoulder holster.

Shit. How did he explain this? Darcy held up his hands. “No, nothing like that. I…um…recognized someone in the crowd…”

Kinski hadn’t removed his hand from the butt of his gun. “Someone who’s been in other crowds?” The Secret Service was always alarmed when people showed up too frequently at presidential events, fearing a potential assassin awaiting an opportunity.