Bespelling Jane Austen

by Mary Balogh

“Elizabeth!” Caroline Bingley came gliding up, dressed in a silver lace gown that skimmed over her slender figure from a high waist below a neckline that emphasized her swanlike neck. She looked me up and down with a barely disguised sneer.

  “I see that we had the same idea,” she said. “Bullseye must have a wider selection of costumes than I would have imagined.”

  I curtsied. “Thanks for the compliment, Caroline. You’ve done a wonderful job with your own costume. Did Darcy dig it up in his attic?”

  Her perfectly controlled features slackened as she considered how much she should be insulted and then wondered what other meaning I might have intended. I sailed away before she could respond, looking for Jane or Charles or both.

  Of course, they were already together, Jane radiant in a Marie Antoinette getup and Charles wearing very authentic-looking cowboy duds. Their heads were together, and they were laughing. Clearly, Jane wasn’t taking my warnings about Darcy seriously.

  There were a number of guests I didn’t know, including several very good-looking guys. My first thought was that they might be vampires, but there was no indication that they were any different than anyone else—nothing of that weird charisma Darcy, and, to a lesser extent George, possessed. I finally acknowledged that I was on the verge of becoming paranoid.

  Lydia and Kitty, both dressed in variations of Goth-medieval dresses, were running from one potential victim to another, evidently trying to decide which man was most worthy of Lydia’s attention. Mom, in a 1920s gown much too small for her, was quivering with excitement and Dad—as usual—was looking a bit bemused in his Roman centurion’s armor.

  After a while I was sure that George wasn’t there. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I wandered over to the open bar and chose a glass of expensive chardonnay.

  “Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.”

  My stomach made another attempt to jump out of my throat. Darcy was beside me; I hadn’t even heard him coming, and in light of what I’d learned I knew I shouldn’t be surprised.

  But I was. And I was already wondering if he was going to admit he saw me outside of Rosings, or pretend he hadn’t.

  “Hello,” I said casually, sipping my wine. I eyed his costume…a fantastically detailed, early-nineteenth-century coat, waistcoat and breeches that showed off his physique superbly and made my plain Regency dress look shabby.

  He definitely got that out of his attic, I thought. “What made you pick that particular costume, Mr. Darcy?” I asked.

  “I might ask the same of you.” He settled on the stool beside me, every motion grace itself. I risked a sideways glance at his face. I kept forgetting how stunningly handsome he was. But it was his eyes I was drawn to. I couldn’t mistake the predatory gleam in them, or the faintest trace of red.

  “Oh,” I said airily, “it’s all they had left at Bullseye.”

  My joke must have gone over his head, because he didn’t show any sign of amusement. “It suits you very well,” he said.

  He was being nice again. Too nice. Was that the way vampires—evil ones, that is—set up their victims?

  “Another glass of wine?” he asked, signaling the bartender.

  He’s trying to get me drunk. I shook my head.

  “Thanks, but not right now.” I fell silent, trying to think of something to say. Should I come right out and confront him? The very thought—which I had considered seriously for the past several days—made my mouth feel like the inside of a vacuum-cleaner bag.

  “It’s your turn to say something, Mr. Darcy,” I said stupidly.

  “What would you like me to say?”

  I laughed, hoping he wouldn’t hear my incipient panic. “I guess we’re alike in one way. Neither one of us much cares to talk unless we can think of some bit of wit or wisdom to impart.”

  He frowned. “I doubt that is a very accurate representation of yourself.”

  “You mean I talk too much?”

  “You put words into my mouth, Miss Elizabeth.”

  For some strange reason I found myself looking at that part of his body. His mouth. His firm, masculine lips. And what they hid beneath them.

  What would it be like to be kissed by that mouth? What had George said about vampire groupies? “They enjoy exchanging their blood for the sexual pleasure his bite…gives them.”

  What would it be like to make love with a vampire?

  The room had begun to feel like a sauna. The stool was definitely rubbing me the wrong way. I had thoughts in my head that would have made Lydia blush. And Darcy was staring at me as if he knew exactly what my mind and body were up to.

  My only hope now was to go on the attack.

  “I’ve been talking to an acquaintance of yours, Mr. Darcy,” I said, deliberately meeting his indigo gaze.

  “Indeed?”

  I knew he knew what I was going to say. “It’s funny that you never mentioned knowing him when he came to work for Bennet Laboratories.”

  “You refer to George Wickham.”

  His voice had gone cold enough to turn the sauna into an ice bath. “You were with him in Manhattan, were you not?” he asked.

  So he had seen me with George in the alley. Well, George had warned me. Darcy must realize I knew what he and George were. What in hell was I getting myself into?

  There was nothing to do but keep bluffing my way through to the end. “George had some interesting things to say about your mutual past,” I said lightly, circling my finger around a ring of condensation on the marble counter.

  “I have no doubt.”

  I glanced up again. Darcy was no longer just handsome and remote and dangerously sexy. He looked the same way George had just after he’d thrashed those guys outside Brighton: implacable, savage and deadly.

  “Wickham has a glib tongue, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “and a certain skill in convincing new acquaintances of his honesty. Whether he can keep their good opinion is another matter entirely.”

  “He certainly lost a lot more than just your good opinion, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Wickham is always the innocent victim.”

  Oh, I badly wanted that second drink now. “I think victim is a very appropriate word.”

  His hand came down over mine with all the leashed fury of a tiger deciding to play with its prey before dispatching it. “You had better take care,” he said very softly, “that you do not become his next one.”

  CHAPTER 7

  MY BODY WENT BONELESS, AND IT TOOK ALL MY willpower to stay upright on my stool.

  “Funny thing about me,” I said, shaping each word with the greatest care. “The more someone tries to scare me, the braver I get.”

  His fingers curled over mine. “It is not my intention to frighten you, Miss Elizabeth, but to warn you.”

  My eyelids were getting heavy, and I wondered if vampires used some kind of hypnosis as one of their hunting techniques.

  “You don’t have to warn me, Mr. Darcy,” my voice sounding slurred and very far away,

  Darcy’s was sharp and clear. “You would be well advised to remove Wickham from your employ, madam.”

  Madam. I giggled. “Now that’s funny.” I rolled my head around to look into his eyes. “Why were you hanging around outside my window the other night?”

  I wasn’t so far gone not to take some satisfaction in Darcy’s expression. For a second he actually seemed taken aback.

  “Oh, yes, I saw you,” I drawled. I poked him in the center of his white brocade waistcoat. “I didn’t know you liked bookstores, Mr. Darcy. You should have come in…I’d have picked out something just right for you.”

  His expression changed again. Not deadly this time, or surprised. Just intense enough to fry the sun to a cinder.

  “And do you know what is just right for me, Elizabeth?” he asked.

  Sanity was beginning to return. I tried to wiggle my hand from under his. “I…um…don’t suppose you’re a fan of the romantic poets? Byron, Shelley, those guys?”
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  “I am not averse to poetry,” he said. “What else can you offer me?”

  Oh, boy. “Frankenstein?”

  He leaned closer. His breath didn’t smell the way you’d expect the breath of a blood drinker to smell. It was actually very nice. So was the warmth that washed over me, and the steady sound of his breathing, and the way his thumb rubbed up and down over the back of my hand. Oh, so not-undead.

  “I did not come to your shop for a book,” he said.

  I wasn’t imagining the change in his tone, or fooled by the coolness of his expression. Just as I wasn’t imagining the crazy drumming of my heart or the chemical reactions tearing my willpower to shreds.

  “What did you have in mind?” I murmured.

  “Darcy!”

  Caroline Bingley jostled into my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the stool. Darcy let go of my hand, and I snapped to full alertness. For once I had reason to be grateful to the wench.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Caroline said, ignoring me completely. “You can’t just sit here when everyone else is having a good time.”

  The woman really was blind if she couldn’t recognize the contempt in Darcy’s gaze. “I am having a good time,” he said.

  “Oh?” She gave me a vicious, dismissive glance. “Do you enjoy talking about George Wickham, Darcy?”

  So she’d been eavesdropping. I should have known, since I’d become so good at it myself. Darcy stared at the counter for a moment and then slid from his stool.

  “If you will forgive me, ladies, I have business to attend to.”

  Caroline stared after him as he strode away, her skin flushed. When she turned back to me, her smile had become a blunt instrument.

  “Elizabeth, dear,” she said, “you should know that Wickham is a very bad man. You won’t get anywhere with Darcy by mentioning him.”

  “I’m not trying to get anywhere with Darcy. I leave that to you.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but I was already on my way to find Jane. I hadn’t expected Charles to leave her side for a second, but at the moment she was alone, beaming at the room in general.

  I rushed over to her. “How’s it going?” I whispered.

  “Oh, Lizzy.”

  “I guess that means Charles is as much in love with you as ever.”

  She laughed out of sheer happiness, took my arm and pulled me around a corner. “What about you? I saw you talking with Darcy. What did he want?”

  I made a face. “I don’t know, but he didn’t exactly defend himself when I brought up George Wickham.”

  “You didn’t! What did he say?”

  “Some stuff about George having a ‘glib tongue’ and not being honest.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Jane said with a frown. “I mentioned it to Charles, and he seemed to believe that George had done something bad enough to warrant Darcy’s dislike.”

  “Does he know what happened?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then all he’s doing is defending a man he considers a friend. That’s only natural.”

  “Maybe, but…” She bit her lip. “I guess we’ll have to withhold judgment until we have more facts.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. The small band in the corner of the grand salon was tuning up; people were gathering in the central area that had been cleared of furniture. “Here comes the dancing. I think I’ll make myself scarce.”

  “Why? I’m sure a lot of the guys here would like to dance with you.”

  I didn’t tell her that I’d had enough of dancing at Brighton. “I’d rather watch. You go on and have fun.”

  Just then Charles came to claim my sister. So I was spared further arguments for a little while as Jane danced with Charles, the two of them grinning at each other with the vacuous expressions of people in love. The only thing that clouded the picture was Darcy, who stood on the sidelines and stared at the couple with a grim look on his face. It was all I could do not to charge up to him and demand to know what his problem was.

  Hadn’t George made that clear enough? I turned around, thinking that what I really needed right now was time to myself. Time to get my messy feelings under control and figure out just what I had to do.

  The “ladies’ room” was a huge bathroom with scads of imported marble and fixtures, conveniently situated at the end of the wide corridor. I was halfway there when Darcy literally appeared in front of me. Again.

  He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said formally, “Are you not in the mood for dancing?”

  The band had struck up a slow jazz tune for its second number, and the back of my neck began to prickle. “I wouldn’t take you for the dancing type, Mr. Darcy.”

  He came closer. “It depends upon the partner.”

  “I, uh…” I backed away. “I really have to—”

  “Surely you can spare a few minutes.”

  Darcy was gazing at me in that scary way, reminding me that I refused on principle to be intimidated by guys like him. Even if the guy could snap my neck like a wishbone. And he wouldn’t dare bite me in such a public place.

  Would he?

  Risk or not, if he focused on me, Jane was sure to be safe from his resentment. I let him take my hand. I let him pull me into his arms. I tried to keep my body stiff enough to keep him from holding me too close, but it was a useless defense. He was strong. I could feel the strength in the muscles of his shoulders and biceps and pecs through his shirt, waistcoat and jacket. He rested his hand on my back just above my waist, sending shock waves all the way to the virtually nonexistent heels of my ballet flats. When he moved, guiding me in a slow, hypnotic circle, it was like being carried out to sea by a riptide.

  We didn’t talk. I couldn’t think of a single impertinent thing to say. Especially when Darcy lowered his head and rested his cheek against mine, breathing softly in my ear. His mouth was very close to the base of my neck.

  And I wasn’t afraid. I was too busy experiencing the exquisite ache in parts of my body that hadn’t been active in a pretty long time. I couldn’t really be sexually attracted to him. All this was just more proof that he had some superhuman skill to drive women wild. Look at those women at the vampire club. Look at Caroline, making herself a fool over him, wanting him to…

  Darcy’s hand stroked my back. I wanted him to move it a little lower. I wanted to escape. I closed my eyes, aware that he was aroused under his close-fitting breeches. Aroused and very large.

  A chasm was opening up under my feet. Another step and I’d be dragging him into an empty bedroom.

  “Darcy? Darcy, are you down here?”

  We jumped apart. For the second time that evening I owed Caroline a big favor. I didn’t wait to see what Darcy thought of the interruption; I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. My lungs felt like deflated balloons, and I had to lean against the door until I could breathe again.

  Someone knocked on the door. I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and I’d been standing in the same place the whole time.

  Not daring to look in the mirror, I opened the door and let the woman in. She gave me an odd look. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  I mumbled some kind of answer and beat a hasty retreat. The music had stopped. I didn’t search for Darcy but went straight to Mom, who was chatting loudly with Dad’s secretary, Mrs. Lucas.

  “I’m sure Jane will be picking out a wedding gown any day now,” Mom was saying. “Can you imagine? She’ll be rich, and Bennet Laboratories will be safe. Jane will make sure of that.”

  Even I, never known for my reticence, was embarrassed at Mom’s public gloating. “Mom,” I said, smiling at Mrs. Lucas, “I think a button on the back of my dress is coming loose. Can you help me fix it?”

  Mom gave me a blank look, blinked and smiled beatifically. “Of course, Lizzy. Will you excuse me, Gladys?”

  I flashed Mrs. Lucas an apologetic grin—though I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be too disappointed at being relieved of Mom’s
incessant gossip—and dragged Mom off to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Darcy staring after us.

  FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS after the party, time seemed suspended. I went through the motions at the bookstore, absurdly grateful that business was a little off. I found myself reaching for Gaiman instead of Grisham and shelved Geometry in with Gardening. I waltzed in the narrow spaces between the shelves, enfolded in imaginary arms.

  Then I’d snap out of it again, and remember everything George Wickham had said. The deadly look in Darcy’s eye when I’d mentioned him. The way he’d watched Charles and Jane.

  But his voice had been so gentle when he’d asked me to dance. He hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t hurt Jane. He hadn’t hurt anyone that I knew of. And he’d let Charles come up with an acquisition plan that wasn’t going to cripple my family and my dad’s employees.

  How could I have such starkly opposite feelings about him? My head said one thing, my heart another. At closing time I was staring blankly at my computer screen, trying not to look out the window. He hadn’t shown up last night or the night before, and he wasn’t coming tonight. I didn’t want him to come.

  The computer chimed, letting me know that I’d received an e-mail. I almost let it go until tomorrow, but at the last minute clicked it open.

  Dearest Izba,

  I don’t know what to think. Charles has left for England with Caroline. She just e-mailed me from the airport; they’re off to London on some business for the company, and she doesn’t know when they’re coming back.

  Oh, Lizzy… I can’t believe this is happening! Why would he go without saying anything to me?

  I’ll be at Mom and Dad’s tonight. Please come!

  Love,

  Your Jane.

  CHAPTER 8

  I GAPED AT THE WORDS UNTIL THEY BEGAN TO make sense, shut down the laptop and grabbed my coat and handbag. My hands were shaking as I locked the door.

  Left for England? With no word to Jane? It was unbelievable. There was no comfort in reminding myself that vampires had once seemed unbelievable, too.

  Without stopping by my apartment, I drove straight to my parents’. Jane was sitting in the living room with Mom and Dad, both of whom wore long faces…though Dad was a lot more subtle about it than Mom, who looked as though she’d lost her credit line at Saks. Even Mary had apparently dropped by to provide her own idea of moral support.