Читать книгу Unleashing Mr Darcy - Teri Wilson - Страница 9

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Elizabeth watched Jenna pick a piece of confetti out of her wineglass. Black confetti, to match the black streamers and oh-so-charming balloons tied to Elizabeth’s chair that screamed to the world she was now Over-the-Hill.

“One more time...” Jenna buried the confetti in her napkin. “What does Reserve Winner mean again?”

Sue and Elizabeth exchanged an exasperated look. Hadn’t they already explained this several times since arriving at the restaurant next to the show site for Elizabeth’s intimate birthday gathering? Intimate meaning it consisted only of Elizabeth, Jenna and the Barrows.

Alan chimed in. “First runner-up.”

At least he paid attention. Elizabeth doubted if any of her family members would ever know what Reserve meant, no matter how many times it was explained to them.

“Like in the Miss America pageant. I get it now.” Jenna sipped her wine, likely ingesting a tiny paper coffin or two. She’d been a little heavy-handed with the decorations. “So if the winner ends up being a former stripper or if there are naked photos of her somewhere on the internet, then Bliss takes her place?”

Alan’s face split into a wide grin, and he motioned toward Jenna. “I like this one.”

Elizabeth laughed and took a sip of her own drink, which she’d let Sue order for her—something British called a Pimm’s, which was surprisingly delicious. “Let’s not forget to congratulate Sue here. You won Best of Breed today, didn’t you?”

“Well, my dog did, if you want to be technical about it. And under Mr. Darcy, no less. Quite an honor. He’s positively renowned back home in Britain. And all my other terriers won their classes, as well. I don’t know what I would have done today without your help, Elizabeth. You’re a good handler. I wished you lived in England. I could put you to work in a heartbeat. I can’t very well show four dogs at once.”

“Wait a minute.” Jenna made a time-out motion. “The judge’s name is Darcy? And he’s from England? Is this a joke?”

“No. He’s very much real,” Elizabeth said.

If anything, he was too real.

“Real as can be. The English never joke about men named Darcy.” Sue pushed her empty glass toward Alan. “Alan, dear, I’d love another.”

“Your wish is my command.” He gave Elizabeth and Jenna a questioning glance. “Anyone else need a refill?”

Much to her irritation, Elizabeth’s thoughts wanted to snag on the mention of Mr. Darcy, and she had to fight to keep up with the conversation. “No, thank you.”

“Have another. It’s your birthday.” Sue lifted her gaze to the shiny black balloons, as if Elizabeth could forget she was turning thirty. “I’m off to the loo.”

Once Sue was a safe ten feet away from the table, Alan winked and then whispered to Elizabeth and Jenna, “You would never know that I own my own company and am actually the boss of about fifty people, would you? She says jump, and I ask how high.”

From her spot halfway to the ladies’ room, Sue waved a dismissive hand and shouted, “Whatever he’s telling you, it’s not true. Don’t pay any attention to him.”

Elizabeth laughed. “How did you know?”

Sue scurried back over to them. “Oh, please. We’ve been married for over forty years. I know what he’s thinking even before he does.”

Jenna’s eyes grew misty. She’d always been a hopeless romantic. “Forty years. Wow.”

“We met when we were twelve years old.” Alan winked again. Only this time, he aimed it at his wife. “I’ve loved her ever since.”

Jenna held her glass of wine toward them, as if giving a toast at a wedding. “Cutest. Couple. Ever.”

Elizabeth could only agree. And for a split second, she wondered if she was wrong about marriage, after all. Maybe there were good men out there, as Jenna and her mother so often insisted. Maybe there was a man somewhere who would look at her like Alan looked at Sue, even after forty years together. They couldn’t all be Grant Markhams. Could they?

As Sue and Alan went off on their respective errands and Jenna checked her phone for text messages, Elizabeth sipped her Pimm’s and gave herself permission to think about Donovan Darcy. Only for a minute, she decided. She’d been doing her best to forget him ever since they’d left the show site, but that had been before the black balloons.

And the alcohol.

Like Grant Markham, he was certainly rich. And powerful. Those two qualities alone would have been enough to make most women swoon. Elizabeth was not, however, most women. She knew firsthand how dangerous such a combination could be. And, to top it off, Donovan Darcy had already proved that his words weren’t always as pretty as his face.

The man was a mystery, equal parts beautiful and maddening. Sue had been right. Elizabeth had wanted to slap him, right across his gorgeous face. Then he’d gone and switched gears on her, awarding Bliss Reserve and turning on his British charm. Elizabeth wondered if he had any idea how overpoweringly appealing he could be when he wasn’t scowling.

Oh, yes, he knows, she decided. He can probably turn it on and off on command. They probably teach it over there in some kind of James Bond charm school.

Feeling a little shaken, and more than a little stirred, she aimed her attention back at Jenna. “Thank you, big sis.”

Jenna looked up from her phone. “What for?”

“For coming this weekend.” Elizabeth smiled. “And for this little party. It’s perfect.” Aside from the morbid decorations, but let’s not get picky.

“I’m afraid you might not think so after...” Jenna’s voice drifted off, and her eyes grew wide as she focused on something in the distance. “Who is that?”

Elizabeth knew without even turning around in her chair that her sister was looking at none other than Donovan Darcy. In the flesh. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, as if she’d conjured him simply by indulging in a little harmless daydreaming.

She glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there he stood, at the hostess stand. Glowering, as usual.

Elizabeth glowered right back, until he aimed his gaze directly toward her.

Damn.

He’d caught her openly staring at him. She tried to tell herself otherwise, that he hadn’t even noticed. The slow grin that came to his lips told a story all its own, however. He most definitely had noticed. And it appeared to please him.

She looked away, took a deep breath and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

If ever there was a man who embodied the word dangerous, it was him. Elizabeth would sleep better at night when he went back to England and there was a vast, fathomless ocean between them.

Jenna cleared her throat. “I said, who is that?”

“Who?” Elizabeth feigned innocence to buy herself more time to regain her composure.

“You know who.” Jenna lifted a brow in Mr. Darcy’s direction.

Great. Now he knows we’re talking about him. She wished she could shrink small enough to crawl into the tiny plastic coffin that sat atop her birthday cake in the center of the table.

“Oh, him.” Elizabeth doubted she was fooling anyone with her attempt at nonchalance, least of all Jenna. “That’s the judge from this afternoon. Our very own Mr. Darcy.”

Jenna’s gaze grew even more appreciative, if such a thing were possible. “That explains why he looks like he just climbed down from a polo pony.”

“Didn’t you see him earlier today at the show?”

Jenna shook her head. “No. Definitely not. I was actually looking at the dogs.”

That was a first. “Well, don’t let those good looks fool you. He’s an ass.”

“He looks like Daniel Craig’s younger, hotter brother. And besides, he almost crowned Bliss Miss America. How big of an ass can he be?”

Where to start? “You have no idea.”

“Let me guess.” Jenna returned her glass to the table with a little too much force. Wine sloshed to the rim, threatening to spill over onto the crisp white tablecloth. “He’s rich.”

“Of course he is.” Elizabeth plucked a piece of tombstone-shaped confetti from her lap and rolled it between her fingers.

Jenna leaned forward, her gaze probing. “And that automatically makes him an ass?”

“It doesn’t help his case.” Elizabeth squirmed. Jenna looked as though she was on the verge of a full-on lecture. Where was Alan with her refill? She could use a sip of Pimm’s—or wine, or anything with alcohol, really—right about now.

“Not all rich men are like you-know-who. There are a few decent wealthy people in the world.” Jenna crossed her arms and gave her a look somewhere between smug and sympathetic.

“Name one.” Elizabeth sat back and waited, sure she’d found just the words to silence her sister.

She was wrong.

“I’ll name two.” Jenna’s voice softened. “Alan and Sue.”

Elizabeth glanced at the bar, where Alan Barrow stood chatting up the bartender, his face split into an endearing grin. “Alan and Sue?”

“Surely you’ve realized they’re rich. They divide their time between London and New York. She raises Champion dogs and shows them all over the world. Did you think they were poor?”

Elizabeth slumped a little lower in her chair. “I hadn’t given it any thought, actually.”

“Well, maybe you should.” Jenna reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “And maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to label that hot judge an ass.”

Elizabeth stole another quick glance in his direction.

He appeared to be studying a menu, but everything about his countenance said he was fully aware the two sisters were talking about him. His lingering wry smile, the subtle gleam of satisfaction in his eyes...the casual way he crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned against the doorjamb of the entryway—all a deliberate, and successful, attempt at looking carelessly sexy.

Or maybe he just really was that sexy without even trying.

It was infuriating.

Elizabeth turned back to Jenna, full of fresh indignation. “Jenna, you never see a fault in anybody. But I assure you, Mr. Darcy thinks awfully highly of himself. You weren’t there. You didn’t see how he treated me in the ring today.”

“Well, here’s my chance.” Jenna took a larger-than-usual gulp of her wine. “Don’t look now, but he’s coming over here.”

Elizabeth stiffened. “He is not.”

“Yes, he is.” Jenna muttered a countdown under her breath. “In four, three, two, one.”

She sounded like Mission Control.

Elizabeth’s stomach churned with each passing second. Houston, we have a problem...

“Miss Scott.”

She opened her eyes and found him looking down at her with a gracious smile. Gracious, but somehow still sexy.

She returned his greeting in a neutral tone. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy.”

“Are birthday wishes in order?” He motioned toward the balloons tied to her chair, which she’d conveniently forgotten about, and the cake with its black plastic coffin topper.

The decorations looked even tackier next to him. Elizabeth wanted to die. Since that wasn’t an option, she opened her mouth to affirm that, yes, she was indeed the one who’d become over-the-hill. But before she could utter a word, a very pretty, very young woman joined him at his side.

“Zara.” Mr. Darcy turned and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

As she watched him welcome his lady friend, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice two things. First, this Zara woman was nowhere near over-the-hill. With her slim hips and luminescent skin, she looked as though she’d never even seen the hill, much less crossed over it. And second, when he looked at her, Mr. Darcy didn’t show an ounce of the coldness he’d had on full display since Elizabeth had first laid eyes on him. In fact, he practically oozed warmth and charm.

Well, looky here. Mr. Darcy is all politeness.

Elizabeth couldn’t stand to watch. For reasons she doubted she would ever understand, her insides twisted into a jealous knot. Such intense feelings only irritated her even more because the entire scene was so ridiculous—so cliché—that any attraction she’d ever felt toward Mr. Darcy should have evaporated on the spot. He was rich, handsome, arrogant and, apparently, some young girl’s sugar daddy.

Elizabeth glared at Jenna, sending her unspoken I-told-you-so’s with her eyes. Jenna didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy studying Zara’s handbag. Louis Vuitton, by all appearances. Elizabeth doubted it came from a van in a fishy-smelling back alley in Chinatown, like the one where Jenna had purchased her Vuitton last year on a trip to the city.

Jenna had a thing for handbags. Elizabeth really should consider giving her the Prada bag she’d recently acquired—a Christmas gift from one of her students. It was only one of a number of ridiculously extravagant gifts that had turned up on her desk during the holidays. The parents at the Barclay School weren’t above trying to buy special attention for their children.

Or other things.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Darcy swiveled his admiring gaze away from Zara and back toward Elizabeth. “This is...”

Elizabeth cut him off. “Zara. Yes, we heard.”

“Elizabeth!” Jenna’s sharp reprimand was accompanied by a swift kick to the shin underneath the table.

Elizabeth, shin throbbing, lifted her chin with as much dignity as someone sitting in front of a death-themed cake could muster. “And yes, it’s my birthday.”

She turned away, not only so she wouldn’t have to look at him with his beautiful, young companion but also so he wouldn’t see the wounded expression that was surely written all over her face. A wounded expression for which she had no reasonable explanation. Jealous? Over Mr. Darcy?

Not only was she over-the-hill, but apparently she’d been hit with early-onset dementia.

“Happy birthday, then.” His words bounced off her back, hollow as they were. Every cutting syllable told her he knew he’d been dismissed. “I’ll let you get back to your celebration.”

And then, right when Elizabeth thought the worst of the evening was over, an unmistakable, shrill “Happy Birthday” pierced the air.

No. This is not happening. This can’t be happening.

Elizabeth prayed that she was mistaken and that perhaps Pimm’s contained some sort of hallucinogen.

But when she heard them burst into song, Elizabeth cringed and turned around. Sure enough, right over Mr. Darcy’s left shoulder, she saw the top of her mother’s favorite outrageous flowered hat.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispered. “I started to tell you...”

A frozen smile found its way to Mr. Darcy’s lips. He slipped his arm around Zara and looked as though he wanted to sling her over his shoulder, caveman-style, and run for the nearest exit. If Elizabeth hadn’t been so mortified, she would have found it at least somewhat humorous.

“Mom,” she said. “What a surprise.”

“Oh, it’s not just me. Gracie, Laura and Heather are here. And your father, too, of course.” Her mother waved a hand toward the entrance, where Elizabeth’s younger sisters were bickering over something as they made their way to the table.

Behind them, with his head bent over his BlackBerry, her father pulled up the rear. He smiled at her, almost apologetically. “We’ve all come to surprise you for your birthday. Are you surprised?”

“Very.” Panic had begun to edge its way into Elizabeth’s voice. If she didn’t somehow get rid of Mr. Darcy soon, he would be wedged in on all sides by her family members. “I told you I’d be fine celebrating my birthday at the dog show. Alone. You didn’t need to make the trip out here.”

“Alone.” Her mother shook her head. “It’s a pity none of you girls have found a nice husband to keep you company on such occasions.”

Oh, no. Oh, God, no.

Elizabeth wanted to leap across the wineglasses, the cake, the mortifying decorations and clamp her hand across her mother’s mouth. If she thought for a moment she could actually hurdle the table with its crisp white cloth—the better to show off the glittery black confetti—she would have done it in a heartbeat. But she’d never been terribly athletic. Now that she was over-the-hill, especially, she doubted any move she could make would be fast enough to compete with her mother’s quick tongue.

Sure enough, before Elizabeth could move a muscle, her mother was at it again.

“It’s such a pity about your job, too. I mean, that was the perfect opportunity for you to cross paths with rich men.” Mrs. Scott shook her head, the feathers on her hat waving with her every move. “Don’t you worry about a thing, dear. You’ll just move back home and work for the family business. Scott Bridal needs someone to model the wedding gowns, and you’re the perfect size. We’ll get you in a white veil one way or another.”

Elizabeth’s mother laughed, seemingly oblivious to the awkward glances being exchanged around the table. Elizabeth felt someone reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. Jenna.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispered. “When I invited them, I thought it would only be us.”

The frantic urge to leap across the dishware left Elizabeth as quickly as it came. It was too late now. The humiliation train had already left the station. She stared down at her lap and her hand in Jenna’s, oblivious to whatever else was going on around her, save for Mr. Darcy and his beautiful companion making a quiet escape.

* * *

“I would ask who your friend is, but the dirty look she gave you made it clear that you two aren’t exactly close.” Zara looked past Donovan, in the direction of Elizabeth’s table.

Once seated, Donovan had turned his back on the train wreck that was apparently Elizabeth Scott’s birthday dinner. He couldn’t bear to watch another second of it. Although, as with any other gruesome oddity, he felt inexplicably drawn to the scene. Fortunately—or not, depending on how he looked at it—Zara possessed the same penchant for gossip as most other eighteen-year-old girls and insisted on giving him a play-by-play of the goings-on.

“Oh, my God. You should see the mother now. She’s chewing with her mouth so wide open I can see her molars. I think one of them is gold.” The look on Zara’s face teetered between one of horror and fascination.

“Zara, stop staring. It’s rude.” Donovan tapped his index finger on the drinks menu, hoping the waitress would notice and hurry over to take his order. God, he needed a drink. Or three.

“I’m not staring.” She dragged her gaze away from the Scotts’ table, clearly marked for all the world to see with those horrid balloons.

At the memory of the Over-the-Hill balloons bobbing about Elizabeth Scott’s beautiful face, Donovan’s finger tapping went into overdrive. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to sit there without the distraction of a martini. Or a Pimm’s. Anything, really. If Donovan were the knight-in-shining-armor type, which he most definitely was not, he would march right over there, snatch Elizabeth Scott from her seat and take her somewhere far, far away. Precisely where, he had no idea. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere intimate. And, most definitely, somewhere without balloons.

Not that Elizabeth Scott would welcome a rescue, at least not by his hand.

“Why are you scowling?”

Donovan was forced to tear his thoughts away from Miss Scott, again, and focus instead on Zara. “I’m not scowling.”

“Yes, you are.” Zara knit her brows and gave him her best grimace. She’d always enjoyed imitating him. “I know you like a brother, remember?”

“I am your brother.” Donovan felt himself relax ever so slightly.

“The best.” She aimed her sweetest grin at him.

“You can stop kissing up. We’re here, aren’t we? America. Just like you wanted.” If Donovan had a soft spot, Zara was it. She’d been not only his responsibility but the entirety of his immediate family since the death of their parents. She was certainly the only person who could tear him away from Figgy and the impending arrival of the puppies. Her burning desire to finally see the Big Apple was the deciding factor in his acceptance of the judging assignment.

Not that suburban New Jersey felt anywhere close to New York City.

But they would remedy that tomorrow. After a day or two of taking Zara sightseeing and shopping, he would be on his way back home. Surely Figgy would hold off until then. And if not...well, that was why he had full-time kennel staff.

Donovan hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Figgy was special. He wanted to be there himself for her first litter.

The waitress finally arrived, and Donovan relaxed even further knowing he was within minutes of a cocktail. Anything to dull the memory of Miss Scott’s family. More specifically, her mother. Even now, he could hear her shrill laugh from across the room. And if he had a penny for every time he heard her bellow something about rich men, he could add a new wing onto his country house.

Once again, Zara’s gaze drifted over his shoulder. “So, what’s the story over there?”

“I’ve no idea.” Donovan shook his napkin and arranged it across his lap. “A birthday celebration, I gather.”

Although it looked more like an exercise in humiliation. He couldn’t help thinking Miss Scott deserved better. Few didn’t.

“No. I mean, what’s with you and the pretty one? What did you say her name was?”

“Elizabeth.” Donovan lowered his voice, not that anyone would hear him over the mother. “Elizabeth Scott.”

“So you do think she’s pretty, then?” Zara grinned, obviously pleased with herself.

“Calm down, Zara. There’s nothing going on between Miss Scott and me.” Donovan wasn’t sure why, but this admission brought a pang to his temple.

“Why? Because of her crazy family?” Zara shook her head. “Poor thing.”

“No.” Donovan accepted his drink from the waitress and took a long sip. Somehow, it didn’t put any distance between him and the spectacle at the Scotts’ table. In fact, the urge to go over there and rescue her grew even stronger.

Maybe it’s the jet lag, he reasoned.

Donovan pushed his drink away. Perhaps lowering his inhibitions wasn’t the best idea.

Zara, in all her trademark tenacity, wasn’t about to abandon her line of questioning. “So, why haven’t you made a move?”

“Because I’m here to judge a dog show. And to take you on a little sightseeing trip.” Donovan massaged his temples.

And because she despises the very sight of me.

Zara leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ask her for a drink or something. I’ll get an in-room movie back at the hotel. Now’s your chance....”

Donovan cut her off, ready to put an end to the conversation. His undeniable attraction to Miss Scott was unsettling enough, given that the feeling was most definitely not mutual. The last thing he needed was to be on the receiving end of this relentless badgering from his sister. “Zara, enough. I find Miss Scott tolerable. Nothing more, nothing less. If you think you can convince me otherwise, you’re wasting your time.”

“Um.” The color drained from Zara’s face.

Donovan sighed. He’d been abrupt, no doubt. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could get a word out, Miss Scott slipped past him.

Donovan felt her presence before he actually saw her. It was the same stirring sensation that had come over him in the ring—an odd combination of tranquillity and awareness. Miss Scott was like the final, still moment of dusk that held the promise of a fiery sunset.

He lifted his gaze to hers, hoping for the impossible, that she hadn’t heard his frustrated diatribe meant solely for Zara’s ears.

But the smallest glance was enough to know.

Elizabeth Scott had heard every word.