Darcy slept using his expensive tuxedo jacket as a pillow because he didn’t want to bother the flight attendant and seem like a spoiled rich asshole, and he didn’t want to earn the glare of the ice princess on the other side of the aisle.

He found this whole jaunt to Las Vegas preposterous, but tagged along to see the great Eliza Bennet apologise when she was proved wrong.

Preferably on her knees.

In front of him.

With her smart mouth… filled.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching McCarran International. Please ensure you are seated for our descent. Rachel, your hostess, can bring you anything you require while you fasten your belts. Thank you for flying with us today. On behalf of Lady Ashworth, I hope your flight was pleasurable and that you enjoy your stay in Las Vegas.”

Darcy came awake suddenly to the overloud voice of the pilot and immediately wiped his mouth in case he’d drooled.

He’d meant to nap, but he felt like he’d slept hard, and he was sure his face bore the crease marks and texture of his suit jacket.

“Nice of you to join us,” Eliza’s cultured voice rasped from across the aisle. “I was planning on letting sleeping beauty stay on board to continue on to wherever Lady Ashworth’s jet was going next.”

“I’m sure you’d rather I wasn’t here,” Darcy replied at the tail end of a yawn—one he didn’t bother to cover with his hand. “But unfortunately, it’s not just your useless and irresponsible sibling we are chasing.”

He rubbed a hand down his face to wipe away the sleep, then around to the back of his neck where he squeezed at his stiff muscles, and then up through his dark wavy hair, trying and failing to tame the wayward strands that threatened to turn into full curls.

Silence fell between them both as they felt the plane bank slightly to the left and then began its descent.

Darcy’s ears popped as they always did on landing, and he swallowed hard to try and clear them. Because of this, Eliza’s next words seemed muffled, as though she was speaking underwater.

“…always…handful. When… naughty…craving…”

Darcy’s ears cleared and he turned to face Eliza.

“I’m sorry, I think I misheard. Could you repeat the part about your naughty cravings?”

Eliza’s mouth gaped open at his suggestive teasing, and Darcy almost choked on his reactionary laugh. She promptly snapped it shut and narrowed her eyes before enunciating through her tight jaw, “Get your mind out of the gutter. I said, Lydia has always been a handful. When she was young, she was naughty, always up to no good and craving attention. This is just another way to get all eyes on her, or more specifically, mine.”

Darcy stared at the woman across from him, one he was finding infinitely more attractive by the minute, and went to say something about also enjoying her eyes on him, but the plane landed with a jostling bump and the moment was lost.

As he unbuckled his belt and shook out his jacket, he took the time to do the same to those unbidden thoughts in his head.

He was not attracted to Eliza Bennet.

Not now. Not ever.

Their dishevelled and travel-weary party disembarked the plane to find a town car waiting for them. George, Eliza’s assistant, was obviously very competent at ensuring her employer’s needs were met, and the entire journey from TBG’s office ran like clockwork.

Darcy could use an assistant like that for himself if he were ever able to afford one, but maybe he’d go for someone a little less… handsy, or eyesy as in George’s case. Darcy was sure she’d stripped him naked with her eyes several times before they’d left TBG.

“Where are we heading first?” Jane enquired, standing close to Bing’s side next to the open doors of the vehicle.

Eliza looked up, strands of her windswept hair blocking her eyes from Darcy’s view and replied just loud enough for him to catch, “Where Lydia always goes in Vegas. The Mansion.”

Darcy assumed The Mansion was a private property. He was wrong.

It was part of the MGM Grand. A very exclusive part.

“How the other half lives,” he muttered to himself as they pulled up in front of the imposing mansion surrounded by private villas. On hearing his words, Bing nudged him with his elbow and gave a subtle shake of his head. Darcy looked at his brother and saw a look on his face he hadn’t seen before—concern. Not for him or for Wick he suspected, but for the woman that was once again by his side, despite the seats opposite them being vacant and Eliza having the entire space to herself.

He should have thought it odd earlier that the sisters didn’t sit next to each other, but he was too caught up in his internal admission that he was attracted to the frosty, unapproachable, often arrogant, always antagonising Eliza Bennet.

“I’ll check in with Raul. He wasn’t available when I called earlier, and they don’t have any record of Lydia being here, but I don’t doubt she used a fake name.”

“Try Fanny Price,” Jane suggested as Eliza’s car door opened and the driver stepped back to let her disembark. “Lydia always loved Mansfield Park.” With a furrowed brow, she added in a whisper that was still loud enough to be heard by all, “Mostly because that name sounds inappropriate these days, but father was impressed with her knowledge of classic literature. He never caught on to Lydia referring to the heroine as a ‘woman with the perfect name for a high-priced hooker.’”

“Lydia wouldn’t know classic literature if it bit her on the arse,” Eliza retorted with an unamused snort. “She only knew of Fanny Price because of the made for television adaptation. Father always did fall for her schemes.”

The last part of Eliza’s sentence was said with a begrudging fondness for her recollection of Lydia and Charles Bennet’s relationship.

Something in Darcy softened at Eliza’s tone, and he allowed himself to feel an emotion other than a humorous dislike for the woman before him.

“Should I call Pemberley?” Jane called out to her sister as Eliza took a step away from the car.

“No need,” she answered without turning back. “I already have. We’re expected there at some point today. We can stay however long we need.”

And with that, she was gone, striding towards the magnificent mansion with purpose, her exquisite curves encased in a ball gown that she wore like a power-suit.

Darcy had never known a woman like her. She was an enigma, and he always loved a puzzle. But with this woman, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever work her out, or if he did, would he come to the end of the mystery and find pieces missing—not of her, of him.

“Where is Pemberley?” Darcy asked half-heartedly, wanting to give himself something to do other than stare out of the open door at the space where Eliza no longer stood. “Another hotel or family home?”

Jane didn’t reply, and he tore his gaze away from the bright lights outside to look at her questioningly. She smiled at him with a wry twist of her lips before ducking her head to hide her spreading grin.

“It’s not where is Pemberley, it’s who is Pemberley? And the answer to that question is Eliza’s oldest and best friend. She has a home here. In fact, she has homes almost everywhere.”

“That’s quite cryptic of you Jane,” Darcy replied smugly. “Is she a woman of mystery?”

“Shitting hell,” Bing exclaimed, cursing uncharacteristically and gaining both his and Jane’s attention before turning to them with a face filled with wide-eyed awe.

“You’re talking about Pemberley Gardiner, aren’t you? The Pemberley Gardiner? The highest paid actress in the world.”

Darcy sat up in his seat. Pemberley Gardiner was a superstar and their generation’s Marilyn Monroe.

“Yes, but don’t get star struck, she hates it. To us, she’s just Pembs.”

“Just Pembs?” Bing all but shrieked, his voice becoming comically high pitched, like a teenage girl experiencing her first boy band concert. “You can’t expect us to think of her as just Pembs. We’ve watched all her films.”

“Including the last one where she was nude for most of it,” Darcy added helpfully, making his brother blush in remembrance of the critically acclaimed, Oscar-winning movie about a post-apocalyptic world where women were used as currency. To say it pushed boundaries was an understatement.

“She’s also married, Darce,” Bing mumbled as if thinking of Pemberley Gardiner naked could be wiped out of his head by the mention of her wedding ring.

“Yes, she is,” Jane confirmed through a barely contained chuckle, obviously enjoying Bing’s reaction to her family friend. “Collins isn’t quite the husband you’d think, and I doubt we’ll see him this visit. They rarely spend time in the same city.”

“Collins Forster doesn’t want to spend time with his wife when his wife is the Pemberley Gardiner?” Darcy questioned disbelievingly.

“Stop putting the before her name. I don’t want to meet her and say ‘Oh, hello, The Pemberley Gardiner,” Bing begged a little too candidly, causing both Darcy and Jane to snort.

“Bing,” Darcy forced out through his barely restrained chuckling. “I’m sure you’d charm the knickers off her if you addressed her in such a way.”

Bing’s face turned serious, and he shot a sideways glance at Jane before levelling Darcy with a glare—an expression rarely seen on his normally laidback brother’s face.

“I admire her success, but I can assure you I have no interest in charming anyone’s—” he cleared his throat and reluctantly forced the next words out on an almost whisper “—knickers off them.”

Jane’s head shot up in interest before she caught herself and lowered her gaze.

“Well, that is to say, I’d rather not charm anyone to do something they didn’t wish to do. I’d hope disrobing would be a mutually agreed activity and with someone that’s not married, and…”

“You’re blathering,” Darcy interrupted mockingly with a big grin on his face. “And digging yourself a hole.”

“I am not blathering,” Bing declared in outrage, and then in a softer more controlled voice that Darcy assumed was more for Jane’s benefit than his. “I’m explaining that my interests aren’t on other women, that’s all.”

Darcy almost quipped ‘Are you swapping sides on us, Bing?’ but thought better of it when he caught his brother and Jane locked in a silent look. There may have been no words exchanged between them, but like his brother, Jane wore her emotions for all to see, and what Darcy saw was two people so caught up in each other it was both painful and wonderful to watch.

Turning his head to give them privacy, Darcy once more stared out of the open car door to the mansion beyond.

He heard Eliza returning before he caught sight of her lean, yet hourglass figure, and when she climbed into the car her face was locked in the steely persona Darcy was coming to expect and dislike in equal measure. He craved her fire, and he wanted her wrath—he didn’t want her ice.

“Fanny Price is checked into one of the villas with a mystery guest.”

Jane’s face lit up, and she quickly moved from her seat to sit next to her sister.

“That’s good, isn’t it? It means we can stop all this silliness.”

“Miss Price and her guest called for a car over an hour ago. The driver hasn’t been reached to confirm their whereabouts, but their last stop was at the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau.”

Eliza’s penetrating gaze locked on Darcy.

“Why would your brother go to a charity ball with a passport in his pocket? Because he would need it to fly here and to get a marriage license.”

“I’m not my brother so I can’t answer that question,” Darcy admitted honestly. He returned Eliza’s look with a softer one, both due to the shock of finding out that Wick was indeed about to marry the younger Bennet and at the glassy sheen to Eliza’s eyes. The oldest Bennet could undoubtedly hold her own, but Darcy saw through the walls she erected and caught a flash of vulnerability.

“Do we know where they’re planning to go after that?”

It was Jane who answered him.

“Little White Chapel.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

This time it was Eliza who answered but not before she took Jane’s hand in hers.

“Because our parents eloped and got married there.”

* * *

Wick had to keep telling himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

A beautiful woman not only wanted him in her bed, but was also about to marry him.

Everything he’d set out to achieve by attending that charity ball had come true and then some.

Praying to his forefathers didn’t seem like such a cheesy thing to do after all. Maybe he should send up a thank you.

“I will, once the deal is sealed.”

Wick’s head snapped up from his thoughts and he watched Lydia as she sat opposite him talking on her phone.

They were currently inside yet another Rolls Royce, and sat outside a car rental store. He wasn’t sure what they were doing there as Lydia shared very little with him, and he was wary of questioning her too much and bursting their bubble. So, he followed her lead and allowed her full control.

“No, no press announcement.”

Wick wasn’t sure what to make of the snippets of conversation he was hearing. Lydia was obviously talking to someone who knew what they were doing and who were currently attempting to manage the situation and ensure some damage control.

“Just make sure it’s done. No, no they haven’t found us yet.”

Who hadn’t found them? Surely there wasn’t anyone looking for them. It wasn’t like they’d broadcast their intentions and posted an engagement announcement in The Times. Nobody knew that on their way to the airport last night, Wick had made a detour to his apartment to grab his passport. Hell, he’d even left his phone on the table at the ball, so there was no way he could inform anyone of his upcoming nuptials.

Lydia ended her call and stared out of the window at the rows upon rows of cars outside. Wick wanted to craft a connection with her over and above sex and the fact they were about to marry, so he got up and moved to sit next to her.

“Want to talk about it? I might not look it, but I’m a good listener.”

Lydia stayed silent for a beat and then released a breathy sigh.

“My lawyer is emailing a prenup to the wedding chapel. You need to sign it before the deed is done.”

“A prenup? That includes what?”

Wick’s stomach tensed in painful knots. He never envisaged this possibility, then again, he didn’t foresee marrying Lydia Bennet within hours of meeting either.

Without looking at him, Lydia dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes before replying, “A gagging order and a one-off, ten-million-pound payment if we remain married for at least a year. If we divorce before that time, you get nothing.”

Her eyes popped open, and a challenging gleam filled her gaze.

“Why do you ask, dearest? These things are inconsequential. After all, we are marrying for love, are we not?”

Wick opened his mouth but didn’t have the words to respond because his brain was too busy calculating figures.

Ten million for twelve months. Enough to save Austen’s? Not the state it’s in now.

A deliberate smile filled his lips, and he took one of Lydia’s hands in both of his before offering earnestly, “I don’t want anything. Get them to remove the pay-out. I’m not after your money.”

Lydia scoffed. “I may act in haste, dearest, but never without thinking things through. What else could you want from me other than money? We both know it’s not love.”

Wick allowed his smile to break into a grin and he squeezed Lydia’s hand tightly in his.

“I want you. I want us to work together and build something stronger than love.”

“Stronger than love? And what, pray tell, do you think I want more than that?”

“Power. You want to beat Eliza at her own game, and I’m going to give you that chance.”

Lydia stared at the man beside her, tilting her head to take him in and to try and work out what angle he was playing. She let her gaze roam over his strong features, thick hair, and sharp jaw, down to his full mouth that she knew could do wickedly delicious things to her body. Although Wick Austen was undeniably handsome, she also knew he had no wealth, and no way to promise her such things as challenging her sister.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“Marry me, and I’ll share my stake in Austen’s on the proviso that you come and work with me. Together we can make it into a company to rival The Bennet Group.”

“The catch?” she questioned, knowing there always was one.

“It will cost you more than ten million.”