Chapter Eight
Huh? Was he serious? Wasn’t she too ugly and stupid? A flock of butterflies danced in her stomach. As much as the man’s touch electrified her, she found his company too nerve-wracking to desire more, but could she actually refuse? “W-Wh—I—” she stammered. Wasn’t her family nouveau riche? Hadn’t he been dying to get her out of the Residence? “I-I—” Reasons to decline were legion, but not one of them would be acceptable to voice.
His head tilted to the side as he considered her. “Oh,” he said suddenly, “unless your boyfriend would mind.” His lip curled as if the idea were distasteful to him.
Jane choked on a laugh. Bill would be the perfect excuse, but the thought was too mortifying. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Elizabeth informed him frostily. “He’s my…um”—Oh God, how to explain him?—“auction date,” she finished lamely.
“You won an auction for him?” The president’s expression was pained.
Surely her face was bright red by now. “I’m doing it for the hungry children…” she explained helplessly. Jane’s lips were pressed together, holding back laughter. “In any case,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth, “he won’t care who I dance with.”
The president’s gaze was disconcertingly focused. “Not a boyfriend?” She gave a definite shake of her head, and his shoulders relaxed. “So you can dance with me.”
“I guess.” She shrugged. Wait! No! He was the last man on earth she wanted to dance with! Wasn’t he?
President Darcy eyed the band, which had acquired some stringed instruments. “I think they’re about to play a waltz.” He extended his hand and led her briskly to the dance floor. Heads turned and people whispered behind their hands as the Secret Service agents “encouraged” the crowds to give way.
Why couldn’t I have managed a good excuse to decline? Thank you, I don’t dance. I’m honored, but my old football injury is acting up. I’d like to dance, but I’m too ugly and stupid.
The dance floor was crowded with couples, but nobody infringed on the president’s “personal space.” One of his hands held hers in a firm grip, and his other rested on her waist. His hand warmed her skin through the thin silk of her dress—so different from the moist creepiness of Bill’s grip. She was hyper-aware of his touch all over her body as if it had the power to travel through her bloodstream.
He cleared his throat as the opening notes of the waltz began. Oh, I’m supposed to put my other hand on his shoulder! The minute she did so, he swept her up into the dance.
Elizabeth’s dancing experience was limited. Long-ago lessons had faded in her memory, but fortunately the waltz was easy to recall. They whirled about the dance floor, moving so fast that the room was a blur of colors. President Darcy was a marvelous partner, leading her effortlessly around the floor. She scarcely thought about her feet. Their bodies were perfectly in sync, moving as one—as if they’d been dancing together for years.
His eyes never left hers. The stormy blue was quite dark in the ballroom lighting. “You’re very good,” he said earnestly.
“Not really. I’m just following your lead.”
“You’re very good at responding to my cues.” He licked his lips; her eyes followed every movement of his tongue. “Not every woman is so…responsive.”
Surely that breathlessness was simply a result of the dancing, but the sudden weakness in her legs was harder to explain. Did he mean his words to sound so…? Of course not. Find a safer topic of conversation. “You must have had lots of practice,” she said hastily.
“Cotillion classes,” he chuckled.
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “My mother required it. We learned to dance, escort a lady, walk properly, open doors for a date, and so on.”
What a fascinating glimpse into his childhood. “How old were you?”
His eyes grew distant as he considered. “Fourth grade? Maybe fifth.”
“I don’t believe that’s in your official biography,” she teased.
“It better not be,” he growled in mock anger. It was charming. This was a Darcy she could view as a friend.
“Are there pictures?” she asked.
“Yes. But they are safely stored in a box at Pemberley where no one can find them.”
Elizabeth had heard of Pemberley, the Darcy family home in the Hamptons. Surely it wasn’t as large as Carlisle House, but maybe it was just as opulent. “I bet you were very cute in a little suit and tie.”
“Not at all. My ears stuck out, and I wore thick black glasses.”
Their speed had not slowed. The ballroom continued to rush by in a smear of colors and faces. Cameras flashed constantly—a reminder that she wasn’t dancing with just any guy. “I wore glasses at that age, too, and I had skinned knees all the time from rollerblading or climbing trees.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “I’m not at all surprised.”
His thumb was stroking the back of her hand in little circles, sparking shivers that raced down her spine. Focus on the conversation. “I was an awkward girl: all knees and elbows,” she confessed.
There was an odd expression on his face. “Not many women would admit that.”
“I’m sure most people try to impress you. But it’s too late for me.” Elizabeth shrugged, and the president winced. “It’s rather interesting to speak the truth and see how you react.”
His head tilted slightly. “Why is that?”
“I want to know what makes you tick,” she responded promptly. “See the private man lurking beneath the public persona. The man behind the mask.” She was beginning to suspect that man was rather intriguing.
He scowled. “I don’t recommend that.”
Huh. How had her light banter provoked this reaction? “Is this one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ things?” she asked with a smile.
His lips twitched in amusement. “No. I just don’t believe such an activity would reflect well on either you or me.”
What an odd thing to say. What was he worried she would uncover? “If I don’t figure you out now, I’m not likely to have another opportunity.”
The last notes of the waltz were dying away, and around the dance floor couples were exchanging curtsies and bows. They slowed to a stop, but the president still held her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Did he even know he was doing that? “Do as you please,” he said rather stiffly. “But don’t be surprised if the results are not what you expect.”
He gave her a nod and stalked away. Elizabeth stood at the edge of the dance floor, abandoned. What the hell? Maybe he’s just naturally prickly. Or maybe there’s something about me that sets him off. But then why did he ask me to dance in the first place…?
Of course. He wanted to be seen with her in public. If Elizabeth danced with him…she obviously had no hard feelings over the ugly and stupid comment. His apology had dispelled her lingering anger, but now she was feeling used. He had danced with her to repair damage to his reputation; once his task was accomplished, he was finished with her.
Anger surged through Elizabeth’s veins. How dare he? Heels clicking on the wood, she practically sprinted from the dance floor. That was last time she would talk to William Darcy!
***
Darcy swept across the massive ballroom, two Secret Service agents clearing the way. There were only a couple of tables at the event, but one had been reserved for him. Darcy dropped into his chair and took out his phone, mostly so nobody would disturb him. In his current state, he might bite off someone’s head.
What was it about Elizabeth Bennet? Why was he so disconcerted at the idea that she wanted to see the real William Darcy?
The obvious answer was that he didn’t want her to know about his attraction to her, but it went deeper. Under her gaze he felt like everything had been stripped away, and he stood naked before her. He shuddered. That wasn’t even the most unnerving part of the experience. No, the thing that had him most rattled was that he rather liked it. He seemed to enjoy the idea of being dissected for her amusement.
Maybe she could already discern the flaws in his character, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought? At the same time he almost wanted her to get a glimpse of his secret fears and vices. Why on earth would he want something so torturous?
It's me, he decided. I’m easier with her around. She makes jokes I laugh at. It had taken all his willpower not to laugh aloud at her CIA-flavored jest. She treats me with…not disrespect…more like irreverence. He hadn’t known that was something he needed.
What a relief to learn that the mega-dweeb she entered the room with wasn’t her boyfriend! She’s a distraction. I should avoid events where she will be present. No…no…that would be rude…
Darcy’s chair jostled as Bing fell into the seat next to his. Jane gave her boyfriend a quick smile, laying her clutch on the table. “I need to find Lizzy.”
“Hurry back,” Bing said huskily. Darcy rolled his eyes.
After Jane disappeared, his best friend looked at Darcy. “I expected you to still be dancing with Elizabeth. I had to sit down because of my knee, but you could keep going.” Bing had a high-school soccer injury that troubled him occasionally.
Oh, I wish…. Darcy shook his head. “One dance was enough.”
“But—”
“There will be pictures of her on all the sites tomorrow. You know I only ever dance once with each woman.” The words emerged more sharply than he intended.
“I thought you might make an exception for Elizabeth.”
What was Bing getting at? Covering for his discomposure, Darcy gulped water from the glass in front of him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you like her.”
Darcy nearly choked on the water. “What?”
Bing was unrepentant. “You like her—more than anyone I’ve seen you with since college. In fact, you like her more than anyone. Period.”
“I can’t date while I’m in the White House.”
“I didn’t set up those rules,” Bing countered.
“No. I—”
“Hello, gentlemen.” Caroline Bingley’s nasal voice broke into their conversation as she inserted herself beside Bing. Darcy hastily averted his eyes; he wasn’t about to pursue that topic in Caroline’s presence.
“What have we here?” Jane’s cell phone had slid out of her clutch and rested on the table before Caroline.
Bing scowled and reached for the phone. “It’s rude to read other people’s texts.”
Caroline deftly grabbed it before he did. “Rude?” She read the screen, giving Bing a triumphant look. “Wouldn’t you like to know what the texts say about you?”
Bing hesitated but then shook his head. “No.”
“I think you do.” She smirked. “The text is from Fanny Bennet. I suppose that’s her mother—what a name!” Caroline cleared her throat and read in a passable imitation of Fanny Bennet’s screechy soprano. “Jane, very clever of you to find a way to stay overnight at the White House. Bing seems to like you so much. I’m sure we’ll hear wedding bells soon.”
She tossed the cell phone back on the table triumphantly. Bing had gone still and pale. Darcy’s stomach churned; he had thought Jane—like Elizabeth—was superior to her crass family. “Maybe it’s not what it seems like,” he suggested gently.
Bing gave a humorless laugh. “Or maybe it’s exactly what it seems like: she faked a back injury to stay at the White House and solidify her hold over me.”
The text from her mother was rather damning.
“It’s the money,” Caroline said.
“But they’re rich!” Bing exclaimed.
“You never had them thoroughly vetted, did you?” Caroline shook her head impatiently and muttered “Amateurs!” under her breath. “I did a standard background check and was planning to tell you on Monday. The accountant for On-a-Stick, Inc. recently embezzled a lot of money from the company. They’re teetering on the brink. Without a big infusion of cash, the company would have to sell out or risk bankruptcy.”
Bing went even paler. “Jane never said anything…”
Caroline regarded him as if he were a small child. “Of course not. She’s probably hoping to marry you quickly and then get Daddy’s money to shore up her family’s processed food empire. He’s well-known for investing in troubled businesses.”
All those mild looks Jane had given Bing…she’d never seemed as besotted with him as his friend believed. Certainly not as besotted as Bing. Why hadn’t Darcy noticed that before?
Bing stared into space as though he were struggling to process the sight of a horrific car accident he had just witnessed.
“Bing?” Darcy asked.
“She …did ask me about how Dad chose the companies he invested in…and if I knew anyone who needed PR help from her friend Charlotte’s firm. I didn’t think anything of it.” Darcy had to avert his gaze from Bing’s crestfallen expression.
“Of course she did,” Caroline crowed. Good Lord, was the woman capable of any empathy at all? Even for her own brother?
“There could be an innocent explanation—” Darcy offered.
“No, there couldn’t!” Caroline cried.
Bing’s expression was bleak. “Thanks, Darce, but you know this has happened before.” Bing’s heart had been broken by a gold digger in college. He had been head over heels, but she had only cared about what he could buy for her.
Darcy didn’t want Jane to be like that. But Fanny Bennet’s text left little room for ambiguity. Had the whole family been in on the scheme? Had Elizabeth’s medicine delivery been part of the plan—a way to sneak into the White House? No, then she would have flattered and flirted with him, not exercised her acerbic wit.
Bing’s face was gray and drawn. “Maybe you should talk to Jane about it,” Darcy suggested.
“Yeah.” Bing stared across the room, where his girlfriend was chatting with Elizabeth. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”
Darcy had no doubt that conversation would contain phrases like “this isn’t working anymore.” Maybe Bing was jumping to conclusions, but Darcy agreed with Caroline. It was unlikely there was an innocent explanation. Thank goodness I didn’t act on my disastrous feelings for Elizabeth Bennet! Her family is even worse than I thought.
“I never trusted those Bennet women,” Caroline said. “That Jane Bennet smiles too much. It isn’t believable.”
Darcy tried to catch Bing’s gaze, but his friend was still staring forlornly at Jane.
***
From a discreet distance, Elizabeth watched a drunken Kitty laugh, hanging on the arm of some senator’s son. So far Kitty’s behavior had occasioned many winces but nothing egregious enough to warrant intervention. Why did her family have to be so mortifying? Kitty spilled champagne on her dress provoking louder laughter.
Elizabeth checked her phone. She hadn’t even been at the ball for two hours, yet it already felt like the longest party of her life. The only saving grace was that Bill’s continued interest in Charlotte relieved Elizabeth of those obligations. In the meantime, she had nothing to do except fume about the president’s treatment of her.
“Lizzy!” Elizabeth had a one-second warning before her mother’s hand clamped onto her upper arm. “How did you secure a dance with the president?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
Elizabeth cringed. “He just asked me.”
“He hasn’t danced with anyone else. It must mean something!”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything. He probably just felt bad about calling me stupid and ugly.”
“Now, Lizzy, keep an open mind. Maybe he sees something in you that nobody else does.” Before Elizabeth could reply to this backhanded insult, her mother rushed on to the next topic. “But it doesn’t hurt to have more than one iron in the fire. Your eggs won’t fertilize themselves!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. God, I hope nobody else heard that.
“So I want you to meet this charming young man!” Without waiting for a response, Fanny dragged Elizabeth toward a knot of people.
“I’m here with Bill,” Elizabeth said.
“Pfft! Who cares about staplers?” Mrs. Bennet leaned close and whispered in Elizabeth’s ear. “He’s a congressman, and his uncle does venture capital for troubled businesses. They might invest in our company. Be nice to him.”
Elizabeth glanced at the group of partygoers. “Lydia is already ‘being nice to him,’” she observed.
“She is quite good at charming young men.” Mrs. Bennet gave a fond smile as her youngest daughter flashed her cleavage at the man next to her. “But I fear she may be too young for George Wickham. You’re just the right age.”
“I’m your go-to person for sarcastic quips,” Elizabeth objected, “but I’m no good at charming men.”
“If he’s not the right guy, you don’t need to go on a date with him,” her mother hissed in her ear as they approached the others. “Just be nice to him, chat him up.”
When Elizabeth balked again, her mother ordered, “Do it for the company!”
Damn. Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. That was a plea she couldn’t ignore.
The potential egg fertilizer was obligingly chatting up John Bennet while Lydia hung on the poor man’s arm like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic. George Wickham was tall, with well-defined cheekbones and a sensual mouth. His sandy brown hair was longish, nearly touching his collar, and slicked back from his face. It was a style Elizabeth didn’t particularly care for, but many women swooned over it. Apparently, Lydia was one of them; she tossed her head in annoyance as Elizabeth joined the group.
Fanny brazenly interrupted the ongoing conversation. “This is George Wickham,” she trilled to Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham, this is my second oldest daughter, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and managed to meet the man’s gaze. Her mother’s matchmaking was about as subtle as a falling anvil.
As he took Elizabeth’s hand, Mr. Wickham treated her to a blinding smile. No doubt he paid a fortune for teeth whitening. “Ms. Bennet.” Instead of shaking her hand, he turned the palm down and kissed the back.
“Ooh,” Lydia gasped.
Yes, he was attractive and gallant, but he was not the first congressman Elizabeth had met. “Who do you represent in Congress, Mr. Wickham?”
“Please call me George.” He again flashed that impossibly white smile. “And I represent the 12th congressional district: New York City.”
“Oh, New York,” Lydia echoed in awe. “So you’re a congressman.” He nodded placidly. “What do you do in your free time when you’re not making laws and stuff? Do you go shopping? There’s this little boutique on—”
Mrs. Bennet jabbed her youngest daughter in the ribs. “Ow! Mom, why’d you do that?”
Their mother glanced away airily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t have much time to shop.” George smiled ingratiatingly. “Crafting legislation and meeting with constituents is pretty time-consuming.”
“Oh.” Lydia pouted.
There was an awkward pause. Finally, Elizabeth’s father cleared his throat. “I was just telling George about On-a-Stick,” he said to Elizabeth.
“I am a big fan of the company’s products,” George said smoothly. “My favorite is Jerky On-a-Stick.”
At least he deigned to eat On-a-Stick products. Unlike a certain president. “That’s good.” Damn, what a lame thing to say. Usually she could hold up her end of a conversation with no problem, but maybe she was still rattled by her encounter with President Darcy. “They’re great products.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth didn’t know why George wasn’t nodding off to sleep given the boredom level in the conversation.
“Dear?” Fanny fluttered her eyelashes at John. “Would you like to dance?” Elizabeth’s dad stared blankly as his wife gave him a meaningful look. Elizabeth restrained an eyeroll; they were about as subtle as a runaway train. “This is my favorite song,” Fanny said.
George raised his eyebrows. While the band was on break, the DJ was playing a pretty hardcore rap song.
“It is?” John gave his wife a puzzled look, but when she gestured impatiently, he gamely took his wife’s arm and escorted her to the dance floor.
Lydia took the opportunity to edge closer to George like a spider luring a fly into its web. Oh God, I am such an awful sister. “Isn’t it cute how they still want to touch each other at their age?” She smirked at the congressman.
George looked slightly uncomfortable. “Er, yes.”
George’s uncle would never rescue the Bennets’ company if Lydia served as the family representative. Elizabeth would have to step in.
She felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her; President Darcy was staring at her again. Wait, no, he was watching George with narrowed eyes, and the congressman was smirking back. Maybe they were political rivals. George Wickham wasn’t a prominent name mentioned in political conversations, but he might be up-and-coming.
So the president didn’t want her talking to George? Maybe he shouldn’t have used Elizabeth to score political points. Elizabeth gave George a bright smile. “Would you like to dance?”
He glanced in President Darcy’s direction. “I’d love to. But I have two left feet.” He leaned closer to her. “I was actually thinking of touring the grounds. The music is rather loud.”
The silence outside would be a balm for her ears. “That would be wonderful.”
With a pleased grin, George held out his right arm—Lydia still had possession of the left—for Elizabeth to take. They promenaded awkwardly, three abreast, toward the exit as Lydia cozied up to the congressman, allowing her breast to brush his arm.
Elizabeth didn’t need to compete with Lydia over George, but she found her sister’s brazenness to be embarrassing and more than a little disturbing. Her parents had never tried to curb Lydia’s more wanton impulses, and it was probably too late now.
When they swept into the front hallway, the temperature dropped at least five degrees; Elizabeth sighed gratefully. They continued through the hallway and the metal detectors to the front of the house.
It was night, of course, but the Secret Service had brought in lights that illuminated the sides of the house. Fortunately, it was warm for May, and Elizabeth was quite comfortable with a shawl around her shoulders. George led the two women toward a path curving toward the back of the house and into a garden. The ornamental shrubs were early-spring green, and the azaleas were bursting with pinks, but the rose bushes and other plants were still rather bare.
George removed his tuxedo jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had a build that was more likely to be found on an athlete than a congressman.
As their feet crunched along the gravel path, both Lydia and Elizabeth wobbled in their high heels. Lydia clutched George’s arm. “Don’t abandon me! I can’t make it without you,” she teased. Elizabeth snorted.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” George said, his eyes darting to Elizabeth. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” Elizabeth rested her hand on a low stone wall to balance herself while she removed her shoes and stepped barefoot onto the gravel, made from rounded river stones. Her feet reacted like Medieval prisoners that had been released from the rack. “Ahh… much better.” George grinned at her.
They continued their perambulations. Much of the garden was in silhouette, but the light revealed clusters of daffodils and tulips. Everything was exquisitely maintained; the gardening budget must be huge.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about Congress. Which party do you belong to?” Elizabeth asked him.
“I’m a Republican,” he replied with an easy grin. “But I’m a pretty progressive Republican. You have to be to represent New York City.”
“I’m in favor of progress, too,” Lydia said.
George lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yes, unfortunately, in Washington one learns all too quickly the truth of the saying, ‘If the opposite of pro is con, what’s the opposite of progress?”
Lydia thought for a moment. “Congress?” She guffawed. “That’s a scream!”
“Do you work with the president much?” Elizabeth asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “Not professionally, but I know Will personally.”
“Who’s Will?” Lydia asked. “Oh! The president! You know him? That is so cool!” She edged closer to George, invading even more of his personal space.
“We grew up together,” George said in a humble-brag way.
“You grew up with the president?” Lydia’s eyes were wide and sparkling.
Huh. That was odd. “I’ve read a fair amount about President Darcy. I haven’t seen you mentioned in anything about his childhood.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t.” George’s mouth flattened to a thin line. “We had a…falling out a while ago, and his staff has tried to erase me from the official record.” He kicked a stone in the pathway.
“Really?” Lydia could scent juicy gossip like a dog smelled a steak.
Evidently being difficult and proud weren’t the president’s only offenses. Why would he pretend an old childhood friend didn’t exist? “Was it over political differences?” she asked. The president might have felt betrayed when George joined the other party.
George blew out a breath. “No, not at all.”
Now Elizabeth was even more curious. “What happened?” Lydia asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind telling us.”
George’s eyes glittered, reflecting the floodlights. He hesitated; a pained expression ghosted over his face, but he also seemed about to burst with suppressed energy. “It’s a difficult part of my past, but sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
Lydia nodded sympathetically, rubbing his arm with her hand. “You can unburden yourself to us. It’s an important part of the healing process.” Elizabeth suppressed a laugh.
“But you can’t share it with anybody else,” George said. “The story is rather…”—he swallowed hard—“personal.”
Elizabeth felt a sudden rush of sympathy. George might be overly dramatic in his presentation of the facts, but the memories seemed to genuinely pain him. “Of course, we won’t say anything,” she promised gently.
“Thank you,” George said.
“We’re trustworthy,” Lydia added.
George patted Lydia’s hand. “You’re a very kind soul.” Lydia beamed.
He led them into a more secluded part of the garden. “We can’t let anyone overhear.”
George perched himself on a boulder while Lydia and Elizabeth took seats on an opposite bench. He lowered his voice. “Will and I practically grew up together. My father was the chief operating officer of his father’s business. We played together as kids, went to the same school, had double dates.” George stared out into space, lost in the memories. “But then Darcy Industries went into a slump. My father was fired and lost everything. Somehow Mr. Darcy managed to hold on to most of his wealth and rebound.” George’s smile twisted bitterly. “My father always thought he paid off some people at the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
Elizabeth gasped. That would be a federal crime.
“My father died a broken and disillusioned man. However, when Mr. Darcy died seven years ago, I found out that he had left me a hundred thousand dollars in his will. I think he was trying to make amends to my family.”
Lydia was hanging on every word. “Yay!” She clapped her hands in glee.
George’s lip curled. “Will wouldn’t give it to me.”
Wow, this was worse than anything Elizabeth could have imagined, completely unbalancing her. She knew the president could be cold and abrupt and proud, but…
“Did you ask him for it?” Lydia asked.
George gave a harsh laugh. “Of course. But by then he had destroyed the original will, and he denied that it ever contained such a provision.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew up to her mouth. “How horrible! Can’t you sue him?”
“I could, but he warned me that I’d be going up against the best lawyers money could buy, and my legal fees could easily eat up any money I won as part of the case.”
What a shabby way to treat a childhood friend! Now Elizabeth regretted acquiescing—even grudgingly—to dance with the president. I should have stepped on his feet. “B-But you deserve that money! It’s yours.”
“Yeah.” George looked down at his hands. “But I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own. I’ve bootstrapped myself to where I am through hard work in my uncle’s company.”
Lydia’s eyes were shining. “That’s so admirable.”
He gave her a brief smile. “My mother says adversity builds strength of character.”
Elizabeth was still trying to wrap her mind around the depths of the president’s treachery. Why does it bother me so much? I knew he was a jerk and we’d never be buddies. “Have you ever considered going to the press about it?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But we belong to opposing parties, and the press loves Will. They’d just think I was making it up, and I don’t have a shred of proof.”
Lydia made a sympathetic noise, dabbing her eye with a tissue.
George looked up at the moon, the cool light illuminating his fine features. “If I spoke out now, it would only hurt the country.”
“How good you are…to put the needs of the country ahead of yours.” Lydia sighed.
He shrugged. “I can only pray that Will is behaving just as admirably. He’s very good about looking like a boy scout, but he’s ruthless when he wants to be. I worry…what’s actually happening at the White House that we’ll find out later?”
Elizabeth shivered. She had never thought President Darcy as bad as all that! Such a lack of honor could be devastating for the country, particularly after his predecessor’s egregious behavior.
George slid off the boulder. “He is doing some good things for the country, but someday the country will see the real William Darcy. I just have to wait.” His gaze landed on Elizabeth. “I saw you dancing with him and wanted to warn you.” He crept a little closer to her. “I wouldn’t want you to fall into his trap.” He held her eyes. “You seem like a nice girl, and he’s good-looking, powerful, rich. But he’s bad news.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Thank you. A warning is quite unnecessary. I don’t know why he asked me to dance, but he doesn’t really like me. And I’m certainly not establishing a Washington, D.C. chapter of the William Darcy fan club anytime soon.”
Wickham’s mouth opened slightly. “Oh, I thought…the way he looked at you…” He abruptly closed his mouth.
Lydia snorted. “You think he likes Lizzy?”
Did Lydia have to be quite so incredulous? “My family isn’t nearly old enough money for him,” Elizabeth told George.
“He is a snob,” George said quickly. “The whole family is. His sister is even worse, but”—he smiled smoothly and took another step toward her —“I can’t imagine any man not finding you fascinating.”
Elizabeth chuckled. His flirting was outrageous.
Lydia cleared her throat. “My mother says I’m fascinating, too. I took a philosophy class last semester.” George frowned at this apparent non-sequitur, but his gaze stayed fixed on Elizabeth, especially her lips.
What is wrong with me? A cute guy is flirting with me, and I can only feel hurt at the revelation of the president’s perfidy. Despite herself, she had begun to like him, but George’s story was a timely warning that she couldn’t trust the man; he was a politician and looked after his own best interests. In the future, she vowed she would avoid him altogether.
Lydia’s phone chirped, and she pulled it out of her clutch, giggling at whatever she read. “OMG! I need to go meet Maria in the ladies’ room!” she announced. “She just found out why Olga broke up with Jared.” Within seconds Lydia had disappeared, her attraction to George not nearly as acute as her need for gossip.
In Lydia’s absence, the garden was very dark and very isolated. Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I should be getting back—”
George laid his hand on her forearm. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I feel very drawn to you…” They were nearly chest to chest.
Elizabeth was momentarily stunned. The man moved so quickly. His hand traced along her jaw. “I think we have real chemistry,” he said huskily.
“Uh…” Her brain was formulating a response when he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, soft and tentative. Not demanding. Nice in its own way.
But it did nothing for her. The president’s touch to her fingertips was far more thrilling. Damn it. Why did her libido have to be such a poor judge of character? Why couldn’t she be attracted to a nice, charming guy like George instead of a jerk like President Darcy?
He pulled away from her and smiled. “I knew we had chemistry!” Apparently, he didn’t recognize the taste of chemistry.
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe we could—”
Elizabeth took a step back. “George, I’m flattered, b-but…this is moving a little fast…”
“I didn’t mean to rush you.” He held up a placating hand. “I’m just so attracted to you….”
Elizabeth’s phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her clutch, she saw a text from Jane: “Call me.” She made an apologetic face. “I should go and—”
“Could I at least give you my number?” George’s eyes pleaded with her. “Then I can call you for a proper date.”
Elizabeth managed a smile; she’d find a way to let him down easy. “Of course.” She rattled off her number.
“All right.” He pumped his fist, grinning broadly as he punched it into his phone.
Elizabeth said goodbye, smiling absently as her thoughts focused on Jane. Turning without a backward glance, she hurried toward the front of the house—as fast as she could on bare feet—while calling up Jane’s number on speed dial.
“Lizzy, where are you?” Jane’s strained voice sent a thrill of fear down Elizabeth’s spine.
“Outside getting some air. Is something wrong?”
“I want to go. Can you meet me at the valet stand?” Jane’s voice broke on the last word.
“Sure.” Elizabeth picked up her pace. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Bing—” Jane’s voice wobbled, and she started over. “Bing broke up with me.”