Chapter Ten
Elizabeth texted her parents and sisters the news right before she departed for the airport on Wednesday. Phoning with the news would have provoked a level of squealing that she wasn’t prepared to handle.
Lydia sent dozens of emojis—each more excited than the last—and demands for pictures. Her mother reminded her to keep her eyes open for rich men. Jane only asked if Bing was on the plane, and Elizabeth was happy to text back a negative answer, although she did arrange for Jane to pick her up when they landed.
The sun was setting when Fitz called her hotel room with an invitation to join him for a limo ride to the airport. Elizabeth expected they’d be sharing the limo with other White House staffers, but somehow they ended up alone in the back of the cavernous vehicle.
Fitz was good company, with easy manners and no shortage of lively discussions about the summit and their stay in Paris. Elizabeth’s ears pricked up when he mentioned her conversation with Mrs. de Bourgh.
“Do you think the president was upset that I was so sarcastic toward her?” Elizabeth finally asked the question that had been bothering her for days. “I said the first things that came into my head. I wouldn’t want him to think I enjoy being offensive to his relatives.”
“Trust me, Darcy thought it was hilarious,” Fitz drawled.
“He was barely smiling.”
“That’s the equivalent of a hearty laugh for Darce. He loved seeing Aunt Catherine at a loss for words. She’s a bit of a thorn in his side, constantly expecting special treatment as the president’s aunt.”
Fitz shifted in his seat, which had the effect of bringing him slightly closer to her, setting her nerves on edge. Was he interested in her? Was that the reason for the empty limo? Maybe he used his proximity to the president to facilitate his social life. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched. Despite Fitz’s easy demeanor and good looks, she felt no spark of attraction. Accepting the ride had been a mistake.
She leaned away from him, wondering when the spacious vehicle had grown so hot and stuffy.
“Elizabeth?” Fitz reached out to touch her knee.
She flinched. Well, this is awkward.
He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. You’re a very attractive woman, but you’re not remotely my type.”
“What’s ‘your type’?” Elizabeth asked waspishly.
“Tall, dark, and with XY chromosomes,” Fitz answered instantly.
“Oh. Oh.” Now Elizabeth had to laugh, too. “I definitely don’t meet that criteria.”
Fitz waved his hand negligently. “Plus, you’re practically taken. I’d never do that.”
What the hell did that mean?
Before she had a chance to ask, Fitz launched into a childhood anecdote about the president and his sister Georgiana at the Darcy family estate in the Hamptons. “—So we ran off and left Darce to take the blame!” Fitz laughed.
“Did he tell on you?”
“No. He took the blame and the punishment and never ratted us out,” Fitz said. “He was—and is—a great guy.”
Why is he so intent on making that point? I already voted for him.
“He’s also an incredibly loyal friend,” Fitz volunteered. “You’ve met Bing, right?” Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to venture an opinion of his character. “Bing and Caroline’s mother died when they were still young, and Darcy’s mother and father were like a second set of parents to them. Darcy has always felt a little protective of Bing, even though he’s only a few years younger.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “Does Bing need that much protecting?”
Fitz shrugged. “He’s a bit of an idealist—a real romantic at heart. He’s always in search of ‘The One’ and always in danger of having his heart broken.” Elizabeth bit her tongue before she forcefully contradicted her host. “Recently, in fact, Bing thought he’d found her—the love of his life—but it turned out she was only interested in his father’s money.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. Could he possibly be talking about Jane? No. Nobody would perceive Jane as a gold digger. But surely Bing hadn’t met and broken up with someone else since dating Jane.
Fitz rattled on, oblivious to Elizabeth’s consternation. “Supposedly she acted as if her family had money, but they were just keeping up appearances.” Oh. Elizabeth felt queasy. Her family’s financial problems had torpedoed Jane’s chances with Bing.
Fortunately, Fitz’s eyes were focused on the passing scenery. “Even after they found out, Bing still wasn’t sure he could break up with her, but Darcy stiffened his backbone. He wouldn’t let his friend fall for a gold digger.”
The nausea hardened into a pit of anger as Elizabeth’s nails bit into her clenched fists. Swallowing, she strove to keep her voice level. “And how did they know this woman didn’t actually love Bing?”
Fitz shrugged. “I don’t know. There are women like that who have a string of rich boyfriends until one of them coughs up a ring.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together to disguise their violent shaking. It was true that Jane’s past two boyfriends had been from wealthy families, but those were the people with whom the Bennets had socialized.
There was no doubt that Fitz was talking about Jane. And the president had encouraged Bing to break her heart! That high-handed, arrogant bastard! Making such appalling assumptions about Jane, whose heart was so bruised that she still refused to date. Maybe Elizabeth should order Fitz to stop the limo so she could disembark and find another way home. The alternative was eight hours in an airplane with that vile man.
Adrenaline buzzed uselessly through her veins; neither fight nor flight were particularly useful in this situation. Although if William Darcy appeared in front of her at that moment, she might be tempted to punch him.
“Are you all right?” Fitz watched her closely.
This was her chance. Elizabeth could claim a sudden illness and take a cab back to the hotel. But she would miss her mother’s birthday, and she had canceled her other flight.
Air Force One was a big plane, with a lot of people. Chances were that the president would be busy working with his staff, and she wouldn’t even see him. If she did see him…
It would be tempting to tell him what she thought of his character. She took a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow. He was a jerk, but he was also the president. She couldn’t let her anger rule her behavior no matter how satisfying it would be to berate him in front of his staff one thousand feet up in the air. Elizabeth leaned back against the soft limousine seat, envisioning herself being calm and polite as she shook President Darcy’s hand; however, the image was instantly shattered by a fiery fantasy of hurling accusatory words at him.
Fitz peered out the window. “Oh, we’re at the airport.” As soon as the limo came to a stop he opened the door.
She fixed a smile on her face as they climbed up the gangway and received the crew’s effusive welcomes while they entered the aircraft. Elizabeth had expected to be given a seat at the back of the press section, somewhere she would be forgotten as she slept away the trip to D.C.
However, the president hurried up to her only a minute after she arrived, taking her hand with a wide grin and welcoming words. Elizabeth merely offered a tight smile.
“We need to put on seat belts for takeoff,” he said, “but after that, I hope you’ll let me show you around the plane.”
Unable to gracefully decline before a host of witnesses, Elizabeth was as neatly entrapped as she had been when he asked her to dance. “Um, sure,” she murmured, inwardly seething. Just being in his presence felt like a betrayal of her sister.
Giving her a brisk nod, he strode toward the front of the plane. Maybe this is normal. Maybe he offers a tour to every visitor.
Fitz showed her to one of the “guest seats” in the middle of the plane and left for his own seat. The two rows were mostly occupied by staff, although Mrs. de Bourgh and Bill were behind her, deeply engrossed in a task on the computer—and fortunately too far away for conversation.
Sinking gratefully into the seat—which was wider and softer than any airplane seat she had ever encountered—Elizabeth couldn’t resist glancing around curiously. In some ways, the plane was like any other, with curved white walls, tiny windows, and industrial carpeting. However, the front appeared to be divided into a set of rooms where the president and his staff could work during the flight.
The takeoff was smooth and fast, but Elizabeth’s hopes that the president would forget her were immediately dashed. As soon as the seatbelt sign winked off, the president was at her side. “Ready for the tour?” The occupants of the surrounding seats gave Elizabeth curious glances as she stood to receive the undivided attention of the nation’s commander in chief.
Without waiting for a response, President Darcy walked her toward the back of the plane. Typical. He gestured to a closed door. “That is the press area, which we usually keep closed off so we can conduct our business up here in private. Sometimes I do go back there to chat up the reporters.”
He ushered her toward the front of the plane with a hand on the small of her back. “The front of the plane is the interesting part—lots of features you don’t find on a regular 747. We have six bathrooms and two kitchens, which are capable of producing some pretty good meals.” His eyes focused intently on her face as if her opinion was of great importance to him. Why should he care? The attention was beginning to make her uncomfortable. It’s not like she was a politician he needed to impress.
He opened a door. “This is the meeting room, although we also use it for a dining room.” The large table, office chairs, and white board were standard but incongruous on an airplane.
As they continued along the corridor, he gestured to the doors they passed. “The rooms along here serve as the galley, the senior staff room, and the medical office—I always have to travel with a doctor. Fortunately, she usually doesn’t have much to do.”
A female staffer walking in the other direction did a double take as they passed, which the president ignored. He opened another door. “This is my study.”
The room wouldn’t be considered spacious by most standards, but it was impressively appointed for a space on an airplane. A large wooden desk, completely empty, dominated one side while a few chairs lined the opposite wall.
He gestured to the desk with a rueful smile. “It’s nice to have a desk, but it’s a bit of a pain, too. If I leave anything on it, the stuff rolls off whenever the plane banks.”
She followed him back into the corridor. At some point, he had changed into a dark blue t-shirt and jeans that hugged his butt…which was definitely worth watching as he walked ahead of her.
What the hell am I doing? I can’t be jonesing after the guy who hurt Jane and George. And, oh yeah, he’s the fucking president! She hastily averted her eyes. The walls were quite interesting. How did they get that exact shade of off-white?
But she had to admit it was difficult to maintain her indignation in the face of such friendliness—the polar opposite of the man who had denigrated her at the state dinner. What’s with the Jekyll/Hyde routine?
An awful suspicion was creeping up on her. When a bachelor president had taken office, there had been plenty of rumors about his love life, but no reputable source had confirmed hanky panky in the White House. Elizabeth believed in his presidency and thought the rumors were just rumors. But what if some of the rumors were true? What if his staff was simply good at covering up his sexual escapades? A new woman every night?
The air temperature was suddenly much cooler. Elizabeth shivered. They crossed over into a new corridor, and he indicated an exterior door. “So that’s the special presidential entrance for the plane.” He looked almost embarrassed. “Just for me and a wife—if I had one.”
How should she respond to that? “Oh.”
Taking her elbow, he navigated her to the final door at the end of the corridor. “This is the presidential suite, such as it is.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “If I had a family traveling with me, this is where they’d hang out. But, of course, it’s just me.”
The triangular space was sparsely furnished with two sofas—one attached to each wall—a coffee table, and a small desk that held nothing but a phone. There was a mural of a mountain scene on the far wall between the sofas. Despite her reservations, it was a fascinating glimpse into the world of presidential privilege. “Are we up at the front of the plane?”
The president nodded. “Right in the nose.”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding the space. “But where did they put the cockpit?”
He pointed upward. “There’s an upper story. The cockpit and crew quarters are up there.” Oh, of course. Elizabeth had forgotten that 747s were two stories.
Closing the door behind them, he guided her toward one of the sofas. “Air Force One isn’t very luxuriously appointed compared to some privately owned jets, but this room can seat eight comfortably. And each of these sofas converts into a bed, although they’re pretty small.” His hand patted the cushion as they sat.
“I don’t use the suite much since I’m usually working in the office, but sometimes I nap in here. Fortunately, national crises are scarce today, so we can rest a bit before arriving in Washington.”
Elizabeth had noticed the dim lighting throughout the plane and that passengers were getting comfortable for the night.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked. “I assure you that the food is several steps above the usual airplane fare.”
“No, thanks. I had dinner.” What the hell is happening here?
“I asked them to stash some sauvignon blanc in here,” he said, standing and opening the cabinets over the desk. “I know it’s your favorite.” When had he noticed that?
As odd as it was to get a personal tour of Air Force One from the president, now things were downright Twilight Zone. She was alone with President Darcy in a room with two beds, and he planned on pouring a bottle of her favorite wine. This was beginning to feel like a date.
An unexpected and totally bizarre date.
Damn. Fitz had said I was “practically taken.” Why didn’t I figure it out earlier? Apparently, the president thought that all he needed to do was crook his finger and she’d come running. What the hell?
Hadn’t anyone thought to consult her on whether she’d like to be “taken” by the president? This wasn’t the Middle Ages, when the king could order a woman into his bed. But maybe that’s the way things worked in this administration. She shivered again.
The president had a reputation for being a straight shooter, respectful of women, and a staunch proponent of women’s rights. She wouldn’t have expected him to be a player. But he also had an extremely loyal staff. They wouldn’t be the first White House staffers to cover up indiscretions.
How many other women had received a “personal” tour of Air Force One that ended in the presidential suite? What a sweet set up for a seduction. No wonder the staffer in the corridor had done a double take.
And Fitz? Oh-so-helpful. Was he the go-between, lining up suitable women? Damn it! Elizabeth had liked him.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Maybe she had done or said something that suggested she was amenable to a dalliance with the president. That would explain his friendliness at the dinner and insistence on giving her a ride. Her breathing sped up. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?
Her hands began to shake so violently that she had to clasp them together to conceal the tremors. Her gaze bounced all over the room; every muscle in her body readied itself for fight or flight. Fortunately, the president—distracted by the missing wine—remained oblivious to her nerves.
His voice broke into her racing thoughts. “Okay, here are the glasses.” Her eyes followed the glasses rather than the man as he set them on the coffee table. “But I think they forgot the wine.” He winked at her. Winked! “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. What am I going to do? She shot to her feet, her ragged breaths echoing in the empty room.
Elizabeth wasn’t a Puritan and wasn’t opposed to a little fooling around on principle. But she’d only slept with guys she was dating. Under other circumstances—with a guy she found attractive…and smart…and articulate—she would consider dating him. Hell, in a lot of ways he was exactly the kind of guy she liked.
But those were the key words, weren’t they? “Under other circumstances.” Attractive, smart, and articulate were worthless without a good character or personal moral principles. Not only was he proud and difficult, but he also had encouraged his friend to dump her sister and had robbed George Wickham of his inheritance.
And now he had brought her to his suite and maybe expected her to put out. Another violent shiver caused Elizabeth to wrap her arms around herself. I’m alone in this tiny room with him and a thousand feet up in the air. Maybe I should leave before he gets back. She took a stumbling step toward the door. But what if I’m wrong? What if he’s just being friendly? He’s Bing’s friend. I’m Jane’s sister. Maybe the president is just catching up…kicking back. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate…
The decision was made for her when President Darcy strolled through the door, triumphantly brandishing a bottle of wine. “I knew we had it!”
He set the bottle next to the glasses as Elizabeth sank back into her seat. Maybe she was being paranoid, misjudging the man. He seemed genuinely happy to have her here. Maybe he just wanted to be friends.
And it’s not like I’m supermodel material. He could seduce anyone—like real supermodels. Why would he want me?
Settling rather close to her on the sofa, the president opened the bottle of wine, splashing some into each glass. The label showed it to be something very good—and very expensive.
The president raised his glass in a toast, and Elizabeth followed suit, a little apprehensive about what he would say. “To friends,” he said simply. Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed as she clinked her glass with his. That was a toast she could get behind.
After taking a sip, she set her glass on the coffee table. The wine was excellent, dry and crisp, but she had no intention of drinking much more. Her eyes surveyed the room, examining the windows, the mural, the sofas—everything except the other inhabitant. “This is exciting,” she said. “Very few people get to see this. I feel very privileged. My sisters will be so jealous. My parents will be so excited to tell their friends.” You’re babbling, Elizabeth. Stop it. She took a breath. “Thank you for showing me around.”
“My pleasure,” he said in a low voice.
It wasn’t her imagination. He was leaning closer to her. His warm breath brushed her neck. A hint of spicy aftershave teased her nose.
“There is something I need to tell you, Elizabeth.” His voice was husky.
Oh no. “Y-Yes?” She stared at the wine glass, not wanting to look at him when their faces were inches apart.
“I am very attracted to you—since we first met.” His voice sunk to a lower register. “Very attracted to you.”
Shit. It was happening. The man who had ruined George and torpedoed Jane’s relationship was hitting on her. Clearly, he expected her to be on the same page.
Her eyes fixed on the far wall. “Oh. I…um…didn’t know.” She swallowed hard.
“Of course you did. You’ve been flirting with me.” He chuckled softly.
I have?
He put soft fingers on her chin and gently turned her face toward his. She inhaled his spicy scent. Why did he have to smell so edible? “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time,” he breathed. And then his lips were on hers. Elizabeth’s resistance dissolved instantly. He could kiss!
It started with soft, velvety strokes of lips meeting lips. But then he increased the intensity, licking at the seam of her lips until her mouth opened without a second thought. She had to know what he could do with that tongue. She wasn’t disappointed. His tongue swept in, dueling and entwining with hers. He tasted of white wine and an undefinable flavor that resembled his scent. The taste of William Darcy.
Elizabeth hadn’t given any thought—well, perhaps she had occasionally imagined—to how the president might kiss, but she wouldn’t have expected this…passion. Searing. Overwhelming. Shattering. Speaking the intensity of his attraction without words.
The rest of the world fell away; Elizabeth could only feel. Her whole world narrowed to a single point of focus, a solitary part of her body. Bill and George had both spoken to her about chemistry, imagining a connection that hadn’t existed. But this was chemistry. Whatever she thought of William Darcy, her body was completely on board with kissing him. Craving his kisses—and more. I want more. I want more…
She moaned, a needy, greedy sound. His hands roamed over her back and upper arms, caressing, pulling her closer, and crushing her against his body. One hand traveled up her neck, into her hair.
Out in the hallway, someone laughed. The sound was enough to re-engage the rational part of her brain. Someone might enter the room and see them. What am I doing? This is the president. This is the PRESIDENT!
She pulled away so quickly he flinched.
Every cell in her body urged her to close the small distance between them and enjoy more touches, more caresses, more kisses. They were so close, so connected; it seemed impossible that such a thing could be wrong.
No. Panting, Elizabeth tried to restart her higher brain functions despite the tumult her senses. She reached deep for that well of fury that had powered her since Fitz’s words in the limo, conjuring up the image of Jane’s stricken, tear-stained face. Why would the man who had treated Jane and George so cavalierly care about me? It was an act. It was all an act.
He had brought her in here with the idea of putting those beds to use. Here she was, thousands of miles up in the sky with nobody around except the president’s staff. Okay, so the kisses were amazing. Phenomenal. Life changing. But the man’s character was rotten. Don’t forget who this guy is.
“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he crooned, allowing his fingers to play along the skin revealed by the V of her blouse. “I wanted to stay away. I’ve been trying to avoid…entanglements. But every time I see you…”
Despite her misgivings, part of her soul drank up the words like water in a desert; what an honor to have this man say them to her.
But how many other women had he said them to? How many women had he said them to in this room? She couldn’t be blinded by the mask of his charisma or fooled into believing he experienced genuine feelings. He was a politician. Charm was the primary weapon in his arsenal, and every word was suspect.
The president was still speaking. “Those two months when we were apart…God, I thought about you all the time…” He closed in for another kiss, and Elizabeth felt the pull, the desire. But she forced herself to scramble backward, sliding off the sofa and stumbling to her feet. His hand grabbed empty air.
“I-I don’t think this is a good idea, Mr. President.”
A crease formed between his eyebrows. More puzzled than put out. “Please call me Will.”
“Okay. I don’t think this is a good idea, Will.”
“I don’t understand.” He stood as well.
“I-I’m sorry if I misled you by kissing you back. I was just so startled…”
He scowled. “Startled? You knew where this was going!”
Elizabeth barked a laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should have. Maybe I’m the only person on this plane who didn’t know, but I didn’t have a clue that you were interested in me.”
His mouth opened in shock, but he shut it with an abrupt snap. “Now you know,” he snapped. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath and spoke in a gentler tone. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” She shook her head mutely. “So is it a problem?”
“Is it a problem?” Where to begin? She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “You called me ugly and stupid. You’ve been rude to me and my family in just about every way possible. Do the words ‘nouveau riche’ ring a bell?”
He couldn’t have been more startled if she’d hit him on the head with a frying pan. “But I apologized! You’re still upset about that?”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “Of course I am! You may be a snob who apologized, but you’re still a snob!”
“A snob?” His head jerked back. “To be fair, your family is sort of—”
She didn’t wait for him to dig his hole deeper. Anger simmered in her veins, demanding release. “You interfered in Jane’s relationship with Bing—and she’s still not over it!”
“How did you know—? Never mind, I—” He didn’t even bother to deny it.
Nothing would stop Elizabeth now. “And you deprived George Wickham of his inheritance!”
Darcy looked like he was chewing on something bitter. “Wickham!” he spat.
Elizabeth drew herself to her full height, delivering the coup de grace in a shaky voice. “And then you bring me to Air Force One, all high and mighty, Mr. President, to put the moves on me! Thinking that I’d be so awed by your power that I’d put out for you!”
He staggered back a step as if she had punched him. “That wasn’t what I—I wasn’t going to—I wanted to ask you out on a date, damn it! A date! Not some sort of tawdry affair!”
She scoffed. “Sure you did! Because that’s what old-money scions like you do with nouveau-riche ‘sluts’ like me.”
A pained expression rolled over his face. “I never thought of you that way! I swear. I’m…very interested in you. In dating you. I’ve never felt like this about any other woman.” His hands, balled into fists, were pressed against his thighs. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove it—I really care about you.” His eyes pleaded with her.
It was a good act. Elizabeth snorted. “You’ve been proud and difficult since I first met you. All you do is belittle me and my family. Why in the world would I want to date you?”
His mouth worked, but no sound escaped.
“Just as I thought. You don’t have a single good reason.” Elizabeth stomped to the door, threw it open, and slammed it closed behind her.
***
That could have gone better. Darcy stared at the door, which still quivered slightly from the force of Elizabeth’s slam. Fortunately, he was usually alone at this end of the plane so it was unlikely anyone would come to investigate. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the clusterfuck cake?
Sinking onto the sofa, he drank the rest of his wine. Then he poured a full glass with shaky hands and drank that. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees and hung his head. His field of vision filled with the dull industrial gray carpeting. The sight blurred and swam. “Shit.” He blinked rapidly to clear it.
Of course, other women had rejected him—albeit not recently—but his interest had never provoked blind fury. He winced again at the memory of her angry red face. He had blown his chances with Elizabeth quite spectacularly. Slumping back into the sofa, Darcy massaged his forehead with one hand. Maybe he was destined to remain single. Maybe there was something inherently defective in his character. Elizabeth certainly seemed to think so.
She hadn’t even been particularly gentle or polite in her rejection. How had he read her so completely wrong?
He had been certain she liked him. She had teased him. Flirted. It had been flirting, hadn’t it? The smiles, the jokes, the coy looks—each one carefully stowed in his memory—flashed through his mind. No, he must have misinterpreted her behavior. Based on her reaction, she hadn’t been flirting. In fact, she barely tolerated him. Darcy had just grossly misread her signals. He groaned aloud. No wonder I’m still single. I should stick to public policy.
Georgiana had teased him that someone so socially inept should never run for public office. He thought he’d improved. Through the years in Congress and the Senate, he’d learned to read people and figure out what they wanted so he could work out mutually beneficial arrangements. He could supervise staff. Inspire voters. Get world leaders on board with his plans. His election to the highest office in the land proved that he wasn’t a complete failure.
However, he remained hopeless when it came to romantic cues. His ineptitude had helped to destroy his two long-term relationships. He still wasn’t sure what he had done wrong with those women, which was probably a sign he was hopelessly out of touch. And now this one was DOA.
Romance just isn’t part of my DNA. Gah. What a farce. He rubbed both hands over his face, staring at the bottle of wine—the label and year he’d selected so carefully. It would help him start getting trashed. Oblivious, floaty disassociation from reality would be far preferable to this gnawing ache.
But presidents didn’t have the luxury of inebriation, particularly not on Air Force One when it was crawling with press. The fundamental unfairness struck him forcefully. Everyone else in the world could get drunk as needed. When life handed them lemons, they could have a scotch on the rocks. But constant sobriety was one of the “privileges” of his office.
Damn the press. Damn the presidency. Damn it all! He didn’t want any of it.
In one motion, he shot to his feet, grabbed the wine glass and threw it at the opposite bulkhead where it shattered into a million pieces. He threw the other glass, relishing the energy of the throw and the loud crash of glass on metal. It wasn’t enough. His muscles itched for more destruction, and his hands moved restlessly until he grabbed the wine bottle and hurled it with all possible force. It crashed into the wall with a deeper and more satisfying sound, splattering wine and shards of glass all over the cushions of the other sofa.
Darcy stared at the wreckage as the scent of the wine permeated the room. That didn’t accomplish anything. I don’t even feel better.
All his energy suddenly drained away, and he slouched into the sofa cushions. God, he was a mess. A proud, difficult, socially inept mess. No wonder Elizabeth didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
How had he fooled himself into believing she could have feelings for him? After their first encounter he had uttered the blasphemous lie that she was stupid and unattractive—and then had insulted her family. It was the height of arrogance to think he could overcome such an inauspicious beginning. What were her words? “Proud and difficult.” Right on the money.
Of course, some of her dislike for Darcy was Wickham’s fault. Goddamn Wickham. Darcy hadn’t spoken to the man in two years, and he still managed to ruin Darcy’s life. Although to be fair, Darcy had done most of the ruining without any assistance. How had he misinterpreted her feelings toward him so thoroughly?
He stared at the door, which failed to provide any answers. Idly he wondered where Elizabeth had gone. Most of the guest seats were taken up by his staff as well as Aunt Catherine and her staff—people Elizabeth would no doubt wish to avoid. That only left…
Shit! He needed to tell Fitz!
Darcy lunged across the sofa for the white intra-plane phone, knocking the receiver off. Scrambling for it with clumsy hands, he finally got it up to his ear and pressed the right button. His cousin picked up on the first ring with a sleepy greeting. “Fitz,” Darcy said quickly, “I’ve got a problem. Can you come to the suite? And”—Darcy exhaled heavily—“you better bring Hilliard with you.”
Twenty minutes later he had finished explaining the whole thing to his press secretary and his cousin, whose mouths were hanging open so widely that it was almost comical. “You did what?” Hilliard yelled.
“He made a pass at her.” Fitz’s eyes were closed, and his shoulders slumped forward.
“I did not make a pass at her,” Darcy ground out through clenched teeth. “I kissed her.”
Hilliard tugged at the few hairs remaining on the top of his head. “Sir, that could be interpreted as a sexual assault.”
“She wasn’t unwilling!” he exploded. “She kissed me back.”
Hilliard rolled his eyes. “Yeah, try proving that in a court of law.”
Darcy dropped his head into his hands. How had things gone south so quickly? He’d been elated to finally get Elizabeth alone…and now, half an hour later, he was discussing possible accusations of assault. The bottle of scotch was more and more appealing, to hell with the press.
“I wanted to ask her on a date,” he moaned. “I just got…enthusiastic and kissed her first.”
Pacing as much as the small space would allow, Hilliard scribbled notes in his spiral-bound notebook. “Okay. Did she slap you or push you away?”
“No!” he insisted. “I wouldn’t—I thought she liked me.”
“What did she say?” Hilliard’s voice had a slightly hysterical edge.
“I don’t know.” Her words were the last thing he wanted to remember. “She made it clear she didn’t like me.”
The press secretary regarded Darcy blankly. “I could have been an accountant,” Hilliard said.
“What?” Darcy asked, turning to Fitz, who seemed equally confused by the non-sequitur.
Hilliard wasn’t looking at Darcy, and he almost seemed to be talking to himself. “Mom wanted me to be an accountant. I have a good head for numbers. And it’s low stress. But no, I wanted the excitement of politics. I just had to—”
“Bob?” Darcy tried to catch his eye.
Hilliard shook himself. “Never mind, sir.”
Fitz frowned briefly at Hilliard, but then his eyes came to rest on Darcy. “Why doesn’t she like you, Darce? I don’t get it.”
“Well, I called her ugly and stupid.”
Both men gaped at him. “Not to her face!” he added hastily. “And not in public! It was just that—well, her sister overheard…and so did she. Then her sister put it on Twitter. Okay, it sounds bad when I put it that way.”
“She’s that woman? I thought her name sounded familiar.” Hilliard paused his pacing long enough to make another note.
“I can’t believe she agreed to speak with you after that!” Fitz exclaimed.
“I apologized to her! Months ago.”
Fitz shook his head. “Still, you’re lucky you got anything more than a polite grin out of her.”
Darcy supposed that was true; he’d never thought of it that way. “She said a snob with an apology was still a snob,” he murmured.
Fitz chuckled. “I like her.”
Hilliard made an impatient gesture. “What else did she say? What else did she object to?”
“I was rude to her family and called them nouveau riche.”
Both men stared at him with wide eyes. “What?” Darcy asked.
“Are you sure she didn’t slap you?” Fitz asked.
“I would’ve,” Hilliard said under his breath as he returned his attention to his notepad.
“Very funny,” Darcy mumbled.
“No wonder you’re still single,” Fitz said.
Darcy massaged the back of his neck in a futile attempt to loosen tense muscles. “Um…there’s more…Somehow she found out that I also encouraged Bing to break up with her sister.”
“Shit!” Fitz snapped his fingers. “That was her sis— I’m sorry, Darce, I didn’t know.”
One mystery solved. Darcy waved it away. What was one more disaster in a whole string of them?
“Is there anything else?” Hilliard asked a bit desperately.
“Yeah.” Darcy gritted his teeth when Hilliard made the sign of the cross. “She also got a load about me from our friend Wickham.”
“Damnit!” Fitz punched the bulkhead.
“That is…not good,” Hilliard said slowly. Knowing Wickham might attempt to sabotage Darcy, they had discussed him at the beginning of the campaign.
“He told her I cheated him out of his inheritance,” Darcy spat.
In the ensuing silence, Darcy realized that Hilliard’s eyes had gone unfocused again. “Or I could have been a math teacher. They’re in high demand…”
Fitz watched the press secretary with concern. “Bob, maybe you should be thinking about a vacation.”
“Bob, focus!” Darcy said sharply.
“Sorry, sir.” Hilliard grimaced and made another note. “Okay…so we need to be…concerned about the media.”
“Understatement of the year,” Fitz muttered. Darcy glared at him. “When did she meet Wickham?” Fitz asked.
Darcy dug his hands into his pockets and slumped against the back of the sofa. “I don’t know for sure. I saw them talking at the Carlisle Ball.” The image of how Wickham had stood waaaaay too close to Elizabeth was branded in his memory.
A chill raced down his spine. “What if Wickham got his hooks into her? What if she’s dating him?” His skin crawled. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse…. “No. No. She said she didn’t have a boyfriend. But maybe it’s a casual thing…” Darcy grabbed the arm of the sofa against the impulse to race through the door and ask her.
Fitz clasped Darcy’s shoulder. “She’s smart. I’m sure she’ll see through him.”
Darcy gave Fitz a level stare. “Like she did with the story of the inheritance?”
“That isn’t relevant,” Hilliard snapped. “We need to focus on damage control. How did she come to be on Air Force One in the first place? She didn’t fly to Paris with us.”
Now Fitz stood and started pacing. Noticing the broken glass on the opposite sofa, he gave Darcy a speculative glance, which he ignored. Fitz leaned against the bulkhead. “Her flight was canceled.”
“So you offered her a lift?” Hilliard sighed.
Fitz shrugged. “I knew Darcy liked her, so I got him to invite her. I gave her a ride to the airport.”
“You procured a woman for your boss,” Hilliard said flatly.
Fitz stood up straight. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
Hilliard shook his head slowly, staring at his notebook. “I’m going to be subpoenaed one day, aren’t I? And I’ll have to testify in front of a congressional hearing. I should have become a fireman. When I was seven, I loved firetrucks. I never should have given up on my dreams.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Fitz protested. “There hasn’t been a woman who caught Darcy’s eye in ages. He’s been talking about Elizabeth Bennet for months but wouldn’t make a move because of the president thing.”
“With good reason,” Hilliard said, frantically scribbling on his pad.
“I thought I’d help him out,” Fitz finished.
“Big help.” Hilliard glowered at him. “Fitz, did he ask you to go out and get him a woman?”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “Darcy didn’t even tell me he liked the woman. I just guessed by how he talked about her.”
Hilliard looked up from his notepad. “Where is she now?”
Fitz’s head shot up in alarm. “Please tell me you got her a nice seat in the guest area,” he implored his cousin.
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose; they wouldn’t like the answer. “She stormed out. I don’t know where she went.”
Fitz pushed off from the bulkhead. Hilliard was already hurrying to the exit. “She could be speaking to the press right now! Why didn’t you start with that?”
Fitz gave Darcy a reproving look before both men disappeared through the door.