Page 31 of Pride, Prejudice, & Pretense

Lizzy spoke without reflection. "Oh yes, he is. He'spretty, and his…um…personis graceful, his manner attentive."

He blinked. "Hisperson?"

"You know," she said, blowing out a breath and speaking frankly but without looking at Darcy, "wide shoulders, small waist, and tight ass. He puts me in mind of a ship's captain. Or maybe a…matador." She grinned at her choice of word, imagining the sort of character who appears in a Hemingway short story.

She did look at Darcy then. His face had colored, his lips a thin-pressed line. "But you can handle him, handle yourself around him?"

This again?She heard Darcy in Kellynch’s office:Agent Bennet isn't…enough."Of course I can handle myself! What about today or yesterday suggests I can't?" She leaned toward the screen, pointing at it?at him, her annoyance overcoming her. "You asked me the question, Agent Darcy. I assumed you wanted an honest answer.”

She leaned back and put her hand down. "I'm not in any danger from Wickham inthatway, but I understand how he's done what he's done…his womanizing. He's a man a woman could like effortlessly. He’s compelling, and he affects every woman in a wide radius. The woman who is with him, so long as she didn't know who and what he was, would think she was among the happiest of happy women. That's my guess, at any rate."

"I see," Darcy said. His frown was bottomless but his voice measured. "Good to know. I acknowledge he has a gift of self-presentation, easy conversation.Prophet.Cantilevered roof. And he insinuates himself and his wishes like a serpent."

"You helped with that," she reminded Darcy, "by sending that text from Ned. You knew that would force us to talk about Ned and give Wickham a chance to tear you…I meanNed…down."

"I wanted to ensure that he had a chance to suggest that you'd be better off with him. Someone less gentle, lesspiano."

"Someone whose favorite book is notWives and Daughters."

"Right," he said without humor. His expression became more somber, funereal.

Lizzy found him frustrating. Even exhausted, however, her courage rose. She was not going to be intimidated or made apologetic by his severity. He would learn that she could be more stubborn than him.

She was bone-tired and had expected only praise, an acknowledgment that the day had gone well. Instead he made her feel like it had gone poorly, as if she lacked self-mastery. As if Wickham could tempt her into wanting him…for real. As if, instead of Darcy acknowledging her, she should apologize to him. Darcy had transmuted her success into failure—that was how it felt.

"You know, Agent Darcy," she started slowly, the words coming to her, "I'm too damned tired to deal with your bristling rectitude, your strange, immovable prejudice against my ability to do what this mission requires. But I remind you: Iam doing it. I spent the afternoon and evening doing it.I'm blonde. I may not be voluptuous, but obviously what there is of me, my subtler curves, are sufficient to entice Wickham. So does my subtle mind, I suspect, although perhaps Wickham hasn't quite realized that yet. He does find me funny."Unlike you.

"Being funny, Agent Bennet, is not a mission requirement, and none of my intel suggests Wickham is especially drawn to wit in a woman." His words were clipped in his precise British cadence. "What you call my 'immovable prejudice' I call 'professional caution.' Kellynch warned me that you can be ironic, given to humor even at serious moments. That was another reason I was…hesitant…about his insistence that you were right for this job." Darcy straightened himself in his chair. "This is a serious business, Agent Bennet. At some level, you know that. I am trying to make sure you do not shelve the knowledge or lose track of it in the blizzard of Wickham's charm. He has managed to entice even clever women who had suspicions of who and what he is. Sometimes those suspicions actually made them more susceptible. No doubt during your training at the Farm you were warned how often the seducer becomes seduced. The matrix of seduction is unstable, and the power structures can shift like sandbars in a strong river."

"Iwaswarned,” Lizzy stated. “Repeatedly. Take me as freshly re-warned. Now, I'm tired, and I need to sleep. Is there anything else?" She made her exasperation with him unmistakably audible.

"Just one thing. Wickham didn't mention Collingwood visiting your building, did he? I didn't hear it, but there were a few moments…especially on the water"?Darcy's lips tightened as if he were containing a rebuke?"when the mikes were fuzzy."

"No, it never came up. Do you think Wickham knows?"

He shook his head and shrugged simultaneously. "Hard to say. They don't seem to like each other. I'm assuming he doesn't. Maybe Collingwood will call again."

She leaned toward the screen again. "Do you need to warn me aboutthe gay priest?"

Darcy locked eyes with her from the screen, insulted and angry but controlling it. "No, no warning there. And nomore warnings from me. I've said my piece. Goodnight, Agent Bennet."

"Agent Darcy." She closed the laptop softly but then clenched her fists, suppressing a cry of anger and frustration.Patronizing, pompous ass!

Huffing, she stood and paced slowly for a few minutes, using the rhythm of her steps to calm herself, an old trick, and feeling the heat and color slowly drain from her face. She hadn't realized how much anger she had shown. A long sigh stopped her pacing.

Glancing around, she noticedWives and Daughtersatop the small stack of books on the coffee table. She picked the book up and went to the bedroom, clicked on the lamp and, after a deep breath, stretched out on the bed to read for a few minutes and distract herself.

To begin with the old rigmarole of childhood. In a country there was a shire, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bed there lay a little girl…

***

Sunday, October 18

Lizzy woke up the next morning feeling less stretched but still sour, the Gaskell book open and face-down on the bed beside her. Yawning, she made a bowl of cereal and ate while staring at the closed laptop.

Since she was still in a sour mood, she decided pre-emptively to call her mother. If she didn't call, her mother would undoubtedly call her, ignoring Lizzy's instructions, and leave long, complaining voice-mails. Her mother refused to text.

Her personal phone was in her backpack in the closet. Off, of course. She retrieved it from the bag and turned it on. Luckily, her mother had not called her. But someone else had.

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