Firm footsteps echoed on the wooden floors—at least two sets. “We really shouldn’t enter this way,” said a male voice. “Everyone expects a grand—”
The second man’s voice was deeper and tinged with irritation. “I’m late, Bing. I’d rather slip in unnoticed.”
The shaking of Elizabeth’s body intensified, and sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. One of the men was Charles Bingley, the president’s chief of staff and widely considered the second most powerful man in the White House. Shit. Shit. Shit. He was the last person she wanted to find her in the presidential broom closet.
Bingley’s tone was soothing. “You have a good reason for being late—”
One of the mops chose that moment to topple over with a thump. I hope that was quieter outside the closet than inside.
“What was that?” the second man asked. His voice was vaguely familiar.
Guess not.
“Something shifting in one of the closets,” Bingley said, unconcerned.
“Kinski wouldn’t want us to ignore it,” the second man said with a rueful laugh. “You know ‘constant vigilance is everyone’s duty’?”
“Yeah, all right,” Bingley said with a good-natured laugh. “We’ll send a Secret Service agent back to investigate.”
Yes, Elizabeth tried to convince the other man telepathically. Listen to Bingley. Send someone back.
“To investigate a closet?” the other man asked incredulously. “It’ll only take a few seconds.”
“You’re not supposed to—”
Footsteps rapidly approached the closet. Elizabeth was no longer trembling; now she was frozen, rooted to the spot—and all her perspiration had turned icy. Even her teeth chattered. What will they do to me? Please don’t shoot me on sight. Please let me explain.
The door opened, flooding the closet with light. Elizabeth blinked in the sudden brightness and then blinked again at the person before her. She’d been wrong, she realized. Bingley was not the last person she wanted to find her in the closet. He was standing in front of her.
She stared into the face of President William Darcy.
Chapter Two
President Darcy’s head jerked back, and his mouth dropped open when he saw who was in his broom closet.
Television doesn’t do him justice. In person, he was far more attractive. In person, he was breathtaking…with those gray-blue eyes and dark, almost black, hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. The lines of the tuxedo accentuated his broad shoulders and lean, muscular physique. The features of his face were classic and patrician, almost like a Roman statue come to life. But his lips were sensual, soft and full, contrasting with the clean, straight lines of the rest of his face. I bet he’s a good kisser with lips like those. And the intensity of those eyes…
Which where glaring at her.
What am I thinking? I’m staring at the president. And thinking lustful thoughts about the president. Instead, she should be explaining. Talking her way out of the situation. At least making her mouth move. “Um…hi?” She gave him a little wave and what she hoped was her most nonthreatening smile.
“Who the hell are you?” he barked.
“Shit! There’s someone in there?” Charles Bingley’s blond head appeared over the president’s shoulder. He was the same age as the other man, but his shaggy hair and relaxed surfer dude smile made him seem younger.
Elizabeth rattled out an explanation—before they shot her. “I’m Elizabeth B-Barnett…no…B-Bennet. I’m a g-guest at the party—you know…the state dinner thingy. And my sister ran off and I had to find her and then you were coming, and I knew I shouldn’t be here…and so I hid,” she finished lamely. Jeez, the explanation sounded ridiculous even to her ears.
President Darcy took a moment to stare at her like she should be under psychiatric care, which, to be fair, was a reasonable assumption under the circumstances. “Is your sister in there, too?” He peered into the closet’s depths.
“No. She, um, went back to that really big room—” God, what was the name of it? She couldn’t think coherently when the President of the United States was glowering at her. Go figure. “You know, with the tall drapes and stuff.” Good one, Elizabeth, that probably described every room in the White House.
“The one with the state dinner thingy?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
He’s mocking me. Does that mean he believes me? A presidential assassin would probably be way smoother and less confused.
The president gave Bingley a sidelong glance. “Maybe we should call the Secret Service.”
Elizabeth grabbed the doorframe. Please, no.
Bingley sighed. “She obviously isn’t carrying a weapon, Darcy.”
The president scrutinized Elizabeth from head to foot—his gaze lingering over every curve in her long black gown. It wasn’t particularly revealing, but it was form-fitting enough that she couldn’t have concealed anything bigger than a tube of lipstick.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose not.”
What a monumental embarrassment to her family if she were arrested at the state dinner. “I’m so, so sorry! Please don’t have me arrested or audited or drafted or anything!” she babbled. Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth before she said anything stupid. Stupider.
A corner of the president’s mouth quirked upward. “Well, I promise not to have you audited or drafted.”
“All the guests were vetted by the Secret Service, Darcy,” Bingley pointed out. “Perhaps we can skip the arresting this time.”
The president regarded her seriously for a moment. He really did have the most amazing blue eyes, like a storm at sea. And…wow…was now an inappropriate time for that thought!
“An arrest would not be an auspicious start to the state dinner,” Bingley warned.
Elizabeth held her breath as he deliberated. Profiles of the president portrayed him as being very charismatic when he chose to be, but some people described him as aloof and cold. He must have chosen otherwise because the temperature of his glare was glacial—as if showing up in a White House broom closet were tantamount to murder. Elizabeth wanted—very badly—to forsake his presence immediately.
Finally, he threw his arms up in the air. “All right. But if we find you doing anything else…unexpected, I will have the Secret Service arrest you.” With one arm across his chest, he pointed an accusing finger at Elizabeth.
She nodded eagerly. “That’s great. Thanks. That makes sense. Yeah, the next time, go ahead and arrest me.” His eyes narrowed. “Not that there’s going to be a next time.” She held up her hands. “Absolutely no next time.”
He snorted in disbelief. What a jerk!
With a slight shake of his head, the president extended his hand to her. She stared at it. Why…? Oh, he’s offering to help me out of the closet. Clearly, her brain had gone offline since entering the White House. Releasing the doorframe, she stretched out her trembling hand, which he engulfed in his warm, firm grip.
***
As the woman—Elizabeth Bennet— stepped out of the closet, brooms and mops went crashing to the floor. She flinched, and Darcy tightened his grip on her hand, drawing her closer to him as if the cleaning implements represented a serious threat to her safety. It was ridiculous and inappropriate, and Darcy had no idea why he did it.
The woman seemed to provoke unexpected reactions from him. How else could he explain his unwarrantedly casual reaction the potential danger she might represent?
As he double-checked to ensure she was unharmed, Darcy was struck by her eyes—a deep, mossy green he had never seen before on another human being. With such a uniform color…they really were quite fine. He couldn’t look away. No, it would be more accurate to say he didn’t want to look away.
She was about average height for a woman, which meant that she peered up at Darcy, who came in at around six feet. A sweet, heart-shaped face accentuated those marvelous eyes. Lustrous, wavy dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. And that
dress—a floor-length black silk sheath that skimmed all her curves without revealing too much. In fact, it revealed just the right amount of her creamy skin…
Rather pointedly, she cast her eyes down at her hand. Which he was still holding. He noticed her fingers, delicate and tapered and so small, nestled in his grasp.
The touch of her hand was the single most wonderful sensation he had ever felt.
His fingers caressed her fingers.
Her hand trembled in his.
He had no desire to release her.
The rest of his body also responded to her proximity. Leaning toward her, he scented a vaguely floral fragrance…perfume or shampoo perhaps. He flushed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature in the hallway, moisture collecting on his forehead and the back of his neck. His mouth was suddenly parched, and his tongue licked dry lips. Her eyes followed the movement. She is staring at my mouth.
If only I could touch more than her hand. Darcy’s hand rose, needing to learn if her hair was as soft as it appeared. But then the (apparently very small) part of his brain that was still sane reminded him that the woman was a stranger, and he aborted the movement.
I should probably say something. His lips were parted, ready to speak, but all his thoughts appeared to have melted away at her touch.
Bing cleared his throat. “We should get to the dinner.”
The words worked their way through Darcy’s sluggish brain. He understood their import, but the thought of releasing Elizabeth Bennet’s hand horrified him. He desperately needed to touch more of her, not less.
“Just a second, Bing,” he snapped.
Elizabeth blinked, her eyelashes fluttering. Is she as affected by the touch as I am? “I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President,” she said with a note of finality that suggested she preferred he return her hand. Damn. Could she guess he’d been thinking improper thoughts—when he knew literally nothing about her except her name? It seriously had been too long since he’d had a date.
Dropping her hand as if it had burned him, he stepped backward, putting more distance between them and trying to collect thoughts that seemed to have been scattered by a powerful wind.
Why was he reacting this way to this woman? She was pretty—well, more than pretty. Beautiful. And that dress displayed a body he would certainly describe as “hot.” But he saw beautiful, well-dressed women every day.
And she’d been hiding in a closet, he reminded himself. It wasn’t normal behavior. She also didn’t appear capable of assembling coherent sentences. It truly was a shame she wasn’t more …eloquent. Lack of intelligence was always a deal-breaker for Darcy.
Although it was probably a good thing. If she were smart, too, she’d be irresistible.
Bing cleared his throat loudly.
Finally, Darcy tore his eyes from her vivid, dark green ones, but he was still rubbed raw by her proximity. He didn’t know why she affected him like this, but Darcy couldn’t let her—or anyone else—notice the results.
Taking out his handkerchief, he blotted his brow and mopped the back of his neck before discreetly wiping his sweaty hands and returning the handkerchief to his pocket. Elizabeth stared, likely marveling at how profusely the President of the United States could sweat. Bing regarded Darcy warily; he knew how out-of-character this behavior was.
He had embarrassed himself sufficiently; remaining any longer would only produce more shame and more perspiration. It was past time to appear at the dinner and get away from the spacey woman with the lovely eyes.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. Behind him, he heard Bing ask, “Will you join us at the dinner, Ms. Bennet?”
Damn! I should have asked that. She had me too flustered.
“Um…sure,” she said uncertainly.
No regrets, he told himself sternly. The woman couldn’t string two sentences together. Her beauty was nothing but a momentary distraction.
Darcy tugged his cuffs into place and straightened his bow tie. Taking the service hallway was intended to help him make up time after his last meeting ran late, but the encounter with Ms. Bennet had further delayed his schedule. Time to focus on the dinner and his political priorities for the evening.
Although he was technically there just to make a speech and have a good time, a dinner was never just a dinner for a president. He hoped to buttonhole Senator Kirkpatrick about supporting his transportation plan. And a couple of CEOs wanted to complain about the Federal Election Commission. He wasn’t planning to do anything about it, but they would be happy if he listened.
And then there was Congressman Ostrevsky on the Foreign Relations Committee and his crusade for humanitarian aid for African refugees. Encouraging the government’s refugee efforts was one of the purposes for the dinner. Keep your thoughts focused on that, Darcy.
There was a strategy behind all of it. Darcy’s predecessor in the Oval Office had left him with a lot of international relationships to repair. One of Darcy’s top priorities was restoring the reputation of the United States abroad. He had just returned from a two-week tour of Europe and was gearing up for a trip to Asia in a few months. Their allies needed a lot of reassurances.
Darcy didn’t have the luxury of time to be confused by a pretty woman. Very well, he resolved as he stepped into the hubbub of the East Room. Time to get my head in the game.
***
Elizabeth watched President Darcy’s retreating back. On the bright side, he didn’t seem inclined to have her arrested, but he had taken off like she had the plague. His contempt for her was so glaring that she practically needed sunglasses. What had she done to deserve that?
Besides venturing into a restricted area, hiding in his closet, and nearly giving him a heart attack. Oh, yeah. Oops.
What she wouldn’t do for a time machine. Or failing that, a complete memory wipe of the past half hour. Since no amnesia was forthcoming, Elizabeth turned to face Mr. Bingley. No doubt her cheeks were bright red, and her hair was a dusty mess. Nevertheless, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Will you join us at the dinner, Ms. Bennet?” The chief of staff had a reputation for being far more affable than the president, and Elizabeth could see why.
“Um…sure…” It was as if she were caught in the White House version of good cop, bad cop.
He continued to smile pleasantly as he gestured for her to precede him down the hallway. As she hurried toward the East Room, Elizabeth wondered if anyone would see them emerge from the hidden door. Or would the president tell his friends about her mishap and laugh? She swallowed hard. What could she possibly say to her family?
Dad, I consider it an honor to be smirked at by the president. Most Americans couldn’t claim that distinction. Mom, someday it will be an amusing anecdote to tell my children about the time the President of the United States thought I was an idiot.
That would not go over well.
I wasn’t expecting to see the freaking President of the United States, so forgive me if I use words like “thingy” and can’t remember the name of the East Room. That infuriatingly superior grin had grown wider with her every mistake and fumble. The bastard had enjoyed her consternation.
He had been chivalrous enough to help her exit the closet with some grace, but then he had wiped his hands clean of her germs. And what man under sixty carried a handkerchief in this day and age?
“Will the president report me?” she asked Bingley as they neared the East Room door. It would be a terrible blow to her family. And Elizabeth had worried that Lydia would embarrass them!
“No,” Bingley said immediately. Then after a moment, he said, “I don’t think so.” How reassuring.
By the time Bingley and Elizabeth emerged through the concealed door, the president had disappeared into the crowd. That’s good. Maybe I can avoid him for the rest of the evening—and the rest of my life.
However, Elizabeth’s hopes were quickly dashed. The moment she became visible, her mother marched up to her, grabbing
her by the wrist and dragging her away. “Where have you been?” she whispered harshly. “Walter is introducing us to the president!”
President Darcy’s eyes, cool and assessing, perused her as she joined the semicircle of her family arrayed before him. Ugh. Elizabeth did not have any interest in another encounter with the man. On the bright side, at least he’s not out searching for the Secret Service to have me arrested.
As Elizabeth and her mother slipped in next to John Bennet, everybody stared; Lydia smirked, no doubt pleased by her timely escape from the hallway. The president gave her father a superior smile. “Do you often misplace your daughter?”
As if she were a wallet or a puppy. Could he be more condescending?
Her mother curtsied—curtsied!—and said: “We’re so sorry to keep you waiting, your highness.” This was followed by a violent coughing fit from Bing and a disdainful look from President Darcy.
Walter hurried to make introductions—as if anything could cover up for that faux pas. “Mr. President, Mr. Bingley…” He gestured to the Bennets. “Please allow me to introduce John Bennet’s wife Fanny, and his daughters: Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mary Bennet, Kitty Bennet, and Lydia Bennet.” He chuckled a bit over Lydia’s name as if to acknowledge that yes, there were a lot of Bennet sisters.
President Darcy’s smile was tight and pained as if such introductions were a necessary duty, but the chief of staff gave the whole family a relaxed and easy grin. “What a lovely family!” Bingley exclaimed to Elizabeth’s father. “You are a lucky man.” His eyes lingered on Jane’s face. Unsurprisingly, Jane blushed, which, naturally, made her even lovelier.
The president, on the other hand, surveyed her family and their bewildering array of colors and styles of dress with a slight curl in his lip. Elizabeth added “snob” to her list of nouns describing the man.
Bingley had already commenced shaking hands with the assembled Bennets. The president followed suit, plastering on a grin and slowly offering his hand to Elizabeth—the first in line. What an “honor” to meet a man who grimaces at the thought of shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Bennet,” the president said mechanically.
President Darcy Page 2