3.

“Earth calling Darcy.”

I shook myself from what had become a very pleasant daydream. “What?”

“That was going to be my next question. What the hell were you smiling about?”

Unaware that I had been smiling, I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Trust me, Will. A man doesn’t smile like that without good reason.”

Richard was right. The grin on my face had been irrepressible at the thought of seeing Elizabeth again, while the last two days must win the prize as the oddest of my life so far. I’d had trouble sleeping, my appetite was almost non-existent and I’d been watching late night re-runs of Top Gear on obscure satellite channels so that I could impress her with my new-found knowledge.

A long-suffering sigh came from across the table. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were in love.”

I looked up sharply at my cousin. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Well, how else do you explain it? We’ve come out for a drink but you’ve not heard half of what I’ve said. Georgie says you’ve not been sleeping well the last couple of days and even Janice noticed that you’ve been a little distracted.”

“I am not distracted.”

“Really? Then why have you eaten three crisps out of my packet, when I know you can’t stand smoky bacon?”

Looking down at my right hand, I was surprised to see a single large crisp between my first three fingers. I sniffed at it gingerly and wrinkled my nose at the fake bacon flavourings; dropping the offending article onto the table in disgust. “I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“And her name is ...?”

I wasn’t ready to cut open my chest and hand him my heart just yet. “Why do you automatically assume it’s a woman?”

Richard lifted his eyebrows, giving me that long-suffering look that I knew well. “Because Janice also told me that Mr. Bennet didn’t turn up for his appointment last Friday … but a Miss Bennet did.”

“So?”

“So … everyone knows that women know next to nothing about cars. I can’t believe that Mr. Bennet fobbed you off with one of his femme-fatale daughters!”

I shook my head, dumbfounded by Richard’s description. “Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“I know that when I went into Hertfordshire to test-drive the Lambo, I felt that I barely escaped with my bachelorhood intact. I assumed you‘d be safe; you can spot a man-eater at five hundred yards, and you don’t worry about being polite to them, either.”

I tried to imagine Elizabeth as a femme fatale, but I couldn’t see it. Recalling details of her family from the conversation from Tuesday night, I asked, “Did you meet all the Bennet daughters?”

He ticked them off on his fingers. “Well, there was the young flirty one … I can’t recall her name … and then there was Kitty. I remember her, because she was purring around me like a cat in heat, and I thought how appropriate her name was.” He paused for a moment. “Ah yes! There was another one in accounts; she wore glasses. I wrote her a cheque for the deposit, and she admired the neatness of my handwriting.”

“And as you write marginally worse than a doctor, you assumed she was chatting you up?” He nodded his head. That was half the problem with my cousin; he automatically believed that every woman would fall at his feet. The trouble was they usually did. I sighed. “That’s only three. What about the other two?”

Richard looked horrified. “You’re not telling me there are more of them?” I nodded, picking up my pint of water from the table. “And her name is …?”

For a minute I considered saying nothing, but Richard was not only my cousin, but my best friend. We’d been through more scrapes together than either of us could remember, and after my father died he’d become more like a brother to me. He, of all people, deserved to know. Breaking eye contact, I turned to look through the window. “Elizabeth.”

He thought for a moment. “No … the flirty one wasn’t called Elizabeth. I would have remembered that. Does she wear glasses?” A beautiful pair of eyes floated tantalisingly before my eyes. I shook my head absently. Richard snorted in disgust. “Oh, God! He’s off again,” he muttered to himself. “Are you sure it’s going to be safe for you to ride that bike of yours to Pemberley? If you have a moony episode like that while you’re riding, you’ll end up in a ditch.”
 
Indignation rose inside me. “What sort of a half-wit do you take me for?”

“A half-wit in love. It’s a dangerous combination.” For once, Richard wasn’t joking.

“I’m not …” I began, but the words melted on my tongue. You didn’t fall in love with someone after just two meetings; it was something that grew over time, slow and steady like an oak growing from an acorn. But since Tuesday night I’d definitely felt like something was missing. By Wednesday evening I’d wanted to phone her to ask a question—any question—just to hear the sound of her voice. “I’m not a half-wit. I know what I’m doing. No one falls in love after meeting someone twice,” I declared firmly.

Leaning back in his chair, Richard studied me dispassionately; just like a beetle he’d once caught under a jam jar. After a few moments of silence he said, “Why not? I’ve heard of worse things. After all, that’s just what happened with your parents.”

By the time I’d become curious about my parent’s relationship, my mum was already dead, and my dad in mourning. He’d remained that way for the rest of his life … what had been left of it. “How the hell do you know?”

My cousin shrugged; a half-smile on his lips. “Mum was lecturing me about women once, telling me I should stop playing the field and think about settling down. I tried to explain that I couldn’t imagine finding anyone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. By way of a parable, she told me the story of when your parents met. According to her, Uncle George was completely smitten at first sight and he proposed on their second date. Aunt Anne went home and confided in her that very night.”

“That’s rubbish. My parents got engaged six months after they met.”

“Yes officially, but only because they knew the families wouldn’t take them seriously if they’d announced the news at the end of that first week.” He must have seen the disbelief written on my face, because he insisted that the story was true, and if I didn’t believe him I could ask Aunt Eleanor. “But if this Elizabeth is anything like her sisters, I’d think twice, Will. I know you. Make sure she loves you for you, and not for your money. You know you won’t be happy with a gold-digger. You’ve only got to look at Charlie’s sister to know that.”

Richard had hit the biggest sticking point. I knew how I felt about Elizabeth, and it was growing stronger every day, but she’d given me no indication that she even liked me. Far from being after my money, I wasn’t sure I was anything other than another customer to her; albeit a very rich one.

It was an issue I hoped to address that afternoon.

Leaving Richard, I climbed onto my bike, weaving through the heavy traffic with a freedom I could never hope to accomplish with a car. I picked up the A10 just north of Wood Green, and followed it over the M25 at Waltham Cross until I reached the outskirts of Meryton. Elizabeth’s directions led me directly to an old country pub, squatting by the side of the road as though it had been there for years. It probably had. This part of the A10 was on a section of what was the Old North Road, which had been a major route since the Romans arrived.

I’d just removed my helmet and was running my fingers through my hair as I heard the rumbling purr of a well-tuned engine behind me. Trying to ignore the eager pumping of my heart, I turned around to watch a sleek new Jaguar pulling into a parking spot, but my admiration was firmly on the driver, not the vehicle.

Feeling a little warm, I unzipped my leather jacket as Elizabeth climbed out of the car. Today’s suit told me that she was still insisting on maintaining a proper distance. It was black instead of grey—putting me in mind of a mourner at a funeral—and the skirt was slightly longer, but she still looked incredibly sexy. Her glossy brown curls were scraped back into a harsh, schoolmistress style bun, almost as though she was trying to make herself less attractive. 

If that was what she intended, failed miserably. All I could think about was pulling those silky tresses down around her shoulders … one delicious lock at a time.

“Good afternoon. So, this is your Duke?” Well, she was pleased to see my bike at least. I only wished that her smile had been for me instead.

I glanced over my shoulder to where my pride and joy rested on its stand. “Yes, that’s it.”

Walking past me, she inspected my bike from all angles; her fingers trailing reverently over the frame and fairings, lingering on the throttle as she assessed the dormant instrument panel. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

I agreed wholeheartedly, but I wasn’t thinking about the bike.

After that she seemed to flip back to ‘business mode’ and I followed her inside to a cosy table in the corner where we were unlikely to be disturbed. I took the seat next to Elizabeth, but at a right angle from her, so I could be close while still able to see her face. Her response was to place her briefcase in the corner between us. Even the most optimistic part of me had to admit that wasn’t a good sign. Opening the conversation, I asked whether the Jaguar was hers.

“No, it’s another loan car. I took it to a prospective client for a test drive this morning. Unfortunately, after our meeting on Tuesday, I’ve had to scrub the XKR from your list, along with the Maserati Gran Turismo.”

“Why?”

“Because both come with automatic transmission as the only option, when you’ve specified a manual gearbox.”

I found myself unable to argue with her logic, although that might have had something to do with the sunlight coming through the window behind her. It tinted her hair with a golden sheen, leaving me both entranced and temporarily speechless.

As if to rouse me from my absorption, she laid her portfolio of cars on the table, along with the smaller pile of photographs left over from Tuesday. My problem was that I had no interest in talking about cars at all. After being in her company for all of fifteen minutes, all I wanted was to take her hand in mine and tell her …

Oh, God! How can it be possible? I do love her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I searched my briefcase for the portfolio of remaining cars. It was nothing more than a delaying tactic, while I composed myself and overcame my embarrassing tendency to blush. Instead of sitting across the table from me, as we had in the restaurant, William had taken the seat on my left side; clearly unaware that his knee was brushing against mine under the table, making it all the more difficult for me to concentrate.

Minutes earlier, when pulling into the car park, I’d spotted him before he noticed me. The sight of his long legs—encased in all that tight black leather—had grabbed my attention first, but then he took off his helmet; leaving those unruly waves tousled in the same artless way some young men spend hours in front of the mirror trying to achieve.

For a moment, I swear I forgot how to breathe.

Then, to make matters worse, as I climbed out of the car he unzipped his jacket, revealing a tight white t-shirt, clinging to muscles his clothes had previously hidden. Feeling my knees starting to weaken, I turned my attention to the bike that was sitting behind him.

I had to admit, it’s an incredible machine. Walking around it, I could feel the heat coming from the still warm engine. At five foot five, I was too short to tackle such a beast. It would need someone of William’s stature to handle the weight and the power. I doubted I could even get a toe down.

My mind had begun to wander, imagining what it might be like to ride fourteen thousand pound’s worth of superbike, when I realised what I was doing and stamped down hard on my daydreams; grinding them into metaphorical dust. This wasn’t a fairytale; we weren’t going to ride off together into the sunset. No matter how nice he was, or how often I’d thought about him after leaving the restaurant on Tuesday, I had to accept that it was futile to build my hopes up.

I was here to work and William Darcy was just another customer.

Putting the portfolio and the photographs on the table, I looked up, forcing my lips into a smile. “Right, let’s get down to business then, shall we.” I spread the pictures out. “This is what we have left. Should I just run down the specifics of each one in turn or is there anything here you’re particularly interested in?”

William coughed, hiding what looked to be a grin behind his hand, before picking up the photographs. He looked them over, one by one. “They all seem okay ...”—reaching the last picture, he held it up—“...except for this. What is it?”

I wasn’t surprised he’d missed it during our last meeting; it had been at the bottom of the pile. “A Sagaris. Made by TVR at Blackpool.”

“I thought they only made rock and candy floss in Blackpool?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “Have you even been there?”

“Yes, once.”

“You’re joking, right?” Looking at this millionaire businessman, even in his sexy bike leathers, I could only imagine him going to upmarket places like Monaco or renting a private island in the Caribbean. North-west England’s best-known blue-collar holiday resort—home of donkey rides and kiss-me-quick hats—didn’t seem like his natural territory.

“You sound surprised! A friend of mine took me to Blackpool for a weekend, just before we started at Cambridge. He wanted me to see how the other half lived.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Well, the weekend was fun ... but the friendship didn’t do so well.” One look at the bleak expression in his eyes told me that he’d left a heap of things unsaid, but I didn’t push. After a moment, he threw me a sly glance from the corner of his eye and his lips twitched in a way I found so adorable. “So ... this TVR.” He screwed his eyebrows down and wrinkled his nose in an approximation of an angry frown, mimicking the front of the car. “It has what Georgie would call an angry looking face. Would it appeal to the ladies? Do you like it?”

I knew I liked William, perhaps more than was sensible, but I didn’t truly care for the Sagaris. It was just one more car I’d added to flesh out the list. “I appreciate it in a technical sense. It has a four litre, straight six engine that produces only four hundred bhp, but its fibre-glass body shell means that it can still hit sixty miles an hour in around 3.6 seconds, going on to reach a top speed of one hundred and ninety.”

“So, in other words, you think it’s ugly too.”

Again, he’d made me laugh. How does he keep doing that? “Well, yes ... a little, but my opinions hardly count. It’s your car we’re looking for here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” His eyes pierced mine, and for a moment neither of us spoke. My heart, never the most sensible of organs when in William Darcy’s presence, started hammering on my ribcage, wanting out. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, leaning towards me.

With a brittle smile I quickly plucked the TVR from his fingers. “I’ll mark that down as a no then, shall I?” I made a show of returning the photograph to my briefcase, trying to ignore his hurt expression. Looking through the contents for something that wasn’t lost gave me a moment to calm down and drag myself back to reality. When I returned my attention to William he was staring curiously at me, but made no comment. “Right, we have six cars left,” I continued in a business-like tone. “Let me run through them for you.”

I heard him sigh, and his head rolled back against the seat. 

I pointed to one of the pictures. “Here we have the Nissan GT-R. This is a brand new model, unveiled at the end of 2007 in Japan. It’s an all-wheel drive, front engined two-door coupé, which boasts a 3.8 litre V6 twin-turbocharged engine. The acceleration is reported to be excellent; reaching 62 mph in 3.3 seconds.”

“What do you think about it?” His voice sounded hoarse, almost unrecognisable.

“Well, I’ve not actually had chance to drive—”

“Would you buy one?” he asked impatiently. When I shook my head, he tossed the Nissan aside as though it had just become the least interesting thing in the world.

Pointing to the Audi, he said, “I recognise this. It was on TV the other night.”

“The R8 has had a lot of publicity in recent months. Top Gear Magazine named it Car of the Year for 2007. It shares fifteen percent of its infrastructure with the Lamborghini Gallardo, including the chassis and transmission. The mid-mounted, 4.2 litre V8 engine produces 420 bhp, taking the R8 to sixty miles an hour in just over four seconds. Now, I know that’s slower than some of the other cars I’ve shown you, but it more than makes up for it with the famous Audi build quality and beautiful design; not to mention that prices start from just seventy-eight thousand pounds, which is incredibly cheap for what you get.”

William smiled at my enthusiasm. “In that case, how could I resist something so beautiful? We’ll make the R8 one of the cars for the test drive, shall we?” His eyes drifted from me to the table, and he surveyed the vehicles that remained. “And no list would be complete without a Ferrari, would it?”

“Of course not! This is the F430; a 4.3 litre V8, providing 483 horsepower via a six-speed gearbox. You also have the option to change gear using the formula one style paddles behind the steering wheel.”

“Have you ever driven one?”

I couldn’t hide my pleasure as I relived the memory. “Yes, my Dad bought an F430 in 2005. It was a great car to drive, until Lydia wrapped it around a tree.”

“Was she hurt?”

“No ... only cuts and bruises.”

He grinned. “I meant the car...” I began to giggle, which started William off too, leaving some of the other patrons in the bar to wonder what we were laughing about.

Dashing a stray tear from my cheeks, I picked up the photo of the Ferrari from the table. “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t give the Cavallino Rampante a chance.”

He took the picture from my hand, brushing against my fingers and twisting my stomach into knots in the process. “In that case, you can add it to the test drive list, because I don’t intend to have any regrets about this,” he said, his voice low.

To my embarrassment, my hand was shaking slightly as I pointed to the next one. I was finding it more difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. “And this is the Koenigsegg CCX, from Sweden. It weighs… er ...1180kg, which makes it almost as light as a McLaren F1, while the, um ... 4.7 twin-supercharged V8 under the bonnet produces an impressive 806 bhp. That means it has a better power to weight ratio that the heavier, but more powerful, Bugatti Veyron.”

“Impressive, but does that file of yours tell you how fast the Stig drove it around the Top Gear test track?”

I smiled, but couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not. “I’m afraid my research doesn’t include that information.”

I watched William as he studied the photograph in silence, before his eyes flicked up suddenly to lock with mine, leaving me unable to look away. “I know you believe I won’t be happy with a car if it doesn’t match the Ducati’s acceleration, but I really don’t think any of these ultra sporty types are really me. Do you?”

I was about to say that I had no idea who the real William Darcy was, but I knew before the words left my mouth that I wasn’t being honest with myself. The truth was that the more I learned about William, the stronger my feelings for him had grown. I couldn’t remember falling this hard, this fast before … and it scared the hell out of me.

“Perhaps this one is more you?” I offered him a closer look at the Aston Martin. The DBS reminded me a lot of William; classic sculptural beauty on the outside, combined with a hidden power under the bonnet. A true thoroughbred. “The six litre V12 engine comes from the DBR9 racing model, and is tuned to deliver 510 bhp at 6,500 rpm. It’s one of the lightest Astons ever made, but even then the acceleration is at the slower end of our group … taking 4.3 seconds to reach sixty miles per hour.”

“But would you drive one?” He looked across at me then, his brows pulled together, puzzled. “You never did tell me which car you drive, did you?”

“I ... er, I ... no. Why are you so interested?”

“I just feel that I ought to know more about you.”

I was convinced that I had to be dreaming at this point, or perhaps I’d misunderstood him. “Surely my opinion won’t make any difference to your final decision.”

He shrugged. “It might.”

I tried to school my features into an impassive mien. “I wouldn’t want to influence you to that degree. It’s my job to remain impartial.” Without looking, I picked up another photograph and handed it to him.

“Another Porsche?”

Glancing at the picture I realised that it wasn’t just a Porsche, but one of my favourites. “Well, I know you aren’t interested in the convertible, but this is a coupé. I used to love driving the Carrera GT, and if they were still making them it would be on this table, but it’s no longer in production.”

“So, you’re suggesting this one instead?”

“Mmm. The 911 GT3. The design is timeless ... classic. Porsche have been producing cars like this for a long time, and they know exactly what they’re doing. The GT2 might be a tiny bit quicker to sixty, but there’s no doubt in my mind that this is the better car.” As with the others, he insisted on hearing my opinion. When he asked if I’d buy one, despite my determination to remain impartial, I grinned. “Yes, of course.”

“You’d better include it on the list then.” William was leaning against the back of the bench, his blue eyes contemplating me with an intentness that was both thrilling and overwhelming. My cheeks felt like they could spontaneously combust at any moment. Had the weather outside been colder, I was sure the landlord could have used me as a patio heater.

“Elizabeth.” I loved the way he always used my full name. Coming from his lips it sounded strangely seductive. He sat forward abruptly. “Can we stop talking about the cars for a minute? There’s something I need to say.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat—which could have been one of half a dozen vital organs—I sighed. “William, if you’re going to tell me that you’re no longer interested in purchas—”

Moving more quickly than I imagined possible, he closed the gap between us within a heartbeat. The next thing I sensed was the warmth of his hand caressing my cheek just before I felt the gentle pressure of his lips sliding gently over mine.

4.

Returning the Jaguar to its garage at Longbourn, I sat quietly for a few moments remembering William’s kiss. During our brief acquaintance I’d sometimes dreamed about him—even of kissing him—but it had never been more than a hazy fantasy in the privacy of my own head. I’d never dared to hope that my dream would one day become reality.

William had moved so quickly that his hand touching my cheek had been a complete surprise. The kiss that followed had been a revelation—surpassing anything my imagination had been able to conjure—turning my stomach like a roller coaster, leaving me devoid of breath and feeling pleasantly light-headed. Resting my hands against his leather jacket, I didn’t stop to think what I was doing; the only way I could release the tsunami building within me was to kiss him back.

It was a few minutes before my brain finally engaged gear and tapped me on the shoulder, dragging me back to harsh reality. I was so surprised by my reaction that the rest of our meeting had been quickly abandoned. With a hasty apology I’d left, with only the weakest of excuses for my conduct.

If my dad ever found out what I’d done, I knew he’d be gutted.

During my first year working for the family company I’d fallen for the handsome smile and honeyed tongue of a City Trader called Alex. Spending his bonus on a shiny new Ferrari had put commission in my pocket, but in return he’d driven away with my heart; only to write it off within a month. My dad, never happy with the idea of us dating clients, had watched helplessly as I’d worked through the anguish that followed the failure of my first serious infatuation. He’d dealt with it the only way he knew how; by banning all his daughters from having any but the most professional of relationships with our business contacts.

Tom Bennet had been determined that Bennet Vehicle Leasing would not be used as a dating service by rich young men thinking to pick up a casual date along with their new toys, and I’d never chafed at his restrictions before. In fact, I’d welcomed them. Dad’s decision allowed me to handle my predominantly male client base with confidence; happy in the knowledge that, whenever I was asked out on a date—if they refused to take a simple no for an answer—I could smile and apologise, explaining that it was against company policy. It had always worked out well, and I’d had cause to be grateful for what Kitty and Lydia had decried as a harsh, Victorian edict.

He’d never been particularly demonstrative as a father. This was his way of showing us that he loved us.

But then I’d met William, and everything had changed. Where I’d once accepted the rule as a tangible example of my dad’s loving support, it now felt more like a cruel restraint, keeping me at arms length from something I badly wanted to experience. I loved my dad too well to hurt him, but I wasn’t sure whether I could repress my new-found feelings for William so easily.

But how would my dad react if he found out that I’d broken the one rule that had been put in place purely to protect my happiness? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him.

I was no closer to an answer when I walked across the yard to the showroom. In fact, I was so distracted that I didn’t notice Kitty standing just inside the door. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” she yelled, jumping out of the way as it slammed back against the wall.

“What’s the matter, Lizzy?” another familiar voice drawled from behind the reception desk. “You’re looking a little flushed. Did Studmuffin’s cousin come through at last?”

As I replaced the Jag’s keys on their hook, I glared at my youngest sister; refusing to dignify her enquiry with a response. Lydia’s gregarious personality made her an excellent receptionist, and very popular with the clients, but she could be the most irritating person sometimes. Striding to the end of the hall, I reached the room that Jane and I shared.

“I didn’t expect you back for ages yet. Has Mr. Darcy made a decision?”

I hung my jacket on the back of the chair before sitting down behind my desk. William had made more than one decision that afternoon, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to share them all with Jane. “Yeah, he’s down to a shortlist now,” I replied vaguely, hoping she wouldn’t ask more.

The frown on Jane’s brow marred her otherwise perfect features. “What’s happened, Lizzy?”

That was the problem with having such a close friendship with my sister. She could read me like a Haynes manual. “Nothing.”

“That might work on mum, but it won’t work with me. Something’s wrong, I know it. Did he ask you out?”

“Why would he do that?” Picking up a pen, I doodled aimlessly on my desk blotter.

Jane smiled knowingly. “I thought you might confide in your favourite sister, but seeing as you’re not in a talkative mood this afternoon, I suppose I’ll—”

The words fell from my mouth before I had time to censor them. “He kissed me.”

As I expected, her face betrayed a momentary surprise. “He did?” Then she smiled. “Was it any good?”

“Jane!” I thought she’d be shocked; I didn’t see why I should be the only one surprised by William’s actions.

“There’s nothing wrong with a kiss,” she explained reasonably.

“Yes there is. I was supposed to be working. I should have stopped him ... moved away ... anything.”

She was quick to pick up on what I hadn’t said. “You kissed him back, didn’t you?”

Groaning, I buried my head in my arms as the memory of his kiss washed over me. Remembering the soft, sensuous touch of his lips on mine as he pulled me closer made the knots in my stomach draw painfully tight. I missed him already. I missed the way he smiled, and how he made me laugh so easily. I missed his strong yet gentle hands around me and the way his hair went wild when he took his helmet off. I knew that I’d remember that kiss for the rest of my life ... maybe longer. “I’ve made a mess of everything,” I whispered.

Jane, always able to see the good in everyone, was quick to absolve me. I don’t think so. You came home from that restaurant telling me what a gentleman Mr. Darcy was, and you liked him then, didn’t you?” I shrugged but remained silent as my mind replayed the pleasant memories of that evening. “You don’t need to tell me, Lizzy. I can see it in your eyes whenever you talk about him. Perhaps your heart knows what you need better than you do. Did he ask you for a date?”

Propping my chin on my hands, I sighed. “No. I didn’t give him the chance. I couldn’t. You know nothing can come from it. What would dad say?”

She smiled sympathetically. “You really are too hard on yourself. I know he can be strict sometimes, but when said we shouldn’t get involved with clients you know it was to protect us. If you like Mr. Darcy as much as I think you do, I’m sure that dad wouldn’t object too much. He does love you, after all, and only wants you to be happy.”

“I wish I was as confident about that as you are.”

Jane looked thoughtful. “If you weren’t so worried about what Dad would say, and Mr. Darcy had asked you out, would you have said yes?”

I knew I had to be honest with my sister, even if I hadn’t been completely honest with myself. “Yes ... yes, I think I would. You’ve not met him, Jane. William was perfect for me.”

“Was?”

“He must think me mad after the way I left this afternoon. I doubt he’ll want to see me again.” That was it; I’d voiced my worst fear. I couldn’t bear to think that he might hate me for leaving so abruptly, without ever knowing why I’d felt unable to stay.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you. When is your next meeting?”

That wasn’t something I’d thought about when I made my quick exit from the pub. In my mortification, I’d left William with little more than a curt goodbye. All I’d been able to think about was removing myself from the temptation. Would he still want to test-drive the cars he’d chosen? I felt slightly sheepish as I admitted that I’d forgotten to book another appointment.

“Get Lydia to do it. She never does much except file her nails anyway.”

Agreeing reluctantly, I made my way back to the reception, where the youngest of the Bennet clan had the phone clamped under her chin, doing what she did best; chatting up the clients.

“Yes, I remember it well. No ... no, he didn’t actually.” Suddenly Lydia laughed. “Oh no! Did he really? I’ll have to tell Kitty about that. Okay ... yes, that’s right. Two o’clock next Monday? Yes, I’ve written it down. We’ll look forward to seeing you then. Bye, Mr. Darcy.”

Just the sound of his name sent those treacherous butterflies flying formation in my stomach. “That was Mr. Darcy?”

Lydia grinned. “Yes, he rang to arrange his test drive. He said that you know which cars to put on the docket. I explained that we couldn’t guarantee to have all the cars here at such short notice, but he didn’t seem to mind. He asked whether you’d be here.”

“What did you say?”

“I said yes, of course. What did you think I’d say? He’s your client, Lizzy.”

How could I face another business meeting with William? I couldn’t bear the idea of having to remain aloof and professional when all I really wanted was to feel his arms around me again. As much as it might hurt me now, it would be easier—and less embarrassing—to avoid William than to confess my feelings to my father and make him unhappy. It was the coward’s way out, but under the circumstances I couldn’t think of a better solution. “Book him in with Dad.”

“But Mr. Darcy is your—“

“Just do it, Lyd. I’ll square it with Dad.”

Without waiting for her response I went in search of my father, to explain that I would be passing a client—and the commission—onto him.

I just hoped he wouldn’t ask me why.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I checked my watch. It was 1.45 pm, and I’d stopped outside the offices of Bennet Vehicle Sourcing. It had been seventy hours and thirty five minutes since I’d last seen Elizabeth and I could feel a nervous excitement building in my gut at the thought of meeting her again. I’d replayed our last moments together over and over in my head, trying to work out what I should’ve done, or better still what I should not have done. I couldn’t regret that first impulsive kiss. It had been as much a surprise to me as it had been to Elizabeth, but it was her reaction to it that had made me so desperate to see her again.

Her response had been more than I’d ever dreamed of. Those first few seconds had been like heaven as Elizabeth had melted in my arms and returned the kiss in a way that told me she was no less affected than I. Then, all at once, she’d withdrawn; not merely her lips, but her arms, her eyes ... everything. Worse, she’d looked haunted, as though she had committed a cardinal sin, and had left mumbling vague apologies. Something was very wrong.

Whatever it was, I was determined to make it right.

After watching her drive away, all I’d been left with was hope and determination. Her initial reaction to the kiss had given me hope and I was determined to find out what was holding her back from me, even if it meant test-driving every damned car in the place.

Removing my helmet, I paused a moment to look around the courtyard. It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. The location was rural—almost farm-like—and there was a large house set back in the distance, amongst the trees. It was nothing to Pemberley, of course, but a nice example of a modest, early Georgian manor house. Two long rows of garages ran along opposite sides of the courtyard, possibly replacing old stables or farm outbuildings. Some of the doors stood open, revealing vintage models with gleaming chrome as well as brand new, state of the art super cars.

The main part of the complex stood on the third side of the courtyard, and appeared no more that a couple of years old. The glass-fronted, single-story building looked like any car showroom you’d find on the high street, but the two vehicles parked on the shiny linoleum were anything but new. They were more like museum exhibits.

Keeping my eyes open for any sign of Elizabeth, I walked through the main doors into the showroom area. One of the older cars was a white 1960’s E-type Jaguar, with its exaggerated bonnet and the two seats set at the very back of the car.

The second wasn’t as easy to identify until I got closer and could check the badge on the chromed grill. An old blue Ferrari, possibly even older than the Jaguar. I’d never been interested in classic cars, but I had to admit that these two specimens had an understated elegance that I was sure would appeal to a certain type of customer.

My dad would have loved them.

“Can I help you?”

I turned around to find a young woman behind me. It wasn’t Elizabeth, of course, but I could see the similarities. Her hair was the same colour, but shorter. Her skirt was a similar mid-grey to that Elizabeth had worn, but a lot shorter, while her white blouse was unbuttoned lower than I would have thought seemly. I couldn’t imagine Elizabeth wearing it like that. Of course, being a man I couldn’t help but notice all these things, but strangely they had no effect on me.

No matter how hard she tried, this young woman would never match up to her sister.

As I introduced myself, she favoured me with a brilliant smile, saying, “Welcome to Bennet Vehicle Sourcing. I’m Lydia Bennet.” She looked me up and down and seemed pleased with what she saw; or perhaps she was like that with every client. I recalled Richard’s description of the young, flirty one. Yes, that must have been Miss Lydia Bennet.

Another young woman joined us and there was no doubt in my mind that they were sisters. The most recent arrival was slightly thinner, but no less flirtatious. She was introduced as Kitty Bennet; the one that had reminded Richard of a cat. “This is St … I mean, Mr. Fitzwilliam’s cousin Mr Darcy.”

Kitty smiled. “We’re always pleased to meet any relatives of Mr. Fitzwilliam.” She really did purr, just like Richard had said.

I could see why he had described them as femme fatales. Had I never met any of the Bennets before I would have probably agreed with his estimation of them. But I had already met—and fell for—one specific member of their family, so I could accept their good-natured interest with equanimity.

As long as they didn’t try to stop me from seeing Elizabeth.

I didn’t have to wait long before Kitty led the way down a short corridor to a pair of doors, which she opened to usher me in to an office larger than I’d expected. The walls were wood-panelled; the sporting prints enhancing the impression of an exclusive gentleman’s club. It didn’t seem like the sort of room Elizabeth would be comfortable working in.

Kitty Bennet introduced me to her father. Mr. Bennet, his white hair neatly clipped, came out from behind a wide oak desk to shake my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Darcy.”

I would have liked to be able to say the same, but his presence was as welcome as a patch of black ice on a frosty morning. I looked around, but the room was otherwise empty. “Is Elizabeth not here?”

“No. She won’t be joining us today.”

A moment of panic gripped me. I had hoped that whatever had made her leave so suddenly on Friday wouldn’t affect our working relationship. It hadn’t occurred to me that she wouldn’t want to see me at all. “Is she ill?”

He shook his head. “No ... not ill exactly.” Leaning against the edge of his desk, he examined me warily. “Elizabeth asked me to take over your project, Mr. Darcy. I have three of the cars you requested ready for you to drive. We have a small track here where you can familiarise yourself with each vehicle before taking it out onto the road.”

I wasn’t prepared to let it end like this. “Before I do that, I’d like to speak to Elizabeth.”

Although he didn’t move a muscle, I felt a change in the older man; a stiffening of his posture as though he was bracing himself. “She’s not here.” He spoke calmly and carefully, in the condescending manner of someone trying to avoid an argument.

I returned the same cool civility. “May I ask where she is?”

“She’s taken the day off. Now, if you’d like to follow me ...” His words trailed off as he looked over my shoulder. It was only then that I realised we were no longer alone. Another young woman had entered the room, carrying my helmet that I’d left behind in the reception area.

“Mr. Darcy?” She held the helmet out to me. “I’m Jane Bennet. Lizzy’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope?” I remembered that Jane was Elizabeth’s eldest sister, and the one she had spoken most fondly of. At the moment she appeared to be my best chance of finding her.

She smiled. “Yes, I think so.”

“Jane?” Mr. Bennet frowned. “I’m busy at the moment. Can’t it wait?”

Shaking her head, she asked if they could speak privately. As Mr. Bennet appeared unwilling to turf a customer from his office—a circumstance I was grateful for—she had to be content with a whispered conversation in the corner. While they were talking, I stood up to admire some of the family photographs on the cabinet behind the desk, spotting a young Elizabeth posing proudly next to her father’s rally car, while keeping watch on Mr. Bennet and his daughter from the corner of my eye.

Although I hadn’t meant to listen, Mr. Bennet’s voice was loud enough that I didn’t have to strain to hear. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from making a mistake. Lizzy told you that she didn’t want to be here when Mr. Darcy arrived, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what difference—”

“And you didn’t think to ask why?”

“Of course I did, but she refused to talk about it. I was left to fill in the gaps as best as I could.”

Jane Bennet lowered her voice further and drew her father closer until she was almost whispering in his ear. Mr. Bennet listened thoughtfully for a minute. I could feel his eyes boring into my shoulder blades. I turned around to face him, finding the older man studying me openly.

“You’re not quite what I was expecting, Mr. Darcy,” he finally admitted. “When Lizzy asked me to take over your project she gave me the impression that she found it difficult to work with you. Have you ... er, done anything to upset my daughter?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I replied, my fingers firmly crossed. It didn’t seem the right time to come clean about our kiss.

“My family’s happiness is important to me. I do not take such a drastic step as forbidding personal relationships with clients lightly. The policy is there to keep my daughters safe from unscruplous men. Lizzy has been hurt once before and I won’t allow it again.”

Things were beginning to make more sense. She’d never mentioned her father’s edict to me, but it explained her insistance about keeping everything on a business footing. I felt my hand clenching into a fist at the thought of some smooth-talking degenerate upsetting Elizabeth. “If it’s only your clients you have a problem with, then the issue is easily solved. I’ll just buy a car from someone else.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Miss Bennet replied, before turning on her father, no longer attempting to keep her voice quiet. “Dad, this is all your fault. I know you hated to see Lizzy upset, but that was over three years ago. She was young then but she’s a big girl now and quite capable of looking after herself. She doesn’t need your protection any more.”

“Why didn’t she say something?”

“Because she thinks you’ll disapprove.”

Suddenly, everything became clear. It hadn’t just been wishful thinking on my part. Elizabeth really had returned my kiss on Friday and only the thought of her father’s disapproval had stopped her. He was the reason she’d pulled back so abruptly. Relief surged through me as I realised the implications. “Elizabeth has always conducted herself with complete professionalism, Mr. Bennet, although I might have preferred her to be a little less ... focused on the business at hand.” I looked up at the older man, whose frown had deepened into a scowl.

“Are you trying to tell me that you and my daughter ...” His sentence remained unfinished; I could tell from his eyes that there were some things he didn’t want to know.

“Not at all, but I would like to think that Elizabeth and I are friends. She has too much respect for you to allow anything else, regardless of her own feelings.”

As though seeing me properly for the first time, Mr. Bennet looked down at my bike leathers, boots and the helmet now in my hands. His grey eyes pierced me like a butterfly in a case. What felt like an eternity of silence passed as he appeared to be struggling with himself. Finally, he said, “Does Elizabeth know that you ride a motorcycle?”

“Of course she does. I told her about my bike during our first meeting.”

Mr. Bennet shook his head slowly. “Oh, my dear girl,” he murmured under his breath. I watched as he returned to the desk, dropping heavily into his chair. He seemed to have aged five years in the last five minutes. Looking anxiously at his daughter, he said, “I only wanted to keep you all safe,” before punctuating his sentence with a helpless shrug.

“Elizabeth will be safe with me, Mr. Bennet; I promise. Now please will you tell me where to find her?”

Once Mr. Bennet had reluctantly nodded his assent, Jane Bennet unfolded a local ordinance survey map, flattening it out on the desk as she beckoned me over. With her finger, she traced a path that left Longbourn, travelling back towards Meryton before turning off towards an area of higher ground labelled ‘Oakham Mount’. “Carter Lane isn’t very wide but you’ll be able to ride your bike up to here.” She tapped the end of a dotted line with her fingernail. “At this point there’s a fence with a stile blocking your way. Go over the stile and walk the rest of the way up the hill.” She smiled encouragingly. “Elizabeth usually likes to sit on the other side, looking out over the ridge. There’s a great view. It helps her to think.”

I could only hope she was thinking about me.

Thanking Mr. Bennet and his daughter, I stood up, pulling on my gloves as I prepared to leave.

“Mr. Darcy? Will you be returning for your test drive after you’ve spoken to Elizabeth?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

I turned back to Mr. Bennet, noting the concern in his eyes. “On your daughter.”

Leaving the yard, I followed the straightforward instructions that Jane Bennet had provided. It took five minutes to reach the narrow lane that she’d identified. I rode at no more than walking pace; dodging the humps and potholes in the unmade surface. My bike had a racing pedigree; it wasn’t designed as an off-roader.

After negotiating a few twists and turns, I arrived at the point where Jane had said the bike would have to stop. Another bike was already parked there, only slightly more suitable for the muddy conditions than my Duke was. Seeing it there suddenly made everything clear. I understood now why Elizabeth had always avoided answering my question about what car she drove.

And why she was even more perfect for me than I’d imagined.

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