Compulsively Mr. Darcy (25 page)

“Next, we chop up everything.” Elizabeth put the onions, garlic, and carrots in the food processor.

“We're making a mess,” Georgiana said.

“We'll clean up before Mrs. Reynolds gets home,” Elizabeth said. Something had been worrying Georgiana. She seemed jumpy lately. It usually took half a day to make fried egg rolls, hopefully long enough for Elizabeth to find out what was going on. “Now add the shrimp, the ground pork there, and the eggs.”

“Did your mom teach you to cook?”

“No, Aunt Mai did. You'd think that I was out doing wild things dressed all in black as a Gothic chick, but I actually spent most of my free time in my aunt's kitchen cooking the angst out of my tortured young soul.”

Instead of laughing at Elizabeth's joke, Georgiana said, “Did you ever do anything then you now regret?”

Here was the opening, Elizabeth realized. “I spent years looking like Morticia from
The
Addams
Family
. Don't you think that's enough of a reason to regret my youth?”

A weak smile appeared on Georgiana's face.

Gratified to see that, in a serious tone, Elizabeth talked of her experience with the college professor, leaving nothing out, including how lost she'd felt. She ended with, “Lydia is much more savvy than I was at her age.”

Georgiana started crying.

Elizabeth rubbed her back. “Sweetie, talk to me.”

“If I tell you, I'm afraid you'd think…”

“You're afraid I would think you're not perfect like your brother, and I won't love you? Wait, he's not perfect. Darn it.” She wiped Georgiana's tears. “Why don't you just tell me what's been going on with you lately, and I'll decide whether or not I can live with another imperfect Darcy?”

“I'm being threatened because of some pictures.”

Elizabeth sucked her breath in. “What kind of pictures?”

“Porn pictures, of me.”

“By whom?”

“I don't know. It started last year then stopped, but it started back again.”

“And what do they want? Money?”

“They haven't asked for money yet, but they keep reminding me they have embarrassing pictures of me. When I hadn't heard from them for months, I thought I was safe.”

“You are still safe,” Elizabeth said. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

The rash promise seemed to relieve Georgiana. “The pictures were taken when I was seeing George Wickham.”

“I see. Pictures of you two?”

“No, just me.”

“I'd forgotten about his existence for the last few months.”

“I wish I could.” Georgiana made a face. “I was terrified about making friends on campus. Then, George showed up, and I didn't have to work to make new friends. He knew all about me and where I came from; it was comfortable and easy to be with him and his friends. They were so nice, so friendly, so welcoming; it didn't seem like they were a cult at all. That's how stupid I was. I was excited about belonging…”

“Everybody wants to belong. Don't be hard on yourself.”

“Luckily, my brother found out in time. I had invited Richard to the wedding… and that's how Will learned of it.”

“Subconsciously, you must have wanted your brother to know if you invited Richard.”

“I wish I could say I was that smart, but the truth was George told me to. Richard already knew I was dating someone.”

“I see.” But Elizabeth didn't see at all. She could not fathom why George Wickham told Georgiana to invite Richard. Surely, Wickham knew that likely the wedding would be stopped. Unless, he wanted it stopped. “George's the one blackmailing you then.”

“No. That's the thing. He swore it's not him. He claimed someone must have broken into his apartment and set up a hidden camera.”

“If that's true”—Elizabeth could not keep the skepticism from her voice—“then it must be someone who knew him well. Very well.”

“I don't know for sure it's not him,” Georgiana admitted, “but when I confronted him, he was shocked and looked very scared. This may be stupid, but I don't think he faked that.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “The cult might be behind this, with or without Wickham's cooperation. That may explain why he's scared.”

Georgiana's eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her. “The cult?”

“It seems logical. We need to talk to your brother, honey. You know that, right?”

“Lizzy, he's going to freak.” Georgiana was now panicking.

Elizabeth tried to soothe her. “Sweetie—”

“Now that he has you to worry about, he's finally giving me some breathing room. I don't want to move backward.” Georgiana's voice turned firm. “I don't want to hurt William by fighting with him, but I like my freedom. A lot.”

Elizabeth clucked sympathetically but she didn't argue the point. She loved her husband dearly—even with all his obsessive quirks—but she had to admit being his wife was easier than being his younger sister. “How do they contact you? You get letters?”

“No. Emails.”

“Emails? That's not very smart. More easily traced than letters. I hope you didn't delete the emails?”

Georgiana hid her face in her hands.

“Georgiana! You didn't!”

“I did,” Georgiana confessed. “I still have the last one they sent me though, in my trash file.”

“Let's see it.” Elizabeth stood and half dragged, half pushed Georgiana to the office. “Even if you did delete them all, I bet Mary could figure out how to get them back. She's a genius with computers.” Three minutes later, staring at the screen, she exclaimed, “That's not porn! I've seen more on tabloid covers.”

Georgiana looked hopeful. “You think so?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, all the pictures show is you wearing a leather outfit with a chain around your neck and a whip in your hand. That one there of you touching yourself between your legs is a little provocative but you don't look any worse than any ad in
Vogue
.”

“You don't think it's embarrassing?”

“Are you kidding? If these got published and it became known they weren't staged, you'd be the hottest male fantasy. A classy, edgy, and sexy blonde heiress in black leather and bondage.”

“I don't want to be an edgy, sexy blonde. I'm going to dye my hair black and be Goth.”

“I don't think you have to go that far and go Goth,” Elizabeth soothed. “Nobody is going to be shocked by your pictures. Again, you're sure George Wickham is not involved in threatening or blackmailing you?”

“Not completely sure, but my gut says no. He's not smart or patient enough to not do anything all these months anyhow.”

Elizabeth reluctantly nodded and agreed. “That's a good point. But who else's behind this?”

“The cult, you said?”

“Now that I've seen these pictures, I doubt they'd involve themselves in an amateur thing like this to mess with a Darcy. They have got to know your brother would whoop their asses.” She smiled to see Georgiana giggling at that. “Okay, that's more my trashy style, I admit. Your brother would probably hire a whole team of useless lawyers to deal with it and make them rich, wasting money.”

“Lizzy, if it might not be the cult, could we not involve William yet? Please?” Georgiana pleaded.

Elizabeth sighed. “Before I agree to anything about keeping it from my husband, let's think it through first. And I have to ask this: Only dressing up for him? Nothing more? Like S and M sex? Did he do anything strange sexually?”

“I never went all the way. I wanted to, but he said he liked the idea of me being a virgin and wearing those sexy clothes. He… um… said it would make the anticipation greater for when we got married; it would have been a double present then, my um… wedding gift and my birthday gift.”

Ignoring the girl's red face, Elizabeth pressed, “We need to figure out what's the worst that this unknown photographer might have also taken. I'm very used to hearing about my patients' sexual exploits so don't worry. I won't be shocked. Okay?”

William's sister bit her lip then nodded. “Okay.”

The answers she gave in response to Elizabeth's explicit questions reassured her somewhat that there wouldn't be pictures that would be considered overtly obscene pornographic material. More importantly, she suddenly realized something. “Wait. These pictures were taken before your eighteenth birthday on Valentine's Day. That's when you were set to get married?”

Georgiana nodded. “Thank God Richard showed up the day before my birthday. I can't believe I almost married George in a mass wedding.”

“But you didn't,” Elizabeth reminded her. “If you were truly under his and the cult's power, you would still have gotten married the next day, no matter who had shown up to stop it. You showed self-preservation.”

Georgiana's face relaxed. “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“Let me think about this and see what we can do. Meanwhile, why don't you talk to Mary when you get home tonight?”

“You don't think she'd be shocked?”

“Mary? Are you kidding? She's gotten into trouble much worse than this. She might be able to talk to you about how to deal with the stress. I'll talk to her too tonight also.”

Georgiana hugged her. “Thank you. I wanted to tell you… and even Mary. It's just that Will—”

She cut Georgiana off, “I won't involve your brother yet, not until we figure out exactly what's going on. Quite frankly, I'm not in the mood to deal with his panic attacks.” She began to talk of other subjects to distract the younger girl. William would be home soon and she wanted his sister calmed before then. “We should get back to the kitchen. I'm hungry and the babies are hungry. Did I tell you that your brother is having the cribs custom-made so he could supervise the production? He worries the ready-made cribs would collapse. Can you believe that?”

As Elizabeth sat charting in the free clinic's office on a late Tuesday afternoon, her cell phone rang. She smiled. “Hi, love.”

“Are you almost done? You've been there over three hours. It's getting late.”

She ignored the worried note, closed her eyes, and savored her husband's sexy accent.

“Elizabeth, are you there?”

“Hmmm, yes. I was just thinking how sexy you sound.”

“Don't change the subject. I don't want you on your feet for too long. The OB said two hours a day.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm leaving now. Are you back home from Los Angeles?”

“Unfortunately, no. I'm stuck here twenty-four seven for now. Why don't you have one of the sisters come and stay with you until I get back?”

“Mary and Jane just left to… uh… they're out of town.” She cringed, remembering. Before her husband started asking questions, she added, “I'm not alone; Georgiana's staying over tonight. Besides, there are so many bodyguards around I can't even sneeze without them reporting to you.”

“I need to have you safe.” His voice was full of guilt. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, love. You know I don't mind the security. I'm just hormonal.” Hiding his sister's situation from him stressed her more than she wanted to admit. While she missed him, his unexpected business trip to Los Angeles the day before was fortuitous timing.

“I miss my hormonal wife.”

“Better stay away from all those skinny LA actresses or I'll come down there and scratch their eyes out,” she teased.

Her husband laughed. “I love you, my little jealous wife.”

“Speaking of actresses, Lydia is down there in Hollywood with my mom—”

“I have to go, love. I'll call later,” her husband abruptly interrupted and ended the conversation.

***

Lydia glanced at her backside in the mirror of the hotel's lobby. Satisfied her cheerleading skirt showed enough but not too much, she continued toward the rehearsal room. She spent a few delicious moments imagining the jealous look on her sister Kitty's face watching Lydia on TV doing a cheerleading routine. Kitty had been impossible lately, complaining all the time to their parents that Lydia's being on a TV show had taken attention from Kitty's graduating magna cum laude from Stanford.

When Lydia entered the rehearsal room, a man with a baby face smiled at her. “Rehearsal won't start for a while. Nothing to do but sit and wait. Welcome to showbiz! There's no business like show business!” He frowned when she didn't join in his lame singing. “Are you sure you're old enough to be in this show?”

“I'm sixteen,” she said.

Her friend Ashley had some difficulty getting permission from her uncle to be in the show before succeeding, but Lydia had no problems with her parents. Her mother was excited by her opportunity and her father simply muttered something about the failure of feminism. Only Lizzy openly objected, raising a stink and throwing a temper tantrum about the evil of reality TV shows, but she was pregnant and hormonal and everyone—except her husband—thought she was overreacting, so she was ignored.

“Where are you from?” Without waiting for an answer, baby-face began to talk about his previous reality show. She tried to appear interested, but after a while, she wondered if all Hollywood people were this boring. Luckily, other cheerleaders began to arrive and the man had new audiences to bore.

Ashley arrived with Ury, the producer of the show. “There's Lydia. I told you she'd be early. She takes cheerleading very seriously.”

Ury winked at Lydia. “And that's why we wanted her as a contestant on our show. She's got great kicking legs.”

Ashley pouted. “What about me? Why do you want me?”

Ury turned and whispered something in her ear.

Watching them, Lydia's insides felt queasy, just as she had this morning, when she had overextended herself too far forward during the arabesque foldout routine and she lost her balance.

When Ury moved off to talk to a production assistant, Ashley said to Lydia, “Ury thinks you and I could use some extra private coaching to appear more natural on camera. Aren't we lucky, Lydia? He's giving us personal attention.”

***

Unable to sleep, Darcy sighed and got out of bed. He walked over to the sink. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed what he suspected. He looked guilty. He hated sleeping away from his wife and he hated keeping secrets from her. Yesterday, when she mentioned Lydia and her mother being in Hollywood, he had to cut short their phone call.

When he saw his hands red and wrinkled, he forced himself to stop and return to bed. He might as well get an hour or two of sleep before meeting with Colonel Brandon and the FBI.

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine his wife next to him in bed.

The phone rang just as he drifted off. He jerked awake. His heart skipped. It was her ring tone. This was too early in the morning for her to be calling. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, except I miss you like crazy and wanted to hear your voice,” Elizabeth said. “I knew you were probably awake, worrying and obsessing about something trivial, so I decided to call you. Did I wake you?”

“No, I've been up.” He relaxed. His wife's teasing voice was exactly what he needed to hear.

“You're up, already? I miss that.”

“No, I wasn't”—the image of Elizabeth in their bed at home made his voice lower—“but I'm starting.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

“What are you doing?”

“Rubbing my tummy.”

His fingers stretched, wanting the tactile connection to his babies. “Are they kicking?”

“No, they're quiet for now.”

When no further sounds came through, he asked, “Are you still rubbing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How about moving your hand up to one of those scrumptious breasts, the right one, and squeeze it gently for me.” He heard background noises crinkle through the connection when she put the phone on speaker. “Are you naked?”

“No. I'm wearing one of your old T-shirts. I can smell you on it.”

“Take it off.”

“Okay, it's off.” Her voice sounded breathless now. “You put yours on speaker too.”

“No, I want to focus on you.” He ignored the tenting of his sheet and tugged at his pajama bottoms.

“Uh-uh! I want us together.”

He lifted the sheet aside.

“Your pajama bottoms too.”

He smiled at the bossy tone and undressed. Immediately, cool arousing air brushed against him.

“Ahhhh!” Her satisfied sigh came through the speaker.

“What? You started without me?”

“No, not yet. I was thinking of your naked body and your hard cock.”

For a woman who was a virgin until a few short months ago, his wife was uninhibited and adventurous in the bedroom. Occasionally, she liked to talk dirty during sex, mostly to shock him. “Are both your hands on your breasts now?”

“Yes. I want you between my tits,” she moaned.

He squeezed his eyes shut at what her words had conjured. “I don't think it would be a safe position for me right now, on your tummy.”

“It's phone sex. We can have any position we want. Pretend we're circus performers with flexible and weightless bodies.” She purred, “Let my breasts stroke you.”

He reached one hand down and stroked himself.

“I feel your balls hitting against the bottom of my breasts.”

His other hand reached down and caressed.

“I'm lifting up my head and sucking at your tip.”

His thumb moved up to rub his tip.

“I'm sucking and squeezing. I'm swirling my tongue around your tip. My hands are squeezing your tight ass. Rub harder, faster between my tits.”

His hands madly rubbed and stroked.

“Fuck my tits harder!” she barked.

Head thrown back, his chest arched and his hips cranked.

“I'm sucking you hard. Come into my mouth!”

Wrapped in her moist, hot mouth, he exploded with a loud howl. Breathing hard and deep, he gulped air to recover from the force of his orgasm.

His wife gave a delighted, satisfied giggle through the speaker.

“You naughty girl,” he scolded when his breathing normalized. “I was in charge starting out.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No, on the contrary. But what happened to ‘together'?”

“A bit awkward to maneuver around my large stomach.”

“I shall pay my debt in person then.”

“You bet your sweet ass I'll make you,” she laughed.

At the sound of happiness in his wife's voice, his throat tightened at his good fortune. “I'm a lucky dog, Mrs. Darcy.”

“I love you too, Mr. Darcy.”

They talked a few more minutes, but then she suddenly had to ring off just as he was asking where Mary and Jane had gone.