Kissing Mr. Darcy

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “Okay.” I could text Nik later.

  Clive checked his wristwatch. It was one of those fancy kinds. Not a Rolex. More expensive. I tried not to focus on the bling. Apparently Clive was more than a TA. I felt giddy. More and more like Mr. Darcy.

  “I have an appointment this afternoon, but we can meet at five at the Horse and Hound. Agreeable?”

  I nodded, but before I could open my mouth, he was gone without so much as a “goodbye” or “let’s exchange numbers.” I imagined he was probably really busy, though. He probably did most, if not all, of McGillicudy’s grading. And then there were his studies. I was happy he was making time for me.

  As I exited the building, I sent Nik a quick text, apologizing for cancelling and asking to reschedule. Once we’d set up a new time and date, another text chimed.

  Nik: Did you meet Mr. D?

  I rolled my eyes and sent back my own text. Don’t be an idiot.

  Nik: lol I’m still waiting for my prize.

  Emma: You haven’t won yet.

  Nik: But I will.

  After that, I ignored him. But I couldn’t get the image of Nik kissing me out of my head.

  CLIVE FITZWILLIAM ARRIVED at precisely five on the dot. Thank goodness I’d arrived at the Horse and Hound nearly an hour earlier; the pub was already buzzing, and we’d never have gotten a table.

  After buying himself a pint at the bar, Clive joined me at the small table tucked in the corner. He made a show of settling in, tucking his silk tie just so and crossing one leg elegantly over the other.

  He took a sip of ale. “I believe I see where your difficultly lies,” he began in a lecturing tone. “You seem to be more interested in the romance of the time rather than the reality.” The way he said “romance” made it sound almost dirty. Like a porn magazine tucked under the bed.

  “But isn’t romance part of reality? Look at Jane Austen. She wrote romance, for goodness sake. And Lord Byron. Totally romantic.”

  He gave me a stern look. “Miss Austen wrote intelligent commentary on the social mores of the time.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say about that. I mean, I agreed. She did, indeed, do that. But she also wrote freaking romance novels. I opened my mouth, but Clive was droning on.

  Honestly, at the end of two hours, I couldn’t have told you a thing he said. Five minutes into his boring commentary, my eyes had glazed over, and I was all but drooling. I must have made the right noises, though, because he didn’t stop talking the entire two hours. I focused on his rather nicely shaped lips and perfectly shaped eyebrows. Did he wax? Or pluck maybe? Or was he just naturally gifted in the eyebrow department?

  At some point Clive said he had to go. We agreed to meet the following week. Before I could say another word, he was out the door.

  My phone chimed.

  Nik: How’d it go? Was Mr. D as dreamy as you imagined?

  Emma: Shut up.

  Nik: Does that mean you owe me?

  Emma: Not even a little.

  There was no way I’d give Nik the satisfaction of knowing my first one-on-one with Clive had been so boring. It was a tutoring session, after all. Nothing more. There was still plenty of time to win that stupid bet.

  “YOU ACTUALLY MADE A bet with Nik?” Kev howled with laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” I said, swiping hot pink nail polish on my toenails. I frowned when some of the polish got onto my skin. Snagging a cotton swab from the pile, I scraped it off before continuing to the next toe. Next to me, Kev was painting his toes lime green. We both had blue clay beauty masks on our faces, which made us look a little disturbing.

  Matt popped his head into the living room. “Hey, mates, I’m going out for milk. Anyone need anything from the corner shop?” His eyes widened. “Okaaaay.”

  Kev beamed at him. “Sure. Be a dear and pick up some toilet roll, will you? Thanks, love.” He went back to his lime green paint.

  Matt fidgeted for a second, looking awkward and confused. Apparently he didn’t have sisters. “Uh, sure. You need anything, Emma?”

  “A Dairy Milk bar would be great.” I couldn’t get enough of the British answer to the chocolate bar.

  “Got it. I’ll be back, uh, later.”

  We both nodded absently as Matt slipped from the room. The minute the front door closed, Kev let out a giggle. “Poor thing. He really didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he moved in.”

  “We should paint the walls,” I suggested. “The white is kind of boring. Especially with a white couch. What about purple?”

  “This is a rental.”

  “That you own.”

  Kev gave me a startled look.

  “Pippa told me.”

  “Pippa has a big mouth,” he grumbled.

  “What’s the big secret?”

  “Can you imagine what would happen if every flatmate I had knew I owned the place? They would constantly be on me to fix this or change that or could I just hold off a week because they’d spent their rent partying.” He rolled his eyes. “Nightmare.”

  “So, can we paint?” I gave him a cheeky grin.

  “Sure, why not? But you’re the one doing the work.”

  “I can do that.” I slid him another look.

  He heaved a sigh. “Bet you’re wondering how I managed to afford a flat in London. Saving, darling. Lots of saving. And flatmates, of course.”

  “Well, Pippa said you own the place in Bath, too.”

  “You could park an SUV in that girl’s mouth. Yes, I own it. I got a small settlement and decided that was as good a place as any to put it.”

  “Settlement?” I knew it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t good at keeping my nose out of other peoples’ business. Especially people I considered friends.

  Kev kept his gaze focused on his polish job. “It was a sexual harassment thing. My first job out of college. Before I went into hairdressing. My boss thought me being gay meant I was also interested in sleeping with him. I was not.”

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  He shrugged. “It was a while ago. I’m over it.”

  But I could tell he wasn’t. Not really. There was still a lot of pain and anger buried somewhere deep inside him. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  He grinned, but it was a little watery. “You’re the best. Now about this bet.”

  I snorted. “It’s nothing. He’s not going to win.”

  “Oh, honey, I think you should pray he wins.”

  I stared at him. “Why?”

  “Because I’ll bet you an entire box of Dairy Milk that boy can kiss like nobody’s business.”

  I laughed. “How can you tell?”

  “The way he walks.”

  I gave him a baffled look. “What does that mean?”

  “Sweetheart, it’s in his hips.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You can always tell how good a man kisses by how he moves his hips.

  That was a new one. I imagined Nik walking, that slow strolling strut of his. Slight roll of the hips that echoed things done in dark bedrooms. Suddenly I was feeling a bit overwarm all of a sudden. If Kev was right, Nik would probably be one hell of a kisser. Suddenly, losing felt a lot like winning.

  Chapter 16

  “ARE YOU SURE ABOUT this?” Nik stared down at the fawn colored breeches I’d pinned on him.

  “Of course I’m sure,” I muttered around a mouthful of pins.

  He plucked at the poofy white shirt. “It seems a bit...”

  “A bit what?” I asked, eyes narrowed, daring him to say it.

  “Fluffy.”

  I nearly inhaled a mouthful of pins. “I’ll have you know, this is exactly what Mr. Darcy would have worn and he was considered very manly.”

  “Uh huh.” He eyed his reflection in the mirror. “It does have a certain something, I suppose.”

  “You bet it does.” I stuck another pin into the fabric, ignoring his
smug expression.

  He struck a pose. “You think this is going to work?”

  “Well, I’m hoping it’s going to get me a good grade.” I sat back and sighed. “I just hope everyone can see what I’m trying to accomplish. Especially Professor McGillicudy.”

  “Is she the one who is judging this thing?”

  “Yeah. And she’s not an easy one to please. She’s very brusque. I don’t think impressing her is going to be easy.”

  Nik nodded thoughtfully while I helped him get out of the breeches without messing up my work or poking himself with pins. “What does impress her?”

  I pondered that a moment. “Information. She likes people to have a good grasp of the information and provide it in a concise, no-nonsense manner.” Very like the woman herself. “But she also likes it to be interesting for the class, as well. If they’re bored by my presentation, she’ll likely mark me down.” My stomach fluttered nervously at the thought. I had no idea where to begin.

  “Okay, good. Why don’t we put together a list of everything you know and want to include in your presentation? Then we play around with it a bit. Find a way to really amp up the appeal while keeping it succinct for your professor.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course, Emma. I want you to succeed.” His expression warmed me to my toes. I’d never had anyone care so much about what I did. Not a man, anyway.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Nik.”

  “Any time.”

  I knew he meant it.

  I FIDGETED NERVOUSLY as I waited my turn to present. Nik was dressed and waiting in the hall. This was it. Fortunately no one would be judging me on my hand-sewing skills, which were decent but nothing to get excited about. They would, however, be judging me on interest, originality, and authenticity. I wanted a good grade from McGillicudy. And I wanted Clive to be impressed. Maybe then he’d see I was more than just another student.

  “Ms. Roberts. You’re up,” the professor snapped in her no-nonsense tone.

  I went to the front of the room and cleared my throat nervously. I hated public speaking, which was weird because I could do just about anything else in front of people: sing, dance, babble. But standing before a sea of faces, I suddenly felt faint. Then I caught sight of Titus glaring at me, and I really lost it. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Any time, Ms. Roberts,” Professor McGillicudy droned. “We haven’t got all day.”

  Titters from the rest of the class. My mind was numb. A total blank. What was I doing?

  “Ms. Roberts?”

  The door swung open, and Nik strode in. The students gasped when they saw him in his Regency splendor, from the fawn breeches to the navy tailcoat studded with brass buttons.

  He strode purposefully toward me as if I were the only person in the room. He took my hand in his and kissed it with flourish. “Miss Roberts.” His voice was rich and deep. It was as if he and I were the only ones in the room.

  For the second time, Nik had rescued me. I suddenly wanted to hug him in the worst way.

  “Sweet heavens,” one of the girls up front whispered loud enough for the entire room to hear, “I’d rip those buttons off with my teeth.”

  “Thank you for your insight, Ms. Bellows,” the professor said drily. “Go ahead, Ms. Roberts.”

  The spell thoroughly broken, I glanced at Nik, who shot me a wink and nodded encouragingly. Okay, I could do this. I wiped damp palms on my jeans and stepped closer to him.

  “My presentation today is on the fashion of Regency England as it pertains to the persona of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.”

  There were a murmur of approvals from the women and a few of the men. Professor McGillicudy almost smiled. Clive looked mildly interested.

  “Much like today, fashion was a statement not only one’s personal taste, but also, and perhaps more importantly, a statement of class. Mr. Darcy would have, in today’s buying power, been a millionaire many times over. He would have had the best of the best.”

  I stepped closer to Nik and touched the sleeve of his jacket. He stared down at me, and the heat in his gaze nearly melted the soles of my shoes. I cleared my throat nervously and looked away.

  Quickly launching into the details of the jacket, I gave him a nod. He slowly took off the jacket, accompanied by a few wolf whistles. He ignored them, focusing on draping the jacket neatly over the back of a chair.

  “The cravat was key. The grandfather of today’s necktie, the way a man tied his cravat spoke volumes about his character and also the skill of his valet.”

  Nik began unwinding the long piece of white cloth that made up the cravat, exposing the strong column of his throat and neck. Was the room a bit warm, or was it just me?

  We moved to the boots, then the breeches. With the removal of each article of clothing, more wolf whistles and catcalls rang out until McGillicudy had to shut everyone up.

  Finally Nik stood there in his smalls, the Regency equivalent of boxers and T-shirt. I swallowed hard. I was used to seeing him in jeans and a shirt. Now that he was in next to nothing, there was no hiding how beautiful he was from the broad muscles of his shoulders to the light dusting of dark hair over his shins. He had very nice calf muscles too. I told myself not to be a weirdo.

  “Uh, in Regency times, a man’s physique was everything. But just like today, there were plenty of men who didn’t want to work out to achieve it. There were many things men wore under their clothing to achieve the perfect physique: shoulder pads, bum pads, and even false calves to give the appearance of muscle. The Prince Regent himself was famous for wearing a corset to hold in his corpulent stomach. As you can see, Nik—I mean, Mr. Darcy— needs none of those things.”

  More tittering from the crowd. I blushed furiously.

  “And, uh, that’s it,” I finished lamely.

  “Excellent presentation, Ms. Roberts,” the professor said. “You may be seated. And Mr. Darcy, you may get dressed.” She eyed him carefully. “Or not.”

  This time it was Nik’s turn to blush.

  “THAT WENT WELL.”

  I glanced up at Nik. “You think?”

  “Of course. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. It was fun, informative, different. I would think that would get you an excellent grade. If not, I know people.” He winked suggestively.

  I laughed. “That’s okay. I’ll take whatever grade I get. I did my best, and that’s all anyone can do. Right?”

  “Right.” He paused. “Emma—”

  “Excellent presentation, Emma,” Clive said, interrupting Nik. “Why don’t we get a drink to celebrate?”

  A muscle flexed in Nik’s jaw, the only way I could tell he was annoyed. Why on earth would he be upset that Clive was asking me out? He was asking me out, right?

  “That would be great, Clive. Let me just talk to Nik for a minute. I’ll meet you outside?” Clive nodded graciously before exiting the building. I turned to Nik. “Sorry, what was it you were going to say?”

  He shook his head, and I could have sworn he was grinding his jaw. “It’s not important. Maybe later.”

  Okaaay. “Sure.”

  He nodded toward the door Clive had just exited. “That Mr. Darcy?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly, but I knew my eyes revealed my excitement. “Maybe. It seems like he might be.”

  “Don’t forget our bet, Emma.” The heat was back in his eyes.

  “Please. There is no way you’re going to win. Clive is amazing. He’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  Nik leaned in really close, his gaze level with mine. There was something there I couldn’t read. “Don’t be too sure of that.”

  Then he was gone, and I was left to wonder what exactly he’d meant by that.

  Chapter 17

  CLIVE TOOK ME TO A restaurant inside the Shard, the magnificent glass-encrusted monument to human ingenuity that stood sentinel over the city of London. The building, over seventy stories high, literally looked like a shard
of glass, shining in the warm light of the setting sun. It was, in a word, magical.

  The restaurant reeked of taste and refinement. White linen tablecloths, real crystal ware, and a view from the fiftieth floor that was to die for. The decor was Asian inspired with hints of the South Seas. An odd mix but fun and eclectic. I liked it.

  Clive pulled out my chair with a flourish. I couldn’t help but grin as I allowed him to seat me. No one had ever pulled out a chair for me before.

  The minute Clive had seated himself, he raised a hand in the air and snapped his fingers. I blinked. I’d never seen anyone do that outside of movies.

  A waiter, dressed in classic white-and-black, appeared as if by magic. “Yes, sir?”

  “Why were we not given menus?” Clive gave the man a haughty look.

  “I do apologize, sir. I will bring them immediately.” The waiter turned and glided among the tables to the front of the restaurant.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said quietly. “I’m sure they’d have brought menus in a moment. They’re pretty busy.”

  “That’s no excuse for sub-standard service,” Clive said with a twist of his mouth that spoke of arrogance and expectation. Well, maybe he was used to a certain standard of dining, and I didn’t know the rules. This wasn’t exactly the sort of place I frequented.

  When the waiter returned, Clive literally ignored the man, instead staring out the window at the view as if it were the most fascinating thing ever. It was gorgeous, amazing, but there was no need to be rude.

  “Thank you,” I said, with a smile.

  The waiter returned the smile. His name tag read Shen. “You’re most welcome, madam. The sommelier will be with you shortly to take your wine order.”

  As he move smoothly away, Clive spoke up. “There was no need to thank the man. This is his job.”

  “Where I come from, you thank people. Especially people who have to deal with the public. It’s just polite.”