“Don’t worry about Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said. “I know he feels badly about his behavior. He usually has better manners, but it was a rough day for him, especially with my antics.”
“Still, I didn’t act as a doctor should,” Elizabeth admitted.
“He gets these terrible headaches, and I keep telling him he needs to see a doctor, but he won’t. He’s been under a lot of stress and, well, he doesn’t do well with doctors and hospitals. Nothing personal.”
“None taken,” Elizabeth assured him.
CHAPTER 7
Charles Bingley Is a Lucky Whore
“Stop hiding in your room,” Bingley said to Darcy. “You’re coming to the club tonight. Don’t shake your head at me. When was the last time you’ve stepped out of your room?”
Darcy said, “I’m not hiding. I don’t feel like socializing lately.”
“Fine, you’re not hiding, you’re hibernating. And when have you ever felt like socializing?” Bingley held up his hand when Darcy opened his mouth. “Not another word. My family is in Hong Kong shopping. You’re safe to leave your room. Jane Bennet and her sister are at Merry Bar—”
“I’m not interested in talking with some girl working as an escort.”
“An escort?” Bingley’s eyes widened. “That’s why you left abruptly yesterday. I had to make excuses for your rudeness.”
Darcy moved away. “I was expecting an important phone call.”
“You’re such an idiot.” Bingley followed. “If you’d stayed to hear the rest of what Elizabeth had said, you’d have known she’s a doctor.”
Darcy felt like smiling. He turned away to hide his relief from Bingley. His wood nymph, his fantasy water sprite, was not an escort.
“She was the American doctor who treated me in the hospital, you prick! The one you acted the bloody arse with.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. Of course, the green eyes. “I only got a brief glimpse of her eyes through her protective eyewear. How could I have recognized her? We weren’t properly introduced at the time.”
“Of course you weren’t properly introduced. You barged in, insulted her, threw your CEO weight around, disrupted her work on her patient in the next bed, and you only got a glimpse of her eyes because you fainted.” As the last words left Bingley’s lips, his irritation disappeared and he laughed.
Darcy’s lips twitched. Though he felt foolish, even he had to admit it was funny. He coughed and kept his voice casual. “You mentioned Miss Bennet and uh… her sister are in the club?”
“I ran into Jane in the lobby and she mentioned she was going to be in Merry Bar with her sister. There’s dancing tonight.” Bingley propelled Darcy toward the door. “You don’t have to dance, just stand there and hold up a pillar or two, but I want you out of this room.”
***
Darcy scanned the crowded nightclub for a pair of green eyes.
Bingley elbowed him. “Doesn’t this remind you of the good old days when you and I were regulars at all the happening clubs around the world? Remember when the tabloids caught you fondling that Victoria’s Secret lingerie model dressed like an angel? How time flies. You’ve gotten old and staid in just ten years. Now, you’re hiding in your room for days, avoiding all us earthlings, and I had to forcibly drag you out for some nightlife…”
Darcy spotted her. She was standing next to her sister at the north end of the room.
“…wings.” Bingley jabbed him again. “Are you listening to me?”
Darcy nodded. “She’s entrancing.”
“What? Who’s entrancing?”
Some girl grabbed Bingley and pulled him on to the dance floor. Another tried to grab Darcy but he declined and walked away. He stayed at a distance, far enough out of the dangerous dancing zone but close enough to keep his gaze on his enchantress.
His eyes swept over the soft curves of her. He allowed his imagination to wander.
Holding on to her hips, he swayed in rhythm to her body dancing. His lips tasted the softness of that tantalizing spot behind her ear. Pressing his face against her hair, he breathed in her scent. His hardness pushed against her…
“There you are. I’m surprised you’re still here,” Bingley rudely interrupted in the middle of Darcy’s fantasy. “Jane and Elizabeth are over there. I want to go say hi and see if one of them wants to dance. Join me? You can try to redeem your previous bad manners.”
Trying to appear uninterested, Darcy shrugged and stepped away from the pillar. Moments later, standing in front of his wood nymph, he could not find his tongue. Instead, while she chatted with her sister and his friend, he stared at her.
Framed by dark wavy hair, the long strands barely contained by the tie at the back, her perfect, oval-shaped face showed smooth, flawless skin, a straight impertinent nose, and a heart-shaped pair of pink, tantalizingly full lips.
Bingley asked Jane to dance and they went off.
An amused gleam in her eyes, Elizabeth seemed to be waiting for Darcy to say something.
He opened his mouth, wanting to ask her to dance, then remembered his fantasy earlier. Afraid that he would forget himself and fondle her as he did in his fantasy, he closed his mouth without speaking.
She turned toward the dance floor and moved her body to the music.
He stole a glance at her swaying backside and felt himself hardening again at the thought of how that softness would feel against him. Embarrassed, he angled his body to face away from her.
“Come, Mr. Darcy. We must pretend to have some sort of conversation.” She smiled when he turned back to her. “I shall start. People seem to enjoy dancing to the music. Now it’s your turn to say something equally inane.”
“I don’t have anything inane to say.” Immediately, he winced at how lame that had sounded.
“You did just fine right there,” she encouraged him. “Keep going. Say something else obvious, like how crowded it is tonight.”
His lips quivered.
“Miracle. Is that almost a smile on your face, Mr. Darcy?” She clapped. “It is.”
At the gleeful grin on her face, he smiled.
“Be still my heart. Mr. Darcy has dimples when he smiles.” Her tone turned mock serious. “Okay, I had promised myself I wouldn’t tease you. Now, help me behave. We’ll both stand here and be ourselves: unsocial, uncommunicative, and unconnected. You take that side of the pillar and I’ll take this side.”
Bingley and her sister returned. Jane wanted to leave, as she had an early morning appointment. Elizabeth nodded.
The intoxicating fragrance of gardenia wafted past Darcy as a pair of green eyes leaned close to deliver a parting shot. “I’m going home to practice on oratorical skills. You do the same. When we meet next, we’ll exchange some more witty repartee, okay?”
With that, she grabbed her sister’s arm and they moved through the throng of dancers. His eyes tracked her full, undulating hips walking away from him, his senses stirred and shaken. Elizabeth Bennet definitely intrigued him. It had been a long time, if ever, since he had felt this bewitched by a woman.
He scowled. Temporary pure lust, that was all. He’d get over it soon, like tomorrow.
***
Darcy stood in front of a door with his right hand raised to knock. He managed to stop his knuckles from touching the wood by a mere inch before he brought his fist to his mouth instead. Stepping back, he pivoted and determinedly walked away.
Bingley had been nagging at him to get himself treated for the occasional pain in his head. He did not suffer from headaches. He did not want to be told he was depressed. He did not need medicines—mood-altering medicines. He would not relinquish control of himself no matter how much his head hurt at times.
He made it past the corner before his feet dragged to a stop. He sank against a wall, defeated.
Who was he fooling? This wasn’t about his headaches. He wanted to see her. His wood nymph. His water sprite. His infatuation.
Since she had gotten him to smile at the club that night, he
could not get that teasing voice, those swaying hips, that seductive gardenia scent out of his mind.
***
Elizabeth heard the knock the moment she realized her next patient was quite late. She glanced at the initials on the appointment schedule the concierge had given her earlier: F.D. To her surprise, Mr. Darcy stood on the other side of the door.
“Hello.” She wondered what he wanted. He couldn’t be her patient. His first name was William. Looking up at his handsome face, she mourned womankind’s loss that he batted for the other team. “May I help you?”
“Uh… Hello. How are you? Is your sister well?”
“I’m fine and Jane’s fine. She’s at the orphanage right now. You could call her there. I’m expecting a patient any minute now.” She wondered if F.D. had gotten lost. She peered down the empty hallway.
“Uh… I’m here to see you.”
Poor guy. He must be anxious about the adoption. She decided she could spare him a few minutes. “Come in. Let me call the front desk and make sure my patient didn’t cancel or lose his or her way.”
“I’m your patient.”
“Oh. I see.” She took a deep breath, inhaling a whiff of his scent—woods and something else she couldn’t place. She shook her head to compose herself and put on her doctor hat. “How may I help you, Mr. Darcy?”
“Bingley wants me to see a doctor.”
He looked so miserable at the idea she felt for him. Trying to appear nonthreatening, she pointed him to a chair and sat. “What worries him in particular about your health?”
“He thinks I get headaches.”
At the tone of denial in his voice, she bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “Do you have any symptoms that gave your partner such an idea?”
He looked mildly perplexed for a brief second. “No. I do not.”
She waited for him to expand his answer.
Blue eyes gazed calmly back at her.
She offered, “People with headaches experience a sensation of tightness around or in their head. Sometimes a pounding, thumping, on one side of the head, or on both sides. Or the pain can be in the forehead, around the eyes, or the back of the head. Any of this sounds familiar?”
“No.”
“I want to make sure, if you are having these headaches, that they’re not something new and not increasing in intensity or frequency, and they’re not worse first thing in the morning and get better during the day. You’re not vomiting, especially in the mornings? You’re not experiencing any muscle weakness, numbness?”
“No.”
She wondered if the man knew another word. “Have you any behavioral changes recently that perhaps may be of concern to you or to your family and friends?”
“No.” His jaws clenched visibly and she realized she had struck a nerve.
She kept her tone mild. “I’m trying to ascertain your symptoms, Mr. Darcy, to make a diagnosis. Your partner obviously noticed something to be worried. You’re here because of his concern. To set his mind and yours at ease, I need to ask these questions.”
The blue in his eyes became icy. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Then why the hell are you here, wasting my time? She swallowed the retort and decided on the scare tactics. “If you’re not concerned about your headaches, I won’t be either. But as a physician, whenever I hear the term headaches, I worry about the possibility of a brain tumor.”
A twinge of guilt hit her when his eyes widened. A hiss of a quick breath escaped from him. After a minute, though, he was back to staring impassively at her.
He was certainly a tough one. She sighed. “Look, Mr. Darcy, I know you really don’t want to be here. You’re not answering my questions or cooperating, which makes it very hard for me to prove there’s nothing wrong with you. I want a chance to say, ‘You are right, sir. You have no defects!’”
His eyes gave a faint imitation of a blink.
She grinned at him. “You’re going to have to pay me for my time anyway, you might as well make me work for it. Besides, I thought I told you to practice your oratorical skills. A string of no’s does not count as exchanging witty repartee.”
His expression softened. With a reluctant twitch to his lips, he responded to the overture. “All right, Dr. Bennet. I know you have to do your job. I’ll try to cooperate as much as possible.”
After this, he was less challenging, though no less of a challenge and only minimally more cooperative. Nevertheless, he answered enough of her questions that she was reassured he did not have a brain tumor, which was her main concern.
When she explained to him that she needed to examine him next, he stiffened and looked as if she’d suggested a root canal on the spot.
“You don’t need to undress. I only need your shoes and socks off for me to do a brief exam.” To ease his discomfort, she teased, “I don’t have a scalpel here. You’ll just have to suffer a few pinpricks to see if your senses are alive and intact. I promise not to draw”—she paused, leaned forward, and spelled—“B-L-O-O-D.”
Humor seemed to work with him; for the second time, he fully smiled at her, revealing dimples again. Her mouth parched. She sucked her tongue and wetted her lips. He really is a handsome devil. What a waste to… She had to stop thinking like that. Life is not fair, she silently lamented instead.
She quickly but thoroughly performed the neurological exam. Though obviously uncomfortable with it, he cooperated. They were both glad when the physical exam was over.
When told everything seemed normal, he gave her a wry smile. “I did tell Bingley I don’t get headaches.”
“No, you only give them, I’m sure,” she shot back and felt gratified at his chuckling.
He bent to pick up his shoes. She had to look away to even out her breathing. To distract herself, she reached down to gather up her tools from a low stool. When she straightened, he was standing motionless, staring at her with one shoe in his hand. Wondering at the intense expression in his eyes, she cleared her throat and told him she was ready to give him her professional opinion.
He shook his head slightly as if to bring his mind back from wherever it had gone.
“It’s my opinion you suffer from recurrent migraines, likely precipitated by stress.” She discussed the list of possible medicines she could prescribe for him.
His response was emphatic. “No. I don’t need any.”
“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me you’d say that. In your case, you’d be fine with strong, over-the-counter painkillers.” She gave him some additional recommendations on what he could do to treat his migraines should they worsen, though she voiced her suspicion he’d do nothing.
“Yes, you’re right about that,” he agreed, his eyes smiling warmly at her. “I don’t have a brain tumor?”
She tried not to think of how attractive his mouth appeared when the corners were lifted with humor. “Given the number of years you’ve had the headaches—sorry, since Mr. Bingley thought you had the headaches—I doubt it. You’ll have to give another reason for your evil ways.”
He laughed out loud, looking remarkably different from the man who had entered the room. Flustered, she coughed and briefly turned away to compose herself before she concluded the visit. On his way out the door, he paused. “I’m sorry for being difficult earlier… today and well, that day at the hospital. I’m afraid I have some anger toward the medical profession.”
Her heart tugged at the brief glimpse of sadness she saw in his eyes. A moment later, his face was an imperturbable mask. Gently, she tried to ease the moment with humor again. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way if you had some bad experiences. Luckily, we’re done for now and you’re safe from any unprofessional conduct on my part.”
He laughed again.
Somehow, making Mr. Darcy laugh was addictive. She teased, “I know what your defect is, Mr. Darcy. You don’t laugh at yourself enough.”
“And yours”—his eyes twinkled—“is laughing too much at me for precisely that partic
ular defect.” With that, he finally left.
She closed the door and leaned her back against it so she wouldn’t be tempted to follow him down the hall. The warm sound of Mr. Darcy’s rich laughter had made her toes curl. “Charles Bingley is a lucky whore!”
CHAPTER 8
Losing My Marbles
Crouched low to observe a small crab crawling on the wet sand, Elizabeth saw the pair of running shoes a split second before she heard the deep male voice.
“Hello, Dr. Bennet.”
Oh my! Mr. Darcy stood four feet away, practically undressed in a maroon and gray Harvard T-shirt and black running shorts, compared to his usual slacks and buttoned shirts.
He said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m not startled. Are you running? Jane and I are taking advantage of the beautiful sand and sun of China Beach. She’s over there reading on the lounge chair. I can never sit still, though. I decided to explore. Oh, and call me Elizabeth, please. I don’t have my white coat on, Mr. Darcy.” Out of breath from babbling too fast, she pointed to her own white T-shirt with her alma mater’s Cal logo on it.
“Only if you’ll call me William.”
“What’s the F in F.D. for?”
A slight tinge appeared on his cheeks.
Why, he’s shy. The thought delighted her. “Fine, don’t tell me. Though I have to admit now that, had I known your first initial was F when I first saw you at the hospital, your ears would have burned something fierce that day hearing some four-letter words.” When he laughed, not wanting the dimples to disappear, she continued, “I wouldn’t want to be called Freddy or Frankie either.”
“Almost as bad. It’s Fitzwilliam, my mother’s maiden name.”
“Do you run often?” How lame. Hadn’t she already asked him about running? She was losing her marbles around the man.
“Every morning if I can. You’re not usually out this early, Elizabeth.”
She liked the sound of her name from his mouth. A soft breeze tousled his hair. When the wind blew, she smelled the musky, spicy woods scent mixed with the sea air in his sweat. She dug her bare feet into the wet sand and let the coolness of the water seep through her toes. I need to chill down from Mr. Hottie here. “No, I haven’t been able to, though it’s my favorite time of day, getting up with the sun.”
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