Chapter 5

DATES AND DIVULGENCES

“You were supposed to take me out,” Elizabeth said several hours later. “Not take me home.”

“I disagree,” Darcy replied, smoothly pouring her another glass of Pellegrino. “You are not at your home; therefore, you are out. And I brought you here. So, I took you out.”

She could hardly complain, actually, not when dinner had consisted of the best yakitori she had ever eaten. Somehow Darcy’s housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, had produced skewer after skewer, none of which were exactly the same. The variety meant she had to keep tasting and tasting, while she and Darcy kept talking and talking, with the end result being that her stomach was full to bursting…and so was her heart.

Seeing Darcy’s house had been a big surprise for her. She would have imagined some über-sleek bastion of finance-bro style but instead found a surprisingly homey house with the charming old-money look. Everything around her was expensive, she knew that—original art, designer furniture carefully mixed with antiques, hand-knotted rugs—but it didn’t scream it. Like Darcy himself, wealthy without the need to shout it out. She loved Bingley but he, in contrast, definitely enjoyed all his leisurewear emblazoned with Gucci stripes and logos.

Talking to Darcy over dinner had been surprisingly easy, even interesting. One subject had led to the next, and Darcy was all ease and friendliness, until she had decided to ask him about his relationship with George Wickham. George had briefly been a neighbor in the same apartment complex where she lived, and they had become friends. For a short time, she had even imagined it might go somewhere else, but then he brought home some redhead one night and she realized she didn’t much care about it. But she’d enjoyed their friendship and had been sufficiently charmed by him to believe his tales of being wronged by the sadistically cruel Darcy, his former best friend.

On her question, Darcy’s face went carefully blank, and he twirled an empty skewer between his fingers for a few seconds before answering.

“We…grew up together,” he said finally. “I’ve known him since I was five or six, I think. His father worked for mine, and they both loved lacrosse and wanted to start a youth league at the school George and I attended.”

The way he said it made Elizabeth think more was coming, so she waited quietly.

“My dad coached, with Mr Wickham as his assistant, through…oh, until we were both in high school. George was honestly a very gifted player. I was the kid who’d never have gotten in the game if I wasn’t the coach’s son.” He laughed at that, comfortably, but she could tell it was something that had likely once pained him.

“I doubt that’s true,” she said gently.

“Oh no, it is true. It took me a good while to get used to my height but truthfully, I never envied George his talents on the field, especially not when his father had a heart attack at one of the games.” Darcy shook his head. “I can’t help but pity him for that, seeing his father die on the field he loved so much.”

“Terrible,” Elizabeth said softly.

“My father continued to support him—lacrosse isn’t cheap, and his mother never seemed to have enough money. When he was being recruited by colleges, it was my father who took him on the trips to UVA and Notre Dame and Duke and helped him eventually sign with UVA. He got some money to play but of course lacrosse isn’t a big money sport like football, so it was my father who made up the difference. He didn’t want George to come out of college saddled with a lot of student debt.”

“That was good of your father. He must have thought really highly of him.”

“He did. He definitely did.” Darcy nodded and took a drink. “Of course, my father also seemed almost willfully blind to some of George’s…tendencies. George liked to party, and I am almost certain that had he not been their star player, he’d have likely either flunked out or had disciplinary action taken against him. There were rumors of hazing, reports of a recruit who almost died, and several girls came forward with claims of being roofied. But it all seemed to magically go away, courtesy of a national championship and George being team MVP.”

“Gross,” Elizabeth said with a frown. “I hate that sort of thing, but I know it happens, likely at every school in the country.”

“George came to work for Pemberley after graduation,” Darcy continued. “I knew he had messed around a lot in college, but I had hoped he was ready to grow up, become a decent person. Unfortunately…not so much. He never did any real work, there were claims of harassment by clients and coworkers—it was not a difficult decision to let him go. He even made an attempt—a very clumsy attempt, thankfully—to embezzle some money.

“Of course, I felt guilty—my father and his mother had both died by that time and it seemed like I should honor my father’s legacy by continuing to help George. So, I invested in a few business ventures of his, but after the first three or four it became pretty clear that George had no intention of actually working for anything, so I stopped. That’s when he really got vengeful.”

Elizabeth hadn’t realized that Darcy had a sister who was still in high school, and she was horrified to learn that George had decided to target her.

“He began by direct messaging her on her social media. Georgiana knew him of course, or knew of him, and she assumed he was still my friend, so she trusted him. I had no idea any of it was happening, or I’d have told her that we weren’t on speaking terms, but she didn’t mention it and I didn’t ask.”

He shook his head. “She met him out at least once without me knowing about it but thankfully I stopped her the day she was meant to go to his apartment. I sent a cop who is a friend of my cousin Richard, but there was really nothing the cop could do but give George a bit of a scare. Rich and I both know what George is up to at those clubs, and underage girls are likely the least of it. He deals; Richard has heard that he’ll sell someone what he needs to roofie a girl right in the middle of one of his sets, but so far, they haven’t had a break in catching him.”

Elizabeth was sitting immobilized by her shock. By then they had moved to Darcy’s incredibly comfortable couch, their knees almost, but not quite, touching, while they talked. He was not looking at her, but she was looking at him, feeling her own stupidity wash over her like a tidal wave.

She cringed, thinking of the various barbs she had tried to throw at Darcy about George, hinting that Darcy should be a better friend to him, that Darcy had owed George money! Yes, George had told her he worked for his former friend, but he’d accused Darcy of withholding bonuses and reneging on contracts. Thinking of that now, if it were true, wouldn’t George have taken legal action? Good lord, how had she been so stupid! So blind!

Her eyes began to swim with tears of sorrow and embarrassment. It was absolutely astonishing that Darcy did not loathe her by now. She loathed herself, particularly when she realized why it was that George had taken her in so easily. All because he was handsome and charming, and she’d been flattered by it, by his flirtation with her.

It had been so easy to believe Darcy the villain. The first night they met, she’d been wearing orange shorts and a white tank top, having come straight to Jane’s apartment from working out. She’d had no idea anyone would be there other than their usual girl gang and had almost been ready to leave when she’d overheard Bingley urging Darcy to go talk to her. Darcy had replied by telling his friend that unless she was there to take his wing order, he wasn’t wasting time with a wannabe Hooters girl. With that she decided that Darcy was a douchebag, and that she would hate him forever.

Of course, later, it did occur to her that the tank she’d been wearing was from OVO, which also happened to have the owl as its logo. So, in fact, what she was wearing did look very similar to uniforms of Hooters’ wait staff.

Misunderstandings. They had been the hallmark of their…friendship? More like the bane of our existences, she mused, but then thought, wildly, well, let’s see if he misunderstands this. And then she kissed him.

He did not misunderstand that one bit, grabbing her to stop her from withdrawing and somehow, eventually, pulling her onto his lap.

Good kisser, she thought awhile later, somewhat incoherently. Really good. Scarily good.

She was just beginning to wonder where it was going, where she wanted it to go, when he broke things off with a little gasp and one last peck on her lips. “I should stop. Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. She slid off his lap, back to her own spot on the couch. What if all of her foolish prejudices and not-so-hidden barbs had made him decide he didn’t really like her? “I don’t mean to assume anything.”

“Don’t go all the way over there.” He reached for her hand, tugging her back to his part of the couch. “That was the best ten minutes of my life.”

“Mine too,” she admitted, suddenly feeling shy. “Was it really only ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes, ten hours… It doesn’t matter how long it was, all I know is that it’s not enough. I want more.” He smiled, looking sexy and dreamy all at once. “I want it all, but I plan to court you properly.”

“Court me?” She laughed even as she thought how she secretly really liked that about him. He could quote Shakespeare, he knew which fork to use, and he wanted to court her. “You don’t mean like a side-hug, cultish kind of thing, right?”

“No,” he said. “I mean like a gentleman who’s fallen in love and doesn’t want to ruin it with too much too soon. I’m playing the long game with you Elizabeth and I want, more than anything, for both of us to win.”