Eliza’s jaw ached from smiling.

She wondered if it was because her smiles were fake, or did happy people feel this way constantly? Not that it mattered, she couldn’t mingle with the guests another second and was relieved to sit and eat—without a smile on her face.

Jane, however, still flitted around like a social butterfly, and was completely in her element. By the time she sat down next to Eliza, Jane had plenty of news to share with the table and was excited to inform everyone that before the speeches and presentations, Lydia would perform first, followed by Eliza. Jane’s performance would come later in the night before the auction started.

Eliza inwardly cringed at the thought. The last thing she wanted to do was step behind the piano and fake proficiency. She was a capable but far from excellent pianist. Her mother encouraged them all as young children to play whatever instrument they fancied, but after her death, Eliza only ever played by request for her father, and occasionally for herself when nobody was around to hear. The sisters had agreed years before that they would continue playing at the ball in honour of their mother, but Eliza didn’t even want to do that this year.

She’d lost too much.

Although she was a young child at the time, the death of her mother still cut deep, or maybe it felt even more raw because they’d lost their father this year, and for Eliza that also meant losing her mentor. His death had opened old wounds; ones that Eliza didn’t have the time to tend. She needed to be strong, not just for her sisters, but for the company too. The entire board was waiting for her to fail. Being the first woman to head The Bennet Group didn’t help. The board members weren’t just waiting for her to go up in flames, they had their marshmallows already on sticks to toast on her pyre.

A server slid beside her and offered her a refill which Eliza declined, instead requesting an iced water.

“Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Jane placed her hand on Eliza’s arm and squeezed gently, sending comforting warmth over her cold flesh.

Eliza focused on her sister’s touch and her immaculately French polished nails, and forced a smile to appear before she looked up to her face.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Jane’s concerned gaze flitted over her face for a long moment before she decided to accept Eliza’s reply.

“Have you asked Lydia what she’s planning on singing?”

Eliza knew Jane was trying to lighten the mood, and she allowed her to do so, grateful that she didn’t push her further on her deteriorating disposition.

“I have no idea, but knowing Lydia, it will push the boundaries of what’s socially acceptable.”

Jane laughed uncomfortably and stole a look in Lydia’s direction.

“It can’t be anything worse than Like A Virgin, surely?”

“I wouldn’t put my money on it. She only settled on playing the flute last year because the man she had her sights on used to be a flautist in his youth.”

“Conrad wouldn’t let her embarrass him, not with all his business acquaintances here. I’m sure she’ll pick something suitable,” Jane said, more in trying to convince herself than anyone else, and the worry leeched out of her words. She wanted to believe being Conrad’s flavour of the month would be enough to tame their wayward, younger sister, but Eliza wasn’t so sure.

Dinner passed with delicious food accompanied by meaningless conversation. Jane was once more gliding around ensuring everyone was fed, happy, and ready for the rest of the evening, while Eliza was left conversing with one of Conrad’s wealthy associates. She swore if he asked one more time about whether she was stepping down as head of her company, she was going to stab her dessert fork in one of his beady eyes.

A delicate clearing of a voice over a microphone laid hush to the bustling dining room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for the generosity of your attendance here tonight, but before you leave your seats and rush to the bar, please allow my sister, the beautiful and talented Lydia Bennet, to entertain you for a while.”

Jane’s voice rang clear throughout the room, her adoration for her younger sibling evident on her face as she watched Lydia sashay across the front of the ballroom and elegantly climb the small set of stairs to the front of the stage. One of Lydia’s hands hitched up the swaths of red silk that made up the skirt of her evening gown, and she flashed a little more thigh than many women would as she traversed across the stage. Eliza prayed that was all she would over share with the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you please, Miss Lydia Bennet.”

Jane introduced her younger sister with an elegant sweep of her arm, handing her the microphone and stepping back into the darkness.

A single spotlight illuminated Lydia and every inch of her seductive curves. Eliza watched as she dragged her gaze across the entire assembly seeming to take in every person currently focused on her. Although, with the light in her eyes it would likely make her unable to see past the first few tables, but you’d swear Lydia was making eye contact with every single person in attendance.

When Lydia’s eyes landed on Eliza, the side of her mouth twisted up impishly, giving her older sister just enough warning of what was about to come.

This is going to be a car crash.

Lydia looked off to the side, and out of the shadows stepped a musician with a guitar. He looked a little rough around the edges for an event like this, but he was hardly a tattooed rocker high on drugs.

“This won’t be so bad,” Eliza muttered to herself and forced her shoulders to drop.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce the handsome, and irresistibly alluring, Stefano.”

Lydia turned to the man, and a wide grin broke her face before she once more faced her audience. “We met earlier today, and I used my compelling charms—” she winked and ran a hand seductively down her side “—to encourage him to accompany my performance tonight.”

With a sly smile, she added in a husk-filled voice, most likely for the benefit of Conrad, “I can assure you he’s very talented.”

Stefano plucked a few strings on his acoustic guitar before launching into the intro of a song Eliza couldn’t at first place. As soon as Lydia’s raspy tone purred the first few words about loving herself, and touching herself, Eliza knew exactly what song she’d chosen to perform for the crowd of privilege and wealth before her, and I Touch Myself by The Divinyls poured from her glossy, cherry-red lips. Lydia’s voice was coated in honey and whisky, and Eliza felt a collective intake of breath from every female in the room, followed by the shifting of seats from most of the men as they positioned themselves to get a better view.

Lydia exhaled the lyrics, following them with the trail of her fingertips over the sides of her breasts and across her taut stomach, stopping just above her pubic bone, before repeating the move over and over again as the song groaned and gasped its way to the crescendo.

I swear I’m going to kill her.

Eliza stood abruptly, her chair screeching across the marble at her feet.

A few heads turned to stare, but most remained locked on the brazen performance in front of them.

With clenched fists, Eliza marched from her front row table intent on finding the plug for that damned microphone and ripping it from the outlet, but she only got in a few strides before Jane’s hand landed on her wrist and tugged her to the side of the stage.

“Leave her,” Jane begged. “It will only make an even bigger scene if you drag her off the stage.”

She looked over the gobsmacked audience, and took in the faces of all those silently watching the youngest Bennet writhe and purr her way through an almost X-rated performance. The men all but drooled, mouths agape, eyes hungry, while the women either scowled or had their faces frozen in shock, disgust or a combination of both.

“I swear I’m going to throttle her. She knows how important tonight is for you,” Eliza hissed, her teeth gritted to the point of pain.

Jane’s shoulders slumped, and a look of sadness swept over her features before she steeled herself and plastered a tremulous smile on her face.

“Maybe I’ll auction her off for a date. I’m sure she’d raise a pretty penny for mother’s foundation, especially after this—” she cleared her throat, the words sticking in her oesophagus “—passionate performance.”

“If you don’t, I bloody will,” Eliza promised, her knuckles white and the tips of her newly manicured fingers cutting half-moons into her palms.

Both sisters lifted their gaze to their younger sibling in time to see the final word purred from her ruby red lips. Catching their stare, she winked saucily at them before turning to Stefano and placing a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth, leaving the musician lust-struck.

Satisfied with herself, Lydia turned back to the crowd, and took an exaggerated curtsy before gliding down the stairs straight to her seat. There she ignored Conrad’s malevolent glare and proceeded to drain the rest of her almost full glass of wine, finishing off the show by wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and purposely smearing the red coating her lips across her cheek—a final middle finger to everyone who watched.

Content that she’d done all she could—short of stripping and climbing a pole—to outrage both her family and the assembled guests, she got up and walked out of the room heading in the direction of the outside bar.

Eliza made to follow her and Jane pulled her back once more.

“She’s not as pleased with herself as she looks.”

Eliza locked eyes with the ever-optimistic and thoughtful Jane and replied sarcastically, “You’re right, she’s distraught with humiliation, me and the rest of this room are just reading her all wrong.”

“You are,” Jane said earnestly. “She’s just as lost as we are.”

* * *

Wick was rarely lost for words.

He was now.

Lydia Bennet had silenced the room, enraged most of the women—including her sisters—and enraptured every straight man in the audience. Including him.

“Well, that was… different,” Darcy commented, breaking the silence around their table. The woman to his left, Mrs Beaver-Wetter, tittered, the other men remained mute, and the final woman, a portly middle-aged Mrs Braun, muttered, “Hussy” under her breath.

All Wick could do was stare at the empty doorway that seconds ago was Lydia Bennet’s escape path.

She was more than he’d ever dreamed.

Shaking himself off, he pushed up from the table and ignored his brother calling, “She’ll eat you alive” to his retreating back.

And I’ll enjoy every second of it.

He found Lydia sat alone at the empty bar. This time, a young bartender served her while she sat straight and proud on a black, leather topped stool. The flawless skin of her exposed back begged to be touched, and the silk of her dress dipped low enough to let Wick know she was likely bare beneath the expensive fabric that clung to every seductive curve. All the blood south of his brain pooled in his groin leaving him light-headed.

“Don’t skimp.” Wick heard her order as he approached. “I like my wine to do the same as my men.”

“Fill you up?” Wick asked when he was almost at her side.

Lydia’s hand stalled on its way to her now full glass, but she didn’t turn to look at him before saying, “No, I was going to say smooth and quick to go down.”

Touché.

“I’d offer to buy the star of the evening a drink, but you seem to have that covered,” he said as he took the stool next to Lydia and then addressed the bartender. “Dirty Martini, less dirty more Martini.”

Lydia traced the tip of her pointer finger around the rim of her glass until a low hum buzzed through the air. Unsatisfied with the sound, she took another drink before dipping her finger in the burgundy liquid and repeating the process.

“A woman of many talents. I see you also play the glassware exceptionally well.”

Lydia continued with her ministrations while turning her full gaze on Wick and once more looking at him from waist to head before eventually locking her striking gaze with his.

She lifted her free hand and delicately pointed to the corner of her mouth while looking at the same spot on Wick’s face.

Wick’s brows furrowed in confusion.

She lifted her azure gaze to his and although her lips didn’t smile her eyes did when she said, “Wipe your mouth.” She tapped her finger once more to indicate where, and Wick moved to mimic the movement on his face. “Over a bit,” she instructed, and he instantly followed her directions, rubbing at the spot with the pad of his finger.

“A bit harder,” she continued. “There’s still a tiny bit of bullshit around your lips.”

Wick’s finger stopped dead, and he stared at her for only a beat before a face-splitting grin broke out on his face.

“I was wrong about you.”

He shook his head and picked up his drink.

“Most people are,” she confessed flatly.

“I thought you were a little bit naughty, but you’re not.”

“Really?”

“No,” he replied smoothly. “You’re absolutely fucking wicked and if I had my way I’d put a ring on your finger right now.”

Without hesitation, Lydia replied, “Okay.” Then slipped her purse under her arm and slid from the stool.

“Okay?” Wick stared at her in disbelief. “Okay to me having my way?” His disbelief turned into a lascivious grin.

“Okay to putting a ring on it.”

Lydia stood in front of Wick and challenged him to back down. He couldn’t tell if she was bluffing, but he was more than willing to call her on it, after all, he had nothing to lose and a hell of a lot to gain.

“Where?” He couldn’t help but ask, his mind running wild with plans and thoughts.

“Where else?” she questioned with a mischievous gleam in her eyes before taking a step towards him and guiding him from his seat. “Las Vegas of course.”

“Las? What?”

“Private jet, Mr Austen. Perks of being a Bennet. Now, let’s get out of here before my sisters come looking for me or are you about to chicken out?”

Wick knocked back his drink and all but slammed the glass down on the bar top, eyeing the bartender taking in their exchange with obvious fascination and not even bothering to be discreet about it.

“Lead the way, Mrs Austen-to-be. Where you go, I will follow. ‘Til death us do part.”