Читать книгу Unleashing Mr Darcy - Teri Wilson, Teri Wilson - Страница 11

5

Donovan was exhausted. He hadn’t slept a wink on the flight to Heathrow, a fact he chalked up to his preoccupation with Elizabeth Scott. She’d tormented his thoughts all the way across the Atlantic.

Donovan wasn’t accustomed to chasing women. In fact, the opposite was a far more regular occurrence. Case in point: Helena Robson, who’d called him at least once a day during his trip, leaving syrupy voice mails and several times even sending him texts that bordered on sexting.

It was pathetic.

And now here he was, among the infatuated. He was mortified at himself. He was, in short, a mess.

To make matters worse, the puppies had come. Donovan knew it as soon as his butler opened the front door. His anxious expression said it all.

“Sir,” Lawrence started.

“Don’t tell me.” Donovan held up his hand to stop him from saying the words aloud. He didn’t think he could bear it. “I’m late, aren’t I? Figgy had the puppies.”

“I’m afraid so, sir. Yes.” Lawrence’s shoulders sagged. “But everything went smoothly. Figgy is doing marvelously, as are the puppies. Four in all.”

Four puppies. And he’d missed the entire event.

“Puppies!” Zara dropped her carry-on bag on the threshold. It landed with the heavy thud of three shoe boxes from the Chanel store. “Oh, let’s go see.”

She maneuvered past Lawrence, just as Finneus, the sire of Figgy’s litter, danced and wiggled his way toward Donovan.

“Come along, little man. Time for you to pass out cigars and such.” Donovan scooted Finneus inside with a nudge of his foot and shut the door behind him.

“Um, sir, there’s something else I should tell you.” Lawrence shot a nervous glance toward the drawing room, where Donovan had set up Figgy’s whelping box before he’d left for the States.

Donovan exhaled a weary sigh. “Honestly, so long as the little mother and the puppies are happy and healthy, nothing else matters. Is everyone okay?”

“Absolutely.” The butler nodded. “But...”

Donovan shook his head. “No buts. I’m going to go take a peek for myself.”

He was doing his best to look on the bright side. It wasn’t as if he could turn back time and get home to watch over the birth. He only wanted to check on the litter and sit quietly with Figgy for a bit before dealing with the multitude of other things on his plate. He’d be willing to bet whatever Lawrence needed to tell him had something to do with Aunt Constance. Or the family foundation. Or any number of other ulcer-causing things that could wait until later.

He turned and headed toward the drawing room. Situated on the ground level of the row house, it was at the end of the hallway to the right of the foyer. Donovan spent the majority of his time there when he was at his London home—his desk was there, and it was his favorite spot for taking tea. So he’d chosen the room, with its peaceful, willowy hues, as the place for Figgy’s whelping box.

But as Donovan strolled into the room, the aforementioned weight crashed back down on him with full force. There, leaning over the whelping pen with her designer denim-clad bottom pointed directly at him, stood Helena Robson.

Oh, good God. Why now?

A little warning would have been nice. Then Donovan remembered Lawrence’s worried glances toward the drawing room. Why hadn’t he listened to the butler? Butlers were all-knowing, all-seeing. When would Donovan ever learn?

Zara glanced up at him. She looked at Helena beside her and shot him an exaggerated eye roll. She’d never been a fan of his friend Henry Robson’s sister.

Helena glanced over her shoulder, still pointing her back end at him as if he had a target painted on his forehead, and cooed, “Welcome home.”

Subtlety had never been the woman’s strong suit.

“We have company. Super,” Zara deadpanned.

Donovan averted his gaze. He looked at his desk, then the floor. Anywhere but Helena’s bum. “Helena.”

In his periphery, Donovan saw her right herself. “You don’t sound at all happy to see me. Aren’t you surprised?”

“Oh, I’m surprised.” He strolled past her to get a clear view of the puppies.

“Aren’t they cute?” Zara whispered, not wanting to disturb the little family, Donovan supposed. “I just love puppies.”

Figgy let out a whine of delight. Her tail beat against the blankets in a happy rhythm, but she remained on her side so her four wiggly puppies could continue nursing. They were gorgeous, every bit as lovely as Donovan could have wished. Four fat, healthy little Blenheim bundles. And Figgy was clearly reveling in her role as mummy.

He could have wept with relief. He might have, if Helena hadn’t been there attempting to press herself against his side.

He took a step backward, away from the whelping pen, and leaned against his desk.

Helena’s expression never wavered. She smiled sweetly at him. “How was your trip to America? Was the Big Apple everything Zara hoped it was?”

Zara glared at Helena. The fact that Helena spoke about her as if she wasn’t in the room had always been one of Zara’s chief complaints.

Donovan didn’t care for it much, either. He assumed Helena did it deliberately, so Zara would leave the room in a huff and they would be alone together. The allure of the new puppies proved more potent than Helena’s condescension, however. Zara stayed put.

Thank God.

The last thing Donovan wanted was to be alone with Helena.

“We had a very nice trip.” Donovan gave her a tight smile. He yawned, ready to use exhaustion as an excuse to get rid of her. But before he could say a word about jet lag, Zara slipped between them.

She held one of the puppies close to her chest, and her lips curved into a Cheshire-cat grin. Donovan frowned. His little sister was clearly up to something. It pained him to even guess what it might be.

“Did Donovan tell you that he met someone while we were there?” Zara’s smile grew even wider.

He watched as the blood drained from Helena’s face. “Why, no. No, he didn’t.”

She lifted a perfectly groomed brow at him. “Is this true, Donovan?”

Zara answered for him. “Of course it’s true. He met a woman named Elizabeth Scott. An American. They only had eyes for each other.”

“Zara.” Donovan shot her a warning glance.

He had no intention of letting her use Elizabeth to make Helena jealous. Not only was she stretching the truth considerably—his eyes might have been drawn toward Elizabeth, but her eyes had seemed to have plenty of places to look other than his direction—but he didn’t want Elizabeth’s name batted about so casually.

He preferred to leave the memory of her intact, a sweet place filled with a thousand tender recollections he could visit now and again. Privately.

“I’m all astonishment. An American. How quaint.” Helena attempted a smile, but it came off as more of a sneer. Donovan could see panic gathering behind her eyes. “Well, it’s getting late. I really should be going.”

She slithered past Donovan, leaving him choking on a cloud of her perfume. She paused when she reached the doorway, then added, as an apparent afterthought, “Nice puppies.”

“Thank you,” he answered, but she was already gone.

He turned toward Zara. “That was uncalled for.”

“You should be thanking me. She’s always throwing herself at you.” Zara stepped into the whelping pen in her stocking feet and placed the puppy back beside Figgy’s belly. “Anyway, she deserves it.”

“Helena may deserve it, but Miss Scott most certainly doesn’t deserve to be in Helena Robson’s crosshairs.” The throb in his temples intensified into full-on jackhammering. “For one thing, she’s not quite as besotted with me as you indicated.”

“Oh, relax,” Zara groaned. “What difference does it make? It’s not as if Helena will ever actually meet her. You’ll probably never see her again yourself.”

Her words, although true, were an arrow straight to his heart. He felt himself caving in beneath their weight.

He straightened. Why should he care if he ever saw Miss Scott again? There were plenty of beautiful women right here in England, none of whom made a habit of looking at him with obvious disdain in their eyes. Still, it was a struggle to clear his throat and speak with any sort of composure. “True.”

Zara laughed. “And it’s a good thing. Can you imagine if she were here? Helena would eat her alive.”

Donovan shuddered.

Eat her alive indeed.

* * *

Elizabeth’s first impression of London was that it was rather like looking at New York through rose-colored glasses. The people were far more fashionable. There wasn’t a pair of white athletic shoes in sight, and you couldn’t swing a stick without hitting someone with a fashionable Burberry scarf wound around their neck. Everything seemed cleaner, too, as if the city had recently had a good scrubbing. Then again, she was gathering her first impression of London from behind the privacy windows of a fancy black Jaguar.

The driver and his luxurious car had been the Barrows’ doing. A kind gesture, but one that made Elizabeth a tad nervous nonetheless. As she’d slid into the supple leather backseat with Bliss curled in her lap, she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she’d gotten herself into. Jenna had insisted the Barrows were rich. Elizabeth had no argument there. They’d just hired a dog nanny, for crying out loud.

Oh, God, had she lost her mind? She’d just moved halfway across the world to become a dog nanny.

Calm down. It’s only temporary. Four weeks. The duration of the investigation.

Even if things didn’t get straightened out at the Barclay School, it wasn’t as if she could move to England forever.

Could she?

Her mother had reacted with predictable horror to the news. “Elizabeth, you can’t be serious. You’re a teacher, not a babysitter. These people you’ve only just met want you to be their nanny, for goodness’ sake. And not even for children. For dogs. What are they thinking? What are you thinking? You have a perfectly good job waiting for you at Scott Bridal.”

Elizabeth had refrained from pointing out that working at the bridal shop hardly constituted a teaching position, either. There was little point in rocking the boat any more than necessary. She’d made up her mind. “I won’t just be their nanny. I’m going to show the dogs for the Barrows at the autumn shows. I helped them out at the show in New Jersey and did quite well. Better than I’ve ever done with my own dog, actually. This is my chance to see England, all expenses paid. And the timing is perfect, since I’m on hiatus from school.”

It had been almost frightening the way the words on hiatus had fallen right off her tongue. Elizabeth wasn’t about to tell her family about the accusations Grant Markham had leveled against her. With the exception of Jenna, she hadn’t breathed a word about it to another soul. In the meantime, words like hiatus and temporary layoff had a much better ring than extortion and investigation. Her mother had pressed for more information, naturally. But Elizabeth had managed to satisfy her maternal curiosity by blaming the bad economy and skyrocketing unemployment.

At least Jenna had been supportive.

“Of course you’re going,” she’d said. “This is perfect for you.”

Elizabeth had wished, not for the first time, that Jenna was accompanying her. She’d felt awful leaving her behind at Scott Bridal. “You promised to visit. Remember?”

“Of course. As soon as you get settled, I’ll be on the first plane across the pond. Don’t tell me you’re worried about being lonely? Bliss is going with you. And the Barrows seem like sweethearts.” Then Jenna’s eyes had sparkled with mischief. “Hey, I just thought of something. You know someone else over there. Besides the Barrows, I mean.”

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth had asked, but she’d had the uneasy feeling she knew precisely who Jenna meant.

“That hot judge from the dog show. What was his name again? Daniel?”

“Darcy,” Elizabeth had corrected, hating the way her stomach had flipped when she’d said his name.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Daniel?” Jenna had sounded wistful.

“You seriously need to get over your Daniel Craig fixation. I’m sure. It’s Darcy. Donovan Darcy.”

“Well, there you go. Donovan Darcy. Someone to keep you company in jolly old England.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elizabeth had protested, but her cheeks had grown warm all the same.

“Why is it ridiculous? I think it sounds marvelous. He’s gorgeous. And remember his accent? Oh, my God.”

Elizabeth had remembered his accent. All too well.

“Have you forgotten the woman he was with? The one who looked half my age?” Zara of the smooth forehead and designer shoes. “Besides, I’ll never run into him over there. He doesn’t even live in London. He lives in the country somewhere on a giant estate. At least that’s what Sue told me. It even has a name. Can you imagine?”

“A house with a name? Donovan Darcy is sounding better by the minute,” Jenna had teased.

Elizabeth had laughed along, but not once had she mentioned her chance meeting with Mr. Darcy on the street in Manhattan. She’d told herself it was because Jenna didn’t need any more ammunition, but she wasn’t altogether sure that was the whole truth.

In the backseat of the fancy Jaguar, guilt pricked her conscience. She rarely kept secrets from Jenna.

Quit overthinking things. It’s not a secret. It was nothing. Just a coincidence. It didn’t mean anything.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

She fixed her gaze on the scenery out the window and wondered how soon she’d arrive at the Barrows’ townhome in South Kensington. She couldn’t help but notice the neighborhoods had grown exponentially more exclusive the farther the car carried her away from Heathrow.

Sue and Alan had seemed so down-to-earth and genuine at the show in New Jersey. Nothing at all like the proper, stuffy Mr. Darcy. Bowing to her and all. He might be attractive enough to make her weak in the knees, but he was more than a little intimidating.

“Here we are,” the driver called out as he maneuvered the elegant car onto a charming street called Sumner Place.

Elizabeth experienced a moment of relief at the sight of the graceful white row houses, with their low black wrought-iron fencing and meticulously shaped topiaries. Somehow the neighborhood managed to look both affluent and welcoming at the same time. At one end of the street was a quaint stone church with a steeple rising high up to the sky, and at the other, a cupcake bakery with lace curtains fluttering in the windows.

Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze. “We’re going to love it here. I can tell already.”

The driver pulled alongside the curb—the one on the left-hand side of the street, Elizabeth noted—and opened the door for her.

“Elizabeth, you made it, dear.” Sue appeared on the porch and held her arms open wide, putting to rest any stereotypes about the British being reserved.

Elizabeth grinned and led Bliss up the three small steps to the porch. She stepped into Sue’s embrace and was somewhat surprised when a lump lodged in her throat. She supposed it wasn’t until she was standing on British soil, wrapped in a pair of maternal arms, that the full impact of what the Barrows had done for her really hit her full force. In their eyes it might have been a job, but to Elizabeth it felt more like a lifeline.

“Let’s get you inside. Alan’s at work, of course. I’ll show you and Bliss to your room, and then I’ll get you reacquainted with the girls.” Sue’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her “girls,” the pack of Border terriers that would be Elizabeth’s charges.

“That sounds wonderful.” She turned, prepared to go back to the car for her luggage, but the driver had already carried both her big bags in. They sat at the foot of the very narrow staircase, just inside the door.

Sue pressed a few colorful bills into his hand, and he was off. The Jaguar barely made a sound as it pulled away from the curb.

“Thank you for sending the car, by the way. You’re spoiling me. I could have taken a cab.” Elizabeth gathered Bliss into her arms and followed Sue across the threshold. The foyer of the row house was painted with bold black and white stripes. An umbrella stand filled with cherry-red umbrellas stood next to a shiny full-length mirror. Bliss caught a glimpse of her reflection and growled.

Elizabeth could tell at once that the house suited the Barrows. It was casually elegant and welcoming, just like Sue and Alan. She was ashamed of herself for worrying that she would feel uncomfortable here.

“Just leave the bags there. We’ll get to those later. I’m anxious for you to see your room. We’ve just had it redone. I’m afraid it’s on the second floor. That’s the downside.” Sue began climbing the slender staircase.

Elizabeth followed. Bliss planted her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder and kept her eyes trained on her reflection until it was out of view. “We’re accustomed to stairs. My apartment in New York is on the fourth floor.”

Was on the fourth floor. She had to keep reminding herself that she was no longer a New Yorker. All of her things were currently stashed away in a storage unit in Queens. Even with a temporary job, she couldn’t afford to pay rent on a Manhattan apartment when she wasn’t even there.

Perhaps she could call herself a Londoner for the time being. That had an awfully nice ring to it.

The climb was longer than she expected, but still not as strenuous as the trek up to her New York apartment. Sue explained that in Europe, what Americans referred to as the first floor was called the ground floor. What Elizabeth knew as the second floor was subsequently the first floor in England, and so on. So her bedroom was situated on the top floor of the home, up three flights of stairs.

Sue led her through a set of white double doors at the top of the staircase.

“What do you think?” Sue waved her hand with a little flourish. “I do hope you like blue.”

Elizabeth was at a loss for words. It was the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever laid eyes on. The walls were covered in pale blue toile wallpaper that featured scenes of French women in ball gowns and large powdered wigs. Tiny dogs danced around their feet. The duvet cover on the four-poster bed was fashioned from matching fabric, as were a pile of overstuffed throw pillows.

Elizabeth ran her fingertips along the smooth white wood of one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Oh, Sue. This can’t possibly be your guest room. It’s gorgeous.”

“It is most definitely the guest room. I could never convince Alan to sleep anywhere so girlie. Or froufrou, as he calls it.” She shrugged.

Elizabeth shook her head, struggling to take it all in. “This room is fit for a princess. Not a dog nanny.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s the use of having such a pretty room if no one’s enjoying it?” Sue grinned. “So, you like it, then?”

“Are you kidding? I love it.” Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze and released her to explore their new home. Much to Sue’s delight, she shuffled straight to a sweet little dog bed with a toile cushion that matched the duvet cover. “Correction—we love it.”

Elizabeth gave Bliss a little pat and noticed the large window on the far wall, framed with a generously proportioned window seat. More throw pillows, toile and pale blue crushed velvet, made the bench a cozy-looking refuge. She felt drawn to the area at once, captivated by the view of Sue’s charming neighborhood.

“This is fantastic. Look, I can see everything from up here.”

“Yes, it’s an excellent spot for spying on the neighbors.” Sue clapped her hands. “Success, then. I want you to feel at home here. There’s a tiny kitchenette at the end of the hall, right next to the water closet.”

“Water closet?” Elizabeth turned away from the window and searched Sue’s face for a clue. All she saw was a hint of amusement.

“The powder room, dear.” She laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll make a Brit of you before you know it.”

Elizabeth had known she coddled Bliss, but she hadn’t realized to what extent until she’d been introduced once again to Sue’s Border terriers. They were the most perfectly trained dogs she’d ever seen. It was remarkable. They moved in flawless unison. If Elizabeth told one of them to sit, they all planted their rumps on the ground at the same exact moment. A down command elicited a similar uniform response. After only an hour of looking after them, Elizabeth had begun thinking of them not as a pack of dogs but rather a military unit. A scruffy, wirehaired infantry.

The jet lag hit Elizabeth full force, and by nine o’clock she could barely keep her eyes open. She slipped into her nightgown and situated herself on the window seat. As she gazed out at the darkened London street and reflected on her first day in the Barrows’ household, Elizabeth wondered why they’d hired her. Other than to help out at the shows, of course.

Those dogs—Violet, Hyacinth, Daisy and Rose—could run the house themselves. They hardly needed a nanny. Although she supposed they were smart enough to get in serious trouble if left to their own devices. They had a television in their room. Or the telly, as Sue had called it. When the house was empty, Sue left it on to keep them company. Elizabeth wouldn’t have been surprised if the Border terriers tuned in to the home-shopping channel, dialed the phone with their little paws and ran up thousands of dollars in credit-card bills for crazy things like the ShamWow or a blanket with sleeves. That was the kind of intelligence they possessed. These were not normal dogs she was dealing with.

Bliss danced around on her hind legs, peeking over the edge of the seat until Elizabeth scooped her up. Not that the Cavalier wasn’t fully capable of jumping up there on her own. She was spoiled, plain and simple.

“Yep, you’re spoiled,” Elizabeth murmured as she surrendered and ran her fingers over the Cavalier’s silky chestnut ears. “But I love you just the way you are.”

Bliss let out a little snuffling sound and wedged her way between one of Elizabeth’s legs and the neat row of velvet pillows. Behind her, the window glowed with the soft yellow light of the streetlamps that lined the sidewalk below. Elizabeth smiled at the bright red telephone booth she could make out, even in the dark, right next to the cupcake bakery on the corner.

London was charming.

Elizabeth had been in the country for all of fifteen hours, and she was smitten with the place. The street was quiet now. The cupcake bakery’s windows were darkened. Some of the quaint row houses had lights on, but only in one or two windows. Even the church down the street had stopped ringing its bells every hour, on the hour. South Kensington was packing it in for the night.

But as Elizabeth scooped all sixteen pounds of Bliss’s dead weight into her arms, ready to head for bed, she spotted something out the window that gave her pause.

Another Cavalier!

She planted Bliss back among the pillows and leaned toward the windowpane for a closer look.

Her bedroom was three floors up, but she could spot a fluffy, wagging Cavalier tail from any distance. The dog prancing around on the threshold of the house across the street was most definitely a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. She squinted and tried to make out the dog’s owner.

It was a man. But from so high up, and in the dark, she couldn’t tell much else. He appeared to be wearing jeans and a sweater, but there was something about the way he moved that carried an air of formality.

They meandered down the street and, once they’d reached the church, turned back toward home. The man kept a watchful eye on his Cavalier until they’d made it about halfway down the block. Then he suddenly turned his face toward her window.

Elizabeth couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, or his features, for that matter. But her face flushed with heat as she watched him watching her. He stood on the sidewalk with moonlight caressing his broad shoulders for a long while. Longer than seemed appropriate. Not that anything about spying on the neighbors was necessarily appropriate.

Elizabeth knew she should back away from the window and head for bed. She couldn’t seem to make herself do it. For some inexplicable reason, she felt drawn toward the pair outside. She told herself it was because of the dog, of course. Another Cavalier. Why wouldn’t she be curious? But the way her heart pounded told her there was a bit more to it than that.

He waved. It was just a slight movement of his free hand, but the stir it caused inside Elizabeth was sizable. She returned the gesture.

The man tilted his head, as though studying her. She was struck with the sudden worry that he could see her face. Could he tell who she was?

Surely not.

What did it matter, anyway? She didn’t know a soul here, besides the Barrows. She was anonymous. Invisible.

She swallowed, but a flutter rose up from her belly and settled in her chest. Sitting there, in silent communion with this stranger on a London street, she didn’t feel invisible at all. In fact, she felt anything but. She felt alive.

Disappointment tugged at her consciousness when he looked back down at his dog. They headed toward home. Elizabeth kept watching as he opened the door and the pair slipped inside.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured to Bliss. “Time for bed.”

She crawled under the covers of the impressive four-poster bed, with Bliss curled by her side. Even though she’d traveled clear across the Atlantic Ocean that day and was exhausted beyond comprehension, Elizabeth lay awake for quite a while before she fell asleep. She tingled all over, from head to toe.

At last her eyes fluttered shut. And for the first time in a week, she wasn’t awakened by nightmares of Grant Markham.