Page 14 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

Darcy leaned to her and whispered in her ear. "I always feel naked at these without a gun."

His whisper raised goosebumps. He was good at that. She nodded. "You said no weapons."

He nodded. "I know, and I was right, but still. This will be the first time I am face-to-face with that man."

Looking up, Lizzy saw a woman moving toward them. It was unmistakably Lady Catherine. She looked much as she had in the photograph Darcy showed her except she was now visible from the neck down. She had an outrageous figure insisted upon by her tight silver gown.Voluptuous.The word forced itself into Lizzy's mind, and she swiftly felt much as she had in as a kid around other girls, early bloomers whose bodies made hers seem like a boy's in comparison.

Lady Catherine was alone. Lizzy scanned the room and did not see Wickham, at least not that she could tell.

Darcy had given the butler the invitation. As it happened, Lady Catherine was not approaching them. When she stopped near them to speak with another couple, Lizzy saw her notice Darcy. A moment later, she took a second look.

He took Lizzy's hand again, and they entered the party, immersing themselves in the light and music.

Chapter Five: Partygoers

To enter the main room from the entrance, Lizzy and Darcy had to descend a set of stairs, not deep but wide.

Lady Catherine stood to the left, talking still to the couple, an older man and woman, both expensively dressed. The man kept sneaking glances at Lady Catherine's body. She seemed to know it and had positioned herself for maximal display, allowing the man an unimpeded view into the depths of her cleavage. She kept her eyes on the woman, nothing in her engaged expressions or quiet laughter suggesting her subtle display to the woman's husband.

Darcy led Lizzy past the three of them. Again, although Lady Catherine did not glance at him, something about her posture, a shift of her feet, told Lizzy that she continued to be aware of him.

They moved in a crooked line across the room, bypassing knots of guests surrounding small, high tables on which were stationed delicate flutes of champagne and gleaming china laden with rich foods. On various past missions, Lizzy had been at similar gatherings, but this one might have been the most lavish she had seen. Somehow, the room and decor, the drinks, and the food all seemed to overflow just as Lady Catherine overflowed her silver gown.

Opulent. It was all opulent.

Voluptuous.

She tugged on Darcy's hand as they neared the grand buffet table where mountains of food were stacked in fable-like proportions and whispered, "Seeingallof Lady Catherine, I understand why you worried that I'm not voluptuous enough. She's like a flooded Great Lake and I'm…I'm…" Lizzy couldn't supply the comparative term. "…I'mnot."

He turned to look at her, his look undecipherable, then to look past her back to their hostess, his face barely betrayingcontempt. Lizzy repositioned her body to block his face from Lady Catherine’s view should she choose to glance at him again. "Yes, but—" He stopped, focused again on Lizzy, his expression complicated. "Yes, she's his type…paradigmatically his type. However, I suspect she was vulgar when he met her and thus deprived him of the pleasure of vulgarizing her." It was the first time since they'd arrived in Chicago that Darcy’sHouse of Lordsattitude had made an appearance.

Lizzy lifted an eyebrow but did not reply. One reason for her unresponsiveness was that she was not sure what to say to that, to his use of the term “vulgar.”

The other reason was that, just as Darcy finished his remark, George Wickham entered the room. He seemed simply to materialize, but she realized he had used a side entrance coming in from a porch. She blinked, transfixed.

It was as if some alchemy had been performed on the photograph she had seen, some hocus pocus that animated and warmed the freeze frame. He was taller than she had expected, bigger than life, though not as tall as Darcy. He wore a white tuxedo coat with a black pocket square, a white shirt, black pants, black shoes and a black bow tie. Nothing black that he wore seemed any shade of gray. His movements were beautiful and taut, each motion a measured suavity, his posture perfect. He was the image of impeccably dressed, mobile rectitude.

Except that he was a terrorist, a killer.

He scanned the room slowly, confidently. Anywhere his feet were planted was his territory, a captain astride his ship's quarterdeck. At a party where the wait staff wore white coats, he was obviously not one of their number. His white coat was whiter than all the rest, whiter than white.

Lizzy shook her head slightly, involuntarily, and broke the occult spell. Wickham was handsome, but he was also a man, only a man?her mark.

As he surveyed the room, his eyes hung on her momentarily. It was only a moment, but Lizzy, woman and agent, was experienced enough to know that he had not merely seen her. He hadnoticedher.

The lighthouse hair had done its job. She was blonde enough.

His eyes moved past her and settled on Lady Catherine. Lizzy turned to her, and when she shifted back to Wickham, she saw an unctuous smile cross his lips, and he waved.

By now, Darcy had turned and seen him. He started. Lizzy felt it, their hands still joined, but he covered his mistake by reaching for a flute of champagne, lifting it from a tray being carried around the room by a server.

Wickham passed them as he walked to Lady Catherine. He went by Darcy without a second look but did not quite manage that with Lizzy. She felt his eyes travel along her hair, her neck, her shoulder, travel the tweed of her dress, and travel to her backside, then travel to her legs. Down, down, down. It was all done in the twinkling of an eye…and then he was opening his arms to Lady Catherine. She leaned toward him, cheek presented for a kiss, which he supplied.

Darcy tugged Lizzy's hand and motioned to her to get something from the buffet table. She chose a few items, put them on a plate, and picked up a fancy fork. He did the same.

Lizzy ate a bite and then faced Darcy and put her plate down. "He noticed me."

"So I saw," he said, snapping out the words but managing to keep his voice soft. Then he increased his volume and continued in his perfect midwestern tone, "It wasn't just the hair." Darcy pointed to her with his fancy fork, moving it up and down subtly. "It was the whole thing, the gestalt."

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