B00CO8L910 EBOK (5 page)

Elizabeth awoke with a start and froze upon seeing Mr. Darcy walk into the library. She realized soon enough, as she felt herself flush, that he did not know she was there.
Why else would he undress so casually?
She was paralyzed watching the muscles of his arms move under the thin lawn of his shirtsleeves as he ran his hands through his hair. Her eyes flitted to his discarded cravat and tailcoat only to be lured, dragged really, back to his form. She swallowed hard and attempted to recover her composure as she stood.

“I can do this!” he vowed aloud.

“What can you do, Mr. Darcy?” She smiled coyly, pleased with her ability to keep her voice level.

Mr. Darcy spun around on his heels with a shocked expression on his face. In the short moment it took for him to come to his senses and speak to her, she noticed two things: first, his eyes were blinking rapidly as he gazed over the entire length of her form standing behind the desk; and second, she could see his neck. Both observations wreaked havoc on her senses. She clasped her hands behind her back in an attempt to distract herself and to feign a calm she did not feel.

“Miss Bennet!”

As a slow smile spread across his face, she was struck again by his fine features. He stepped forward and bowed. “Good morning! I trust you are well . . . that is you look well . . . Are you well this morning?” he stammered.

Elizabeth bit her cheek as she lowered her head for her curtsey. “I am much improved today; I thank you.”

They stood there in a pool of awkward silence, glancing about at anything but each other.
This is like the dance at Netherfield all over again
, Elizabeth thought. She was wild for a neutral topic to introduce, anything that would ease her rapidly beating heart — anything that might allow her traitorous eyes to study his face, indeed, and his bare neck with equanimity. But her wits failed her miserably.

She would have been surprised to know Mr. Darcy was struggling as well — struggling not to smile like a buffoon at the pretty picture she presented standing serenely behind
his
desk, in
his
study!
What is she doing here?
Pull yourself together man. You look like a bloody fool — a mute fool.

“Please” — gesturing to the chair — “will you not be seated, Miss Bennet?”

She nodded and began to resume her seat when she shot up. “Oh, this must be your seat, sir.”

He forestalled her movement by holding out his hand. “No, please. Indeed you are charmingly placed.” His lips twitched as he motioned to one of the seats in front of his desk. “Do you mind if I join you, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat as she stiffly resumed her seat. She felt as if she were now sitting on his lap, realizing that it was his accustomed chair. “Of course, Mr. Darcy, do be seated.”

Darcy took his seat. She was uncommonly affected by his casual attire and ease as he threw one leg over the other and laced his arms across his chest. She tried not to stare.
What is wrong with me?
She forced a polite smile.

“You have a lovely library here, sir.”

Mr. Darcy’s lips smirked and humor lit his eyes. “Thank you.”

He is laughing at me!
Her courage was bolstered, and she raised her chin. “I have looked through your vast collection and must commend your taste.” She swallowed again as she saw the edge of his mouth turn up.
Hateful, mocking man! What amuses him so?

“Indeed! Well, I am glad you approve. These are some of my favorites from my collection.”

Mr. Darcy was using all his powers as a gentleman not to grin at her error and reach across his desk to kiss her soundly for it. She did indeed paint a charming picture sitting in
his
chair; he knew he would never sit in it again without recalling that moment. It occurred to him that he had never sat on the other side of his desk before! However, he did not mind the change. He found the view rather arresting.

“Your favorites? Are you saying, sir, that you have more books than this?” she asked incredulously, finally distracted from their awkward meeting.

Her eyes roamed the bookshelves in his study. He had never been in her father’s study, though he must assume it did not contain such a collection as this.

“Indeed, I do. Many, many more.” He was tempted to take pity on her and guide her to the real library but decided against it; he was enjoying seeing her at his desk more than he ought and was not ready to end their tête-à-tête.

He studied her as she continued to contemplate his collection. The silence grew deafening, and Elizabeth keenly felt the awkwardness return. She felt his dark eyes upon her in that glaring, disapproving way. Her gaze fell to the desk and noted before her two large tomes in rich, leather bindings. Curiosity colored her features suddenly, and before she knew what she was about, she reached for one. She almost opened it when Mr. Darcy’s voice caused her to pause.

“Are you interested in estate management, Miss Bennet?”

There was that wry humor in his voice again. She arched her brows. “I have never studied it, Mr. Darcy. Is that what these books cover?”

His reply was a half step too slow as he held desperately to the last vestiges of his self-control. He watched her thin, delicate fingers spread across the binding of his estate books.

“Yes, I find those books essential to the smooth running of my estates,” he finally said evasively.

Elizabeth nodded. His pleasant manners were making it difficult to remember how she disliked the man. And then there was the mesmerizing way his throat moved when he talked. Usually covered by his shirt and cravat, his neck was altogether distracting. Collecting herself, she looked down at the tome in her hands and thought,
Well, estate management ought to be boring enough to clear these insufferable thoughts.

Mr. Darcy held his breath. He knew that, in the next moment, she would realize her mistake. He watched her gently open the cover of the book and look at the first page. She seemed frozen, staring blankly.

Pemberley House, Derbyshire, Estate Accounts, 1811
. The words shouted out at her from the page, crashing violently through her mind.
No, no, no!
Slowly, her eyes stirred from the shouting page to discover a miniature of Georgiana on the desk, next to an ink and pen stand. Her head shook in disbelief as she came to terms with where she was.
Not his library — his study!
She snatched her hand back from the book as if it were on fire. She looked at Mr. Darcy, who was sitting expressionless across from her.
At his desk
, she thought,
his chair!
She flung herself out of the chair and backed away. Her mouth opened, and her hand moved numbly to cover it.

Mr. Darcy sensed the time for him to take action was upon him; he could see her face contort in mortification. He moved cautiously to her.

“Do not be alarmed, Miss Bennet. You could not have known. For myself, it was a delightful misdirection on your part, one in which I was the benefactor.”

Elizabeth finally found her voice. “Mr. Darcy, believe me, I would not have ventured into your private study had I known . . . I thought it was the library!”

He reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as he led her across the room. “Shhh. I know you would not have, Miss Bennet, but I cannot find it in me to wish it otherwise.”

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured, still red with embarrassment and grateful he was not upset with her breach of his privacy.

“Shall I repay you for this pleasing interlude that you have bestowed upon me and guide you to the real library, Miss Bennet? I assure you, with my navigation you shall not get lost again.”

She laughed with little humor but determined to redeem the remnants of her dignity. She needed her wit to dispel the thickness of the moment and distract her from the thinness of his shirtsleeve beneath her fingers. She did so by saying archly, “I should certainly hope so Mr. Darcy, or else we would be a sorry pair, indeed, to get lost in
your
house.”

His eyes darkened, and she had to look away.
I should like to get lost with you in this house, Elizabeth.
“Sorry, indeed. Right this way, madam.”

He walked her to a door at the opposite end of his study that opened directly to the library and ushered her in. He watched delightedly as her eyes grew big with childlike wonder as she scanned the cavernous space of his library. The room was easily three times the size of his study and filled with books on all four walls.

He leaned against the door frame, appreciating the sparkle in her eyes, a light he had not seen in several days, as she slowly turned in a circle taking in the scene. He looked at the walls around them, humbled that she should take such joy in something so commonplace to him.
Wait until I take you to Pemberley, Elizabeth.
He smiled at the scene she made and likened the silence of the moment to music when added to the enchanting smile spreading across her features.

He stepped forward when she stopped turning and walked further into the room. He watched as she neared a rug on the floor; its raised edge always caught people unawares.
I really should replace it
, he thought absently as he prepared to warn her. Before he uttered a word, she turned and walked the perimeter of the room, grazing the books with her fingers as she went.

Her voice wafted back to him, breaking the spell. “Mr. Darcy, this is the most beautiful room I have ever seen!” she said, laughing. Transfixed, his smile grew wider as she almost skipped down the remainder of the room, her hands still on the books beside her. When she got to the end of the room, she spun in a circle and laughed quietly.

Too beautiful.
It pained him that the moment could not last forever. “Thank you, Miss Bennet, though I admit I almost wish you remained under the assumption that my study was the library.”

Elizabeth stopped and looked at him quizzically. “Why ever for, sir — to keep such a secret as this?” She motioned to the walls around her.

He swallowed, unsure whether he should be so bold. “Because then you would forever be in my study with me rather than in here” —
When you come to live here
— “whenever you visit Darcy House.”

Elizabeth stood stock-still.
When shall I ever come back to Darcy House?
she thought in bewilderment. She was taken aback by his forward pronouncement, and she could not make out his meaning — that he should presume she would return to this house!
He does not like me. I do not like him.
The proverbial sentiment began to sound stale in her mind, so she brushed it away, not wanting to think why.

In an attempt to dispel the sudden awkwardness, she teased, “Ahh, but sir, I am afraid that would not do, especially if you are in the habit of dressing so casually in your study.”

Mr. Darcy’s brows furrowed as he looked down at himself and realized for the first time since discovering Elizabeth in his study that he was in just his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. His head shot up, his eyes wide with shock to see her smirking face. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I had forgotten . . . what with the surprise of your presence in my study . . . Please excuse me.”

He turned abruptly and returned to his study. She privately enjoyed witnessing the usually controlled and elegant Mr. Darcy in complete disarray when he recognized his blunder. She walked slowly into the center of the room and looked about again. She had truly never seen a more magnificent room in all her life. She thought,
To be mistress of such a home, to have access to all these treasures!
She stopped in her tracks.
Where did that come from?
Unfortunately for her composure, at that moment the master of the house returned, once again impeccably dressed with his tailcoat and cravat reassembled.

’Tis a pity; I think I preferred the other look
. Elizabeth blushed scarlet and slapped her hand across her mouth as she realized too late from the surprised yet amused look on his face that she had voiced her thought aloud.

Mr. Darcy bowed to her. “I shall endeavor to remember that, Miss Bennet.”

Mortified for the second time in a half hour’s expanse, Elizabeth hastened towards the exit, wishing she did not have to walk past him to leave. “Excuse me, but I think I must be goin — Oomph!”

Darcy grinned. Elizabeth was in his arms, having tripped on the rug.
I shall never replace that rug
, he vowed.

Elizabeth’s eyes squeezed shut, praying for a moment that it was all a terrible dream.
Sandalwood and lemon,
she thought.
He smells like sandalwood and lemon. Ohhh, it is not a dream.
She cringed as she attempted to step out of his embrace.