President Darcy

All conversation ceased at the sound of faint but rapid knocking on the front door.

“Shit,” Fitz swore.

Bing shrugged. “It’s probably just a messenger with papers for Darce to sign. It happens.”

It could also be bad news about some domestic or foreign emergency. That happens, too.

Everyone was silent as the Secret Service agent in the front hall opened the door. The voices were too low to discern any words. Brisk footfalls echoed in the front hallway as the new visitor approached the kitchen and breakfast room.

Hilliard appeared in the doorway, red in the face and out of breath. Darcy’s chest tightened. Shit. The press secretary wouldn’t have made an unannounced trip to Pemberley unless it was serious. Darcy dropped Elizabeth’s hand and stood.

Hilliard’s eyes swept over the breakfast table, and he frowned slightly when he noticed Elizabeth. Damn it! Was Hilliard going to object to their relationship? To hell with him. The man’s gaze focused on Darcy. “Sir, we have a situation.” His expression was grave but revealed nothing.

Darcy inclined his head toward the hallway. “All right. We can discuss it in my office.” Fitz and Bing had already rushed to their feet.

Hilliard’s eyes found Caroline. “We’ll need you, too.” She nodded and stood immediately.

Darcy surveyed his guests. “Please excuse us.” He met Elizabeth’s eyes, wishing he could give her a goodbye kiss, which was ridiculous; he’d probably return in half an hour.

She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Steeling himself against the impulse to kiss her, Darcy turned and led the way to his office. His gut churned, and he made a conscious effort to slow his breathing as he considered the possible problems. It wasn’t a domestic or international crisis because then it would be the National Security Council staff coming to him. This had to be some kind of PR nightmare—the thing he hated most about his job.

The study was usually a refuge for Darcy, but today it felt like a dungeon. The huge stone fireplace yawned empty and cold. Blinds drawn to secure his privacy shut out the sunshine of the beautiful beach day. Darcy settled behind his desk while the others took chairs facing him. “Okay,” he sighed, “what’s the bad news, Bob?”

Hilliard set his laptop up on the desk. “It’s easier if I show you,” he said as everyone crowded around. “This was broadcast early this morning.”

The screen filled with a familiar Grant News frame surrounding the head of one of their anchors. The crawl at the bottom read: “Exclusive Breaking News.” Darcy suppressed a groan.

“We have just learned some disturbing new information about President Darcy and his behavior toward a vulnerable young woman,” the well-coifed blonde said crisply. “I’ll let Grant News reporter Blake Rhodes explain.”

The screen shifted to the fleshy face of Blake Rhodes. “Thank you, Tina. Earlier today I sat down for an interview with Lydia Bennet, the youngest daughter of Thomas Bennet, founder and CEO of On-a-Stick, Inc. Her family has recently been running in elite Democratic circles, and they have met the president numerous times. However, in the interview, she had some rather disturbing things to say.”

Darcy was already grinding his back teeth. He didn’t know what Lydia Bennet could possibly say about him, but Hilliard’s unscheduled trip to Pemberley promised it would be bad. Very bad.

The view on the screen switched to a studio set, with Rhodes and Lydia occupying two of the chairs; the third seated…Wickham. God damn it! The situation had just gone from possibly very bad to possibly catastrophic.

“Also joining us,” Rhodes continued, “is Congressman George Wickham, representing the 12th district of New York. Congressman Wickham first brought Miss Bennet to our attention. Thank you for being here, Congressman.’”

“My pleasure, Blake.” Wickham flashed his cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. If only Darcy could reach into the computer screen and strangle the man.

Rhodes’s eyes focused on Lydia. “You said you were concerned about your sister; can you explain to me why?” He leaned forward, affecting a concerned expression.

The college student’s conservative blouse and skirt lent her an undeserved air of age and maturity. Without a fidget or smirk, her face registered only anxious concern. Idly, Darcy wondered how the producers had managed to wring such solemn behavior from her. “My second oldest sister, Elizabeth, has met the president a number of times…well, we all have.” Lydia giggled, and for a moment, the vain teenager surfaced, but she quickly sobered. “She really doesn’t like him. She said he was”—Lydia used air quotes—“proud, rude, and condescending.’”

Only his awareness of being observed allowed Darcy to control his flinch. Elizabeth might have said such a thing after the Air Force One incident, but he was confident that she had since changed her mind.

Rhodes wasn’t trying very hard to suppress his smile. “I see. Why is this of particular concern now?”

“She hates him, but now all of sudden I find out that she’s staying at his mansion in the Hamptons. It doesn’t make sense.” Lydia bit her lip and knitted her eyebrows together. “Something else is going on. She’d never be happy hanging out with him.”

“You don’t think she simply changed her mind?” Rhodes asked.

Now Lydia’s lower lip was quivering. Damn, she is good at this. “No. Especially not after I saw that picture from yesterday.”

Rhodes turned to the camera. “Here is the image Miss Bennet is referring to.”

The picture on the screen showed Elizabeth about to climb into the presidential limo as Darcy held her hand, drawing her in. The camera captured her expression at a moment when it seemed almost bleak. Her eyes were downcast, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like she was being drawn into the limo against her will.