President Darcy

A hand skimmed down his back. Whirling around, Darcy pulled her into his arms, hugging her as if he would never let her go. If only he could hold her forever. The front of his shirt grew damp with her tears.

He closed his eyes. All his inner clamoring ceased. God damn it! She’s right.

He hated that she was right. Hated that she was more aware of his duty than he was. Hated that she was the first one ready to make the sacrifice. But he owed the country his best. He had to clean up his predecessor’s messes and restore confidence—and he couldn’t do that if he put himself and his needs first.

His shoulders slumped. “All right,” he whispered in her ear. Elizabeth emitted a little sob. “But I’m coming after you in six years. Husband or no husband.” This elicited a little laugh.

Drawing back, he peered at her tear-stained face, still the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and admitted to himself that this was goodbye. He touched a finger to her lips. The last time he would ever do so.

He peeked at the clock over her shoulder. “It’s eleven thirty, and I don’t want to send you home just yet.” Fitz had told Darcy the condo was his for the night. Barring a national crisis, nobody would disturb them. A new song started playing over the stereo system, something slow and full of longing. “We have tonight.”

She gazed up at him, sorrow and love in her eyes. “You want me to stay?”

“We have tonight,” he repeated. “I don’t want to waste it. Will you dance with me?”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

Chapter Eighteen

Darcy poured some brandy into the crystal glass. More than he should, but he didn’t care. He set the stopper back in the decanter with a clink. The television was already on. Usually he didn’t get to the Residence until late into the night, but today he’d called it an early day. He couldn’t stand the thought of watching the press conference in the Oval Office with all his staff making surreptitious glances at him. Better to be alone.

The front door opened and closed. Who was that? There weren’t many with a key to the Residence. Fitz was traveling, and Bing was doing damage control in the West Wing.

“Will?” Georgiana’s figure appeared in the doorway to the Treaty Room.

He stood and hurried to give her a hug. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

She bit her lip. “Fitz called and said you might need some company, so I flew down this morning.” Her gaze flicked over the brandy glass in his hand. “He wouldn’t say why.”

Darcy nodded slowly; his head felt ten pounds heavier than usual. Being alone suddenly didn’t seem so appealing. “Thanks for coming.” He and Georgiana had a different relationship than many siblings. Their parents’ untimely death had required Darcy to usher Georgiana into adulthood; but it had also forced his sister to grow up quickly, and she had begun mothering him when she was in high school. Darcy grumbled about it, but secretly loved to know that someone was watching out for him.

He gestured her to the room’s other leather armchair. “I was just sitting down to watch Hilliard’s press briefing.”

She sat, a bemused expression on her face.

“It’ll explain everything.” So I won’t have to. He sipped his brandy and fidgeted with a paperclip as the briefing started, and Hilliard answered a series of policy questions. What was the White Hous

e’s reaction to the latest election in Italy? Did the president plan to do anything about the famine in Central Africa? Was the administration concerned about the most recent unemployment report?

Darcy wasn’t even aware of tuning it out, or that he was imagining fine eyes and a dark tumble of curls, until a question jarred him into awareness.

It was a standard question the media asked at every recent briefing. “What is the nature of the president’s relationship with Ms. Elizabeth Bennet?” The question came from Ron Rodriguez, a reporter from The Washington Post.

Hilliard had been giving a curt “no comment” in response to the question for weeks. Today was the day it would change.

Georgiana’s eyes darted to Darcy. He clutched the arm of the chair. Hilliard’s expression didn’t change except for a tightening around the mouth. “The president and Ms. Bennet have discontinued their relationship,” he said matter-of-factly.

Georgiana gasped.

Darcy knew what Hilliard would say; still, the words cut through him like a sword stroke. He’d always harbored the impossible hope that some twist of fate would somehow intervene, but the public announcement was like a shovelful of dirt on the coffin.

“That can’t be true!” Georgiana’s eyes begged him.

Onscreen, the press room broke into a frenzy as reporters disregarded protocol and called out questions, each trying to be louder than the next. Hilliard called on Cara Schultz from ZNN. “When did they break off their relationship? And was it because of the accusations of coercion?”

The press secretary took a deep breath. “The reasons for the breakup, like the relationship itself, are private. The president steadfastly denies any allegations of coercion, as has Ms. Bennet.”

Another reporter: “Will the president continue to socialize with Elizabeth Bennet?”