Elizabeth’s head was propped on a cushion, and her sock-clad feet were curled together. The dark hair spread almost wantonly over the pillow was practically begging Darcy to touch it. Her lips were slightly parted, so lush and kissable. Her body was elegantly proportioned; the loose t-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide the shape of her breasts, her hips. Watching her, a soft smile curved his lips.
She was…so…unguarded. He should allow her to enjoy the sleep she so obviously needed, but he wished he could awaken her just to see her green eyes and wide smile.
His sleep-starved mind manufactured many possible reasons for her presence—mostly involving confessions of her attraction to him, which were followed by the removal of clothing. His imagination would never have run riot in such a way if he weren’t so weary.
But of course. Elizabeth was here for Jane. Who had injured her back. He was a fool to think otherwise.
Darcy had no idea how much time passed as he watched Elizabeth’s chest softly rise and fall. Every minute he promised himself that he would leave before she woke, but he always found reasons for delay. Then, inevitably, it happened. Her head lifted, her eyes opened, and she noticed him.
She shot to a standing position with the alacrity of a security guard found sleeping on his watch. Her face flushed a deep red. “M-Mr. P-President! I—Bing said—Jane’s back—medicine—not sleeping—sorry!” With one hand she tried to smooth her hair into place, although it looked delightfully tousled. With the other she wiped her mouth. Had she drooled a little? Good Lord, Darcy even found that endearing.
Which he should not. It was unwise to find it—or anything having to do with Elizabeth Bennet—endearing. He needed to grow a spine and hurry her out of the Residence before someone discovered her and made assumptions about her presence.
In the face of his silence, she continued, albeit rather more coherently, “The S-Secret Service knows I-I’m here. B-Bing let me in.” Her eyes blinked blearily.
“You came to see Jane?” She nodded with wary exhaustion. Darcy cleared his throat. “Can I call you a car to take you home?” Wait, did that sound like I want her to leave?
“N-no thank you,” she stammered. “I-I brought my own car.”
“Then why are you still here?” Damn, that came out wrong.
She drew herself up to her full height, her lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m not snooping for state secrets or anything.”
He’d offended her. Somehow he always managed to say the wrong thing in her presence. “No, no…I mean…it’s no inconvenience. I just—I didn’t want you to stay because you felt you were trapped.” Good Lord, I’m babbling now.
Avoiding his gaze, Elizabeth rubbed her face as if trying to wake herself up. “I promised Jane I wouldn’t leave her alone.” Her voice was sharp.
Surely he could say something to her without messing up. She’s a guest. Maybe I could try for a reset. “I beg your pardon. I’m being a terrible host. Would you like a bed?”
Her hands fell away from her face. “I’m sorry?”
“To sleep in,” Darcy added quickly. “While Jane is here.”
“Sleep, yes! But no.” She shook her head. “I’d rather stay close to her room.”
“Your devotion to your sister is quite commendable.”
Jane.
He must seem like an insensitive lout. Or more of an insensitive lout than he already appeared. Why hadn’t he asked about her sister first? “How is your sister—now? Is she any better?”
Elizabeth’s eyes darted toward Jane’s room. “I brought some of her pain medication. I think she’s sleeping now. Bing is in with her.”
He nodded, trying to let concern show on his face. No insensitive lout here. No sir. This seemed like a good, neutral topic of conversation. “Jane said she had a similar back injury before,” he said casually.
Elizabeth regarded him warily as if his concern was somehow suspicious. “Yeah, two or three years ago. She was laid up for a while and in a lot of pain. It hurt to stand or walk. She missed close to a month of work. This doesn’t seem quite as severe, but it’s hard to tell.”
“I can call for a doctor,” Darcy said, trying to look solemn and presidential despite the fact that his inner teenager was cheering and high-fiving himself at the prospect of having Elizabeth in his house all night. Calm the fuck down, he told teenage Darcy. Nothing will happen, and I need to ensure the press doesn’t find out. The admonishment did little to quiet his inner glee.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s necessary at this point. Hopefully she’ll be well enough in a few hours to sit in the car, and I can take her to see her doctor tomorrow.” She paused and then added, “But thank you, Mr. President.”
“Call me—” The words were out of his mouth before he thought them through. He barely knew her. If other people heard her using his first name, what would they think? “Er, Mr. President is fine,” he finished lamely.
Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile, and no wonder. It probably sounded like a demand that she recognize his title. “Um…well, thank you for letting us stay, Mr. President,” she said stiffly.
“Of course.” Would she look askance at an offer to keep her company? She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. No. Forced sleep deprivation was not the way to anyone’s heart. Not that I want to win her heart. It would be progress if she thought of him more positively than as “the man who called me stupid and ugly.”
He briefly allowed his eyes to linger on her, indulging his desire to admire her vivid green eyes. Unfortunately, they were narrowed and viewed him with suspicion. The situation was a bit…irregular…maybe even creepy… Damn. He would have gladly enjoyed her company all night, but there was no legitimate reason to remain.
“I’ll be next door in the Treaty Room”—he pointed to the left—“if you need anything.” Despite the heaviness in his body, Darcy knew sleep was an impossibility with Elizabeth in the Residence; he might as well work.
“You don’t need to stay up on my account,” she said.
“I’m not.” I totally am. He gave her sour smile. “I’m trying to figure out what to do about Zavene.”
“Because of the civil war?”
“Yes.” Huh. The smallest country in Africa, Zavene was unknown to most Americans. Previous administrations had meddled in Zavenian politics, and Darcy believed the U.S. had a moral duty to try to stop the violence. Surely peace was achievable without involving the U.S. military, but Darcy didn’t know how. The previous State Department had been understaffed, and they still didn’t have an expert on Zavene.
“I served in the Peace Corps there for two years.” Elizabeth stared down at her hands. “The people were wonderful. It’s so distressing to think of them caught up in a war. Although I don’t think the village I lived in has been affected yet.”
“You lived there for two years….?” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back lest he frighten her with too much enthusiasm. “Could you explain to me the tribal differences that led to the war? The media portrayal seems too simplistic, and the State Department doesn’t have a real expert.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not an expert, but I can tell you what I know. Do you have a map of the country? It would make it easier to explain.”
“I have one in my study,” he said, suppressing the broad grin that threatened to break out. He hesitated for just a second. Would she perceive that as a bizarre proposition? Hello young woman, want to come upstairs and see my maps? “I know that’s not why you came to the White House—”
She was already striding toward the door. “Are you kidding?” She grinned impishly over her shoulder. “I love to show off how much I know. Now that I can flaunt it to the president, I’m in heaven!”
A slow smile crept over his face. “My pleasure.”
***
Elizabeth stretched luxuriously, realizing too late that her feet had encountered an obstacle on the coffee table. Something clunked. Shit! Had she bro
ken that swirly glass vase? It was probably a gift from the Sultan of Brunei that she’d have to sell her car to replace.
Tentatively she opened her eyes to examine the scene. Her feet had knocked over the remarkably ugly vase, but it appeared intact. Upon inspection, it revealed no cracks or nicks. Whew.
The sunlight streaming in through the windows suggested that it was morning—and further suggested that it was past time to wake up. She didn’t know what the protocol was for having spent the night on the president’s sofa, but she was sure it didn’t involve sleeping in. Bathed in the sunlight, the Yellow Oval Room was far more cheerful and less forbidding with all the creams and golds in the upholstery brightening the decor, but she still couldn’t imagine allowing a toddler or a dog within fifty feet of it.
The moment her brain registered “White House,” adrenaline pumped through her body, waking her sluggish mind. The Zavene discussion had lasted at least two hours, so Elizabeth was functioning with only a couple hours of sleep, but it had been a surprisingly lively and enjoyable conversation.
She finger-combed her hair, wishing the room had a mirror since she had stupidly left her purse in Jane’s room. On the other hand, she might be tempted to sneak out the back door if she could see herself.
Before going to bed—er, sofa—Elizabeth had checked on her sister, who appeared deeply asleep. Bing had sacked out in the overstuffed chair next to Jane’s bed.
Elizabeth straightened the pillows she’d been using and folded the throw the president had given her. President William Darcy was an enigma. No one in her life had ever said such disparaging things, and he was disdainful of her family. At the same time, he had listened attentively to her description of Zavene. He had taken notes, asked intelligent questions, and thanked her without mansplaining or condescension.
At times she had even forgotten who she was speaking with. Her family was never interested in hearing about her experiences in foreign countries. And the president had the power to make a difference, unlike the coworkers with whom she occasionally traded stories.
If her information could have even a small impact on the fate of the Zavenian people, it was worth the effort of swallowing her anger. Although the effort hadn’t been as great as she expected.
A loud gurgle reminded her how long it had been since dinner. An exit strategy was also necessary. Last night Elizabeth’s priority had been remaining near Jane, but in the light of day it dawned on her that she had couch surfed in the White House. Either the president or his staff would need the Bennet sisters gone and soon.
She padded down the hallway toward the kitchen she’d passed the night before. Her brain desperately needed the boost a shot of caffeine would provide.
The thought that the president might be awake already hadn’t crossed her mind, but there he was, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and The Washington Post. The room was small and functional, with a plain oak set of table and chairs—the most ordinary thing she’d seen in the White House. The scene was simultaneously ordinary and bizarre: the president got bedhead just like everyone else.
“Ms. Bennet!” He set his coffee cup down with a loud thunk. “I didn’t expect you so early.” One hand reached the top of his head in an attempt to smooth his unruly locks.
“I’m afraid my brain doesn’t come online until I have some coffee, so I was hoping—”
“I made a pot.” He gestured to the coffeemaker over his shoulder. “Please help yourself.” He gave her a genuinely warm smile. Which was odd. And a bit worrisome. Maybe he was just a morning person.
“You made it yourself? Don’t you have staff for that?”
He stiffened, even though Elizabeth had meant it as a gentle tease. “I prefer not to have staff in the Residence when I’m here…It…feels less like a home.”
“You’re usually here by yourself?” she blurted out and then gave herself a mental kick. Yes, it sounds lonely, but do not feel sorry for him. Do not. Even if he’s alone, he’s still the President of the United States, for God’s sake! Not a homeless man.
Maybe if he weren’t so arrogant he’d have a wife and kids to share his home.
He combed his fingers through his hair, patting it in place. “Sometimes. Bing stays frequently. And my cousin Richard Fitzwilliam often stays here. He helps keep me on schedule, takes care of logistics, interfaces with the staff—that kind of thing. But he’s away this week visiting family. So it was nice having guests last night even by accident.” He gave her another enigmatic smile.
After a pause, she went to the counter to pour a cup of coffee. At least with her back to him she could escape the dark intensity of the eyes that followed her everywhere.
He cleared his throat. “I…um…if word gets out that you’re here, it could be…problematic.”
She stiffened but remained silent. I should have expected this. The relaxed president who discussed Zavene so freely couldn’t last forever. She turned around, leaning her hips against the counter and holding the mug up near her face like a shield. He wanted them gone, and so did she. There was no reason to feel anger or regret.
“I’ll check on Jane,” she said. “With a night of rest and some more medicine, she might be able to walk to the car. We could be out within an hour.”
He nodded briskly. “Good.”
***
Elizabeth wasn’t happy with him again, Darcy observed. They’d had such a delightful conversation in the Treaty Room last night, but somehow they’d lost that easiness in the light of the morning. Maybe she wished she’d seen more of the Residence. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to show you around.”
She jerked her head back. “I didn’t come here for a tour.”
Really? What person isn’t a little bit curious about the White House? “That wasn’t even a little factor in your decision to stay?” he teased. “Few people have the chance to stay overnight at the White House.”
Elizabeth’s face went white. “Wow,” she said slowly. “Not only am I ugly and stupid but apparently shallow as hell, too.”
Shit. Instantly his chest tightened, constricting his breathing. He closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them she was still glaring at him. Darcy would have happily lived the rest of his life without discussing that event again, but that wasn’t an option. “I didn’t intend to be insulting.”
“It must be an inborn talent then.”
Darcy’s stomach coiled itself into a knot. Many people disliked what he said about them. They devoted hours of cable television time to discussing it. Gallons of ink had been used to describe his misjudgments. Why did he find her unhappiness so disturbing?
Still, damn it, he hadn’t said it to her face. “Maybe you shouldn’t eavesdrop. You might not like what you hear,” he said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t insult people,” she retorted. “Then it wouldn’t get tweeted.”
Don’t ever apologize. Hilliard’s admonition echoed through his mind. But he had no hope of friendship with her otherwise. “I’m sorry about that,” he blurted out. She frowned, and he rushed to explain. “I was tired and irritated with Hilliard. My comments had nothing to do with you.”
She snorted. “How silly of me for taking comments about my attractiveness and intelligence personally.”
Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be this one he insulted so thoroughly? “The truth is that I think you’re”—he cleared his throat—“quite attractive and intelligent…”
She was silent for a moment. “Um…thank you.” The rising inflection in her voice signaled her doubt. But she had to believe him.
He caught and held her eyes. “The fact is that you’re one of the most attractive and intelligent women of my acquaintance.”
Blinking rapidly, she swiftly averted her eyes. Had he said too much? Would she think he was propositioning her? Language was such an imprecise instrument for conveying thoughts, but maybe he could clarify his meaning. “My injudicious word choice was influenced by having recently met your fa
mily.”
Her eyes darted back to his face. “My family?”
“Yes. Well…they’re…you know…” He gestured, hoping she’d nod in understanding; instead she simply stared. “A bit much…over the top. You know,” he finished helplessly.
“Nouveau riche?” she volunteered.
“Exactly!” Darcy said, relieved he hadn’t been the one to say it. “Of course, you’re not like that!” he added hastily.
“I’m honored you think so.” Her lips were set in a flat line.
His apology should have decreased her anger. But it hadn’t. He was pretty sure he had screwed up another conversation with her, but how? “Look, Ms. Bennet—”
His voice died when Caroline Bingley entered the kitchen.
Even on a Saturday, she was dressed in a designer suit and high heels. Sweeping into the room like she owned it, she brandished a sheaf of papers at Darcy. “You won’t believe what ZNN—”
Caroline stopped short at the sight of Elizabeth leaning against the counter and feigned surprise. No doubt she had heard Elizabeth’s voice as soon as she entered the Residence. Her posture positively bristled with territorialism. Slowly scanning Elizabeth from head to toe, Caroline eyed every crease in her rumpled clothes. Darcy loved this sleep-tousled version of Elizabeth, but she turned red under Caroline’s scrutiny.
Caroline’s lip curled as she reached the obvious, but incorrect, conclusion. Shit. How the hell did he set the record straight? He couldn’t exactly introduce her as “Elizabeth Bennet, whom I did not sleep with last night, but I’d be good with it if she were interested.”
A long silence followed. Darcy cleared his throat. “Uh…you remember Elizabeth Bennet?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had that pleasure.” Caroline’s tone indicated that it was anything but. “Your family makes corn dogs or something, don’t they?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. At least she wasn’t intimidated by Caroline. “Oh yeah. You have no idea how hard it is to get the corn kernels to stick to the dogs.”
Caroline stared at the other woman blankly. Perhaps she didn’t recognize Elizabeth’s sarcasm.
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