Page 65 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

"Is he? Anaristocrat?”

She realized she still knew little about Darcy. Boarding school with Charlie, Georgiana as half-sister, philosophy student at Cambridge, MI-6 agent. That didn't add up to much, although it was more than nothing.

Kellynch chuckled at her question, perhaps a bit at himself. "To be honest, I'm not sure. He has unusual influence with my counterpart at MI-6,seriouspull for a mere agent. And, well…you've spent time with him. Whatever the explanation, he's not the kind of man you refuse easily."

No.The earlier ache reclaimed Lizzy's body. Yeats and immediate heat. Darcy in her bedroom.No—he's not.

She sat down on the bed, crossing her legs tightly. "I suppose not," Lizzy made herself say aloud, lightly. "Is there anything else?"

The sound of Kellynch's fingers drumming his desk pulsed in the background from the other end of the phone, a percussive accompaniment to his throat-clearing. "No, nothing else. But, as this call makes clear, I'm breaching protocol, and so I’mauthorizing you to do the same. If anything happens that bothers you, anything that suggests Darcy's compromised,let me know. I'll get you out of there, you and Bingley. And Darcy, too?save him from himself, if need be."

As if I weren't under enough pressure, stretched too far already, now I'm stretched between Darcy and Kellynch.

"I'll let you know if anything happens, if anything worries me."

Another moment of silence. "You can work with him, then? Yourespecthim? You’re past whatever it was in my office that night?"

"Yes."I do. I am.

"Thanks, Agent Bennet. I've always counted on you. You're more than…well, you've always been special."

"Thank you, sir."

Lizzy waited for him to end the call and then balanced her phone on her knee. Leaning forward, exasperated, she ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head gently as she did so.

Darcy, Kellynch, Wickham.

Shit?Wickham!

She still hadn't decided what to wear.

It was 5:30 p.m.

***

She eventually chose a long, oversized red sweater and a pair of black yoga pants. Lizzy stood in the bathroom barefoot, assessing herself. The outfit looked appropriate for loungewear and comfortable, but it had no arrow pointing to the bedroom. It was on the outer margins of what Wickham would be hoping for. She pulled her hair into a loose, messy ponytail. It would do. Her reflection smiled at her, the smile uninviting.

The bathroom counter felt cool against her hands as she leaned against it. On a whim, she bowed and rested her forehead against the counter, letting it cool her head. She felt feverish but with tension, not illness.

A knock on the door caused her to straighten up immediately. She noted the time before she peeked out. It was 6 p.m. She feared Wickham might have arrived early, though surely the security guard would have called her.

But it was Darcy. It didn't seem to occur to him that she would use the peephole, and she saw him standing in the hallway looking the same way she felt: care-worn, depressed, and frazzled. By the time she opened the door, he had corrected his countenance and was smiling. She noticed that he was carrying a small box.

They stood staring at each other, each unsure what to do. She suspected they both had the impulse to embrace and maybe kiss, but each had second thoughts.Beside ourselves in a sane sense?

"Hi," Lizzy said softly after a pause. "I didn't expect you." The comment struck her as truer than she intended, an uncanny backward prophecy, divining the past.

He nodded as if struck as she was, but he did not comment. Checking the hallway, he slipped in. "I brought you a weapon. Bingley will be nearby and I'll be across the street, but you should have access to something at hand." He put the box down on the counter next to the computer. "It's your usual. Bingley checked. There's ammunition inside and a silencer."

"Thanks. I hadn't worried about needing a weapon."

Darcy sat down with a sigh. "I don't think you need to worry about it. Wickham's no rapist… not as rapists are normally understood, anyway. Georgiana helped me to understand that."

Lizzy stepped closer, listening, her chest tightening. "I don't follow you."

Darcy stared at his empty hands and sighed again. "I've been coaching you and creating Ned guided by what she told me. When Wickham found her, she was working at a boutique in London, modeling on the side. Her real love was music—she's a gifted pianist, a talented songwriter. She moved to London hoping to make it in music, but it never happened. People were more interested in looking at her than listening to her.Men…in the music business. Club owners would sometimes hire her but almost always in hopes of sleeping with her. Eventually, she stopped hoping to make it and took a regular job in a boutique. A man saw her there selling dresses, and he offered her a modeling contract. It turned out to be a genuine contract. Unexpectedly, he was a decent man. She began to make money not only selling clothes but wearing them on the catwalk.”

He looked up at Lizzy and then back at his hands. "Wickham saw her at a fashion show. He was there with another woman—and, yes," he smiled to himself bitterly, "she was blonde and voluptuous, but no match for my half-sister. At the time, Georgiana was in a serious relationship. She had been dating a man she met online, another musician. He played in the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Paul. A violinist.

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