The Bachelors - E.S. Carter

THE BACHELORS

E S CARTER

CONTENTS Copyright Dedication Quote Note for the reader Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Acknowledgments About the Author Also by E S Carter

The Bachelors By E.S. Carter

Copyright 2017 by E.S. Carter All rights reserved. Cover Design by Cover Me Darling. Cover image licensed from Depositphotos.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

All trademarks contained in this book, are the property of the respective copyright holders and have been used without permission.

To my ultimate book boyfriend, I’ve loved you since I was eleven. This one is for you. Oh, and my husband, of course. I can’t leave him out. (He’s my Mr Darcy.)

“A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.

NOTE FOR THE READER

The Bachelors is written using British English. Think Four Weddings and a Funeral or Notting Hill and envision Hugh Grant’s received pronunciation. It contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the British spoken word, which form the basis for the book’s writing style. If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author. Contact details can be found at the back of the book.

CHAPTER ONE

e are completely and utterly screwed,” he muttered to the empty office as he “W observed the mess in front of him. Financial statements lay strewn in disarray, completely covering the aged and scarred patina of the antique mahogany desk. A desk that his great-great-grandfather, and the founder of Austen’s Book Stores, had sat behind when turning one small bookshop into the nationwide chain it was today. Although, if the papers in front of him were to be believed, a floundering national chain. Wick Austen groaned loudly, the guttural noise coming from the back of his throat sounding almost painful before he dropped his head to the desk with a thunk and mumbled to the empty room, “I bloody hate eBooks. Whoever is responsible for their invention deserves a slow and painful death. Preferably, by being buried alive in an avalanche of hardback books or failing that, a pack of hungry raptors.” “That’s a bit harsh, even for you, brother. Besides, velociraptors are extinct. I think you’ve watched one too many Jurassic Parks. You do know movies are make believe, right?” Came the reply from the open doorway, and Wick snapped his head up to find his eldest brother, Darcy, leaning against the door frame with his hands loosely in his trouser pockets and one leg crossed over the other. “The prodigal son returns,” Wick sniped. His retort was harsh with spiky barbs, barely concealing his shocked annoyance at his brother’s return from wherever the hell he’d been for the last few weeks. “What’s the matter, Darce? Run out of money?” Not waiting for or expecting a reply, Wick picked up the top leaf of paper and glanced at it briefly before letting it flutter back down to rest on the dozens of others just like it.

“Well,” Wick continued with a bite to his tone, indicating the piles of papers before him. “As you can see, running out of money is going to be a problem for all of us soon enough.” “You know what I think, but you’re too stubborn to listen to sense, Wick,” Darcy stated calmly, his stance never changing, his body language relaxed and open—which only served to piss off his younger brother further. “Oh, that’s right,” Wick replied as he bristled and straightened his spine, pushing himself upright against the soft, worn leather back of the chair that matched the antique desk before him; a chair that along with everything else in this office told the tale of their family’s hard work and success. “You think the easy option is to sell up before we lose everything we own. Well, let me tell you, big brother—” Wick locked eyes with Darcy and leant forward to brace himself on his forearms. “—Over. My. Dead. Body.” Darcy observed his brother for a beat, and then shrugged. The action made Wick’s blood boil, and his accompanying words almost sent Wick over the edge. “You keep going on this crusade of yours to save a sinking ship, and you’ll stress yourself into an early grave. We sell up, we reinvest, and we move the Austen name into something far more lucrative. It’s a no-brainer, Wick. Even Bing and Dad agree. You’re the only one being stubborn.” “Give me six months,” Wick rushed out. “Six months to find a cash investment and turn the business around. If I fuck it all up, you can sell. I won’t stop you.” Darcy silently met the defiant glare of his younger sibling. Wick had always been the most ambitious of the three Austen brothers. Darcy wanted to break away from the family name and lead his own life, but a sense of familial obligation kept him in place, and Bingham or Bing for short—the middle of the three brothers—was so laid back he was practically horizontal. Bing was happy to coast along in life and his career. But it was the youngest, Wick, who wanted the Austen name to soar to the dizzying heights of their ancestors. What the younger Austen failed to grasp was what little of their fortune they had left was buried deep in a failing business drowning in a dying industry. Nobody read physical books anymore. Today’s consumers wanted disposable entertainment in quick fixes. EBooks and audio books were ruling the market, while establishments like Austen’s Book Stores were paying the price. “Okay, Wick,” Darcy conceded, his head nodding once towards the other man in a placatory motion. Darcy knew that nothing could save their waning business, and nobody with any sense was going to invest, but he wanted to show his little brother that he was willing to offer one last chance. “You’ve got six months.” Wick returned the nod, but couldn’t force out any words through the tight clench of his jaw. He was sure to crack a molar or two if he wasn’t careful. “I’ll see you at Mum and Dad’s tonight?” Darcy carefully enquired while standing to his full height and pushing away from the door frame. “Tonight,” Wick offered in return while biting his tongue. His mind was running at a thousand miles a minute trying to come up with a foolproof six-month plan, and he didn’t

have space in his brain for a polite conversation. Wick watched as Darcy turned and walked away, and then listened as his brother’s steps echoed off the polished floors of Austen’s head office. Once he was safely alone, his head dropped once more to the unforgiving surface of the desk, and he lifted his hands from the aged wood so he could apply pressure to the sides of his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on, and he didn’t have time for it. He needed to plan. “Six fucking months,” he muttered to himself. “That’s just twenty-six weeks to figure this shit out.” With a huff, he straightened and began to stack the papers laid out before him into a neat pile. The harsh reality of the figures printed on those white sheets was doing nothing for his positivity or his impending headache. Once the desk was clear, he ran his fingers over the worn wooden surface, tracing the old scars and dents, and sent up what felt like a desperate prayer to his forefathers to show him the way. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes and waited for a sign. Nothing. No inner voice came to him to show him the way. No divine intervention appeared to lead him towards the right path. With a resigned sigh, he opened his eyes and looked around the office. His gaze flickered over the familiar furniture and lingered on the old photographs of generations of the Austen family that lined the walls, while his mind still hoped for some miraculous sign from above. Still nothing. How stupid was he to wish to the universe for help? Tomorrow he’d make it happen. Wickham George Austen didn’t wait for life to hand him anything. He took it; he found the chances hidden in plain sight and used them to succeed. He waited for nothing and no one. He was master of his destiny, nobody else. Emboldened, Wick informed his assistant that he was taking the rest of the day off; hoping some respite from his surroundings would bring fresh inspiration. Walking outside into the crisp spring air, he looked left towards the city park and then slowly right towards the hustle and bustle of the busy streets. He needed to think, and to formulate his ideas. He had so many of them pinging around in his head like an erratic pinball that his brain struggled to latch onto any one of them for a long enough period to let the idea take root. He needed somewhere calm. Somewhere he could sort through his jangling thoughts and separate the ones that had a chance of success from the ridiculous—just like the idea currently at the forefront of his mind as he chose left and headed towards the park. What if he married into another wealthy family?

What if he bankrolled Austen’s by taking a rich bride? It’s not like the city wasn’t full of them. Air-brained society princesses with bucket loads of daddy’s money were ten a penny in this town. “Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, and he pushed away the thought to let another equally foolish idea slip into its place. But the universe was listening, or so it seemed, when mere minutes later he took a seat on a park bench to watch as an old-fashioned horse and carriage that offered rides to park visitors, rattled past him. It wasn’t the ornate chaise pulled by four horses that caught his attention. It was the discarded newspaper abandoned on the wooden slatted seat next to him that drew his gaze. *BENNET SISTERS CHARITY GALA*

THE HEADLINE SCREAMED at him in Blackletter font. The grainy image of the three sisters below did nothing to hide the wealth that poured off them or their undeniable beauty. The local rag’s quality control needed some serious improvement, and it was no wonder print in all its forms was a dying breed, but it wasn’t the poor print quality, or the pretty faces that held Wick’s attention. It was the upcoming charity gala that the Bennet sisters were hosting that held his gaze. Well, that and the younger Bennet sister’s long, artfully tousled, dark hair and the cheeky glint in her crystal-clear eyes that not even poor print quality could hide. Clarity hit him like a punch to the chest, briefly knocking the air from his lungs. On a deep, shuddering inhale, he steadied his hands to roll up the well-read newspaper and slipped it under his arm. He’d asked, and the universe—or maybe it was his long-dead grandfathers—had given him his plan. Wick had one week to find the five thousand pound a head fee for him and his brothers. That was fifteen thousand pounds for the chance to spend the night in a room with the Bennets. Getting one of them to fall in love with an Austen brother would take less than his sixmonth deadline. He was sure of it. With the idea bursting through his mind, he allowed himself to smile. “Thank you, you old buggers,” he exclaimed as he grinned towards the heavens. “I’ll do you proud. I’ll get Austen’s back to the top. I refuse to let anyone take it away. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he dropped his gaze from the blue spring sky and headed towards the park gates “—I have some money to acquire and some ladies to seduce.” “You’ll not seduce any ladies by talking to yourself like you’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic,” an old guy walking a dog muttered loud enough for Wick to hear, but Wick

couldn’t give a shit what some random old codger thought. He was going to save the family business and land himself a pretty, rich wife to boot. He was a fucking genius. He ignored the ornery old bastard and lengthened his step. Nothing was going to —Motherfu… “Pick up your dog’s shit, you lazy geriatric,” Wick shouted to the old guy’s back when his Italian leather loafers landed in a fresh, steaming turd. He hopped from one foot to the other as he hopelessly scuffed his feet across the gravel, trying and failing to remove the thick brown faeces from his only pair of expensive shoes. Wick glared at the back of the dog walker’s head and raised the rolled-up newspaper to throw at the bloke when the man, who didn’t bother to turn around and look at him, flicked him the bird over his shoulder. Seconds before he launched the missile in his hand, he remembered it was the key to saving Austen’s. “Wanker,” he shouted instead, earning him a glare from a young mother pushing a small child on a trike. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her about the dog shit covering his shoes and the old bugger giving him the finger, but snapped it shut just as quickly. He didn’t have time for this. He had a family name and business to save, dog shit or not.

CHAPTER TWO

“Y ou want fifteen thousand pounds to do what?” All heads in the room snapped towards the doorway where Darcy stood surveying his family. He’d been listening to their conversation for the last few minutes without them realising, and was getting angrier by the second. Bingham, catching Darcy’s eye, shrugged in response to his gravel-toned question, slowly shaking his head at his eldest brother to indicate he didn’t have a clue what was going on around him. His father rolled his eyes, as unamused by the conversation as Darcy, and it was their mother, Anne Austen, who finally spoke up. She looked from Wick to Darcy and back again before scoffing, “Oh, Darcy, you make it sound like fifteen thousand is a lot of money. I have shoes that cost almost that much.” Darcy opened his mouth to expel an appropriate retort and was beaten to it by his father. “Part of the reason we’re in this bloody mess is your spending,” Claude Austen grumbled under his breath, before tagging on the sickly-sweet platitude of “my dear” when Anne heard him and turned her icy glare his way. “It’s for charity,” Wick piped up when the room fell silent under Darcy’s uncompromised stare. “It’s great exposure for the Austen name, the perfect place to network, and who doesn’t like a ball?” “Me,” Darcy replied flatly, no humour in his tone or on his face. “They are full of sycophants and gold diggers, and I have no time for either. Besides—” he continued while narrowing his gaze on his youngest brother “—I heard you mention the Bennets. What could you possibly want to do with those society princesses? They won’t give the likes of

you a second glance Wick, let alone invest in the business.” Wick’s swallow was pronounced as he fought against the need to break eye contact with his far too intuitive brother. There was no way he’d get Darcy to go if he thought the whole thing was a setup. “I only mentioned them in passing,” Wick lied. His eyes darting away from his brother’s face indicating his untruth. “I was just saying it’s a shame they have all that money and those looks but with zero between their ears to back it up. Airheads, the three of them.” “Met them, have you, brother?” Darcy questioned mockingly. “Or are you making assumptions based on what you’ve read in the papers?” He arched an eyebrow in challenge. “You’d think with all the bad press you’ve gotten in the past you’d be less inclined to make such judgments.” Wick scoffed and opened his mouth to disagree but thought better of it when he remembered his late teen years and all the things he’d been caught doing. Austen’s Drug And Hooker Shame. Dipping His Wick. Austen’s Send Youngest To Rehab. Yeah, there were truths in what had been printed about him, but equally as many lies. Wick wanted to tell Darcy—never done a thing wrong in his life, golden boy extraordinaire, favourite son, Darcy—that he wasn’t that stupid kid anymore, that he’d grown up and would prove it when he saved Austen’s, but he didn’t. Instead, he sulked like a petulant child and plotted all the ways he’d show his eldest brother exactly how capable he was now. “Yeah, just as I thought,” Darcy jibed at Wick’s silence. “So who is supposed to be going to this damn ball and where’s the money coming from to pay for it?” Nobody answered. “Again, just as I thought,” Darcy repeated, his tone thick with annoyance and a touch of resignation. For as much as his father and Bing agreed with him, neither spoke up. His father because he wanted an easy life and spent his days kowtowing to his mother, and Bing because it wasn’t his style. He breezed through life avoiding confrontation. “You could pay for it,” his mother eventually mused out loud. “After all, you just made a fortune on that property deal you’ve been working on for months. I’m sure that’s pocket change to you now.” Darcy’s head snapped up to stare at the only woman in the room. Anne Austen married into the Austen family for one reason and one reason alone—money. Little did she realise at the time that the man she married wasn’t as cash-rich as she’d thought. Still, she milked him for as much as she could—which was more than he had to give, another reason they were in such a mess— and did her duty by giving him three sons to carry on the family name. She saw it as a fair trade, but Darcy often wished for a ‘normal’ family. Whatever

the hell one of those was, he didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t his. “I could, but I’m not,” he responded flatly, glaring a warning at her when she appeared to open her mouth to argue. Narrowing her eyes at her eldest son, she scowled for a moment before masking her annoyance and turning her attention to his father. “Claude, dear. I’m sure you can pay for the boys to go. Wick’s right, our sons need to be out in society, wining and dining investors, catching all the eligible ladies’ eyes.” Her gaze roamed over first Wick, then Bing, and finally back to Darcy. With a calculated smirk, she continued, “After all, our boys are far too handsome to all still be single. Don’t you want grandchildren, Claude? New blood to carry on the Austen name.” Darcy’s eyes found his father’s and he knew his mother would get what she desired. All Claude Austen wanted was an easy life, and the woman he married was nothing if not tenacious in her quest to get what she required, no matter how fanciful. If his father didn’t give in now, he would crack soon enough. He knew it, Darcy knew it, and most importantly, his mother knew it. “I’ll consider purchasing tickets, my dear,” his father sighed in resignation. The weary look in his eyes a stark contrast to the sparkle of delight that filled his mother’s. “Hear that, my boys?” she grinned, exposing her whiter than white teeth in a look that made her seem slightly deranged. “You’re all going to the ball.” She practically skipped over towards Wick, giggling churlishly, “Oh, Wick, my youngest boy. This was such a good idea, and I’m sure I can convince your father to get us tickets too.” Wick smiled at his mother, lapping up her attention like a dog starved of affection, while Darcy bored holes into the thinning hair at the top of his father’s head since his father would not return his stare. “C’mon, Darce,” Bing finally spoke up, his face curved with a pleading smile. “It could be fun. We haven’t hung out together for ages. Good food, good wine, what’s not to enjoy?” Darcy knew Bing’s motives. Bing was always the first to look on the bright side of things, no matter how dire the situation, and he always wanted to smooth over any altercations. The middle Austen brother hated confrontation. Darcy stared at him for a beat. He wanted to be annoyed that his brother gave in so easily, but he could never stay annoyed with Bing for long. He was his only real ally in his fucked-up family—a family that lived like royals with a champagne lifestyle while their bank accounts could only afford cider, and that was at a push. Anne Austen thought them high-society and had the countenance of the lady of the manor when the truth was she was from a rundown council estate. She only met Claude because she worked in one of Austen’s stores and had caught his eye when they were both very young. You’d swear by the way she acted that she’d married into the aristocracy, and not a family quickly approaching bankruptcy. The woman was so ostentatiously fake, it was embarrassing.

“Yeah, Bing,” Darcy conceded eventually. “It could be fun.” As fun as a visit to the dentist for a root canal. Darcy turned around to walk from the room but not before catching his father’s nervous smile that soon twisted into a grimace at his mother’s over-exuberant squeal of delight. He left them all to it, not bothering to stay for dinner. He couldn’t remain in this house a moment longer.

CHAPTER THREE

D

arcy was hardly a regular at Meryton’s, the upscale bar two streets over from his apartment, but he needed a drink.

The thought of going to some over-the-top charity ball with his parents and brothers in tow, was his every nightmare come true. His mother would prance and preen and fawn and make a complete tit of herself, trying and failing to ingratiate herself with the city’s elite. Watching her would be both painful and humiliating. Add to that Wick and whatever hair-brained scheme he had in his head to find investors for the bookstores, and Darcy knew the event was going to be a fuck-up of epic proportions. I don’t have to go. He picked up his scotch on the rocks, brought the amber liquid to his mouth and took a healthy gulp. As the liquor burned up his palate and slid warmly down his throat, he knew there was no getting out of going. His mother would make his life a misery for weeks if he didn’t, plus, he’d promised Wick six months. He could give his brother that and finally be free of his obligations. An almost ragged sigh escaped his lips as he set down the empty glass on the polished oak bar top and motioned to the bartender for another with a flick of his fingers. “He’s cute,” Darcy heard from his left, and he tilted his head to try and check out who the soft female voice was talking to, his eyes sliding to the side and catching a swath of silky blonde hair. An unladylike snort followed by a huskier but still feminine voice replied flippantly, “You’re wasting your time, Jane. I’m not interested in a barfly.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, and a smirk twisted the side of his mouth. Are they talking about me? “Oh, come on, Lize,” the first voice continued, “You haven’t even looked at him, he’s hardly a barfly.” A stool shifted across the wood floor directly to his left, and was followed by that husky voice saying, “He’s tolerable if men that prop up skanky bars are your thing.” Darcy swallowed down a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly under the strain of containing his amusement. This snotty, random chick in a bar—one she deemed skanky when it was probably one of the better ones in the city— thought he was a ‘tolerable barfly’. Darcy hadn’t heard anything as funny in ages, and the hoity-toity tone she used combined with her conceited opinion was everything he despised about most of the women in this town. “I bet you’re not even tolerable,” he muttered under his breath. “Stuck-up, princess.” Darcy lifted his eyes and caught the bartender’s smirk of agreement as he placed his second scotch in front of him. “Cheers.” Darcy tipped up the glass in a mock salute before taking a hearty gulp, and with mischief in his head, he turned his body to face the two women sat alongside him. “Evening ladies,” he greeted loud enough to catch their attention. The blonde turned and gave him a sweet smile. She was exceptionally pretty, with fine-boned features and large blue eyes. Her friend shifted on her stool, just enough for Darcy to see she was the opposite of the woman next to him. Shoulder length dark hair with a hint of waves made way to a striking face set with the same large blue eyes. Sisters. They had to be. “I’m Darcy,” he greeted the blonde with an outstretched hand which she took delicately in hers before offering, “Jane, and this is my sister Eliza.” He smiled at Jane and tilted his head to gain her sister’s attention, but she’d already turned back to the bar. With a swift flick of her pale wrist, she’d downed the remainder of her drink, grabbed her purse and stood. “Let’s go, Jane.” Eliza’s eyes fixed on Darcy briefly in what looked like disdain, before she turned her gaze back to her sister. “We’re leaving.” Jane looked at Darcy apologetically, and he couldn’t help but laugh as he began to turn back in his seat, muttering rather loudly, “Goodbye, Princess.” Darcy hid his smile behind the lip of his glass. He could practically feel the irritation rolling off Eliza and she didn’t disappoint him when she demanded, “What did you call me?”

Darcy shrugged but didn’t bother turning to face Eliza or to answer her question. “I’m talking to you,” she all but growled, prodding Darcy in the upper arm with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. Darcy spun around in his seat so quickly that she took a stumbling step back. With a dangerous smirk on his face, he taunted, “Princess. I called you Princess.” Darcy took in Eliza’s steady glare and narrowed eyes, and wanted to poke her a little more. “What’s up? Don’t like the local barflies calling you a princess, Princess?” Eliza’s striking features contorted into a snarl, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Jane put her hand on her arm and Eliza blinked once before her face returned to a mask of ice. Then she slipped the straps of her expensive, designer handbag over her arm and turned on her heels to walk away. Jane gave Darcy an awkward smile before following her sister, and Darcy couldn’t help the laugh that burst free from his chest. He watched both immaculately dressed women until they reached the doors and stepped out into the night. I haven’t had this much fun in ages. Still chuckling to himself, Darcy turned back towards the bar and picked up his scotch. The bartender came over, removed the sisters’ empty glasses and wiped down the bar where they’d sat. “They come in here often?” Darcy asked, for no other reason than he was feeling rather chatty after his spat with the Ice Princess. “The Bennet sisters?” the bartender queried, slipping the towel he was using to clean the counter into the waistband at the back of his black jeans. “Nah, those two don’t, but the younger one, Lydia, is in here a lot. She likes barflies if you know what I mean.” He gave Darcy a sly wink and motioned to the now empty glass before him. “Another?” Darcy shook his head and stood from his stool. “No thanks, man. I’m a two-scotch wonder.” He slipped a note on the bar to cover his tab and shouldered his jacket. “Hold up,” Darcy blurted, finally comprehending what the bartender said. “Those were two of the Bennet sisters, as in Charles Bennet’s daughters?” The bartender picked up the note and slipped it into the cash register before replying with a grin, “One and the same. Richer than the Royal family and hotter than sin. But like I said, it’s only Lydia that fraternises with the commoners. I don’t know what brought those two in here tonight.” Darcy didn’t offer up a response. He looked from the empty stools the women hadn’t

long vacated and then walked out of the bar, catching the retreating forms of the two Bennet sisters as they approached a black cab. Suddenly, the upcoming charity ball seemed far more tempting. What could be more entertaining than spending the night antagonising Eliza Bennet, Ice Princess extraordinaire? Darcy chuckled to himself, lifting the collar of his coat to ward off the evening chill, before striding away in the opposite direction. Hell, Darcy was seriously debating stumping up the five grand for his own ticket if it meant getting one over that ice princess. With that thought, Darcy’s steps lengthened and before he’d reached his building he’d sent a text to Bing to confirm his attendance. Even if he had to put up with his mother’s antics all night, he was sure that one flash of annoyance aimed his way from Eliza Bennet’s blue eyes would be more than worth it.

ELIZA BENNET STORMED from the bar called Meryton’s and expected the town car to be waiting for her at the kerb. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t there because she hadn’t called the driver. She’d been too wrapped up in getting away from that arsehole in the bar that had the nerve to call her Princess. Princess. The bloody cheek of the man. Who the hell did he think he is? “Tell me again who told you about this place?” she asked Jane while rifling through her Burberry handbag for her phone. “Lize, why don’t we jump in a cab? There’re a few a little further up the street with their lights on.” Jane’s softly spoken words broke through Eliza’s furious rage and she blinked away the vision of the dark-haired man at the bar. “The bar, Jane,” she pushed, watching as her sister fidgeted with the large buttons on her designer jacket. “How did you find out about it?” Jane’s gaze dropped to the pavement, and she suddenly became very interested in the cracks at her feet. “Lydia. I should’ve known,” Eliza answered for her, Jane’s silence more telling than any words. “I’ll call the car.” Eliza fumbled with her phone and almost dropped it on the concrete at her feet, she cursed under her breath and saw Jane move closer to her in her peripheral vision. “Okay, but it could take a while. I’m just saying that it might be quicker to get a cab. Or we could go somewhere else? Maybe get a bite to eat?” Eliza properly looked at her sister for the first time since they’d left the warmth of the bar. Outside, the chilly spring evening was thankfully dry, but Jane still shivered in her

fine-knit dress and lightweight jacket. “I’m sorry, Jane,” she sighed, letting regret taint her tone. She stepped towards her sister and wrapped her arm around her petite shoulders. “All this business with Lydia has me strung tight. I swear she only acts out to push my buttons. Ever since Dad passed away, she’s gotten worse. I just can’t… I don’t know how…” Jane’s arm tightened around Eliza’s waist. “I miss him too.” Four words that explained everything yet made nothing better. It had been six months since their father’s passing, and Eliza was struggling to get a grip on everything—the company, the board of directors, Lydia—it was all too much, and she hated admitting it, even to herself. She pulled Jane in tighter to her side. “Let’s get a cab. I just want to go home. I’m sorry about tonight. I know you wanted to distract me, but I don’t think I’m the best company right now. Too much on my mind, I guess.” Jane reached a hand up to her shoulder to link her fingers with her sister’s. The touch soothed Eliza, though it wasn’t a surprise, Jane always did have that effect on her. Where Eliza was determined, headstrong and stubborn, Jane was giving, generous and thoughtful. Their differences didn’t end there. In fact, the only thing they both shared was their mother’s blue eyes. Then there was Lydia—flighty, selfish, thoughtless—the current thorn in Eliza’s side. She seemed to cause more sleepless nights for Eliza than all her other problems combined. The latest Lydia debacle, she’d declared herself in love with a married man. She wasn’t, but his wife had somehow caught Lydia’s wrath, and the poor sap was trapped in the crosshairs. It was causing quite the furore amongst the social elite. What made things worse for Eliza though, was the husband in question was a board member of The Bennet Group. Yeah, Lydia sure knew where to go to cause the most controversy, and Eliza could bet everything she owned that the man hadn’t even touched her sister. Lydia’s fantastical lies knew no bounds. “Let’s go then. An early night could be a good thing for me too. I have a meeting with the party planner tomorrow. With the ball only a week away, I need to make sure everything is running smoothly.” Jane squeezed Eliza tightly once more, before removing her arm from her waist, hooking it into the crook of Eliza’s elbow and gently steering her down the street towards the line of waiting taxis. “Dammit,” Eliza cursed, tipping her head back to glare at the night sky. “I’d forgotten all about that bloody event.” “It’s mother’s—”

“You don’t need to remind me who it benefits,” Eliza interrupted far more brusquely than she intended. Jane was the last person she wanted to bear the brunt of her bad mood. “I know mother’s foundation relies on this event more than any others. I just forgot that it was coming up so soon.” “You have too much on your plate,” Jane stated plainly, concealing the worry she held for her sister. “Have you thought any more about the board’s offer to—” Eliza interrupted her once more. “I will not hand over control of our family’s company to those bumbling, gloryhunting, conniving bastards.” Jane huffed out a laugh and tugged Eliza closer to her side as they approached the first cab waiting in line. “Tell me what you really think of them, Lize.” Eliza couldn’t contain the short bark of laughter that bubbled from her lips. “It’s the truth.” “I never said it wasn’t,” Jane replied, before opening the cab door and sliding into the back seat. “But sometimes there’s a difference between giving up and knowing when it’s time to call it quits.” “Tough situations are character building. Isn’t that what father always said?” Eliza slid into the seat next to her sister. “He loved the company. I love the company.” She slammed the car door shut and gave the driver instructions. As they pulled off into the night, she turned and caught Jane’s eye in the illumination of passing streetlights. “I’ll never give up on something I love.” With determination written all over her face, Eliza added, “Why do you think I still put up with all of Lydia’s antics?”

CHAPTER FOUR

W

ick had spent the week devouring any information he could get his hands on about the Bennets.

Charles Bennet died suddenly of a heart attack less than a year ago, leaving Eliza Bennet, the eldest of the sisters, head of The Bennet Group—a multibillion-pound organisation that owned everything from insurance companies to telecoms firms. There wasn’t a slice of pie in this city that The Bennet Group didn’t have its fingers deep inside. Charles’ wife had died when the girls were very young, leaving a rich, powerful, and busy man suddenly a single parent to three girls. Despite this, it appeared that his girls doted on him. Wick found numerous articles about the family and they painted a picture-perfect view of Charles Bennet and his parenting skills. The information he found also included a lot about each sister. Eliza, unsurprisingly, followed in her father’s footsteps as a take no prisoners, determined and canny businesswoman. She made a name for herself in the family business long before Charles Bennet’s untimely death. She took on new acquisitions and expanded The Bennet Group’s reach into other industries, including retail. Wick had punched the air in excitement when he’d found out that TBG recently invested in a well-known stationery firm. Books and stationery are not so far removed from each other, and he knew he could tempt the business savvy Eliza into pumping some much-needed funds Austen’s way. He only skimmed the information on the middle sister, deeming her charity based work of no use to him, and besides, it was the youngest, Lydia, that intrigued him the

most. The tabloids loved her. Lydia was the ‘it’ girl of her generation, gracing everything from full spreads in high-end fashion magazines, to inches upon inches written about her in gossip columns. She covered more than her fair share of front pages and seemed to lap up the attention and revel in her notoriety. At only twenty-one, three years younger than Wick, it seemed the media loved the high society bad girl and looking at her face, Wick could see why. She was stunning. With dark, almost oil black locks and striking wide blue eyes, Lydia looked every inch the rich beauty, but it was the glint in those remarkable coloured eyes that called to Wick. This girl promised everything she’d been accused of—naughtiness, debauchery, and trouble—and Wick hadn’t gone looking for trouble for such a long time that he itched with the need to indulge.

WICK STRETCHED his long legs out from under the desk, his knees cracking with the movement. He’d been sat in the office, pouring over website after website for so long that early morning had turned into late lunchtime. His assistant had informed him that both Darcy and Bing were in the building when he arrived this morning, but he hadn’t yet bothered to seek out either of his brothers. With the tickets purchased for the ball tomorrow night—his mother’s handiwork that saw his parents also attending—Wick wanted to ensure both his brothers would be in attendance for his plan to work. Because his plan was foolproof. At least one of the Bennet sisters would fall for an Austen brother. It was inevitable, and he knew just which sister he had his eyes on. Now to plant the seed with his brothers. Wick knew he couldn’t divulge his scheme, but he still needed to guide his brothers in the right direction. Bing would be easy to sway. Darcy, on the other hand, would be a right pain in the arse. Wick shut down his computer, but not before printing off the news article that featured Eliza closing the stationery firm deal, and a short article on Jane’s charity work. He would use that information to tempt Darcy into approaching the eldest sister, leaving Wick free to pursue Lydia. The little he knew about Jane led him to believe that Bing was the perfect brother to charm her knickers off. Bing was a bleeding heart, always considering worthy causes to donate his time to help. Noble wasn’t a word Wick attributed to himself, but his middle brother had that quality in spades. Yes, he thought while walking the short distance to Bing’s office, Jane would be perfect for Bing. His plan was coming together nicely. “Bing-bada-bing,” he greeted rather obnoxiously in his usual way while pushing open his brother’s office door without knocking. “You got a few minutes to talk about tonight?” Bing popped his head up from behind the screen of his computer and pushed at the thick-framed glasses that had slipped down his nose. Bing only wore his glasses at work, preferring contacts at other times. They made him look nerdy but endearing, kind of like the man himself.

“What can I help you with, Wick?” he asked with an ever-present smile. Wick strode purposefully into the office and placed a sheet of paper in front of his brother. He hid the conniving smirk he could feel fighting to break free and as flatly as possible stated, “I’ve been researching potential investors for Austen’s and came across something I thought might interest you. Jane Bennet is organising tonight’s ball, and it benefits her mother’s foundation.” Bing furrowed his brows, causing his glasses to slip once more, and lightly shook his head to indicate he didn’t have any clue where Wick was going with this. “The Bennet Foundation—” Wick continued intently, as if he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “—is currently working with that homeless shelter you’ve been volunteering at on the weekends.” Bing’s back straightened, and he manoeuvred himself away from the desk to give Wick his full attention. Bingo. Gotcha. This time Wick was unable to contain his glee, and a grin split his face wide. Luckily, Bing was already too engrossed in the article about Jane Bennet to notice. “It could be an excellent opportunity to introduce yourself, and maybe secure more funds for the shelter,” Wick added, keeping the smile from his voice. He sat and watched his brother until Bing set down the paper and looked up at him. Wick made sure to keep his face blank when Bing said, “Thanks for this, but you’ve never seemed interested in my work before. Why the change of heart? Were you thinking of volunteering because if you are, I can-” “Fuck, no,” Wick rushed out, cutting his brother off mid-sentence before tempering his reaction when he caught Bing’s confused stare. “What I mean is, volunteering isn’t my thing. I’ve got my hands full here trying to make sure we don’t go under. I just saw that —” he motioned with a flick of his hand to the article, “—and thought of you.” Bing eyed him sceptically for a moment before his smile returned. “This is great, Wick. Thanks for bringing this to me. I’ll be sure to try and get a few minutes of Miss Bennet’s time to discuss the shelter with her.” If Wick had a generous bone in his body, he’d be moved by Bing’s obvious passion and enthusiasm for doing good. But Wick didn’t unless it benefitted himself or his company. And making sure Bing sought out Jane Bennet would help both. “No problem,” Wick offered. He stood and ran his palms down his thighs as if brushing lint off his expensive suit trousers, but it was more a tactic not to meet Bing’s gaze. “I need to have a chat with Darcy.” Wick walked towards the office door and halted on the threshold. Looking over his shoulder at Bing he asked, “I’ll see you tonight at the house? I think mother has convinced father to hire a town car, although he did put up a bit of a fight about the extra cost.” He lifted his eyes to meet Bing’s honest stare.

“It would be good to travel together,” Bing offered genuinely. “See you tonight then. First drinks are on me.” Wick pulled open the door and made to leave hearing Bing shout at his back, “It’s an open bar.” Wick smirked but didn’t reply. Bing wasn’t as easily manipulated as he seemed and wasn’t that a damn shame, but it was Darcy that would be the hardest to influence if he could at all. Wick took the short walk to Darcy’s office slowly. His mind kept going over and over the speech he’d prepared for his oldest brother, and Wick was starting to doubt he had any chance of persuading Darcy to approach Eliza Bennet. When he arrived at Darcy’s door, unlike with Bing’s, he knocked and waited to be called inside. Wick didn’t often have cause to come to Darcy’s office. It was normally his brother that came to him, annoyed by some problem or other that he’d deemed Wick responsible for causing. So, just the fact that Wick was here at all would give Darcy reason to assess his motives. He needed to play this cool. Super, arctic cool. “Come in,” Darcy called seconds after Wick’s knuckles rapped on the oak door. Wick took a deep breath, steeled his features, and pushed open the door. Darcy wasn’t behind his desk, but at the floor to ceiling windows that afforded his office a panoramic view of the streets below. His mobile was in his hand, but he wasn’t on a call. His gaze was on the pale spring sky and not on the throngs of people milling around below like little worker ants. Here goes nothing. “I’ve got some info for you on a potential investor.” Wick got straight to it, after all Darcy was nobody’s fool so he was better off sticking to as many facts as possible. Darcy swung around abruptly on recognising Wick’s voice, not expecting his youngest brother to be the person walking into his office. For the briefest moment, Darcy’s face displayed the confusion he felt at seeing his little brother in his space, but he covered it quickly. Not before Wick saw, though, and he swiftly capitalised on Darcy’s silence. “Here. Take a look at this.” He walked towards Darcy, held out the article he’d printed off earlier and launched into his practiced spiel. “Less than twelve months ago, The Bennet Group invested heavily in a large stationery chain. Eliza Bennet has been broadening their horizons, and with her father gone, is likely to keep expanding into retail.” Darcy remained mute but took the offered sheet of paper from his brother. Wick took that as a sign to continue with his pitch. “She’s our in, Darce. Eliza Bennet is the key to saving Austen’s.”

Darcy read the article without saying a word. When he finished, he lifted his hand and offered it back to Wick who looked from Darcy’s face to the paper and back again. “This means nothing.” He flicked the paper between them motioning for Wick to take it, and when he didn’t, Darcy let it slip from his fingers to the carpeted floor. “So, she invested in some stationery business before her father died? Big deal. It was likely a pet project he gave her to keep her off his back and out of the boardroom. Nothing more, nothing less.” Wick’s fists clenched at Darcy’s easy dismissal, and his rebuttal burned his tongue, but he held it back and waited. Darcy stared at him for a beat and then asked with an air of impatience, “Is that all you have, Wick?” When Wick’s eyes slid from his face down to the discarded paper at his feet, Darcy laughed humourlessly. “It is, isn’t it? You think you’ve got the smarts to snare Eliza Bennet’s interest and save Austen’s via her fat bank account.” Wick smirked and played his ace card, Darcy having unwittingly stepped right into his trap. “No brother, I don’t,” he admitted, the grin never leaving his face. “But you do.”

CHAPTER FIVE

B

ing didn’t relish the thought of travelling to the ball with his parents, but not because he found their company difficult, more because he could see the strain on Darcy’s face every time their mother made a comment that grated on his nerves.

“I can’t wait to catch up with the de Bourghs. I haven’t seen Catherine in an age. I wonder if she still attends the fortnightly ladies’ luncheons at the club.” “You haven’t seen her in an age because she’s avoiding you, my dear,” Claude Austen flatly pointed out to his wife. Bing absently took in his parents’ exchange while watching Darcy’s features tighten. “She is not,” Anne Austen stated angrily, backhanding his father across the chest before fussing with the lace edging her gown and primping her hair. “The last time we met she told me how much I’d been missed from the club. It was mean of you to cancel my membership.” “It was necessary,” Claude rebuked. “It was that or the mortgage. Would you rather a roof above your head, or the ability to gossip with a herd of malicious, backstabbing women with too much money and time on their hands?” Anne huffed and shot a glare at her husband. Bing swore he saw the steam rise from his father’s skin as the heat of his mother’s stare scorched through to his bones. “You don’t know anything about the women from the club. Just like you know nothing of their husbands. If you did, we’d have more connections and wouldn’t be in this bloody mess in the first place.” Anne Austen rarely cursed, but when she did Bing knew it was because she was close to snapping, and even he knew that wasn’t a pretty sight.

“I can’t wait to hear more about the charities this ball is benefitting. It says here—” Bing indicated to a glossy programme in his hand “—that Longbourn Shelter is one of the primary beneficiaries, and I know they could do with all the help they can get.” Bing spoke casually as if the air in the town car wasn’t thick with an acidic cloud caused by his parents’ spat. His father muttered a quiet, “That’s nice”, making it obvious he hadn’t listened to Bing’s words, while his mother stared out of the window at the passing buildings with her face still showing signs of the annoyance that festered inside her. Bing cleared his throat and this time spoke to Wick and Darcy. “It also says that it’s a tradition for each of the Bennet sisters to perform for us on the night. That’s got to be worth the five-grand entrance alone.” “Perform for us?” Darcy snorted, suddenly more interested in the conversation. “What are they going to do, tell jokes? Put on an interpretive dance? Juggle?” Wick couldn’t help but join in with, “Maybe it’ll be a burlesque show or a fan dance.” A gleam lit his eyes when he added, “I’d pay double for a private performance.” “You couldn’t afford to give them your loose change, let alone proposition anyone with your wealth,” Darcy jibed. Bing saw yet another spat on the horizon, but this time between his brothers, so he spoke up quickly to diffuse it. “You’re both wrong.” Wick and Darcy twisted in their seats to look at him. “It says that each sister performs on their favoured instruments.” At Bing’s words, Darcy held out his hand to halt Wick’s retort, having rightly assumed by Wick’s open mouth and devious smirk that nothing good was about to come spilling from his lips. “What?” Wick asked in mock affront, after initially closing his mouth but deciding he was going to risk Darcy’s wrath anyway. “I wasn’t going to say anything inappropriate about trumpet blowing or horn polishing, I swear.” Darcy glared at his grinning younger brother, and Bing was about to cut in before more barbs were thrown around, but his mother interrupted with, “Horn polishing will get a girl into nothing but trouble.” She stared at the side of his father’s head before adding caustically, “I should know. Some horns take more than a little spit and polish to energise them. Some horns are completely bloody useless.” Bing ran his hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Still think tonight was a good idea?” Darcy all but gloated. He didn’t need to say ‘I told you so’ because the meaning was clear. “Oh, brothers,” Wick answered before Bing could. “I think tonight was my best idea yet.”

JANE COMPLETED a final lap of the venue, talking to each worker she passed by, be they wait staff or event managers. Everything was perfect, leaving her plenty of time to return to the suites on the top floor that were reserved for her and her sisters. Netherfield had been in her family for generations. The exclusive hotel was the first of many that built the foundations of The Bennet Group. Only the uber-rich stayed within its walls, slept on the one-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and ate in the Michelin three-starred restaurant. In Jane’s world, people judged you as a nobody if you hadn’t at some point been one of Netherfield’s clientele. She was in the middle of thanking a young waitress for her work when Eliza strode into the vast ballroom with her sights set firmly on her. “Lize, is everything okay?” Jane asked immediately, her eyes locked on her sister’s tight jaw and completely missing the glossy brochure held tightly in her hand. Eliza stopped an arm’s length away and lifted the programme into view. “I thought we talked about this, Jane. I told you I wouldn’t play this year and yet it’s announced on this evening’s schedule.” Jane looked in confusion from her sister’s steely gaze to the brochure in her hand and back again. “I took your name out. I swear I did. When the proofs were sent over a few weeks ago, I emailed the amendments directly to the printers.” “You didn’t. I’m still listed along with you and Lydia.” Jane took a step forward and held out her hand. Eliza unrolled the pamphlet which was opened to the schedule for the evening and watched with accusing eyes as Jane read the details under her hushed breaths. With apology swimming in her eyes, Jane lifted her head and begged forgiveness before even opening her mouth. “I swear, Lize. I removed you from the details. I don’t know… I don’t understand…,” she stuttered before settling on the words. “I have no idea why it wasn’t changed.” “I’m not playing,” Eliza stated calmly and with no room for argument. “You can tell them whatever you want, but I’m not playing.” Before Jane had the chance to reply, the sound of sky-high heels click-clacking across the Italian marble floors caught both their attention. “Sisters,” Lydia exclaimed in greeting. “I’m glad I found you both before this evening. My flight was delayed, and Conrad insisted on lunch at the Bay Tree before letting me go. You know how he gets—” “Save us the boring details, Lydia,” Eliza interrupted as their sister came to a stop in

front of them both. “I can practically finish everything you have to say. South of France— yadda, yadda, yadda. Appalling food on the Yacht—blah, blah, blah. Conrad’s big cock— and so on and so on. Did I get the gist?” Lydia glared and opened her mouth to contest Eliza’s mocking, but Jane intervened. “Did you have a good time? It looks like you’ve seen the sun, you’re radiant.” Lydia glared at Eliza before turning to face Jane and giving her a beaming smile. “Wonderful, it was the most glorious two weeks, and Conrad wants to—” “Save us the whole Conrad spiel and tell us what you want, Lydia,” Eliza commanded, her tone both abrupt and uninterested. Lydia snapped her mouth shut and incinerated Eliza with her glare. When Eliza didn’t back down, Lydia turned her attention to Jane and ignored her other sister’s presence altogether. “The performance tonight. I want to go on first because I must leave early. We’re flying to South Africa at midnight. Conrad wants me to escort him on his business trip.” Jane’s face lit up. “You remembered. Have you practised something especially? I haven’t heard you play in such a long time.” “Practised?” Lydia all but snorted. “I haven’t played since last year’s ball.” Jane’s face fell, and Lydia snatched up the chance to do what Lydia did best. “Don’t worry, dear sister,” she said sweetly, reaching out her hand to lay it comfortingly on Jane’s arm. “Playing music is like having sex. You never forget where your fingers go or where to put your mouth.” A burn flashed red across Jane’s cheeks, and Lydia smiled deviously before continuing, “I’ve toyed with playing the guitar, after all, it’s shaped like a curvy woman and loves being fingered.” “Lydia,” Eliza warned when a nearby waiter almost choked on his spit, but Lydia ignored her, and the gleam in her eyes brightened. Increasing the volume of her voice slightly she continued to muse, “Or I could sing. I do love a good phallic shaped implement up close to my mouth.” “Lydia,” Eliza repeated her caution, and the same waiter snorted at the scene as he continued to linger close enough to overhear, setting Jane’s cheeks on fire with embarrassment. But everyone knew Lydia wasn’t done yet. “Better yet,” she offered in all seriousness. “I haven’t played drums in a while, and there’s nothing sexual at all about whacking some tight skin with a big, hard, stick.” “Lydia, enough!” Lydia turned her sly eyes towards her eldest sister. “Oh, Eliza,” she cooed. “You’re so uptight since you took over the company. If you took that stick out of your arse and replaced it with a rock-hard co—”

Eliza took a step forward and gripped her youngest sister by the soft flesh of her upper arm. “I said, enough. You want to embarrass me at every turn, go ahead. But Jane has done nothing to warrant your pathetic attempts at humiliation.” Lydia’s eyes flared briefly before they slid to the side and caught Jane’s pitiful face filled with hurt. She knew her sister was sweet, kind and forgiving, and she also knew how hard she tried to honour their mother’s name with all her charity work. Lydia masked the brief slice of shame she felt for embarrassing her middle sister and faced Eliza head on. “I think I’ll sing.” She smirked devilishly and added, “I do love being centre stage with the spotlight on me. I can feel their eyes on every curve. It makes me feel naked, and I’m sure Conrad will appreciate how revved up I’ll be afterwards. His jet has a magnificent king bed.” Eliza clenched her fingers, tightening her hold painfully on Lydia’s arm. Before she had the opportunity to warn her younger sister again, Jane diffused the situation. “You have a beautiful voice, Lydia. I’m sure everyone will be enraptured.” Lydia grinned, baring her teeth, the smile stretching her pretty face wide. “Anything for you, dear Jane.” Then she shook off Eliza’s hold and turned to leave. Jane took an audible breath of relief. She loved her sisters dearly, but she sometimes wondered if they felt the same way about each other. Eliza could barely tolerate Lydia, and Lydia’s sole purpose in life was to infuriate her eldest sister at every opportunity. “Oh,” Lydia called over her shoulder. “Do you not want to know which song I’ve decided to sing?” “No,” Eliza barked loud enough for the server walking past them to stumble and the sound of clanking silverware echoed through the room—luckily she wasn’t carrying glassware. “Suit yourself,” Lydia all but cackled before once more sashaying her way to the exit. “I swear I’m going to…” “Don’t let her get to you. Lydia only acts this way for your attention. If you deny her a reaction, she soon tires.” Jane took a step towards Eliza and linked her arm through hers. “I’m sorry you have to perform tonight. I promise I changed the programme.” Eliza’s sigh was weary but resigned. “Inform the planner that I’ll need the baby grand from the music room.” Jane squeezed her sister gently in a show of appreciation. “What would I do without you?” “Live happily ever after,” Eliza replied with a straight face and a returning squeeze.

“Like one of those damsels in distress in all those books you read.” Jane snorted, “I do not read books about damsels.” “What are they about then? The covers all have buff, half-naked men on them. Surely that means the leading lady needs a muscled hunk to save her?” Jane remained quiet. Too quiet for Eliza to ignore. “They are all smut, aren’t they? Filled with over-endowed men, steely lengths and turgid members.” “They are not,” Jane denied with a sharp laugh. “I prefer the ones where the hero needs the heroine as much as she needs him. It’s not about the sex—” she all but whispered the word sex under her breath causing Eliza to laugh “—it’s about their journey and emotional connection.” “And the sweaty, hot, filth that’s overly described in detail in every other chapter.” Jane stayed silent for a beat before shocking Eliza and saying, “All that’s just a bonus.” “Jane Clara Bennet, have you been holding out on me?” Eliza’s voice rang with scandalous amusement. Jane’s only response was to shrug. She hid her smile by dropping her head to watch their feet as they walked towards the elevators. “Play The Scientist tonight,” Jane requested quietly. Eliza’s steps faltered for a second. Jane usually asked for their father’s classical favourites like Chopin or Ravel, but tonight Jane wanted her sister to show everyone who she was, and not who Eliza had been moulded to be. “Okay.” It was a quiet agreement, but that one word swelled Jane’s heart. For as much as Eliza wanted to show the world how strong and fearless she was, she also needed to embrace the side of her she let few others ever see. In Jane’s eyes, Eliza was effervescent, mesmerising and unequalled. A woman with too big a burden to carry and yet she did so without complaint. Eliza was the glue that held the Bennets together. Jane just wished Eliza would take the time to find someone to help her build more than a successful company—someone that could help her open her heart to the endless possibilities before her. Jane hoped there was a man out there to do that for her sister, and that when she found him, Eliza would recognise that she didn’t need to shoulder the weight of the world alone.

CHAPTER SIX

W

ick mingled, charmed and schmoozed with over half the gathered attendees before the bell for dinner had even been rung.

“Mrs Long—” he lifted the back of the wealthy widow’s hand and kissed her knuckles “—it’s been a pleasure. Please allow me to escort you to your table for dinner.” Mrs Long, who was inching towards the tail end of sixty-five, blushed like a schoolgirl and fluttered her fake eyelashes in admiration of the young stud on her arm. “You’re a cad, Wick Austen, and if I didn’t know better I’d think you were after my Ernest’s money, but seeing as that old fool only left me enough to keep one estate running, I fear you’re barking up the wrong tree.” “Nonsense,” Wick laughed roguishly. “Can’t a man enjoy the company of a beautiful woman without being accused of slipping his fingers into her purse?” Mrs Long’s blush turned fiery at the innuendo, and she tapped his chest with her free hand. “Behave yourself, you whippersnapper. I’ve got girdles older than you. Now, why don’t you find yourself a young lady nearer your age to whisper sweet words to, I’m sure there are plenty of fine ladies here tonight.” An hourglass figure draped in cherry red silk cut through the crowds in front of them, and Wick lost any words he was about to say. Mrs Long followed his awestruck stare and smiled to herself before stating, “Lydia Bennet will eat you up and spit you out, young man.” “I can hold my own,” he stated, never once taking his eyes off the dark-haired woman with plump lips that matched her dress.

Mrs Long slipped into the seat that Wick pulled out for her and wrapped her hand around his, before slipping a twenty-pound note into his palm. Wick finally paid attention to the older lady and looked down at the cash in his hand. “What’s this for?” Without blinking, Mrs Long looked up innocently at his face and said, “The taxi you’re going to need when you crash and burn with Miss Bennet.” Then she snickered and waved off a gaping-mouthed Wick before turning her attention to the others at her table. Wick looked at the note in his hand and contemplated giving it back complete with some witty retort, but it was twenty pounds after all, and he slipped it into his suit pocket and made his way to the woman in red. Halfway there, and close enough to see the small diamond stud in her nose that glittered in the diffused light from numerous candelabras, an Armani clad man approached Lydia and slipped his hand around her waist before guiding her to her seat. Wick swallowed down his defeat at a lost opportunity, and turned on his heels to make his way to his table, throwing nods at everyone he recognised on the way. “Were you beaten to the punch, brother?” Darcy asked as Wick slid into his seat next to him. Bing had been allocated to a different table with their parents, so the only person Wick knew well on theirs was Darcy. Looking at the wealthy men and women surrounding the oval table topped in crisp white cloth, Wick knew he’d be familiar with all of them by the end of the night, and hopefully have enough interest to set up a few meetings. Still, he had his original plan to instigate, but there was plenty of time for that. “Huh?” he replied. Hoping that by faking it Darcy would drop the subject, but he knew better. Darcy was like a dog with a bone. “I saw you making a beeline for the younger sister. Such a shame you didn’t get the chance to make her acquaintance.” “The night is still young, Darce, just like me. You on the other hand…” “There’re five years between us Wick, in age, at least.” Darcy took a sip from his wine and couldn’t help but add, “Maturity-wise, we are worlds apart.” Wick snorted loudly and drew the attention of the woman on his right, Mrs BeaverWetter he believed, but with a name like that he couldn’t be sure. “Mature?” he asked incredulously. “Uptight more like it. I could stick a piece of coal up your arse and have a diamond within a week.” “Might solve your money worries,” Darcy retorted immediately, shocking his brother with the glint in his eye. Maybe he’d had more wine than Wick realised because it was rare for his older brother not to fly off the handle at any barbs Wick dared to throw his way. On catching the direction of Darcy’s stare a few moments later, Wick realised that his good mood had nothing to do with alcohol consumption and more to do with the eldest Bennet sister who was currently making her rounds with the guests and getting closer to their table every second.

“Like what you see brother?” Darcy blinked and his face shuttered. “Ice Princesses aren’t my thing. I prefer a warm flesh and blood woman in my bed, not a slab of the arctic tundra.” Wick allowed himself to observe Eliza for a moment and saw nothing of the woman Darcy believed her to be. To every person she greeted she was warm and inviting, and like both her sisters she had the Bennet’s striking blue eyes, but her features were more defined than Jane’s soft prettiness and Lydia’s sensual exoticness. “What makes you say that? You two have never met, have you? Or is this another Darcy snap judgement?” Eliza moved out of view and took her seat at a table with her sisters. The servers began to bring out the scallop starters, and Darcy turned to his brother and said, “It takes more than a fine pair of eyes to entice me, especially when the woman those eyes belong to could freeze off your balls with one look.” “So you have met?” Darcy picked up his silverware and before taking his first bite replied, “Oh, she made quite the impression, and I can’t wait to return the favour.”

LYDIA WAS BORED out of her brain. Conrad was too busy networking to pay her any attention. Jane was diligently flitting around and making sure everything was perfect, and Eliza, as always, avoided Lydia as if she had some airborne venereal disease. Lydia pushed her food around her plate for a few moments, then gave up and polished off her third glass of wine. She contemplated calling over a server for a refill, having decided the wine on the table not worthy of drinking—overpriced vinegar she’d declared it after one sip—but the doors to the bar beckoned her instead. So, she made her excuses to her table mates, although no one seemed to be paying her any attention, and got up to leave. Conrad’s hand snapped out to catch her wrist, and the bite of pain in his touch was a warning—one she didn’t appreciate. With fire in her eyes, she looked down at the man beside her. “That’s sweet,” she began, her words innocent but her tone venomous. “Have you finally realised you have a date with you tonight or are you just worried I may do something to jeopardise all the sucking up you’ve been doing to the conservative Lord Fortnum?” Conrad’s eyes blazed behind the expensive, thick frames of his glasses. He had twenty-twenty vision, but he thought they made him look more sophisticated. Lydia thought they made him look like the pompous prick he was. “Sit and eat.” That’s another thing about Conrad, he thought himself alpha, when in fact he was nothing but a controlling bastard with a tiny penis.

“No thank you, I think I’d rather drink.” Lydia shook his grip free and strode through the tables with purpose, not looking back even once. She could feel over half the room staring at her back so she added some extra sway to hips. Let them gossip. Boring old buggers with nothing better to do with their time than abuse their staff or spend their money on ridiculous things like fountains and ice sculptures. She’d heard enough of their pointless drivel tonight that it would take a vat of wine to drown out all their blathering. Lydia approached the empty bar and found it unmanned. Not bothering to wait, she lifted the pass and slipped behind the counter. The wines were all stocked in fridges low to the floor, so she bent at the knees to drop down to eye level, causing the slash in her silk dress to ride high on her thigh. Spotting the bottle she wanted, she grabbed it and stood, coming face to face with a male guest who was looking at her with the kind of hunger most men did. He was about her age, handsome she supposed, in his rented suit that pulled tight over his broad shoulders and fell a little short on the cuffs. No money. Shame. She dismissed his gaze immediately and turned around to find a corkscrew. “I’ll take a Dirty Martini,” the man to her back said, the smile in his voice evident with every word. Lydia remained silent and focused on her task, spotting a corkscrew in a small tray of implements just below the counter. “Isn’t it rude to ignore a paying guest?” he continued, his tone still humorous. Lydia rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her and punched the tip of the corkscrew into the cork. As she twisted, he continued to talk to her back. “Careful,” he warned. “You’re going to force it into the bottle, and the trick is to get it out, or you’ll spoil the wine.” Her hand paused mid-twist, and she turned to face the man once more. She stared at him for a beat, until his face began to look uncomfortable under her gaze and she watched him fight the need to squirm under her scrutiny. “What are you looking at?” he queried, attempting to mask his discomfort under bravado, but Lydia knew men. She knew how to entrap them, seduce them or even scare them away. Passing her gaze from his waist to the top of his head and back to his eyes, she stated flatly, “Your father’s incorrect use of a condom.” The man’s gaze widened briefly before sharpening, and Lydia awaited his response, enjoying this game more than she’d thought she would. “Are you trying to insult me?” “I would love to—” she continued, twisting hard against the corkscrew and watched him gloat when the cork slid deeper into the neck of the bottle before plopping into the

liquid below. Unperturbed she finished, “—But I fear I would not do as well as nature already has.” Expecting a harsh rebuttal, Lydia was pleasantly surprised when the man threw his head back and laughed. He had the kind of laugh that promised good times, naughty times. When he tipped his head to look at her once more, his gaze was piercing, and she felt foolish to have thought him only handsome. “Wick,” he said with a confident hand stretched out towards her, and she couldn’t help but take it, her previously conceited glare melting into a smile. “Wick Austen, and it’s more than a pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Miss Bennet.” Their palms touched and Lydia fell unusually quiet. It wasn’t often, if ever, that a man’s reaction left her speechless. “If you’re bored at any point tonight and intend on causing further mischief, be sure to find me.” He ran his thumb against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist before slowly releasing her hand and walking away. “Oh,” he threw over his shoulder, his head tilting enough for Lydia to see his profile and strong jaw. “You’ve ruined that bottle. I suggest stealing another.” His lips twisted up, and with that one gesture, Lydia swore she now knew how all the men who’d fallen prey to her felt over the years. Gotcha, the look on Wick Austen’s face said, and Lydia thought he could be right because she was almost certain she would seek him out later.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E

liza’s jaw ached from smiling.

She wondered if it was because her smiles were fake, or did happy people feel this way constantly? Not that it mattered, she couldn’t mingle with the guests another second and was relieved to sit and eat—without a smile on her face. Jane, however, still flitted around like a social butterfly, and was completely in her element. By the time she sat down next to Eliza, Jane had plenty of news to share with the table and was excited to inform everyone that before the speeches and presentations, Lydia would perform first, followed by Eliza. Jane’s performance would come later in the night before the auction started. Eliza inwardly cringed at the thought. The last thing she wanted to do was step behind the piano and fake proficiency. She was a capable but far from excellent pianist. Her mother encouraged them all as young children to play whatever instrument they fancied, but after her death, Eliza only ever played by request for her father, and occasionally for herself when nobody was around to hear. The sisters had agreed years before that they would continue playing at the ball in honour of their mother, but Eliza didn’t even want to do that this year. She’d lost too much. Although she was a young child at the time, the death of her mother still cut deep, or maybe it felt even more raw because they’d lost their father this year, and for Eliza that also meant losing her mentor. His death had opened old wounds; ones that Eliza didn’t have the time to tend. She needed to be strong, not just for her sisters, but for the company too. The entire board was waiting for her to fail. Being the first woman to head The Bennet Group didn’t help. The board members weren’t just waiting for her to go up in

flames, they had their marshmallows already on sticks to toast on her pyre. A server slid beside her and offered her a refill which Eliza declined, instead requesting an iced water. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” Jane placed her hand on Eliza’s arm and squeezed gently, sending comforting warmth over her cold flesh. Eliza focused on her sister’s touch and her immaculately French polished nails, and forced a smile to appear before she looked up to her face. “I’m fine, I promise.” Jane’s concerned gaze flitted over her face for a long moment before she decided to accept Eliza’s reply. “Have you asked Lydia what she’s planning on singing?” Eliza knew Jane was trying to lighten the mood, and she allowed her to do so, grateful that she didn’t push her further on her deteriorating disposition. “I have no idea, but knowing Lydia, it will push the boundaries of what’s socially acceptable.” Jane laughed uncomfortably and stole a look in Lydia’s direction. “It can’t be anything worse than Like A Virgin, surely?” “I wouldn’t put my money on it. She only settled on playing the flute last year because the man she had her sights on used to be a flautist in his youth.” “Conrad wouldn’t let her embarrass him, not with all his business acquaintances here. I’m sure she’ll pick something suitable,” Jane said, more in trying to convince herself than anyone else, and the worry leeched out of her words. She wanted to believe being Conrad’s flavour of the month would be enough to tame their wayward, younger sister, but Eliza wasn’t so sure.

DINNER PASSED with delicious food accompanied by meaningless conversation. Jane was once more gliding around ensuring everyone was fed, happy, and ready for the rest of the evening, while Eliza was left conversing with one of Conrad’s wealthy associates. She swore if he asked one more time about whether she was stepping down as head of her company, she was going to stab her dessert fork in one of his beady eyes. A delicate clearing of a voice over a microphone laid hush to the bustling dining room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for the generosity of your attendance here tonight, but before you leave your seats and rush to the bar, please allow my sister, the beautiful and talented Lydia Bennet, to entertain you for a while.” Jane’s voice rang clear throughout the room, her adoration for her younger sibling evident on her face as she watched Lydia sashay across the front of the ballroom and elegantly climb the small set of stairs to the front of the stage. One of Lydia’s hands

hitched up the swaths of red silk that made up the skirt of her evening gown, and she flashed a little more thigh than many women would as she traversed across the stage. Eliza prayed that was all she would over share with the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you please, Miss Lydia Bennet.” Jane introduced her younger sister with an elegant sweep of her arm, handing her the microphone and stepping back into the darkness. A single spotlight illuminated Lydia and every inch of her seductive curves. Eliza watched as she dragged her gaze across the entire assembly seeming to take in every person currently focused on her. Although, with the light in her eyes it would likely make her unable to see past the first few tables, but you’d swear Lydia was making eye contact with every single person in attendance. When Lydia’s eyes landed on Eliza, the side of her mouth twisted up impishly, giving her older sister just enough warning of what was about to come. This is going to be a car crash. Lydia looked off to the side, and out of the shadows stepped a musician with a guitar. He looked a little rough around the edges for an event like this, but he was hardly a tattooed rocker high on drugs. “This won’t be so bad,” Eliza muttered to herself and forced her shoulders to drop. “Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce the handsome, and irresistibly alluring, Stefano.” Lydia turned to the man, and a wide grin broke her face before she once more faced her audience. “We met earlier today, and I used my compelling charms—” she winked and ran a hand seductively down her side “—to encourage him to accompany my performance tonight.” With a sly smile, she added in a husk-filled voice, most likely for the benefit of Conrad, “I can assure you he’s very talented.” Stefano plucked a few strings on his acoustic guitar before launching into the intro of a song Eliza couldn’t at first place. As soon as Lydia’s raspy tone purred the first few words about loving herself, and touching herself, Eliza knew exactly what song she’d chosen to perform for the crowd of privilege and wealth before her, and I Touch Myself by The Divinyls poured from her glossy, cherry-red lips. Lydia’s voice was coated in honey and whisky, and Eliza felt a collective intake of breath from every female in the room, followed by the shifting of seats from most of the men as they positioned themselves to get a better view. Lydia exhaled the lyrics, following them with the trail of her fingertips over the sides of her breasts and across her taut stomach, stopping just above her pubic bone, before repeating the move over and over again as the song groaned and gasped its way to the crescendo. I swear I’m going to kill her. Eliza stood abruptly, her chair screeching across the marble at her feet.

A few heads turned to stare, but most remained locked on the brazen performance in front of them. With clenched fists, Eliza marched from her front row table intent on finding the plug for that damned microphone and ripping it from the outlet, but she only got in a few strides before Jane’s hand landed on her wrist and tugged her to the side of the stage. “Leave her,” Jane begged. “It will only make an even bigger scene if you drag her off the stage.” She looked over the gobsmacked audience, and took in the faces of all those silently watching the youngest Bennet writhe and purr her way through an almost X-rated performance. The men all but drooled, mouths agape, eyes hungry, while the women either scowled or had their faces frozen in shock, disgust or a combination of both. “I swear I’m going to throttle her. She knows how important tonight is for you,” Eliza hissed, her teeth gritted to the point of pain. Jane’s shoulders slumped, and a look of sadness swept over her features before she steeled herself and plastered a tremulous smile on her face. “Maybe I’ll auction her off for a date. I’m sure she’d raise a pretty penny for mother’s foundation, especially after this—” she cleared her throat, the words sticking in her oesophagus “—passionate performance.” “If you don’t, I bloody will,” Eliza promised, her knuckles white and the tips of her newly manicured fingers cutting half-moons into her palms. Both sisters lifted their gaze to their younger sibling in time to see the final word purred from her ruby red lips. Catching their stare, she winked saucily at them before turning to Stefano and placing a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth, leaving the musician lust-struck. Satisfied with herself, Lydia turned back to the crowd, and took an exaggerated curtsy before gliding down the stairs straight to her seat. There she ignored Conrad’s malevolent glare and proceeded to drain the rest of her almost full glass of wine, finishing off the show by wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and purposely smearing the red coating her lips across her cheek—a final middle finger to everyone who watched. Content that she’d done all she could—short of stripping and climbing a pole—to outrage both her family and the assembled guests, she got up and walked out of the room heading in the direction of the outside bar. Eliza made to follow her and Jane pulled her back once more. “She’s not as pleased with herself as she looks.” Eliza locked eyes with the ever-optimistic and thoughtful Jane and replied sarcastically, “You’re right, she’s distraught with humiliation, me and the rest of this room are just reading her all wrong.” “You are,” Jane said earnestly. “She’s just as lost as we are.”

WICK WAS RARELY LOST for words. He was now. Lydia Bennet had silenced the room, enraged most of the women—including her sisters—and enraptured every straight man in the audience. Including him. “Well, that was… different,” Darcy commented, breaking the silence around their table. The woman to his left, Mrs Beaver-Wetter, tittered, the other men remained mute, and the final woman, a portly middle-aged Mrs Braun, muttered, “Hussy” under her breath. All Wick could do was stare at the empty doorway that seconds ago was Lydia Bennet’s escape path. She was more than he’d ever dreamed. Shaking himself off, he pushed up from the table and ignored his brother calling, “She’ll eat you alive” to his retreating back. And I’ll enjoy every second of it. He found Lydia sat alone at the empty bar. This time, a young bartender served her while she sat straight and proud on a black, leather topped stool. The flawless skin of her exposed back begged to be touched, and the silk of her dress dipped low enough to let Wick know she was likely bare beneath the expensive fabric that clung to every seductive curve. All the blood south of his brain pooled in his groin leaving him light-headed. “Don’t skimp.” Wick heard her order as he approached. “I like my wine to do the same as my men.” “Fill you up?” Wick asked when he was almost at her side. Lydia’s hand stalled on its way to her now full glass, but she didn’t turn to look at him before saying, “No, I was going to say smooth and quick to go down.” Touché. “I’d offer to buy the star of the evening a drink, but you seem to have that covered,” he said as he took the stool next to Lydia and then addressed the bartender. “Dirty Martini, less dirty more Martini.” Lydia traced the tip of her pointer finger around the rim of her glass until a low hum buzzed through the air. Unsatisfied with the sound, she took another drink before dipping her finger in the burgundy liquid and repeating the process. “A woman of many talents. I see you also play the glassware exceptionally well.” Lydia continued with her ministrations while turning her full gaze on Wick and once more looking at him from waist to head before eventually locking her striking gaze with his. She lifted her free hand and delicately pointed to the corner of her mouth while looking at the same spot on Wick’s face. Wick’s brows furrowed in confusion.

She lifted her azure gaze to his and although her lips didn’t smile her eyes did when she said, “Wipe your mouth.” She tapped her finger once more to indicate where, and Wick moved to mimic the movement on his face. “Over a bit,” she instructed, and he instantly followed her directions, rubbing at the spot with the pad of his finger. “A bit harder,” she continued. “There’s still a tiny bit of bullshit around your lips.” Wick’s finger stopped dead, and he stared at her for only a beat before a face-splitting grin broke out on his face. “I was wrong about you.” He shook his head and picked up his drink. “Most people are,” she confessed flatly. “I thought you were a little bit naughty, but you’re not.” “Really?” “No,” he replied smoothly. “You’re absolutely fucking wicked and if I had my way I’d put a ring on your finger right now.” Without hesitation, Lydia replied, “Okay.” Then slipped her purse under her arm and slid from the stool. “Okay?” Wick stared at her in disbelief. “Okay to me having my way?” His disbelief turned into a lascivious grin. “Okay to putting a ring on it.” Lydia stood in front of Wick and challenged him to back down. He couldn’t tell if she was bluffing, but he was more than willing to call her on it, after all, he had nothing to lose and a hell of a lot to gain. “Where?” He couldn’t help but ask, his mind running wild with plans and thoughts. “Where else?” she questioned with a mischievous gleam in her eyes before taking a step towards him and guiding him from his seat. “Las Vegas of course.” “Las? What?” “Private jet, Mr Austen. Perks of being a Bennet. Now, let’s get out of here before my sisters come looking for me or are you about to chicken out?” Wick knocked back his drink and all but slammed the glass down on the bar top, eyeing the bartender taking in their exchange with obvious fascination and not even bothering to be discreet about it. “Lead the way, Mrs Austen-to-be. Where you go, I will follow. ‘Til death us do part.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

B

ing didn’t quite know what to make of the night so far.

He’d been separated from Darcy and Wick on a table two rows over. On the one hand, that was a good thing because Darcy didn’t have to sit with their parents, but on the other, Darcy was sat on a table full of strangers with Wick as his only company. Bing tried his best to keep an eye on his brothers and often saw Darcy’s keen gaze locked on Eliza Bennet while Wick seemed smitten with attracting Lydia Bennet’s attention. Bing found himself dividing his focus between his parents and fellow table guests, his brothers, and the woman that had snagged his attention since he first laid eyes on her not thirty seconds after he’d walked through the doors. Jane Bennet was bewitching. Her golden hair shone like tousled waves of silk, her subtle curves were accentuated by the pale pink of her dress, and her wide blue eyes captivated all who gained her attention. Never had he seen a more exquisite creature than she. But it wasn’t solely her looks that had Bing chasing her with his eyes every second he could. It was her. The graceful way she moved, the thoughtful way she greeted everyone by name, the engaging way she chatted ensuring each person felt like they had her complete attention. She wasn’t just beautiful on the outside, but the inside too, only the light from within her shone more brightly than any beauty he’d ever seen. Jane Bennet had captivated him. A dozen times he’d made to go and introduce himself to her, but a dozen times he hesitated and someone else got there before him. “What are you gawking at, child?” Anne Austen asked him during the final course of

the evening as his gaze followed Jane to the stage. His mother had the uncanny knack of timing her curiosity at the worst point possible. “Nothing,” he mumbled absently, dropping his gaze abruptly and stabbing a grape from his cheese course with a fork. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me.” Anne Austen shifted in her seat to peer through the guests at the object of Bing’s rapt attention. “In fact, it looks like that middle Bennet sister has tickled your fancy.” “Mother, please,” Bing groaned and went to remove his glasses but remembered he had contacts in, and dragged his hand down his face instead. “Don’t mother, please me,” she admonished loud enough to draw the gaze of others at their table. “You go over there and introduce yourself. You can’t be in the race if you don’t saddle up your pony.” Bing suddenly understood why Darcy refused to sit in public with their parents. If they weren’t bickering and muttering jibes at each other, then mother was sure to humiliate you without even trying very hard. Thankfully, Bing was saved from being forced out of his chair like a young child is encouraged to go and kiss an old aunt with no teeth, by the static of a microphone and Jane introducing her younger sister Lydia to the crowd. If he thought the night had been hard to interpret so far, that was nothing to the spectacle he witnessed on stage as the youngest Bennet performed her risqué song complete with accompanying dance moves—if grinding and rubbing were classed as a form of dance. Bing dragged his eyes away from the exhibition on stage and sought out Jane. He couldn’t see her anywhere, and he worried for a brief second that her sister’s performance had sent her running. Something told him the spectacle Lydia was making in front of this esteemed audience, wasn’t anything that Jane had sanctioned. He was about to get up and search for the middle Bennet sister when a flash of pink caught his eye. There in the shadows to the left of the stage stood Jane. Not even the dim lighting could hide that she was as white as a sheet and even if it did, the expression on her face was telling. She was mortified. Bing’s chest ached for her. He knew how difficult it was to be the peacekeeper amongst his family, but at least both his parents were still alive. The loneliness on Jane’s face called to him. At that moment, he felt what she felt, and he’d never had this kind of connection to another person, let alone one he’d never formally met. He was on his feet before his next breath. The show on the stage was coming to an end, but before he got to Jane she’d moved to stand next to Eliza, the eldest Bennet sister.

He stopped and watched them from the side of the room, waiting for the chance to say something, anything to the woman in pink. Jane Bennet appeared to wear her heart on her sleeve, and right now, he felt the tremor in her emotions as surely as if the room had been hit by an earthquake. He finally got his opportunity to approach her when Lydia finished her song and left the stage. Mere moments later, Eliza thundered from the room leaving Jane alone in more ways than one. Bing was only a few feet away from her when a well-dressed man in an expensive suit and dark tortoiseshell spectacles stood abruptly from a front row table almost toppling his chair, and stormed in Jane’s direction. Jane blanched before he’d even got to her, but quickly straightened her spine in preparation for whatever the man had to say. Bing wasn’t near enough to hear what words were exchanged, but Jane’s face told him it wasn’t a pleasant conversation or one that she was enjoying being a part of, so when Jane made to walk away, and the man’s hand snatched out to grip her wrist, Bing leapt into action. “Excuse me, Miss Bennet, I’m so sorry to interrupt—” He wasn’t “—but I’d hoped to speak with you about the Longbourn Shelter.” “Piss off,” the man spat at Bing, increasing his grip on Jane’s wrist. “I’m fucking talking here. So, toddle off with your ‘excuse mes’ and go take your begging cap elsewhere.” Bing wasn’t generally an aggressive man, but his fists clenched involuntarily, and he stepped up until he was practically toe to toe with the other man. Bing may seem unassuming, but on rising to his full height he was easily three inches taller than his counterpart, and it gave him a burst of confidence to force the man to look up at him. “Unhand her.” “Or what,” the other man sneered. Not used to issuing threats, Bing snarled the first thing that came into his head. “Or I will hit you so hard even Google won’t be able to find you.” The man’s face froze, his mouth open but silent, and Jane used the opportunity to rip her arm from his grip. “I suggest you sit and maybe grab another drink to cool down Conrad,” she offered calmly. Jane’s sweet voice washed over Bing, and he momentarily forgot about the man he was trying to intimidate. He stared at the woman at his side as if it was the first time he’d ever experienced her beauty. Awestruck. He paid dearly for his inattention, and the left hook that landed on his jaw blindsided him and knocked him straight onto his arse. “Google that,” the man called Conrad spat, glaring down at Bing with prideful anger.

But Bing forgot all about him again, as Jane rushed to his side and gently cupped his already swelling jaw in her soft palm. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Let me get something to put on that. Some ice maybe or—” Bing was lost in her blue eyes but his brain finished her sentence with, “Your Lips.” “I’m sorry? What did you say?” Bing remained dumbstruck as he focused on Jane’s face and her striking eyes that were crinkled with worry. I didn’t say anything, did I? “Can you get up?” she asked sweetly, her voice laced with concern. Clarity finally washed over Bing, and he pushed up to stand with Jane’s arm firmly wrapped around first his shoulders, and then his waist. Her touch felt right, like she was meant to stand next to him. Like her body was made to be at his side as his equal. “This wasn’t how I imagined talking with you for the first time,” Bing confessed in embarrassment. Jane led him away from the front of the ballroom and out of the gaze of the many eyes that followed. They bypassed the foyer and went straight into the general manager’s office, which was thankfully empty. Jane continued to help him—even though he should have told her he was more than capable of walking unaided—until he was sat on a low leather sofa, and she was bent at the knees looking at his injured face. Bing supposed his pride should have felt wounded too, after all, he’d just taken a sucker punch and landed on his arse in front of a room full of the rich and wealthy, but with Jane before him and all her attention focused on him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “I’d planned on asking you to dance with me,” he said absently as she ran her fingertips gently over his jaw. Jane’s eyes flicked from his bruised face to his gaze, and she flushed slightly. “I would have said yes,” she admitted softly. “I wanted to talk with you about the work you do. I wanted to dance, talk, and then, at the end of the night ask for your number.” The pink on her cheeks heated further. “I would have given it to you.” Bing smiled at her honesty, but the injury to his jaw turned it into a painful wince. Jane grimaced at his reaction before standing, the movement popping the bubble that had encased them for a moment. “Let me get you some ice.” She walked towards the door but not before stopping with her hand on the brass handle.

“Thank you for what you did in there. I want you to know that I’m not with Conrad, just in case you got the wrong idea. He’s with Lydia, and he was angry about what she… the song she…” She didn’t finish her sentence, unable to voice how embarrassed she was about Lydia’s show. Without saying any more, she quietly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He watched the oak panel click shut behind her before replying, “Even if you were with him, I still would have asked for your number.”

CHAPTER NINE

E

liza paced the length of the ladies’ powder room, ignoring the stares from any female guests who came in to use the facilities.

One or two looked ready to approach her but thought better of it when they heard her muttering obscenities and threats under her breath. Eliza was going to throttle Lydia. Then she was going to cut off her share of The Bennet Group dividends until she got her act together. Eliza knew that Lydia had a very substantial personal allowance from her trust fund, but the loss of the additional millions would get the point across effectively—grow up or ship out. On her umpteenth tour of the lavishly decorated amenities, the door opened and her long-time friend, Charlotte Lucas, entered on a mission. “Eliza, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Charlotte exclaimed when she spotted her normally stoic friend wearing a path in the marble tiles. Eliza stopped mid-step and spun on her heels to face her childhood friend. “I would say it is good to see you, Charlie, but I’m about thirty seconds away from committing sororicide.” Charlotte snorted in a very unladylike manner—one which her mother would be mortified to hear, but then she’d practically have a conniption if she heard the vulgar words that regularly came out of her daughter’s mouth—and came up to engulf Eliza with a hug. “I would ask how you know the term for killing your sister, but I guess it’s from months of research. Horrible little wench needs a good slap.”

Eliza took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her friend. “You have no idea.” Charlotte released Eliza enough to step back and look her friend in the eye. “Somebody needs to get out there and quell the crowd’s fervour. Conrad just punched some random guy for interrupting him scolding Jane, and she’s disappeared to tend to the handsome stranger’s wounds.” “What? Shit. Poor Jane, I didn’t even think what she’d have to deal with when I stormed out of there. Let me go and find her.” “No,” Charlotte said emphatically. “What you need to do is temper the excitable guests. Aren’t you up next? You need to draw their attention away from your sisters and get this evening under control before it all goes to shit. I’m sure Jane would rather you’d tried to salvage the night and not give anyone any more to talk about.” “I’m not entertaining those twits. They’ve had supper, a free show and a fight. They got their money’s worth.” Eliza stepped out of Charlotte’s embrace, but her friend didn’t move, so she made to sidestep past her. Charlotte’s hand landed on Eliza’s arm halting her escape. “Yes, they may have got their money’s worth, but the foundation hasn’t. Isn’t it the auction that brings in the most funds?” Eliza closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and took a deep breath of the perfumed air. She’s right. “You need to get out there, do your thing on the piano that’s set up waiting for you, and allow Jane time to get this evening under control. That’s how you ensure Lydia’s antics haven’t won, and Jane still gets to make this night at least a little successful.” She’s right again. “Dammit, Charlotte. Why couldn’t you be wrong for once in your life?” Eliza looked at her friend who grinned wickedly at her before replying, “Because I’m absolutely fucking fabulous, dahling.”

DARCY SAT BACK SIPPING his wine and avidly watched the most entertaining car crash he’d ever seen. First Lydia’s spectacle, then Bing getting walloped—which Darcy almost got involved with, but it seemed his brother still managed to snag the girl— and now the Ice Princess was taking centre stage behind a baby grand piano while the room was still awash with frantic chatter and gossip. This is going to be priceless. Darcy sat forward in his seat with anticipation thrumming through his veins. He watched as Eliza closed her eyes and poised her elegant fingers above the keys. At first, the crowd carried on regardless, paying little attention to the music as it

began. The familiar chords of a melancholy tune fought for dominance with their voices until it built and grew into something that silenced the entire room. Darcy found himself singing the words in his head before he’d even realised he knew song—Nobody said it was easy. He found himself standing, needing to move closer, wanting nothing to interrupt his view of Eliza as she lost herself to Coldplay’s, The Scientist. Her fingers moved effortlessly over the keys even though her eyes remained closed. Her head angled slightly, tilting towards the sound and the invisible thread that connected her to the instrument. She was magnificent. Darcy found himself lost to the woman and the passion with which she played. When the music finished, he felt oddly bereft. Muted applause followed Eliza as she left the stage without ever once addressing the audience, but her performance had done what she must have intended as the crowd had calmed and the previously frenetic atmosphere had smoothed out. Jane approached her sister in the wings, and Darcy watched as they embraced. Their easy relationship felt familiar for it was what he had with his brother Bing. As if just thinking of his brother had summoned him, Bing walked towards the sisters with purpose, and Darcy knew by the wrinkles in his brow that his brother had something important to say. All it took was for Jane to slap a hand over her mouth in shock, and for Eliza to curl her fists, and he was there. Darcy’s feet carried him up onto the stage without hesitation. “What’s wrong?” he asked Bing, but his eyes were locked on Eliza, her tight jaw and steely eyes doing nothing to impede her beauty. Knock it off, Darce. She’s a spoiled brat. An Ice Princess. “It’s Wick,” Bing finally replied. “And Lydia,” Jane said through trembling lips. Darcy shook his head in confusion. Wick didn’t know the younger Bennet sister, so he couldn’t see the problem, plus, he’d saw his brother no less than half hour ago. “What about them? They don’t even know each other so how much of a problem can this actually be?” Bing and Jane both looked like they didn’t know how to phrase their reply, each one looking at the other for moral support. Bing works fast. I’m impressed. “A shit ton,” Eliza exploded, her fiery gaze finally landed on Darcy and a spark of recognition lit her eyes before they narrowed even further. “They’ve eloped. To goddamn Vegas of all places.” Eloped? Vegas?

Darcy remained voiceless, his mind seduced by the piano playing temptress in front of him, muting the gravity of her words. “Cat got your tongue, barfly?” His eyes widened at the eldest Bennet sister. Her insult telling him that she hadn’t forgotten their brief interaction last week. Her piercing gaze would cut most men to the quick, but it reignited a small spark inside Darcy that with very little kindling could well turn into a fire. “Impossible,” he finally stated meeting her gaze head-on. “Wick doesn’t have enough money to get them to Vegas, even if that’s where they are supposedly heading.” He stepped forward, all but blocking Bing and Jane out of the conversation. “Whoever has fed you this information is yanking your chain, and doing so rather effectively, Princess.” Eliza’s wide blue eyes narrowed into slits, and she too took a step forward. “Your brother fed me the information, so why don’t you ask him to confirm his source. Or did you all conspire to set this up? You’ve just told us your brother is broke and Lydia is not.” Eliza took another step forward until they were toe to toe and Darcy was forced to look down at her, once more fighting the urge to get lost in those striking eyes that likely caused many a man’s doom. “Tell me, Mr Austen. Did you come here tonight under the collusion of bagging one of your ragtag brothers a rich wife?” Darcy’s brain tripped, and his mouth opened to dispute her accusation, but the truth was he wouldn’t put anything past Wick. His brother was devious, single-minded and selfish. Then Darcy’s mind cleared. Even if Wick had come with the intention of wooing Lydia or any of the Bennets, it was utterly preposterous to assume that one brief meeting with the younger sister would end with an elopement. “Let’s find out, shall we?” he challenged Eliza, her glare turning artic at the arch of his brow and barely concealed grin just daring her to lose her cool. “Because I think your theory is borderline insane, and when we disprove it, I can’t wait for you to apologise to myself and my brothers. Preferably in public, with an advert in the paper, or better yet—” his grin turned wicked “—I’d take another song. Maybe Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word.” Eliza’s stunning eyes turned positively feral, and she enunciated every word through the grit of her teeth. “When Hell freezes over.” Darcy grinned, leaning closer to Eliza than ever before and replied, “I’m not afraid of a little frostbite.”

CHAPTER TEN

L

ydia was lost in silence. The journey to the airport passed without any words exchanged between her and Wick. She had called her housekeeper, who in turn had made arrangements for The Bennet Group jet to be ready upon their arrival, but the plane could not depart for a further hour due to flight schedules. Lydia was sure they would be followed once Eliza and Jane found out about her elopement, and while part of her eagerly anticipated the inevitable confrontation, a bigger part of her hoped they’d at least make it to Vegas before being accosted. It would be a real buzzkill to only get as far as the jet’s doors, and yet another example of her out-of-control ineptness that Eliza would take great glee in reminding her of again, and again, and again. Lydia could hear it now— “She tried to elope once, you know. They didn’t even make it into the air. What a complete farce, but then again, that’s Lydia all over. She’s useless, even when she’s trying to rebel.” Yeah, Lydia was determined to make it to Vegas. She stared out of the car window at the dark night’s sky and swallowed down the tiny bit of shame she felt for ruining Jane’s night. Her gaze caught the reflection of a chiselled profile in the glass and Lydia lifted her eyes from the blackness outside to observe the stranger she’d brought along for the ride. Wick Austen. She’d Googled him not ten minutes ago, but not bothered to read what was written about him. Why pretend this was anything more than her getting what she wanted—and what she wanted more than anything was to see Eliza’s face when she finally found out the news.

Wick Austen was collateral damage. Hot, tempting and possibly dangerous collateral damage, but Lydia never worried about consequences. Why should she? Wick sat silently in the dark of the limousine with his gaze anywhere but her and his thoughts passed over his features faster than Lydia could decipher them. She could happily watch him thinking all night. His brow would crinkle occasionally, and his full lips would twist up in a sly smile. At times, it appeared that Wick thought he’d hit the mother lode and his face couldn’t mask his opportunistic glee, but Lydia wasn’t concerned by whatever Machiavellian plans he was plotting because she had a few of her own. “A penny for your thoughts?” Lydia’s voice broke the silence of the car and Wick flicked his eyes to hers. “Only a penny?” he enquired with a roguish grin that turned him from handsome to positively knicker-melting. Lydia allowed herself to return a slow, seductive smile. It was the smile she always used on men to get whatever her heart desired. “Well, a penny for your thoughts seems a little pricey to me, but I can afford it.” “I’m sure you can.” Wick’s grin widened. “I’m also certain that you’re aware I’m in a rented suit and wearing my only good pair of shoes. Which begs the question, why are we going to Vegas?” Lydia broke his far too intuitive gaze and turned her attention to the muted glare of the airport lights. “Who was the guy you were with earlier?” Wick changed his approach, allowing Lydia to avoid his first question because it didn’t matter why a beautiful, rich woman wanted to marry him in secret. He was more than up for the task but he was also beyond intrigued to find out why. “Conrad.” “Are we playing the one-word answer game?” Lydia’s eyes flashed to his, and she watched as a slow smile curved the corner of his mouth and his shoulders rose into a nonchalant shrug. “I’m only trying to get to know my bride to be. For all I know, that guy you pissed off could be your husband, and while I’m down for a rush wedding, I’m not sure I’m ready for bigamy.” “Ex-boyfriend,” Lydia admitted with a sigh, matching his casual indifference with her own. “So, let me guess. We’re doing this to enrage him further? Because he looked a little miffed by your show-stopping performance, therefore I’m assuming he’s going to be positively murderous by this new development.” “Conrad doesn’t own me. Neither do my sisters or the Bennet name. We’re doing this

because I want to do it. Nothing more, nothing less.” Lydia turned to face Wick fully and leant forward in her seat until her silk covered knees touched his suit covered ones. “Do you not want to marry me, Mr Austen?” Wick followed her movements and bracketed her thighs with his. Lydia looked down at where they touched, and a flash of heat passed through her at the feel of his strong legs pinning her in place. “It’s tradition to at least take your wife to be on a date before getting hitched.” His voice was throaty, intimate and enticing. “I’m not a traditional girl.” Wick’s legs tightened around Lydia’s at her breathy confession and the air in the car thickened with sexual tension. “What about sex before marriage? Are you traditional in that sense?” Wick’s eyes roamed her face and landed on Lydia’s parted lips. “Mr Austen,” she breathed huskily. “Why don’t you come a little closer and find out.”

DARCY QUESTIONED THE BARTENDER HALF-HEARTEDLY. His amusement at this drama unfolding from a few overheard words at a bar was evident in his manner, his tone and the ever-present grin on his face. Eliza, on the other hand, grilled the poor man as if he’d committed a crime. Darcy was surprised she hadn’t demanded his birth certificate, bank statements and any other evidence she deemed necessary to prove he wasn’t bullshitting her or hiding anything important. Once she was satisfied his words were truthful and had heard his retelling of the scene over a dozen times, she dialled for her PA. “George, I know you had the weekend off, but I’ll add an extra week on your holiday allowance if you can come in straight away.” Darcy appeared as if he wasn’t listening to Eliza’s conversation but he was with rapt attention. He’d expected her to bark out orders at her assistant despite it being a Saturday night, but instead, she bargained with him. Had her tone not been abrupt due to her worry over the Lydia situation, Darcy thought he could hear the underlying nature of an easy friendship between them. “Okay, okay, two weeks and an extra bonus. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, George.” Darcy swallowed a snort at hearing Eliza get played by her assistant and Jane, on witnessing his amusement, whispered in his ear, “Eliza might be the boss of TBG, but George is her right-hand woman. I think she’s the only one that gives Eliza as good as she gets.”

“George is a woman?” Jane laughed loud enough to briefly catch Eliza’s attention before she once more spoke into her phone, “We’ll be at the office in fifteen minutes. I’ll fill you in when we get there.” Jane leant into Darcy’s side and admitted, “Her name is Georgiana, but don’t you dare call her that unless you want to incur her wrath and I wouldn’t advise it. You think Eliza is feisty. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

DARCY SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE HEED to Jane’s warning. They arrived at TBG’s multi-story building in the heart of the city’s financial district and made their way to the top floor. He didn’t know what to expect regarding the supposedly ‘feisty’ George and he certainly didn’t anticipate being introduced to a sweet looking older lady, with bifocal glasses, tightly permed hair, and wearing a pleated tartan skirt, cashmere twinset and pearls. She looked far more like a Georgiana than a George. “What’re these pretty boys doing here?” George didn’t bother with introductions. She took one look at Darcy and Bing and spat the question at Eliza before bustling back behind her desk. “Their brother has abducted Lydia,” Eliza replied before kicking off her high heels and padding around George’s desk to turn on the top-of-the range computer system that sat there. “He didn’t abduct her, Lize,” Jane interjected, keeping her voice neutral and soothing. “They absconded together by all accounts.” “Abducted, absconded, it’s all the same to me,” Eliza sniped. “Our dearest sister has plane-jacked the company jet, and she and the brother of these pretty boys are on their way to Las Vegas.” That got George’s attention. “Las Vegas? Is she pregnant?” George turned to Bing and poked a finger in his chest while shouting, “Did your good for nothing brother knock up little Lydia?” Bing withered under George’s anger, and Jane stepped between them both to diffuse the situation, but the little firecracker of a woman went up on her tiptoes and continued to stare at Bing as if he was evil incarnate. “George, it’s not what you think,” Jane began, but the little whirlwind was having none of it. “Why else would a girl of good standing like Lydia elope to Vegas with some random? What’s the name of your brother, boy? I want to get Malc to do a full profile,” George demanded, stepping forward until Jane was sandwiched between her and Bing. “I’ve already sent Malcolm all the details I have on Wick Austen,” Eliza called from her spot at the desk.

“He’s emailing over everything he has before we leave. Which is why I’m here.” Eliza looked briefly at Darcy and then addressed George once more. “I need you to get us booked on the next private flight out of the city. I don’t care what it costs, and I know you, George—” she smiled wickedly at the older lady “—you’ve got more contacts than God. If anyone can get us there by morning, it’s you.” The older woman seemed to puff up to twice her size at Eliza’s compliment and with Bing forgotten and a task in hand, she stepped away from their confrontation as if it never happened. “I’ll have your travel details sorted within the next hour. How many? Are the pretty boys going too?” George eyeballed first Bing and then Darcy, and on landing her gaze on the eldest Austen, she pouted her heavily lipsticked mouth and added saucily, “Although, if you want to leave me that one, I could give him a test drive.” Darcy’s cheeks burned, a reaction he hadn’t had since he was a teen caught fawning over his French teacher. He cleared his voice before speaking, addressing Eliza and choosing a topic that would divert the attention of the cougar eyeing him like he was her next meal. “Why bother to investigate my brother? We can tell you anything you need to know, and while we’re at it, you can finally fill us in on that flighty sister of yours.” Eliza walked out from behind the desk, grabbing the small tablet that sat next to the computer. After handing the device to George—who still gazed at Darcy with hunger— and instructing her to arrange flights, Eliza came to stand beside Jane and Bing. “Why would you tell us the truth about your brother? As far as I’m concerned, Wick came tonight with one intention, and that was to snare himself somebody of wealth.” Darcy scoffed, “What a ridiculous assumption. What made you conjure up that preposterous idea?” Eliza didn’t smile, but her eyes flashed in victory. “Because, Mr Austen. I’ve just run a search on your family’s company, and the information I found was fascinating.” Darcy shrugged. He had nothing to hide from the Bennets. “So what? If you’d asked, I would’ve told you that Austen’s has been in difficulty for a few years. It’s not something I’m ashamed to admit. I wanted to sell, my family thinks otherwise. There is nothing to hide.” “Really?” Eliza pressed, her eyes boring into his. “You would eagerly have told me how your company is weeks, at a push, months away from bankruptcy?” Darcy opened his mouth to confirm this truth when Eliza halted him with her open palm in his face. “Be careful, Darcy,” she warned, elongating the syllables of his first name until it ended on a rasp of her breath. “I’m very good at reading people. I know when someone is

lying, and once lost, my good opinion is gone forever.” Darcy took a step forward. The urge to get closer to this maddening woman crept through his veins like poison. When he was all but an arm’s reach away, he smiled devilishly. “Then I’m assuming, knowing the weak disposition of most of humanity, you must have a propensity to hate everyone.” Eliza matched his smile and said in her sweetest voice, one laced with the promise of unyielding retribution, “And, you—” she smirked but didn’t break eye contact “—are guilty of misjudging them all. Who do you think has the worst character flaw, Mr Austen? The one who won’t abide liars, or the one who doesn’t look further than the end of his nose?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

J

ane felt nothing but guilt. Here they were, on a stranger’s private plane heading to find Lydia before she made the most foolish mistake of her short life, and Jane was finding it difficult not to think about anything other than the man at her side.

Bing Austen. Her blood seemed to thrum with his name. They’d been in the air for about an hour, with Eliza sat a row in front of her frantically firing off emails, and Darcy sat across the aisle from her sister. His gaze rarely left the eldest Bennet, but her sister was too consumed on fixing this mess to notice. Jane noticed though, and she observed it only because she was doing everything in her power to distract herself from the man at her side. It didn’t work. Jane was sat so close to Bing she could feel the heat from his body and smell the sandalwood of his soap. It was a potent combination. Misreading her rigid posture for worry, Bing gently placed his hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” he said softly, keeping his voice low so it didn’t carry to their siblings. At least that’s what Jane thought he said because the heat of his hand seared through the lace of her dress and set her entire leg alight. She managed to swallow past the dryness in her throat and offered a small nod in reply. “Should I ask for a drink to settle your nerves or some food maybe?” Bing’s concern only fanned the flames of Jane’s libido and she lowered her face to

hide the blush painting her cheeks. “No—” she cleared the frog from her throat and swallowed once more “—no thank you. I think I’ve indulged enough tonight already.” Bing lightly squeezed Jane’s thigh. It wasn’t sexual, more an offer of comfort, but Jane still felt that touch lick over her skin as if it was his lips kissing at her flesh and not his palm. “Jane,” Bing said her name like a question and his hand left her thigh to lightly grip her chin and encourage her to look at him. “I feel it too.” Jane blinked once slowly, her lips parting on her exhale, and her heart stuttering in her chest. “Feel what?” Jane asked the question despite hoping she already knew the answer. It was a confession she desperately wanted to hear. She didn’t want to be alone in this. She was afraid of this almost overpowering connection she felt towards a man she didn’t know. It was so out of character for her that it was threatening to unpin her already shaky foundations. “This,” he replied simply, dropping his hand from her face and linking his fingers through hers. “This link that connects me to you.” Bing closed his eyes for a second as though searching for the right words before opening them and allowing Jane to see the truth held in his eyes. “You felt it too. I saw it on your face the first moment we met. It’s an exquisite ache, a lovely sort of déjà vu. We spoke, and I was overwhelmed by the sensation that we’d been here before.” Bing allowed her to drink her fill of his words before leaning towards her, a movement Jane mimicked without even knowing until their mouths were mere millimetres apart. Then he kissed her. It was indulgent, warm, and a gentle connection of the soft skin of his lips against hers. A brief but delicious joining of their bodies, where something passed between them more powerful than words. When Bing pulled back his look was filled with awe. “I knew it would feel like that,” he confessed quietly, his almost dazed expression drugging Jane and enticing her to move closer to him. “Like what?” she all but breathed, her body closer than ever to his, their mouths once more almost touching. “Like I was tasting a thousand of our lives on my lips.” Jane closed the small gap between them and this time it was her mouth that sought his. Could it be, with all the drama surrounding them that she’d found this man who scrambled her thoughts yet also brought her a clarity she hadn’t felt for a long time?

With Bing’s lips on hers, Jane didn’t give much more consideration to that question because everything else around them faded away—Lydia, Lize, the loss of her father. Even the guilt.

WICK’S EYES widened almost comically at the opulence of The Mansion at MGM Grand. The luxury, exclusivity, and wealth was so palpable, he could almost taste it in the air. A Rolls Royce Phantom had picked them up from right outside the doors of TBG’s private jet—no customs or baggage claim for them, unlike the rest of the unwashed masses—and proceeded to navigate with ease through the Vegas traffic until it entered a private driveway separate from the rest of the MGM resort, and exclusive to The Mansion’s clientele. There, surrounding an imposing eighteenth century, Italian style mansion, were no more than thirty oversized villas. The one in which Wick stood mute and overawed, had to be over twelve thousand feet. It came with a private butler called Michael, who explained that his every whim could be catered to, with a menu-free restaurant at his disposal where the chefs would cook whatever he desired, and an on-call chauffeur to take him anywhere he wanted to go. Lydia—completely underwhelmed by the luxury surrounding her and uninterested in the attentiveness of their butler—immediately flopped down on the huge couch in the living room and busied herself with her smartphone. Wick paid her little attention and eagerly followed the butler on a grand tour, lapping up all the luxury details and cataloguing everything he wanted to experience while here. The villa boasted a private dining room, full kitchen, jetted tub, walk-in steam shower, private gym, full-sized private pool, hot tub, home theatre room and even a baby grand piano. Room service was available twenty-four hours a day and from over one hundred restaurants in the city, including the Forbes five-star rated Joel Robuchon next door. By the time the butler was finished with his tour, and Wick heard about all this place had to offer, the youngest Austen was seconds away from stripping naked and rubbing himself all over the expensive rug at his feet in luxury induced ecstasy. “Thank you for entertaining Mr Austen, Michael,” Lydia politely addressed the butler, but the curt edge to her tone was clear—she wanted him gone. She stood gracefully on her bare feet and slowly made her way towards the two men before instructing the older man, “Take the day off, we’ll see you tomorrow.” “But I’m starving,” Wick complained, before turning to face the butler and place his request. “I wanted—” “I don’t care what it is you wanted,” Lydia harshly cut him off. “The kitchen is always fully stocked, I’m sure you’re capable of feeding yourself.” She stared fixedly at Wick until he closed his mouth, swallowed down his request, and dropped his eyes in submission. Then she dismissed Michael with a wave of her hand. The

butler left swiftly, leaving the two of them truly alone for the first time since they’d left the ball. “I’ve already filled in the application form for a marriage licence,” Lydia stated offhandedly, and Wick swallowed audibly at her dispassion. A touch of trepidation mixed with a hefty dose of excitement thrummed through his blood at the realisation that this was happening. “We need to pick it up from the Marriage Bureau in person before heading to Little White Chapel,” she continued, paying Wick no further attention. She turned her back on him and slid down the side zip of her gown as she walked towards the master bedroom doors. “Oh, and Wick,” she called over her shoulder at his stiff, awkward and seemingly immovable form. “It’s time for round two. I’m not sure the limo counts as a real date due to the limited duration.” Wick’s form stiffened further, namely the part of him below the waist that very much enjoyed round one. He licked his lips, blinked once slowly and shook off the haze of the last half hour. Yes, he thought this place was unbelievable. Yes, he thought Lydia would back out of the whole marriage charade, and yes, he was more than willing to go for a round two or three or four, but what he still didn’t understand was why? Why did she pick him? Why was she in such a rush to wed? Why put herself and her money at risk by marrying a stranger? All these questions and more were on the tip of Wick’s tongue but each one died the moment that red silk pooled on the floor at her feet. He watched, slack-jawed as her pert, nubile body sashayed through the double doors and disappeared out of sight. “I’m waiting,” Lydia called seconds later. “And I’d hate to start without you.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

D

arcy slept using his expensive tuxedo jacket as a pillow because he didn’t want to bother the flight attendant and seem like a spoiled rich asshole, and he didn’t want to earn the glare of the ice princess on the other side of the aisle.

He found this whole jaunt to Las Vegas preposterous, but tagged along to see the great Eliza Bennet apologise when she was proved wrong. Preferably on her knees. In front of him. With her smart mouth… filled. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching McCarran International. Please ensure you are seated for our descent. Rachel, your hostess, can bring you anything you require while you fasten your belts. Thank you for flying with us today. On behalf of Lady Ashworth, I hope your flight was pleasurable and that you enjoy your stay in Las Vegas.” Darcy came awake suddenly to the overloud voice of the pilot and immediately wiped his mouth in case he’d drooled. He’d meant to nap, but he felt like he’d slept hard, and he was sure his face bore the crease marks and texture of his suit jacket. “Nice of you to join us,” Eliza’s cultured voice rasped from across the aisle. “I was planning on letting sleeping beauty stay on board to continue on to wherever Lady Ashworth’s jet was going next.” “I’m sure you’d rather I wasn’t here,” Darcy replied at the tail end of a yawn—one he didn’t bother to cover with his hand. “But unfortunately, it’s not just your useless and irresponsible sibling we are chasing.”

He rubbed a hand down his face to wipe away the sleep, then around to the back of his neck where he squeezed at his stiff muscles, and then up through his dark wavy hair, trying and failing to tame the wayward strands that threatened to turn into full curls. Silence fell between them both as they felt the plane bank slightly to the left and then began its descent. Darcy’s ears popped as they always did on landing, and he swallowed hard to try and clear them. Because of this, Eliza’s next words seemed muffled, as though she was speaking underwater. “…always…handful. When… naughty…craving…” Darcy’s ears cleared and he turned to face Eliza. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard. Could you repeat the part about your naughty cravings?” Eliza’s mouth gaped open at his suggestive teasing, and Darcy almost choked on his reactionary laugh. She promptly snapped it shut and narrowed her eyes before enunciating through her tight jaw, “Get your mind out of the gutter. I said, Lydia has always been a handful. When she was young, she was naughty, always up to no good and craving attention. This is just another way to get all eyes on her, or more specifically, mine.” Darcy stared at the woman across from him, one he was finding infinitely more attractive by the minute, and went to say something about also enjoying her eyes on him, but the plane landed with a jostling bump and the moment was lost. As he unbuckled his belt and shook out his jacket, he took the time to do the same to those unbidden thoughts in his head. He was not attracted to Eliza Bennet. Not now. Not ever.

THEIR DISHEVELLED and travel-weary party disembarked the plane to find a town car waiting for them. George, Eliza’s assistant, was obviously very competent at ensuring her employer’s needs were met, and the entire journey from TBG’s office ran like clockwork. Darcy could use an assistant like that for himself if he were ever able to afford one, but maybe he’d go for someone a little less… handsy, or eyesy as in George’s case. Darcy was sure she’d stripped him naked with her eyes several times before they’d left TBG. “Where are we heading first?” Jane enquired, standing close to Bing’s side next to the open doors of the vehicle. Eliza looked up, strands of her windswept hair blocking her eyes from Darcy’s view and replied just loud enough for him to catch, “Where Lydia always goes in Vegas. The Mansion.”

DARCY ASSUMED The Mansion was a private property. He was wrong.

It was part of the MGM Grand. A very exclusive part. “How the other half lives,” he muttered to himself as they pulled up in front of the imposing mansion surrounded by private villas. On hearing his words, Bing nudged him with his elbow and gave a subtle shake of his head. Darcy looked at his brother and saw a look on his face he hadn’t seen before—concern. Not for him or for Wick he suspected, but for the woman that was once again by his side, despite the seats opposite them being vacant and Eliza having the entire space to herself. He should have thought it odd earlier that the sisters didn’t sit next to each other, but he was too caught up in his internal admission that he was attracted to the frosty, unapproachable, often arrogant, always antagonising Eliza Bennet. “I’ll check in with Raul. He wasn’t available when I called earlier, and they don’t have any record of Lydia being here, but I don’t doubt she used a fake name.” “Try Fanny Price,” Jane suggested as Eliza’s car door opened and the driver stepped back to let her disembark. “Lydia always loved Mansfield Park.” With a furrowed brow, she added in a whisper that was still loud enough to be heard by all, “Mostly because that name sounds inappropriate these days, but father was impressed with her knowledge of classic literature. He never caught on to Lydia referring to the heroine as a ‘woman with the perfect name for a high-priced hooker.’” “Lydia wouldn’t know classic literature if it bit her on the arse,” Eliza retorted with an unamused snort. “She only knew of Fanny Price because of the made for television adaptation. Father always did fall for her schemes.” The last part of Eliza’s sentence was said with a begrudging fondness for her recollection of Lydia and Charles Bennet’s relationship. Something in Darcy softened at Eliza’s tone, and he allowed himself to feel an emotion other than a humorous dislike for the woman before him. “Should I call Pemberley?” Jane called out to her sister as Eliza took a step away from the car. “No need,” she answered without turning back. “I already have. We’re expected there at some point today. We can stay however long we need.” And with that, she was gone, striding towards the magnificent mansion with purpose, her exquisite curves encased in a ball gown that she wore like a power-suit. Darcy had never known a woman like her. She was an enigma, and he always loved a puzzle. But with this woman, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever work her out, or if he did, would he come to the end of the mystery and find pieces missing—not of her, of him. “Where is Pemberley?” Darcy asked half-heartedly, wanting to give himself something to do other than stare out of the open door at the space where Eliza no longer stood. “Another hotel or family home?” Jane didn’t reply, and he tore his gaze away from the bright lights outside to look at her questioningly. She smiled at him with a wry twist of her lips before ducking her head to hide her spreading grin.

“It’s not where is Pemberley, it’s who is Pemberley? And the answer to that question is Eliza’s oldest and best friend. She has a home here. In fact, she has homes almost everywhere.” “That’s quite cryptic of you Jane,” Darcy replied smugly. “Is she a woman of mystery?” “Shitting hell,” Bing exclaimed, cursing uncharacteristically and gaining both his and Jane’s attention before turning to them with a face filled with wide-eyed awe. “You’re talking about Pemberley Gardiner, aren’t you? The Pemberley Gardiner? The highest paid actress in the world.” Darcy sat up in his seat. Pemberley Gardiner was a superstar and their generation’s Marilyn Monroe. “Yes, but don’t get star struck, she hates it. To us, she’s just Pembs.” “Just Pembs?” Bing all but shrieked, his voice becoming comically high pitched, like a teenage girl experiencing her first boy band concert. “You can’t expect us to think of her as just Pembs. We’ve watched all her films.” “Including the last one where she was nude for most of it,” Darcy added helpfully, making his brother blush in remembrance of the critically acclaimed, Oscar-winning movie about a post-apocalyptic world where women were used as currency. To say it pushed boundaries was an understatement. “She’s also married, Darce,” Bing mumbled as if thinking of Pemberley Gardiner naked could be wiped out of his head by the mention of her wedding ring. “Yes, she is,” Jane confirmed through a barely contained chuckle, obviously enjoying Bing’s reaction to her family friend. “Collins isn’t quite the husband you’d think, and I doubt we’ll see him this visit. They rarely spend time in the same city.” “Collins Forster doesn’t want to spend time with his wife when his wife is the Pemberley Gardiner?” Darcy questioned disbelievingly. “Stop putting the before her name. I don’t want to meet her and say ‘Oh, hello, The Pemberley Gardiner,” Bing begged a little too candidly, causing both Darcy and Jane to snort. “Bing,” Darcy forced out through his barely restrained chuckling. “I’m sure you’d charm the knickers off her if you addressed her in such a way.” Bing’s face turned serious, and he shot a sideways glance at Jane before levelling Darcy with a glare—an expression rarely seen on his normally laidback brother’s face. “I admire her success, but I can assure you I have no interest in charming anyone’s—” he cleared his throat and reluctantly forced the next words out on an almost whisper “— knickers off them.” Jane’s head shot up in interest before she caught herself and lowered her gaze. “Well, that is to say, I’d rather not charm anyone to do something they didn’t wish to do. I’d hope disrobing would be a mutually agreed activity and with someone that’s not

married, and…” “You’re blathering,” Darcy interrupted mockingly with a big grin on his face. “And digging yourself a hole.” “I am not blathering,” Bing declared in outrage, and then in a softer more controlled voice that Darcy assumed was more for Jane’s benefit than his. “I’m explaining that my interests aren’t on other women, that’s all.” Darcy almost quipped ‘Are you swapping sides on us, Bing?’ but thought better of it when he caught his brother and Jane locked in a silent look. There may have been no words exchanged between them, but like his brother, Jane wore her emotions for all to see, and what Darcy saw was two people so caught up in each other it was both painful and wonderful to watch. Turning his head to give them privacy, Darcy once more stared out of the open car door to the mansion beyond. He heard Eliza returning before he caught sight of her lean, yet hourglass figure, and when she climbed into the car her face was locked in the steely persona Darcy was coming to expect and dislike in equal measure. He craved her fire, and he wanted her wrath—he didn’t want her ice. “Fanny Price is checked into one of the villas with a mystery guest.” Jane’s face lit up, and she quickly moved from her seat to sit next to her sister. “That’s good, isn’t it? It means we can stop all this silliness.” “Miss Price and her guest called for a car over an hour ago. The driver hasn’t been reached to confirm their whereabouts, but their last stop was at the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau.” Eliza’s penetrating gaze locked on Darcy. “Why would your brother go to a charity ball with a passport in his pocket? Because he would need it to fly here and to get a marriage license.” “I’m not my brother so I can’t answer that question,” Darcy admitted honestly. He returned Eliza’s look with a softer one, both due to the shock of finding out that Wick was indeed about to marry the younger Bennet and at the glassy sheen to Eliza’s eyes. The oldest Bennet could undoubtedly hold her own, but Darcy saw through the walls she erected and caught a flash of vulnerability. “Do we know where they’re planning to go after that?” It was Jane who answered him. “Little White Chapel.” “How can you possibly know that?” This time it was Eliza who answered but not before she took Jane’s hand in hers. “Because our parents eloped and got married there.”

WICK HAD to keep telling himself that he wasn’t dreaming. A beautiful woman not only wanted him in her bed, but was also about to marry him. Everything he’d set out to achieve by attending that charity ball had come true and then some. Praying to his forefathers didn’t seem like such a cheesy thing to do after all. Maybe he should send up a thank you. “I will, once the deal is sealed.” Wick’s head snapped up from his thoughts and he watched Lydia as she sat opposite him talking on her phone. They were currently inside yet another Rolls Royce, and sat outside a car rental store. He wasn’t sure what they were doing there as Lydia shared very little with him, and he was wary of questioning her too much and bursting their bubble. So, he followed her lead and allowed her full control. “No, no press announcement.” Wick wasn’t sure what to make of the snippets of conversation he was hearing. Lydia was obviously talking to someone who knew what they were doing and who were currently attempting to manage the situation and ensure some damage control. “Just make sure it’s done. No, no they haven’t found us yet.” Who hadn’t found them? Surely there wasn’t anyone looking for them. It wasn’t like they’d broadcast their intentions and posted an engagement announcement in The Times. Nobody knew that on their way to the airport last night, Wick had made a detour to his apartment to grab his passport. Hell, he’d even left his phone on the table at the ball, so there was no way he could inform anyone of his upcoming nuptials. Lydia ended her call and stared out of the window at the rows upon rows of cars outside. Wick wanted to craft a connection with her over and above sex and the fact they were about to marry, so he got up and moved to sit next to her. “Want to talk about it? I might not look it, but I’m a good listener.” Lydia stayed silent for a beat and then released a breathy sigh. “My lawyer is emailing a prenup to the wedding chapel. You need to sign it before the deed is done.” “A prenup? That includes what?” Wick’s stomach tensed in painful knots. He never envisaged this possibility, then again, he didn’t foresee marrying Lydia Bennet within hours of meeting either. Without looking at him, Lydia dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes before replying, “A gagging order and a one-off, ten-million-pound payment if we remain married for at least a year. If we divorce before that time, you get nothing.” Her eyes popped open, and a challenging gleam filled her gaze. “Why do you ask, dearest? These things are inconsequential. After all, we are

marrying for love, are we not?” Wick opened his mouth but didn’t have the words to respond because his brain was too busy calculating figures. Ten million for twelve months. Enough to save Austen’s? Not the state it’s in now. A deliberate smile filled his lips, and he took one of Lydia’s hands in both of his before offering earnestly, “I don’t want anything. Get them to remove the pay-out. I’m not after your money.” Lydia scoffed. “I may act in haste, dearest, but never without thinking things through. What else could you want from me other than money? We both know it’s not love.” Wick allowed his smile to break into a grin and he squeezed Lydia’s hand tightly in his. “I want you. I want us to work together and build something stronger than love.” “Stronger than love? And what, pray tell, do you think I want more than that?” “Power. You want to beat Eliza at her own game, and I’m going to give you that chance.” Lydia stared at the man beside her, tilting her head to take him in and to try and work out what angle he was playing. She let her gaze roam over his strong features, thick hair, and sharp jaw, down to his full mouth that she knew could do wickedly delicious things to her body. Although Wick Austen was undeniably handsome, she also knew he had no wealth, and no way to promise her such things as challenging her sister. “And how do you propose to do that?” “Marry me, and I’ll share my stake in Austen’s on the proviso that you come and work with me. Together we can make it into a company to rival The Bennet Group.” “The catch?” she questioned, knowing there always was one. “It will cost you more than ten million.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

E

liza didn’t want to involve Pemberley in this mess, but she needed the unwavering support she knew her friend would provide. It was different to her relationship with Jane because her sister always saw her as strong, whereas Pembs had seen her break and not judged her for it. Observing the two women together, you’d think that they were best friends since the womb—sisters, yet not by blood—but you’d be wrong. Despite the strength of their current relationship, Pemberley and Eliza initially hated each other on sight. They met at the age of thirteen at the exclusive Dennybridge Boarding School For Girls. Eliza was battling through the grief of losing her mother, and she did this by ignoring her pain and focusing intently on the goal of becoming her father. Every move she made, every word she uttered, and every part of her existence revolved around pleasing him, imitating him, and being the best of the best just like him. Pemberley was the complete opposite. She despised her wealthy parents and their much-lauded roots in the landed gentry. She hated their expectations of her—behave like a lady, marry a blue-blood, and spit out at least one male heir. Pemberley lived by her own rules, even then, and Dennybridge—the home of high-born women for over a century—hadn’t fully experienced the word wild until Miss Gardiner became one of their esteemed boarders. Eliza thought her brash and uncouth. She wanted nothing to do with the girl who pierced her nose with a safety pin in their shared dormitory and got blood everywhere, including Eliza’s bed. The same girl who tore strategic holes in her tights to seduce the eyes of the male tutors, and the girl who taunted Eliza with slurs of cold, frigid and an ice princess. But somehow along the way, Eliza opened her eyes and saw that this nihilistic,

wayward and rebellious girl was the most intelligent, forthright, and loyal person she’d ever met. They’d been firm friends ever since. Not time, nor distance or fame could shake the foundations of their friendship. Eliza knew she could rely on Pemberley and she, in turn, knew Eliza would move mountains for her if it were ever needed. Despite all this, Eliza didn’t want Lydia’s rushed wedding drama to have an adverse effect on her best friend. You see, Pemberley—for all her anarchic ways—had only every sought love. Hollywood made her a star and Pemberley welcomed the adoration with open arms, including the love of a man who promised her his heart for eternity. What Collins Forster gave her instead was infidelity. He hadn’t wanted Pemberley. He’d wanted her youth and beauty on his arm to quell the rumours about his sexuality. He’d wanted her as his beard—a bright star to stand beside while hiding his true self in her blinding rays. Pemberley had been smitten with the older and enigmatic Collins, and despite her wild child appearance, she was naïve in the ways of the outside world. The first time she caught him six-inches deep in another man she bought his excuse of it being an ‘experimental phase’. By the seventh or eighth incident, she’d contacted her lawyers, only to find out that the studio had written their marriage into her binding and unbreakable contract. You see, Collins Forster was their biggest action star. They couldn’t afford his thirst for cock to become public, and at the time Pemberley couldn’t afford to take on the Hollywood machine. Now she’d eclipsed her husband’s salary and influence, but she remained married to him because she could, because Collins Forster had fallen in love with a lowly farmhand he’d met on location, and he’d wanted a divorce. Pemberley decided she could happily and easily oblige him, but turnabout was fair play, and she wasn’t a woman who could forgive and forget—she was one who would burn down your house and light her cigarette on the flames. Even knowing all this about her best friend, Eliza knew Pemberley still craved love. She hated that Lydia’s games had forced her to come to her and disclose that her sister was about to disrespect what Pemberley had once considered the sacred vows of marriage. Former wild child or not, Pemberley’s broken heart still ruled her head, and Eliza knew this news would hurt her. She also knew that Pembs would hide that hurt and support Eliza no matter what.

ELIZA WAS aware of Jane’s eyes on her, and she knew Darcy’s were too, but chose to look at her sister over that infuriating man. “You’re staring at me. Just say what you want to say.” Jane blinked and looked over at the Austen brothers before returning her gaze to her sister. Eliza knew Jane was choosing her words carefully and allowed her the time to compose her thoughts. “Why are we going to Pembs’ place first rather than the chapel? If we leave now, we

might get there in time to talk some sense into Lydia.” “There is no talking sense into Lydia, you know that. It’s more than likely the deed has already been done.” Eliza wearily began to explain her decision not to chase their younger sister yet, before leaning forward to rest her hand on Jane’s knee. “You need to rest, and so does everyone else. I’d rather let Lydia think she’s got away with it and catch her unawares. Then we can deal with the fallout. The company’s lawyers assure me that we can get the marriage annulled. It’s easier to let her continue with this folly for another day.” Eliza sighed, and with a move she’d never make in public in case it made her look weak, she rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, smudging her day-old makeup and turning her red-rimmed eyes hazy. “But what if they leave Vegas?” Darcy questioned, making no pretence about the fact that he was listening to their conversation. Eliza turned her eyes on his and didn’t bother to hide her weariness. His dark brown stare softened, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to sit up and sweep her into his arms to give her comfort. “They won’t,” Eliza offered simply. “Raul is under strict instructions to delay any request to leave The Mansion and inform me immediately. That should buy us more than enough time to apprehend them and sort this mess out once and for all.” “So we’re just going to let them get married?” Bing asked in confusion, his face even more handsome now that he’d swapped out his contacts for his glasses. Some men could pull off spectacles, and Bing Austen was one of them. Eliza could see exactly why Jane was so enamoured, although she still wasn’t quite ready to admit it was the eldest Austen brother that got her hot in more ways than one. No, Eliza was nowhere near admitting that, even to herself. She sank back into the supple leather seat of the town car and closed her eyes, never offering Bing a reply to his question. The board was going to have a shit-fit if she didn’t get a handle on this, but that wasn’t what had her closing her eyes, nor was it her tiredness. It was the stare of the dark-haired man opposite her who hadn’t hidden his gaze or tempered his perusal of her, and Eliza didn’t like it. No, she didn’t like it, but she was starting to crave it.

BING WAS ENRAPTURED with Jane Bennet yet even he still noticed the weird change in the air between her sister and his eldest brother. Darcy avidly watched Eliza, drinking in her every move, but it was more than that, more than an attraction. Darcy challenged her constantly. Confrontation wasn’t unusual for Darcy, it was part of his nature, but only with those he felt worthy. He never ever wasted his time butting heads with anyone he didn’t believe an admirable opponent. Which meant only one thing—Darcy was interested in Eliza Bennet. What were the chances of that? What Bing couldn’t ascertain was if the head of TBG returned his interest. Eliza

Bennet was a difficult woman to read. Bing’s eyes found Jane’s sleepy ones, and he held back a sigh, because his Bennet sister was beautifully transparent, with no mixed signals or underhand motives. He saw in her not only his future but his dreams—ones he’d never even imagined before last night. Jane smiled, and it was as if she was so entwined with him that she knew what he was thinking. He watched as Eliza’s head found her sister’s shoulder and Jane waited for her to settle against her before resting her cheek on top of her hair, both giving and taking comfort from each other in the way that only close siblings could. Then next thing he knew, his eyes were jolted open as the car door unlocked and the dry Vegas heat poured into the airconditioned space. Bing must have fallen asleep on the less than ten-minute journey to wherever the hell they were going, but it felt like a power-nap, and he came awake as if he’d slept for days. “We’re here,” Jane spoke softly at his side, and he noticed that both Darcy and Eliza were already outside and standing in the harsh sunshine. A part of Bing wanted to shut the doors and demand that the driver take them far away from this mess, but a bigger part of him wanted to stand beside the woman who had enraptured him, and help her through it all, so that when it was over, it could finally be them. Just them. He took the opportunity to steal a sweet kiss, his lips lingering against hers only briefly but long enough to confirm everything he felt the first time his mouth took hers— that he was hers and she was his. A fact he may once have assumed cliché now felt more real than anything else in his life. Bing climbed out of the back of the town car and stood before a four-tower high-rise that couldn’t be more than a block away from the Las Vegas strip. Turnberry Place was an upscale condo development that allowed residents to have all the amenities afforded to them in a luxury hotel but with more privacy. “Pemberley lives here?” he asked Jane while craning his neck to see the tops of the towers. “Not full-time. She has properties almost everywhere, and her main base is in L.A., but the penthouse here is for any Vegas obligations. I’m sure Lize said she’s only in town for a few days for some promotional tour linked to her upcoming film.” Bing returned his focus to Jane and their eyes met. With a fond smile for her sister’s best friend she continued, “Pembs hates staying in hotels. She said boarding school scarred her for life and she doesn’t like sharing her space with ‘the unwashed masses’, her words not mine.” Bing shook his head and muttered, “But aren’t we the unwashed masses?” Jane gasped almost theatrically and Bing took in the affronted look on her face and rushed out quickly, “Gosh, not you. I meant Darcy and me. Miss Gardiner doesn’t know us, and I feel bad for imposing.”

Eliza stepped up beside them with Darcy hot on her heels, and spoke to Bing with a straight face that even he could see hid a smile. “Pembs won’t mind your unwashed mass.” She looked over her shoulder at Darcy before turning back and adding, “I’m not sure I can say the same for your brother.” “I heard that.” Bing and Jane made eye contact with each other and covered their smiles. They both saw the subtle change between their siblings from a brittle and harsh sting to a more teasing tone, and in sharing this knowledge Bing felt another layer add to the connection between them. It was more than being on the same wavelength; it was the ability to communicate beyond words. One look from Jane and he knew what she was thinking, and he guessed it was the same for her. “You were meant to hear that,” Eliza taunted, assuming a bored tone but her eyes said otherwise. She was enjoying this back-and-forth between them. “Now try to be on your best behaviour. Pembs isn’t beyond kicking those she finds annoying to the kerb.” “I’m house trained,” Darcy replied with a smirk behind Eliza’s back. “I’ll even let her pet me if she so desires.” Bing watched Eliza’s eyes erupt from ice to fire. “You may be house trained, but I don’t doubt you probably have fleas.” Darcy’s smile widened at the insult and both brothers watched as Eliza took Jane’s hand and guided her into the building leaving Bing and Darcy to follow. “You seem to enjoy riling Miss Bennet,” Bing observed quietly to Darcy as they trailed behind the sisters into the impressive foyer of Pemberley’s building. The concierge was apparently expecting them and waved Eliza straight through to the bank of elevators. It was as the eldest Bennet pressed the button for the penthouse suite, that Darcy chose to reply to Bing’s words, but not in the same quiet tone that his brother had used. No, Darcy wasn’t trying to conceal his reply. “I find there are many, many things to enjoy about her.” He didn’t need to elucidate, everyone in this fancy glass and metal cage knew to whom he was referring.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

L

ydia had chosen to marry in skin-tight jeans, a fitted husband style white shirt complete with a black lace bra underneath, and two-toned Merci Allen, sky-high patent Louboutin heels. Over-sized Bvlgari sunglasses completed her ensemble. She didn’t look like a woman about to pledge her life to someone else. She looked like a Hollywood starlet on her way to meet a friend for an expensive coffee. Wick still wore his poorly fitted, rented suit. Lydia could’ve arranged something else for him to wear, but she liked the image of the rich spoiled bitch marrying her commoner. Shame there wasn’t going to be anyone there to document the spectacle. Well, except the officiant of course. Sat in the back of a corny and clichéd pink Cadillac, with Wick at her side, and the driver from The Mansion like a giant behind the wheel, the lovebirds—yes, that was what the woman welcoming them to the Little White Chapel’s Tunnel of Love called them— couldn’t look less in love if they tried. Wick had attempted to hold her hand, but she’d rebuffed him. He tried to pull her into his side, but she’d pushed him away. Was Lydia finally having pre-wedding nerves? No, she just couldn’t go through with this and touch him. It felt too intimate, even though he’d had his head between her thighs on at least three occasions in the last twenty-four hours. Sex was different. Lydia knew that sex didn’t mean intimacy, but holding a man’s hand while marrying him was. The Cadillac inched its way beneath the ostentatious roof of the drive-through wedding canopy, and a gaggle of cherubs laughed down at them from a navy night’s sky. The words ‘I can’t live without you’ in white script beckoned them further into the tunnel

until they slowly pulled up alongside the drive-thru wedding window. Once stationary, a man in a dark grey suit and tie greeted them from behind the small service window with a beaming smile on his face. “Welcome to The Tunnel of Love,” he exclaimed. “Do you have your licence please?” Lydia pushed herself up until she was sitting on top of the back seat with her heeled shoes dimpling the pristine leather of the Cadillac’s upholstery. Wick followed her lead and his long, lean body pressed alongside her. Lydia held back her flinch at the contact, and handed the wedding officiant their hot off the press license with a steady hand. The broad, fake smile she plastered on her face made her cheeks hurt and her throat dry. “We don’t want a drawn-out ceremony,” she informed the man, toning down her smile somewhat before glancing coyly at Wick by her side and fluttering her long lashes even though her sunglasses hid them from view. “We’ll triple your fee if you make this happen as quickly as possible. You see, my husband is a ravenous man and we’d like to get on with the consummation part of the day.” She finished her offer by saucily lowering her glasses to the end of her nose and winking at the officiant whose face brightened significantly. “I can have you out of here in less than twenty minutes.” “Why thank you, kind sir,” Lydia all but purred before handing over an envelope full of cash. Sure enough, approximately sixteen minutes later, Lydia and Wick were declared Mr and Mrs Austen. The groom went for a chaste kiss, but the bride decided something far more debauched was required. Lydia pushed Wick until he slid down the back of the seat and landed inside the car, before straddling his lap, and kissing him as if they were naked—complete with a few exaggerated grinds of her hips. The Cadillac pulled away from The Tunnel of Love to the sound of the officiant’s voice calling, “Enjoy your honeymoon”, and the driver overstatedly clearing his throat as a warning that they were in an open top car in plain view of everyone on the street. Lydia didn’t care though, and she continued eating at Wick’s face until they returned the Cadillac for the Rolls Royce. Even after swapping vehicles she was insatiable, and climbed straight out of one car into the other, dragging Wick behind her before continuing to feast on her new husband’s mouth as he sprawled on his back across the seat. She finally allowed him up for air as the car came to a rumbling stop outside the villa. “Inside, hot tub, five minutes,” she breathed against Wick’s red and kiss-swollen lips, before gracefully climbing from his lap and stepping out of the car. Lydia seemed completely unaffected by their thirty-minute snog-fest, while Wick struggled to hide the evidence of his arousal underneath his fitted suit trousers, and was panting like an unfit man running a marathon. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Lydia called out over her shoulder to Wick as her curves

disappeared through the open villa door. Wick pushed down on his cock and begged it to calm down, catching the eye of the driver as he rearranged his wayward package. “Uh, she’s a little… enthusiastic.” The driver only raised an eyebrow in response. “For life, I mean,” Wick stuttered. “Well, uh… Thanks for the…uh… Yes, thanks then.” He climbed out of the convertible with far less grace than Lydia and cursed his rigid member all the way to the front door. Only seconds later he went from damning his throbbing erection to praising his eager and ready cock at the sight of a naked Lydia walking through the villa towards the private decking. “Okay, boy, it’s time to come out and play,” Wick whispered as he unzipped his trousers before muttering, “She’s driving me crazy. She’s got me talking to my penis, for God’s sake.” Within seconds he was as naked as the day he was born and walking out proudly to meet his new bride. “Hi honey, I’m ho—” The words died on his lips. Lydia was sat on the edge of the hot tub with her feet angled outwards and propped up on each side of the tub, her legs spread, her hands inching towards her… With a parting of her mouth and an exhale, she whispered hoarsely over the sound of the bubbling water, “Come, earn your keep, husband.” Wick was more than willing to oblige.

“DOOLITTLE DOO-LATE,” Pemberley Gardiner exclaimed on seeing her best friend, Eliza Bennet, step out of the elevator and into the large vestibule that led to her penthouse. She used the nickname she’d given Eliza the first day they’d met at Dennybridge—a reference to Eliza Doolittle—that Pemberley knew she hated. Like any good friendship that thrived on mutual bantering, Pemberley made good use of the hated nickname at every opportunity. Eliza’s eyes shot up to hers before her weary looking friend rushed eagerly into her arms. “Were you that excited to see me that you had to wait outside your door?” “Ah, Doo-Doo. I’m always eager to see your happy little face,” Pemberley teased, squeezing the breath from Eliza’s lungs with her crushing embrace. “You’re always so full of joy, and hope and fairy dust and unicorns and…” “Stop taking the piss, Pembs,” Eliza muttered. Her sour tone the opposite of the warmth in which she held her dearest friend.

“I’m insulted you think I would ever do such a thing to my little Doo-Doo. Now introduce me to your friends, especially the one that looks like a taller, broader, more handsome version of Jon Snow.” Eliza pulled back and looked over her shoulder at her three companions wondering which Austen brother Pembs had set her sights on. Her eyes found the sultry brown of Darcy’s, and she made a quick sweep of his dark brows and untamed—almost black in this light—wavy hair, and she knew he was who had peaked Pemberley’s interest. A sharp pain twisted through her stomach at the thought, but she dismissed it as fatigue and hunger —nothing to do with the sinfully handsome, Darcy Austen getting it on with her best friend. “Pemberley,” she bit out through her teeth in a harsh whisper. “Get your eyes off the eldest Austen. I don’t get the pop culture reference you’re making, but I know it’s him you’re eye-fucking right now.” “Oh, sweetie,” Pemberley mocked, eventually tearing her eyes from her newly found prey and settling them back on Eliza. “Don’t you watch popular television? You really must stop watching the financial news because that fine specimen behind you can ‘kiss me down there’ anytime.” Bing, overhearing parts of their exchange snorted, and Eliza swore she heard Darcy’s deep chuckle over the pounding of her heart. If Pemberley went after Darcy, he would be unable to resist. Pembs always got what she wanted, and Eliza wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The rational side of her brain said that her friend and the insufferable Austen brother could do as they pleased, but her chest tightened at the thought. “Ahh,” Pemberley whispered knowingly in her ear before pulling back and wrapping her arm around Eliza’s shoulders. “You don’t like that idea, do you? Tell me, Doo-Doo, do you have your eyes on that delicious slice of man-meat?” “What? No,” Eliza refuted a little too quickly and going by Pemberley’s knowing smirk not very convincingly. Pemberley would undoubtedly revisit this revelation, but for now, she was eager to find out all about the drama that landed her best friend on her doorstep with a crew in tow. Deciding to drop the subject for the time being, Pemberley escorted Eliza and her band of tag-alongs into her home. She went through a rushed description of who could take which bedroom, seemingly oblivious to the quiet awe of both Austen brothers as they encountered the lavishness and luxury of her home. Pembs didn’t enjoy ramming her success and fame down people’s throats and got uncomfortable around star-struck flunkies, so she was pleasantly surprised that the brothers tempered their reactions to both her and her home. This wasn’t a big-headed response by Pemberley. She was aware of her level of fame and the likelihood that there wasn’t a man, woman or child in the western world who didn’t recognise her face. It was a side-effect of her life that made her isolated. She had learnt—through her farce of a marriage and the crushing of her young heart—not to trust easily. Eliza Bennet was the one person in the world Pemberley believed in completely and unguardedly, which was ironic seeing as the press had once painted the

eldest Bennet sister as the thorn in her marriage’s side. “Would you like to eat before you get some rest, you all look like you’re about to collapse at any moment?” Pemberley asked, playing the part of the perfect host. “Is that your way of saying we look like death warmed up?” Eliza sassed, a tired smile pulling at her lips. “No, my little Doo-Doo,” Pembs replied affectionately. “If I wanted to tell you that you looked like shit, you know I wouldn’t hesitate.” She turned her attention back to Darcy and all but purred, “Now if you wanted to let me borrow your newest plaything for a few hours while you rest, I wouldn’t turn you down. He doesn’t look half as tired as the rest of you, and I do love a virile man.” Eliza choked and spluttered at her friend’s blatant invitation to the oldest Austen, and her eyes passed from Pemberley’s impish face to Darcy’s blush stained one. He’d heard every word. “Oh, calm your tits.” Pemberley chuckled at Eliza’s reaction, and with a roll of her eyes added, “You’re too much fun to play with when you’re tired.” Not waiting for Eliza’s rebuttal, Pemberley lifted a manicured hand and pressed the intercom situated on the wall at her side. Her housekeeper answered immediately and Pemberley requested that a late lunch be served on the terrace. During the entire conversation with her staff member her face remained bright with glee as her gaze moved between the four people stood before her. “Come, let’s eat.” Pemberley walked towards the wall to ceiling glass doors that led out to her rooftop terrace, the billowing black fabric of her maxi dress swishing around her ankles. She stood to the side of the open doorway with her hand outstretched in invitation. Eliza walked up to her friend and leant into a brief embrace before placing a soft, thankful kiss on her cheek and stepping out into the sunlight. One by one everyone walked by her. Jane gave Pemberley’s arm a squeeze in gratitude before joining her sister outside. Bing followed, nodding his head and offering his quiet appreciation, and Darcy came up last. He made to say something as he approached, but Pemberley stilled him by placing her hand on his arm. “I know you’re not with Lize,” she whispered into his ear, emphasising the meaning of the word with by using her free hand to brush across his chest as if removing a bothersome crease in his suit. “But I see you looking at her, so let me offer a friendly—” the hand that gripped his arm squeezed into his flesh to add weight to her caution “—warning. Don’t. Fuck. With. My. Girl.” Darcy stilled her hand that caressed his chest and turned so his lips were close to her ear. To anyone else, it looked as if they were flirting, when in fact they were both issuing decrees. “Your girl is more trouble than she’s worth, so put away your claws.” Darcy pulled away from Pemberley with a seductive smile and placed a tender kiss on

her cheek. He stepped away from the Oscar-winner with a shit-eating grin on his face and walked straight onto the terrace to be met with Eliza’s icy stare. Her face told everyone that she’d witnessed Darcy’s exchange with her friend and had fallen into the trap Pemberley had orchestrated. Bing coughed awkwardly, and Jane busied herself by pouring drinks, while Eliza turned her glare from Darcy to Pembs. Eliza’s best friend appeared nonplussed by the frosty atmosphere and glided out into the sunshine looking every penny of the millions of dollars in her bank account. “He’s got teeth,” Pemberley announced to her friend, letting everyone else also hear her words. “I do enjoy a man who bites.” Eliza’s face shut down. A wall of ice blanketed her, and her eyes appeared to harden into steely flints. “Please ensure to draw first blood,” Eliza said tartly. “I’d hate to see yet another man requiring a toothpick to remove parts of you from between his incisors.” Pemberley’s head snapped Eliza’s way, the unexpected barb hitting her weak underbelly. What seemed to be petty bantering between friends was in danger of escalating. Jane, ever the peacemaker was the first to break the silence. “Thanks for letting us stay, Pembs. I’m not sure what Lize has told you about our trip—” “Nothing,” Pembs interjected. “Your sister has told me nothing only that it has to do with that shameless brat Lydia.” Pemberley poured herself a large glass of wine and sat in the chair next to Eliza, their eyes never meeting. Instead of pouring her friend a glass, she passed her the bottle. Jane watched the entire exchange in silence and only began to stutter when Eliza bypassed her glass, brought the half-filled bottle directly to her lips and took a large swig. Pemberley seemed to relax at the motion, and her hard façade began to crumble. “Yes, uh… it’s Lydia. I’m not sure why she’s, uh… doing what she’s done or doing… but…” “Would you like the Cliffs Notes version?” Eliza interjected brusquely, interrupting her sister and taking another long pull of the wine. “The tasty slice of man meat’s brother,” Eliza drawled, mocking Pemberley’s accent and tipping the neck of the bottle towards Darcy while using her friend’s description of him against her. “Manipulated Lydia into eloping here with him. They’re likely already married. Oh, and he’s poorer than dirt.” Eliza took another exaggerated swig from the bottle and Jane’s brow furrowed with worry. This was not Eliza, nor was this how Eliza dealt with problems. Eliza cackled before wiping some spilt wine from her mouth using the back of her hand. “In fact,” she continued, with wickedness dancing in her eyes. “I’d say the Austen boys, including the one about to make our beloved sister his wife, are so poor that if their

dear old daddy hadn’t cut holes in their trousers pockets at Christmas they wouldn’t have had anything to play with.” Jane gasped, and Pemberley crowed with laughter at Eliza’s inappropriate joke at the Austen brother’s expense, but neither Darcy nor Bing seemed upset by her words. Bing hid his smile by taking a sip of orange juice and surreptitiously placed his hand on Jane’s knee to let her know he was there for her and not insulted by Eliza’s outburst. While Darcy took one look at a flinty eyed Eliza, and a laugh boomed from his lips. “The ice princess has been hiding her talents beneath her frosty outer-layer,” he declared before taking a long sip of his drink. “Why, Miss Eliza, if you ever lose your place at The Bennet Group you’ll always get work as a stand-up comedienne. I’d pay good money to see what other material you have.” “You couldn’t afford it,” Eliza sniped before hiccupping on her next mouthful of alcohol. “And that is enough for you,” Pemberley decided, standing and sweeping the now almost empty bottle out of Eliza’s hand. “What? Who made you my mother?” Eliza exclaimed, her body lurching to the side when she shot from her seat to reclaim her drink. “I did,” Pemberley answered soberly. “Firstly, you’re a lightweight on a good day. Secondly, you’re jetlagged, stressed out, and haven’t slept. I’m taking you to bed, and when you wake up, you can fill me in on our darling Lydia.” Eliza made to disagree, and Pemberley silenced her with a loud, “Shh.” Eliza snapped her mouth shut like a petulant child, highlighting the effects of the alcohol she’d consumed, and Pemberley praised her with a condescending, “There’s a good girl, my little Doo-Doo.” “I’ll happily take her to bed for you, darling,” a deep, cultured male voice called across the terrace, and both Eliza and Pemberley stopped dead. Pemberley’s head swivelled almost horror film-like towards the newcomer, and Eliza waited for her to begin vomiting green slime. Instead, her bile thickened words warned the man standing casually in the open doorway like he owned the place, that he was an unwelcome visitor. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about how to pleasure a woman in bed, husband. So please don’t try to fool our guests with your bullshit.” The bastard smirked. “Oh, dearest. That’s not what the press thinks, is it?” Collins winked at Eliza before taking in the rest of the room and stating smugly, “Eliza and I go way back. Don’t we, my little sexpot?” “Fuck you, Collins,” Eliza spat through gritted teeth. “No one here believes the bollocks that falls from your mouth.” Collins’ eyes swept over the faces at the table, he knew all but two—the dark-haired men—and enjoyed the response his unexpected visit had caused.

Jane glared at him, which was an unpredictable response from the middle Bennet sister because to him she was nothing but a mouse. The geeky guy to her side placed his hand across her shoulders proprietarily causing Collins to laugh, but the other guy—the one with deliciously dark good looks and fuckable hair that made Collins’ manhood perk up in appreciation—only looked at him in interest. Collins’ libido and attention seeking soul honed in on the handsome stranger, finding himself a new mark. “Collins Forster,” he introduced himself with an over-confident swagger that told of a man used to people fawning all over him, and took the man’s hand in his strong grip for a beat longer than appropriate. “And you are?” “Darcy Austen,” the stranger offered him, a spark of inquisitiveness lighting his melted chocolate coloured eyes. “Get out,” Pemberley hissed, dropping Eliza’s arm and storming towards her husband. “You knew I was staying here this week and the agreement states you’re banned from wherever I’m residing. So, take your fuck-me eyes and leave.” Collins leisurely ended his stare off with Darcy, and his gaze turned cold as his eyes landed on his wife. “I’m not leaving. I’ve only just got here, dear.” “I’ll call Brant,” Pemberley threatened menacingly. “You’re one strike away from handing me everything I want. Don’t mess with me Collins because I’ve been waiting years for the chance to get rid of you on my terms and not yours.” Collins’ lips twisted in a smug grin. “Maybe if you wait a little longer, my beloved—” he crooned, reaching out to tuck a lock of his wife’s hair behind her ear, a move she shook off as if he’d burned her “—A fuck will fall in my hand, and I can give it to you.” The slap of her palm across his face echoed out over the silent terrace. Nobody gasped at her violent reaction. In fact, it felt as though most welcomed it. Collins rubbed a hand against his stinging cheek, his lips pursing as fire danced in his eyes. “Mr Austen, would you like a tour of Vegas?” Collins’ eyes left his wife to look over at the man who’d gained his interest. He watched as Darcy looked briefly at Eliza with something unidentifiable passing over his features before his focus turned to him and his invitation. “Why, thank you, Mr Forster. I think I’d enjoy that. It’s been a long day, and I’d enjoy the change of scenery.” Darcy stood, removed his jacket from the back of the chair and shook it out before slipping it over his broad shoulders, not bothering to button it up. Bing stared at Darcy, his eyes begging him to look his way, words of caution wanting to slip from his tongue, but his brother ignored him despite feeling his gaze. “I’ll bring him back safely and in one piece, my dear,” Collins informed his wife with

a barely concealed leer. “Why don’t you take your little Doo-Doo to bed like you were going to before I rudely interrupted, and accept my sincerest apologies for getting mixed up on my timings today. Had I known you were in town, I would’ve stayed in New York.” Collins took a last smug look at a mute and rigid Eliza before cocking his head towards the exit and saying to Darcy, “Shall we go and see the sights. There is much to show you and tell you about Vegas, Mr Austen.” Both men then left with Darcy informing everyone he’d find his way back in a few hours and for them to all get some rest. Once only four of them remained, and Eliza and Pemberley still hadn’t moved from their spots, Bing piped up, “Well, no offence, Miss Gardiner, but that man is a complete arse.” Pemberley sighed, before walking over to Eliza and wrapping her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You have no idea, young Bing. Most arses are filled with less shit than my dear husband. I just hope your brother can rid himself of the stench once my husband is finished with him.” “Don’t worry about Darcy,” Bing offered with no little amount of pride. “He never suffers fools gladly.” “No,” Eliza said tiredly. “Because he is one.” Then she allowed her best friend to take her to bed. Collins could play all the games he wanted. Eliza couldn’t care less if Darcy thought badly of her. It would just prove everything Eliza thought of him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

D

arcy knew the man sat on the opposite side of the car was making sexual advances towards him even though subtle, and despite being married to a woman considered to be one of the most beautiful in the world.

Darcy knew this because Collins Forster looked at him with more than an avid interest, and because Darcy had manipulated things somewhat to catch him out. When he caught the man checking out his arse as he climbed into the Bentley, he dismissed it. When he felt Collins staring at him as he looked out at the bright Vegas scenery, he initially rejected the notion as absurd, but some part of Darcy had decided to test out the theory for his peace of mind. Darcy Austen didn’t like to be blindsided by anyone. With understated but purposeful movements, Darcy had spread his thighs slightly and then moved his hand to his neck where he proceeded to undo the top two buttons of his dress shirt, exposing the tanned column of his throat. Collins Forster had drunk in his movements avariciously, but that wasn’t what solidified Darcy’s belief. No, what proved it undoubtedly was the growing bulge between the other man’s legs. Darcy was a man that believed in to each their own. He couldn’t care less what your sexual preferences were, but one thing he didn’t like was philanderers. If you’d committed yourself to someone, you respected that oath. Now, he knew Pemberley and Collins didn’t have a typical marriage. He’d seen that for himself first hand, but, in his eyes at least, if you couldn’t work with your partner to resolve your issues, you set them free. This was why he’d never come close to marriage. He’d yet to find that one woman to whom he knew he could promise forever.

“How long have you and Pemberley been married?” Darcy broke the silence in the car with a question to douse Collins’ seemingly swelling ardour. Collins shifted in his seat, and his gaze dropped to his manicured fingers. For an action movie star, he sure did look very sophisticated and smooth. Darcy was expecting someone a little more rugged. “Seven or eight years, give or take,” Collins offered disinterestedly. “Love at first sight?” Darcy pressed. The words thick in his throat because he never talked about topics like this with strangers, but he wanted the other man’s focus on his wife and not Darcy’s Adam’s apple. “Oh, most definitely,” Collins nodded emphatically, yet Darcy could taste the lie in the air. “Pembs was the brand-new starlet every man in Hollywood wanted, and I got her. “Huh, so you’ve known Eliza Bennet for a while then?” Collins’ eyes lit up, and he finally lifted his head to lock his gaze with Darcy’s. The change in topic was evidently pleasing him. “You don’t keep up with entertainment news then, I take it?” “Nope. Got better things to do with my time.” Collins ignored the barb. “Maybe after a few drinks and a couple of games of cards I can fill you in on little miss perfect.” “Why don’t you fill me in now?” Darcy pressed, leaning casually back in his seat not wanting to seem too eager to hear what this man had to say about his ice princess. No, not his. “It’s a tale for at least a double shot, my man,” Collins drawled, his eyes sparkling at the thought of reeling Darcy into his web. The thing was, Darcy wasn’t sure he could believe a single word that fell from this man’s mouth, but he still wanted to know what he thought he had over Eliza. “Fair enough,” Darcy conceded. “So, are you in town for business or pleasure?” Collins’ smile turned lascivious. “Pleasure, always pleasure. How about you?” Darcy was unsure how to answer. He didn’t wish for this man to know any of his family’s business, but he wasn’t fond of lying either, so he remained silent. “How long have you known Miss Bennet?” Collins asked when the silence between them stretched out too long. “That is also a tale for a double shot,” Darcy mumbled, using the man’s previous words against him. “Then let us imbibe until our words flow freely,” Collins suggested eagerly as the Bentley pulled up outside one of the strip’s many casinos.

“You use the front entrance?” Darcy asked although it was more of a musing than a question. Collins’ eyes glinted, and he straightened his clothing before placing his hand on the door to disembark. “What can I say? The fans love to see me, and who am I to deprive them? After all, I’m known as the people’s action hero.” Without waiting for the driver to open his door, Collins disembarked, not bothering to wait for Darcy. The man just assumed he would follow. Darcy stepped from the car and caught the eye of the driver. “Is it easy to grab a cab out here?” “Yes, sir. If you ask the concierge, they will call one for you.” Darcy thanked the man and made his way to the casino’s glass doors which swung open as he approached. Inside the smoky-hued space, lights and sounds overtook his senses, and disorientated, Darcy looked for the man with whom he’d arrived. He found Collins preening like a peacock while signing autographs for a small crowd of tourists. The man was generous with his smiles and with his time as he took pictures and chatted, but Darcy could tell he got more from the interaction than his fans. He lapped it up, revelled in the adoration and puffed out his chest, enticing others to him with his colourful plumes of fame and money. “Ah, there you are,” Collins called out when he eventually noticed Darcy on the outskirts of the circle of fans. “I’m sorry folks,” Collins apologised while shaking hands and hugging the strangers surrounding him. “I’m here with a new friend, and I promised to show him the sights. You have a great day, and don’t forget the next Extinguish movie is in theatres next month.” Darcy almost rolled his eyes at Collins’ self-promotion, and wondered if it was too early to call a taxi and ditch this guy, but he wanted to know what he had to say about Eliza first. The small crowd dispersed and Collins grinned. “Come, my friend. I believe I promised you a drink or three.” Collins went to wrap his arm around Darcy’s shoulders but was hindered by his much taller frame. Collins stood at around five foot eight, while Darcy was an easy six foot two, and the shorter man had to settle for encouraging him to follow his lead instead. Darcy was glad of his height. He wasn’t a touchy-feely person anyway, but having a strange man, one he was unlikely ever to consider a friend, pull him into his body, especially knowing this man held some attraction for Darcy, was beyond uncomfortable. Darcy didn’t want to cut off his nose to spite his face, he wanted that information on Eliza Bennet, but he also wasn’t willing to pimp himself out to get it. He had some standards and seducing another man definitely wasn’t one of them. “What’s your poison?” Collins asked, taking a seat at the nearest bar.

“I’ll take whatever you’re having.” “Ah, an easy man,” Collins leered. “My favourite type.” Darcy swallowed down his embarrassment and made as if he hadn’t heard the innuendo. “We’ll take a round of whiskies,” Collins informed the bartender as he approached. “Bring them to the booth,” he added, not bothering with any politeness, and motioning his head so Darcy and the bartender could see his intended destination. “If we’re going to share secrets like schoolgirls, I’d like some privacy,” Collins said too close to Darcy’s ear, making him grit his teeth to fight off the urge to recoil from this man’s nearness and constant infringing of his personal space. Collins stretched out his well-muscled frame across one side of the booth and ignoring the space beside the man looking at him like he was his next meal, Darcy took the opposite side. Thankfully their drinks were delivered within seconds, halting the need for Darcy to fill the silence and finally making Collins drag his eyes away from him. “You never did tell me why you’re in Vegas,” Collins pressed. “And seeing as you now have a drink in your hand, I think it’s fair to say we’re old drinking buddies. You can tell me.” Darcy sipped the amber liquid in his glass and took in the hustle and bustle all around them, noticing many sets of eyes land on his companion in recognition. At length, he replied, “My brother’s wedding.” “Jane Bennet, the eternal old-maid, is marrying that geeky guy there today? He’s your brother?” Darcy didn’t like the derogatory way Collins spoke about his brother and Jane, but bit his tongue. “No, not Jane and Bing. My brother Wick has married Lydia Bennet.” Collins’ eyes widened comically before he laughed so hard he choked on his drink and liquid spittle covered the table top. “Well, fuck-me-sideways. That little minx has gone and pissed off her sister this time, I bet.” Darcy leaned back in the booth, stretching an arm across the seat and once more feigned disinterest. “I wouldn’t know. I hardly know the Bennets.” Collins’ eyes narrowed before he used the back of his hand to wipe away any stray whiskey from his mouth. He leaned forward, cleared all the lust from his gaze and shocked Darcy with his next words. “You really don’t know what happened do you? How Eliza Bennet broke up my marriage. How she betrayed her so-called best friend and how Pemberley forgave her but

not me?”

BING HAD JUST CLIMBED into bed in one of Pemberley Gardiner’s luxuriously appointed guest rooms when he heard the door opening. He lifted his head from the cotton encased pillow and saw Jane nervously standing in front of the now closed door. She wore nothing except an old band t-shirt that fell to her knees and her hair was unbound with golden waves falling over her shoulders to her breasts. Had she been naked, those golden strands would’ve been enough to cover her curves from Bing’s perusal. Her gaze locked with his before flitting away briefly to look at the drawn blinds, and Bing pushed himself up to sitting. “Are you okay?” Jane’s eyes found his once more and on barely a whisper she asked, “Would you think badly of me if I asked may I sleep in with you?” Bing didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled back the covers in silent invitation. Jane tentatively took the few steps needed for her knees hit the bed and then she hesitated. “It’s only me,” Bing promised her softly. “You and me. No one else is here. There’s no need for any awkwardness between us. Now come and sleep in my arms, because I know I’ll sleep better having you there.” At his words, Jane didn’t falter. With an innate grace, she fluidly crawled up the bed and into Bing’s arms. Her head found his bare chest and her palm covered his heart. Bing had never felt anything as right. “Sleep, sweet Jane.” Bing wrapped one arm around Jane’s waist and tugged her closer. Her responding sigh tickled the skin of his chest, and his other hand held hers across his heart. Sleep came to them both quickly. Jane dreaming of the man who held her close, and Bing dreaming of all their tomorrows. Connected in their sleepy embrace, their bodies learned the feel of each other not by making love, but by letting love make them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

L

ydia was too hot. Something was pressed up against her back emitting a sweaty heat that clung

to her skin. Wick Austen. She was no longer Lydia Bennet. She was now Mrs Lydia Austen. She should’ve felt elated. She felt nothing. Nothing in her life had changed, she felt no different to how she did last week or even last year. She was still the troublesome Lydia, and neither Eliza nor Jane had bothered to try and stop her this time. She’d finally got her wish. She’d argued and shouted and pushed Eliza repeatedly to stay out of her business, and this time, her sister had done just that and stayed far, far away. This knowledge should have been freeing, but all Lydia felt was hurt, and possibly more alone than at any other point in her life. “Fuck them,” she muttered to herself, extracting her limbs from the tangled sheets and away from the sweaty body draped across her back. She walked naked into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the multiple jets of the shower. Lydia’s body almost sang as the hot water stripped away her sins, that is until her most recent sin came and found her. Wick slipped his hands around her waist and dragged her wet body against his. Lydia felt the press of his arousal as it slid between her soapy thighs and she gasped, widening her stance for him to gain better access.

Lydia may be having doubts as to her motives, but she could still enjoy the perks of her latest misdemeanour, and Wick Austen was a very pleasing lover. Attentive, generous and with a stamina that most men would be envious of, Wick knew his way around a woman’s body and Lydia would never deny herself the pleasure he could give. “Hello, wife,” he rasped into her ear while his talented fingers caressed her pebbled nipples and his impressive length slid over her most sensitive flesh. “Shall I dirty you up again so we can get clean together?” “Yes,” Lydia hissed, his body filling hers with a single thrust. “Then, once I’ve satisfied you and washed every inch of you, I’m taking my wife out. I’m feeling particularly lucky tonight, and we’re in Vegas after all. It would be a shame to miss out on the fun. Don’t you think, Mrs Austen?” “Shut up and fuck me, Rick,” Lydia demanded, purposefully getting her new husband’s name wrong. “Oh, wifey,” Wick mocked with a punishing thrust. “Please let’s not play games. You’ve yelled my name dozens of times already. It’s too late to try and rile me.” “Then stop blathering and fuck me,” Lydia commanded, bracing her hands on the Italian marble wall tiles and pushing back roughly to meet each thrust of his hips. “With pleasure,” Wick grunted, wrapping her long wet hair around one of his hands and harshly tugging her head back until her neck was stretched awkwardly and her inner muscles clamped hard around him. “You’ve just promised to honour and obey me,” he continued, the sounds of their slick bodies slapping against each other echoing across the steamy bathroom. “I think this is our first lesson. Now scream for me, wife.” And despite herself, Lydia did. Wick manipulated her body to do his bidding and she was soon yelling his name with abandon.

DRESSED IN A SIMPLE, nude silk sheath dress, gold Jimmy Choo heels and with her hair cascading down her back in dark glossy waves, Lydia Austen was sure to draw attention. “Shall I call for a car?” Wick asked, his gaze drinking in his new wife’s curves as she stood overlooking the private outdoor pool with a glass of champagne in one hand and her ever-present phone in the other. Lydia nodded and dropped her attention from the ripples in the water to the device in her hand. The move had Wick wondering what it was that she seemed to be constantly checking. “This is Mr Austen. Could we have a car sent to our villa please?” Wick listened to the staff member apologise and place him on hold.

“Mr Austen,” a baritone voice came on the line only a few seconds later. “I’m afraid we can’t get a car to you for at least forty-five minutes.” “So, call us a cab. We’d like to eat out,” Wick requested amiably, not yet sensing anything amiss. “No other vehicles are allowed on site, so I’m unable to fulfil that request at this time, but I will get a car to you as soon as one is available. Can I help you with anything else? Maybe send over some canapés while you wait?” Wick’s brow furrowed. For an establishment such as this, making their guests wait almost an hour for a vehicle seemed a little ridiculous. The Mansion prided itself on catering to guests’ every whim, yet something as simple as transport was being denied. “No, thank you. Can you call as soon as a car is ready? My wife will be disappointed not to leave straight away. We had a dinner reservation with friends.” They didn’t. “Certainly, sir. And I apologise again for the delay.” Wick hung up on the deep male voice and almost dazedly replaced the phone on its stand. He walked over to Lydia, who hadn’t paid any attention to his conversation and informed her of the delay. “Get me the phone and tell whoever answers it that Lydia Bennet wishes to speak to Raul.” “Lydia who?” Wick teased at the use of her maiden name. “Bennet,” Lydia chastised, her tone abrupt but bored. “Do you think the name Austen means anything in this town?” It will do soon. Wick retrieved the handset and returned to Lydia, pressing the call button as he walked. “Lydia Bennet wishes to speak to Raul,” he informed the person who answered—the same person who put him on hold only minutes before. He handed the phone to Lydia and within seconds heard her say, “Raul, I need a car.” A brief silence was followed by Lydia replying, “Raul, have you forgotten TBG is a major shareholder in the MGM Group?” Another silence followed, one which allowed Wick to ponder just how far-reaching The Bennet Group’s hold stretched. “Get. Me. A. Car. I am not my sister, Raul.” Wick absently wondered if Raul was the owner of the deep voice that had offered him canapés. He hoped for his sake that he hadn’t tried to placate Lydia with the same offer. “That is utter bullshit. If you don’t send a car over in the next five minutes, I’ll have your job, Raul. And unlike my sister, I don’t make threats, only promises.” Lydia hung up on the unaccommodating Raul and turned her angry glare on Wick. Deciding payback was fair game Wick smirked before flopping down on the plush

sofa and saying, “Well, my sweet, it seems the name Bennet doesn’t hold much sway either.”

“THEY’RE TRYING to leave the villa,” Eliza announced after bursting through the doors of Bing’s room. She didn’t even blink twice at the fact her middle sister was entwined like a vine around the softly spoken Austen brother. “I’ll get dressed,” Jane rushed out, hiding her blush by jumping out of the bed as if it was on fire and hightailing it into the bathroom. Bing Austen looked all rumpled and adorable, staring at Eliza from under the white sheets with a cute look that said he wasn’t embarrassed in the least. “Are you yet another Austen brother leading one of my sisters astray?” Bing’s smile faded, his face turning serious before he replied earnestly, “If I am, I will not apologise for it.” Eliza saw before her a man enraptured, and a man unwilling to say sorry for feeling that way. She looked at his dishevelled hair and sleep-hazed face and decided that Bing Austen might just be one of the most honest and honourable men she’d ever met. “And I would never ask you to,” Eliza replied after a beat. “Now get dressed, the car is already waiting for us downstairs. Oh, and call your brother and tell him to meet us there, that’s if he’s not as pissed as a fart and flat on his back beneath Collins.” Eliza walked out of the room closing the door behind her and not bothering to wait for Bing to decipher her words. Collins Forster was a bastard of the highest order. Not only had he made Pemberley’s life hell and broke her heart, but he’d also done his damnedest to ruin Eliza’s friendship with her best friend. It wasn’t enough that he screwed any man that let him, he wanted to hurt Pembs in any way he could. Unluckily for Collins, Pemberley and Eliza’s friendship was made of stronger stuff than her marriage, and when the clandestine pictures of a drunk and partially clothed Eliza in Collins’ bed emerged, Pembs saw them for what they were—a last-ditch attempt by a mean and desperate man to manipulate her once more. Eliza Bennet wouldn’t piss on Collins Forster if he were on fire. He used her loyalty to Pembs against her and splashed her name in the tabloids, not only embarrassing Eliza but her father too. The man was a devious, manipulative shark and she shouldn’t have been surprised when Darcy Austen left with him a few hours ago, but she was. Yes, the man had proved himself to be antagonising, irritating and from a family with no breeding, but she hadn’t expected him to be enough of an idiot to fall into Collins’ trap. Well, good luck to him. Eliza hoped he enjoyed every second of being Forster’s bitch. “What are you doing?” Eliza asked Pembs when she came across her in the living room dressed like an Amazonian ready for battle. Pemberley wore skin tight leather-look leggings, black spike heeled boots, and an artfully slashed and pinned t-shirt that looked

like it was scavenged from a bin but likely cost a small fortune in some designer store. “You didn’t think I’d miss out on all the fireworks, did you?” Pemberley’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “I haven’t seen you lose your shit in ages. I’d sell my firstborn to witness Lydia’s face when she sees you and the rest of your entourage.” Pemberley tightened the studded belt slung low around her hips. “The little wench deserves a good smack-down.” Pembs motioned to her attire and said with a cheeky wink, “I’m just dressed for the occasion, you know in case the paps arrive and I need to look like a badass.” Eliza rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile threatening to break past her tightly pressed lips. “It’s The Mansion, there won’t be any paps, and you really don’t need to be caught up in this mess, Pembs.” “Who said anything about need? I want to be caught up in this. I also want to check out if the third brother is as hot as the other two. Collins has taken the shine off the older one for me, so I want to assess the baby brother’s level of hotness for when Lydia inevitably kicks his butt to the kerb. He might need a sugar-mama to help him lick his wounds.” Eliza flopped on the sofa next to her friend and pulled on the low-heeled Chanel boots Pembs had loaned her. Eliza had been in her gown for what felt like days, so the basic blue jeans and simple white shirt felt ridiculously comfortably in comparison, despite being a size too small for Eliza’s more generous curves. “You don’t do sloppy seconds, Pembs. You just want some free entertainment at my expense.” “At Lydia’s expense, my little Doo-Doo. Never yours,” Pembs corrected, coming to sit by her friend and wrapping her arm around her shoulder. “How come the delicious Darcy fell into Collins’ web of bullshit? I thought with the way he looks at you, you were finally about to get some hot man action instead of locking yourself in your office all bloody day long.” Eliza allowed herself to absorb the comfort of her friend’s embrace, choosing to ignore the question about the oldest Austen brother. “It’s not like you to have nothing to say?” Pembs pushed, unwilling to allow Eliza to lock away and hide her feelings like the girl she first met many years ago. Eliza sighed heavily before pulling away from her friend and standing. “I don’t have time to be psychoanalysed. We need to leave. Raul can only delay Lydia for so long.” Eliza power-walked to Bing’s bedroom door, then banged on it with her fist and yelled, “We’re leaving, if you’re not downstairs in two minutes you’re not coming.” As she walked back into the living area, Pemberley looked at her with both eyebrows raised. “You need to get laid,” she declared with a straight face, before scooping up her

sunglasses and following Eliza out of the penthouse and into the private vestibule. She watched with fascination as her friend aggressively hit the call button for the elevator. “If you break my lift, I’m billing you.” Click, click, click, click, click. Eliza ignored her friend and continued her assault. “I’m serious, Doo-Doo, stop taking your sexually frustrated aggression out on my property. Do you know how long I had to wait for the last engineer to show up and repair this when it broke down?” Eliza turned her head and looked over her shoulder at her friend. “You mean the guy you shacked up with for a week afterwards? I’m sure if you’d let him escape from your bed you’d have had it fixed in a jiffy.” Pemberley grinned. Her eyes glinting devilishly as she remembered the smoking-hot elevator guy and his talented tongue. “True. That may have had something to do with it. Still, all the stair climbing combined with the one-to-one cardio he provided did wonders for my glutes.” She tapped her finger thoughtfully on her lips and encouraged, “Go ahead and click the shit out of that call button. You’ve just reminded me that tradesmen often have a great deal of stamina.” “You’re incorrigible.” “And you’re jealous.” Eliza turned her head back to the arriving elevator and replied tartly, “Of what? Being able to pee without burning. You can keep your whoring ways. I’m happy and healthier being frigid.” The doors opened with a ding and Eliza stepped onto the carriage before spinning around to face Pemberley with a sarcastic smile and another quip ready on her lips, but she fell silent when she came face to face with not only her friend but also Bing and Jane. She hid her embarrassment with a brusque, “So glad you could join us.” Then promptly stepped back to lean against the farthest wall. As Pemberley joined her, followed closely by Jane and Bing, Eliza held her hand up to her grinning friend to indicate that she didn’t want further discussions about her sexual health, and the trip to the ground floor was thankfully made in silence. Eliza didn’t miss the new development of Bing and Jane holding hands, and she was beyond happy for her sister. The middle Austen brother seemed like the perfect match for Jane, but that didn’t stop Eliza from wrapping her arms around herself despite the Vegas heat and trying to stave off the chill of loneliness that permeated her bones.

THE JOURNEY to The Mansion was less than twenty minutes. The heavy Las Vegas traffic only slowing them down a little and from the moment Eliza got the call about Lydia from Raul and Pemberley’s Bentley pulling up outside the villa where the newlyweds were staying, less than forty-five minutes had passed. Eliza didn’t wait to give anyone instructions, and no sooner than the car had pulled to

a stop, she was out of the door and striding up the private walkway towards the villa that Raul had previously informed her was Lydia’s. “Car service,” Eliza shouted, not bothering to disguise her voice and banging both fists hard on the front door of the villa. Eliza—having stayed here as a guest many times before —knew that what she was doing was not how an employee of the hotel would behave, but she was beyond caring. This charade would fool no one, but it would get Lydia to open the damned door. Less than a minute later, Eliza heard the others walking up behind her, but no one came to open the door. Getting frustrated, Eliza banged on the heavy wood door once more. “Lydia, open up the bloody door or I’ll get the master key and do it for you,” Eliza threatened. “Lize.” Jane came up behind her sister and comfortingly laid a hand her shoulder. “Let me.” Eliza stepped to the side, avoiding the lavish foliage offering the villa privacy, and with a sweep of her hand said to her sister, “Have at it. You may have more luck than me.” Jane lifted her delicate fist to the door and was about to knock when it abruptly swung open, and Lydia stood there looking radiant and exceptionally pleased with herself. “Why sisters,” she began almost regally. “How good of you to visit us on our honeymoon. Did you catch the announcement in The Times? I’m sure it was scheduled for today’s edition, or maybe it’s tomorrow?” Lydia over-exaggeratedly placed her pointer finger to her lips in thought. “Oh, I forgot. I didn’t announce it. Which begs the question, why are you here?” “Oh, Lydia,” Jane began sadly, but it was Eliza who stepped forward and met Lydia’s challenging gaze. “You know what,” Eliza said tiredly, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. “I’m not sure why we’re here. It all seems a little futile and a lot ridiculous.” She took another step forward until she was close enough to kiss her youngest sister on the cheek. “Congratulations, little Lydia. I wish you well in your life and your new marriage, but I’m done.” Eliza took a step back, and unable to keep the sadness from her eyes or halt the single tear that slipped down her cheek, added, “You’ve finally got your wish, Lydia. We’ve chased you half-way around the world. You got my attention, but now it’s time for you to deal with the fallout. Your dividends from TBG were frozen the second you commandeered the company jet.” Lydia opened her mouth to complain, and Eliza stopped her with an outstretched hand. “You’re hardly a pauper, Lydia. You have your allowance to fall back on, but as soon as your childish games threatened the financial security of the company, the board agreed

it was time to cut you off.” Lydia’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on land gasping for air, and her hands bunched at her sides. She looked like she was torn between screaming or possibly throwing a punch. Eliza took one last look at her youngest sister, turned on her heel, and slowly walked back to Pemberley’s car. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Pembs muttered loudly, gaining everyone’s attention bar Eliza’s. “A smackdown, some hair pulling and a little bitch slapping was, I felt, a given. Eliza finally washing her hands of the little Bennet trollop, nope, I didn’t see that coming.” Just as Pemberley was about to walk away and congratulate her friend on a punishment well-played, Wick Austen filled the doorway and looked out at the uninvited guests. “Bing, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his gaze flying from one person to another and settling on his brother before comically snapping back towards Pemberley. “Jesus Christ, you’re Pemberley Gardiner.” “I came to stop you from making a huge mistake,” Bing replied simply, ignoring Wick’s star struck performance and letting his eyes pass over Lydia and then back to Wick. “But it seems we are too late.” Bing stepped forward, took his younger brother’s hand in his and shook it. “Congratulations Wick. I’ll let you explain everything to mother and father in your own time, and I wanted to say I’m upset with you—” Bing’s eyes found Jane and then came back to rest on his brother’s face “—but I can’t because you’ve inadvertently been the catalyst for the best two days of my life.” Wick looked completely perplexed by Bing’s words, even as his brother took Jane’s hand in his and pulled her to his side to offer comfort. “So that’s it?” Lydia demanded, taking a step forward and aiming her glare on Jane because Eliza—her true target—had disappeared after dropping her bomb. “I get married, and you allow Eliza to ostracise me? What a gentle, loving and caring sister you turned out to be. I bet you couldn’t wait to see me tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.” “Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Bing interrupted, shaking his head sadly while tightening his hold on Jane. “I’ve only known her for two days, and I know she’s not capable of those things, so as her sister you should know better and treat her better.” Lydia’s eyes turned feral, and she stepped forward and sneered, “That’s right, you’ve known her two days. Good luck trying to get her to drop her knickers for you if that’s your angle. You’ll have to put a ring on it for that.” “Like Wick did to get into yours,” a masculine voice interrupted from behind Bing and Jane, and all eyes turned to look at the newcomer. Darcy looked a little rough around the edges and had a definite slur to his words, but his eyes were bright and focused on the newlyweds, and a broad smile filled his face.

“You got your wish, little brother,” Darcy acknowledged with a nod towards Lydia. “Let’s hope whatever genie bottle you rubbed to find yourself wed to the female version of you, has a refund and return policy. Or else, you’re completely and utterly fucked.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D

arcy had drunk far more than he’d intended and currently felt a little buzzed.

He’d left Collins not long after their conversation about Eliza Bennet, unable to spend another minute in the pompous and egotistical man’s company. The alleged misdeeds of the ice princess sat heavy in Darcy’s gut, and he’d walked away from one bar, straight to another, where he’d proceeded to drown out his thoughts with cheap booze. Darcy knew Collins was likely a man not to be trusted, but his story came with additional evidence in the form of graphic photographs. Dozens upon dozens of grainy, out of focus, mobile phone pictures of the prickly ice princess in all her naked splendour. Darcy shouldn’t have looked—he wished he hadn’t—but the tale Collins wove seemed far too absurd to be true. The pictures, accompanied by many online articles seemed to confirm Collins’ version of events, and Darcy was disappointed to find out that the proud and aloof Miss Bennet had not only betrayed her best friend but done so with a man of such questionable morals—and married to boot. It didn’t fit what he knew about her, and yet he couldn’t defend her actions. Why he’d needed to wash away his disappointment with booze, was a question for another day—one where his brain wasn’t addled by alcohol and this ridiculous farce of Wick’s making was over.

WHEN THE GROUP had left Wick and Lydia and returned to Pemberley’s penthouse, Darcy observed Eliza Bennet through his critical, alcohol-fuelled, gaze. He watched as Pemberley first comforted her, then teased her, calling her ‘A badass to end all badasses’ and ‘The queen of kickarsery’. Why would a woman like Pemberley, a woman with

literally the world at her feet, remain so close to a friend that stabbed her in the back? It didn’t make any sense to Darcy, and yet those photographs were imprinted on his brain. “Earth to Darcy.” Darcy stared out over the edge of the balcony terrace, his gaze running over the dusky Las Vegas vista laid out before him. From here everything looked so small, yet still vibrant, bustling and alive. It made him feel insignificant. “Darce, I’m talking to you.” Bing came up to Darcy’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder, finally gaining his brothers attention. “I’ve been calling you for the last few minutes, but you’ve been away with the fairies. We’re all going out, would you like to come?” Darcy blinked, taking one last mental snapshot of the view and then turned to face his younger brother. “No, I think I’m good. You guys go without me. I’m going to stay here, probably eat something and grab some sleep. Did Eliza or Jane say when we fly home or do I need to arrange something for the two of us?” “Nothing has been mentioned yet, but I don’t imagine they want to stay much longer. If we need to arrange our own flights home, I can pay you back when we’re in the U.K.” Bing dropped his gaze, embarrassment at being unable to afford the expense evident in his downcast eyes. “I’ve got it covered, no need to pay me back. It’s not like you planned a transatlantic trip,” Darcy offered, making light of the conversation. Bing squeezed his shoulder in silent thanks. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? It’s probably our last night in Vegas, and I doubt I’ll ever get to come back. It could be fun.” A small smile filled Bing’s lips, and he raised his gaze to look at his brother. “Pemberley has got us tickets for some show Jane has always wanted to see. Best seats in the house, she said.” Darcy had a feeling that it wasn’t the chance to see a show that got Bing smiling that way, but more likely the opportunity to spend more time with Jane Bennet. “Nah, I’m good. You go, have fun with your girl. I’ll be here when you get back.” Darcy raised a hand to his head and scrunched his face. “Besides, I can feel a hangover coming on. Wick has a lot to answer for, the little shit.” Bing laughed, clapped Darcy across the back and replied, “Wick didn’t force you to down shots with an action movie star.” “Wanker.” “Cheers for that,” Bing snorted at the insult. “Not you, Collins Forster. The man is an utter wanker.”

“Next you’re going to tell me that Santa is an arsehole. You can’t call him that, the man is a legend. Don’t taint the Extinguish movies for me by defaming the hero.” “He’s right,” Pemberley’s voice came from directly behind them, and the brothers turned as one to watch her approach. Pemberley Gardiner was undoubtedly a stunningly attractive woman, and it felt somewhat absurd to Darcy that he was stood within five feet of her, let alone the fact he was staying in her home. “Collins is the biggest cocksucker on the planet. I wouldn’t call him a wanker because he likely has a man that does that for him,” Pemberley stated offhandedly, disdain evident in her features but unable to strip her of her beauty. Bing and Darcy gave each other a look, both unsure of an appropriate reply. Darcy settled on, “Why did you marry him then?” “Because I was young, lonely, and easily manipulated,” Pemberley offered with a raw honesty that could be a winning performance by a renowned actress but felt too authentic to be dismissed. “My stupidity made me perfect for Collins, and he capitalised on it. I craved his attention, and it was a very toxic relationship.” She allowed sadness to briefly flood her eyes but one blink and it disappeared, strength taking its place. “I soon toughened up, though, and I have Eliza to thank for that.” Darcy’s chest tightened at the mention of Eliza’s support for her friend during what was obviously a difficult time. He couldn’t compare the two very different versions of Miss Bennet given by this famous couple. Something wasn’t adding up and he had no idea which version of Eliza was real. The husband declared her a home wrecking whore who seduced him, and the wife proclaimed Eliza her rock. It didn’t make any sense. “Forgive me for asking, but why do you remain married to him?” Bing asked carefully, voicing Darcy’s very own thoughts. Pemberley smiled, but it was sad. The truth she was about to share evidently still a cause of her pain. “Because we live in Hollywood, darling. And nothing here is as it seems, or ever free.”

DARCY WAS GETTING in the shower when everyone left. He heard the gaggle of voices as they passed by his door, but didn’t feel sorry for not going with them. He knew he wasn’t good company at present. What with the Wick situation, going home to face his parents tomorrow, the mess the company was in that was now left to him to sort out, and his conflicting thoughts on Eliza Bennet, Darcy felt overfull with concerns. He spent far too long under the multi-jet shower, his muscles relaxing and his thoughts dispersing in the steam. By the time he was dressed in some spare clothing of Collins’ that Pemberley generously offered, his stomach was making itself known.

When was the last time he’d eaten? Yeah, a handful of peanuts in a bar, likely tainted with God knows what, didn’t really count as food. Wearing drawstring linen lounge pants that were a few inches too short for his long legs, and a tight plain black tee, Darcy left his bedroom to search the kitchen for food. With Pemberley’s housekeeper long gone, Darcy rummaged through her vast larder and fridge, and made a sandwich concoction filled with everything from meats and cheeses, to salad and sauces. Bing would often baulk at the things Darcy lumped together between two pieces of bread, but when Darcy was hungry, anything would do. With his plate stacked high, and half a sandwich hanging in his mouth, Darcy walked out to the terrace to watch as the sun set. Bing was right, with only one night left in Vegas, he may as well make the most of the sights… Sweet Baby Jesus. Darcy’s feet stopped working, his mouth opened, and the half a sandwich he carelessly held between his teeth fell to terrace floor. Eliza Bennet was swimming in the outdoor pool. Eliza Bennet was swimming in the outdoor pool in nothing but the white shirt she wore earlier. A now wet and see-through white shirt. She cut through the water effortlessly, coming to the far edge and gracefully turning underwater, emerging on her back. On her freaking back. If Darcy were capable of it, he would’ve swallowed his tongue, as it was, he settled for drooling at the sheer, wet fabric moulded to every delectable inch of her. Her curves emphasised in high-definition. By the time he realised how inappropriate it was to be gawking, Eliza was pushing herself up out of the pool. Then they were face to face. Him with barbeque sauce dribbling down his chin, a half-eaten sandwich on the floor at his feet, and wearing clothes two sizes too small. Her with water trailing deliciously down her long, smooth legs, a puddle at her feet, and wearing Darcy’s new favourite article of clothing, ever—a sinfully soaked, white shirt. “I didn’t know you were here,” he stated stupidly. Eliza looked anywhere but at the man before her, her hands torn between covering her red face or barely concealed assets. “I wasn’t eager to go out. I thought you’d left with the others,” she eventually replied. Her gaze stuck on something just over Darcy’s shoulder. “I should, uh…” she motioned to the doorway. Darcy took one last lingering look at Eliza, drinking her in from head to toe, the sight more mesmerising than all the Las Vegas lights twinkling at her back. He was a redblooded man after all, and Eliza Bennet had all his red blood pooling in his groin.

“Yes, sorry. I should’ve made my presence known. I can get you a towel?” “No, no,” she rushed out. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can see you were about to—” her eyes found the food mess at his feet “—eat.” Darcy dragged his eyes away and looked at the meat, cheese and bread that dirtied not only the floor but also his feet. “I should clean this up.” “I’ll… uh, get a towel and get dressed.” Darcy bent down to pick up his mess and heard Eliza call from the doorway, “If you have a spare sandwich, I wouldn’t say no.” “Okay,” he called back, flicking off the butter sticking to his fingers and picking up a stray onion that had wound around his little toe. “But not the one on the floor,” she added lightly before her voice disappeared into the penthouse. Huh, who knew Eliza Bennet could be a playful little minx. Dazed by the memory of a wet and practically naked Eliza, Darcy fumbled his way through making fresh sandwiches for them both. He doubted Eliza would be grateful for the unsophisticated creation on her plate, but Darcy wasn’t trying to impress, besides he couldn’t make a simple cheese sandwich if he tried—bland, boring, and an insult to anyone’s taste buds. No, the ice princess would have what she was given, and bloody well enjoy it. “Do you need a hand with anything?” Eliza’s voice asked from behind him just as he toed the door of the fridge closed. With a brief glance at her, one long enough to see she’d braided her wet hair and now wore a dry white tee and loose yoga pants, Darcy replied, “No, I’ve got it. You can grab us some drinks, though. I’ll have a bottled water, if that’s okay?” “No problem,” Eliza offered easily, grabbing the drinks as Darcy carried their food out towards the terrace. He set the plates laden with monstrous stuffed sandwiches on the table and chivalrously pulled out a chair for Eliza, waiting for her to sit before taking his. If Eliza was shocked by his impeccable manners, she didn’t show it. Instead, she picked up one half of the over-stuffed sandwich and took a massive bite, her accompanying groan of enjoyment rippling across Darcy’s skin and settling in his balls. “Dis-is-sooo-gooood,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food, her thumb coming to her lips to capture sauce that leaked from the side and dripped over her mouth. Darcy was mesmerised once more. “What?” Eliza asked after rushing to swallow. “Did I get some on my face?” Who is this woman and what has she done with Eliza Bennet?

“No, uh… well, yeah,” Darcy muttered softly, leaning forward in his seat to wipe the sauce she missed from her chin. “There, got it.” Without thinking, he brought the finger that cleaned up the sauce to his mouth and sucked it clean. Eliza’s eyes widened at the action, and her breath audibly hitched, but she covered it quickly with a cough, and then grabbed her bottle of water and took a long drink. “So, is Vegas everything you thought it would be?” she asked after settling her bottle back on the table. Her easy question an attempt at clearing the thickness in the air between them. Darcy picked up his sandwich with two hands, took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully before setting it back on his plate. “I’ve been here before,” he offered around his mouthful of food. “And although this trip has been… eventful, I’m ready to go home.” Eliza nodded in agreement and grabbed her food for another bite, this time restraining her groan of delight to a more appropriate level. Darcy didn’t know why, but seeing her not only tucking into a giant-sized sandwich with abandon and not complaining about its contents, did something to him. It was a side to the usually frigid Eliza Bennet that he never thought he’d see. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each devouring their food. Eliza finished hers before Darcy, and proceeded to lean back in her chair and rub at her flat stomach. “Gosh, I needed that.” She looked over at Darcy and smiled. “You have immense sandwich making skills, Mr Austen. Not many people can throw a bunch of random stuff together and make it taste that bloody good.” Her praise filled Darcy up, which was ridiculous because it was just a sandwich. “What can I say? It’s a skill many find underrated.” “Well, you can make me another one anytime,” she said with a smile, before realising her words and shuttering her expression. Darcy hated seeing the walls rebuilding between them, but he still struggled with all the facets of Eliza he knew. From the bitchy ice princess at the bar, to the proud and snooty woman at the ball. From the feisty and argumentative woman on this trip to the home wrecking tart Collins Forster claimed her to be. Then there was this side—a woman who’d rather stay in than go out and party, and one who enjoyed a messy sandwich, and smiled easily. A woman who obviously loved her sisters and took pride in the company her father had passed down to her. Which was the real Eliza? Darcy didn’t know. “Well, I think I’m going to have an early night,” Eliza stated with a muffled yawn before standing and picking up both their plates. She looked at Darcy, her face open, her expression soft.

“Our flight is arranged for tomorrow at noon. I took the liberty of arranging it for all of us, but if you wish to stay with Bing and want to see your other brother again, I can always—” “No,” Darcy stopped her. “No, tomorrow would be great, thank you for including us in your travel arrangements.” Eliza’s brow knitted. “Why wouldn’t I? You no more wanted an impromptu trip to Vegas than I did. It’s neither of our faults that we both bear the brunt of our sibling’s follies.” “Follies? Is that what we’re calling shotgun weddings now?” Darcy asked with a laugh, but it wasn’t malicious, more weary. “I’m trying to curtail my anger towards the situation,” Eliza sighed, sounding equally tired of it all. “Calling it a fuck-up of epic proportions would likely be more accurate, but I’m trying to rein it in.” “How’s that working out for you?” Darcy questioned, eyebrows raised. Eliza replied with a raised eyebrow of her own and said, “Well, my sister is still alive, has all her own teeth and isn’t missing a limb. I’d say it’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“WHAT THE…? Who the…? How can she…?” Lydia was pacing around the vast living room of the villa and making Wick dizzy. For almost half an hour she’d stomped around calling both her sisters every name under the sun and a few Wick had never heard before. “Why don’t you calm down and let me pour you a drink?” he asked for what felt like the thousandth time. “I don’t want a fucking drink. I want Eliza in front of me so I can demand she gives me back my dividends, and then I want to grab her by the hair and drag her around the room until she finally fucking sees me!” Okay, then. Wick stared at the woman before him—his wife—and wondered if she was possibly psychotic or losing her mind. The Lydia he knew was calculated, not over-emotional. The Lydia he knew? How ridiculous was it for him to think that? He didn’t know her, and it shouldn’t matter either way. She was a means to an end, the prize for his ingenuity, and the saviour of his precious business. She was no more his wife than he was her loving husband. He knew exactly what he signed up for, and it wasn’t this. “You’re still rich, I don’t see what the problem is, and once you get on board with Austen’s—” “Do you know how much money this sham has cost me?” Lydia screeched. “Those dividends aren’t peanuts. We’re talking millions. Millions upon millions.”

Wick’s eye twitched at her fury, but he remained lounged on the sofa feigning indifference. Lydia was wealthy beyond belief, that she was so pissed off about losing that which she didn’t need, seemed futile to him. “So what? I’ve already told you a way to get back at your sister. You have more than enough funds to build Austen’s into something bigger, better and infinitely more unstoppable than TBG. Why let your sister get to you? Use your wiles and get one up on her.” Wick fingered the fabric of the couch, purposely dropping his gaze from Lydia before continuing tiredly, “I thought you were smarter than that, wife. I thought you were the fearless woman who got a stranger to marry her within minutes of their meeting.” Lydia stopped pacing and straightened. Her fiery stare locked on her new husband as she processed his words. “Fine,” she conceded, the grit of her teeth turning the word into a hiss. “Take me back to the U.K., give me all that you have, and I will bleed money into your dying business until its power and influence is unrivalled.” Wick stood and took a slow, measured step towards Lydia, his hand reaching out to her waist as soon as he was near enough. His arms roughly tugged her towards him until she collided with his chest and he stared down into her wide blue eyes and far too beautiful face—she had the face of an angel even though Wick knew first hand this woman was made for sin. “There’s my girl,” he announced proudly through his wide grin. “I knew she was in there somewhere.” Then he took her mouth in a scorching kiss, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless. “All that I have is yours,” he whispered across her lips. “If I make you my queen, you will make me a king.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J

ane felt restless. Vegas had been a trip filled with contrasting emotions.

The stress of chasing Lydia was only dulled by the thrill of meeting Bing, and now that they were home and many days had passed, Jane felt the loss of him as if they’d been lovers for years, and not acquaintances for days. “What ails you, dearest Jane?” Eliza asked from her spot behind the desk in TBG’s conference room. “I wasn’t expecting you in today.” Jane hovered in the doorway, her gaze assessing Eliza from the angle of her hand holding her pen, to the straightness of her back against the chair. Her eldest sister was back where she belonged as head of TBG, while Jane had never felt farther away from the life she’d previously been living. Before she’d met Bing. Lydia’s marriage not only changed her life, but Jane’s too. She’d hoped that Bing would have got in touch by now, that he would’ve found a way to see her, to see if this spark that burned brightly between them could become a flame, but she hadn’t heard from the middle Austen brother since the day he left her in the arrivals lounge. Jane touched her lips in memory of their last kiss. It was soft, sweet and filled with promise—or so she’d thought. “I..” she hesitated, her eyes flicking over the large room before landing back on her sister. “I’m not sure. I guess I feel a little adrift.” Eliza stood, placed her pen on the papers she’d been working on before Jane arrived, and walked towards her sister. The closer she got to Jane the more evident her smile

became. “Do you have a contact number?” Jane’s brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?” “For Bing. I assume he’s the reason for your feelings of aimlessness.” Jane couldn’t help her blush if she tried. Her damned cheeks always betrayed her emotions. “I didn’t ask him for his number. He kissed me and I—” “Floated away on a cloud of bliss?” Jane’s blush deepened. “No, well… I guess a little, but I assumed he’d find me.” Eliza looked at her sister and forced herself to remember that despite Jane being in her late twenties, she’d had very few relationships, and not for lack of suitors. Jane was classically beautiful, and men admired her for her looks and equally her sweet nature, but Jane wasn’t a woman who partook in random dalliances. She needed her heart to want a man more than her libido, and men often saw that as a challenge, only revealing their true selves when they’d taken advantage of Jane’s pure heart. This had made Jane guarded, and she hadn’t let anyone close for quite some time—until Bing Austen. “So, you made it obvious that you wanted to see him again?” Eliza questioned. “I didn’t think I needed to,” Jane sighed. “The things he said, how he was with me… the way I was with him, I hoped he could tell this was more for me without needing those words.” “Men aren’t very good at hints,” Eliza said ruefully and watched as Jane’s face fell further. “They’re simple creatures who do better with statements. They say we are complicated when what they really mean is we are far too sophisticated for their lesser minds to comprehend.” Eliza smirked, hoping her words would entice a smile from her sister or at the very least an admonishment, but Jane remained silent. “Call him,” Eliza stated boldly. “Call him up and tell him he’s about to throw away the best thing that ever happened to him.” “I couldn’t—” “Yes,” Eliza stopped her and took one of Jane’s hands that she’d begun to twist together anxiously. “Yes, you can.” Jane took a deep breath to steady her nerves and replied, “I’ll think about it.” Eliza gave her another small smile knowing damned well that Jane would do no such thing, but that was okay because what Jane didn’t know was that Eliza had already reached out to the eldest Austen brother with a proposal of her own.

TO: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: The Bennet Group Acquisition Proposal MR AUSTEN, I would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the possibility of The Bennet Group acquiring Austen’s for a fair price, in a deal to suit both parties. In vain, I have struggled with this decision, but feel it a necessary concession due to our family’s recent union. We are both aware of the divide between our families and our companies, and I take no great pleasure in the nature of our union, but it cannot be denied. Therefore, a mutually beneficial deal would be conducive to bridging both our societal gap—by offering your family a way to raise their social standing and clear their debts—and our personal differences. My assistant awaits your call of acceptance. I would much prefer this deal to be a private affair and handled quickly. Kindest regards Eliza Bennet

DARCY READ and reread the email dozens of times, and on each occasion, his temper boiled until his anger bubbled over. “The cheek of the woman! How bloody dare she deem that doing business with me is a concession? I have not, nor will I ever request her help with anything, least of all Austen’s.” Darcy pushed up from his desk and paced the floor on the opposite side of the room to where Bing looked at him with growing concern. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh and a touch judgemental?” Bing asked honestly. “Miss Bennet’s offer is more than we’d ever get from anyone else.” “It is not her offer that has aggrieved me. It’s the manner in which she presented it,” Darcy gritted out through his teeth. “She talks like we’re beneath her, and not worthy of her acquaintance let alone her company’s aid.” “I don’t think she—” “Don’t, Bing,” Darcy stopped his pacing and stared his brother dead in the eyes. “Don’t justify her ego, arrogance and conceit. Eliza is not your Jane.” At that, Bing closed his mouth and said no more. “Have you heard from Wick?” Darcy asked after a minute of uncomfortable silence. “No, not directly. He sent a text to father from an unknown number but didn’t say when or if he was coming home. You know how terribly wronged mother feels at being

deprived of the pomp and ceremony of a big wedding.” “Like father could afford to pay for one even if they hadn’t eloped,” Darcy added in disdain. Not for his father but for his youngest brother and new bride. “True, but mother won’t hear any of that.” “Well, with Wick gone I think it’s time to make a decision. The company can’t go on the way it is, and I gave him six months to come up with something, but seeing as he’s not here, I think we need to set up a meeting and get everyone in agreement to sell.” Bing’s eyes widened. “To TBG? But I thought you said—” “I wouldn’t sell my used toothbrush to TBG. No, we’ll find another buyer. It’s time for us to move forward and this is the only way.” “So are you going to reply to Eliza’s email?” Bing asked, adding quickly, “Because if you are, I’d really appreciate you asking for Jane’s contact details. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but I can hardly show up at TBG with a bunch of flowers and hope that she’s there. I’ll look like a stalker.” Darcy barked out a laugh and shook his head in amusement. “Thanks but no thanks, Eliza. You can shove your condescending offer where the sun doesn’t shine. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind sending me your sister’s number so my brother can court her, that’d be great.” “You don’t have to word it quite that way,” Bing said, his lips quirking up slightly. “Oh, and how would you have me wording it?” Darcy questioned, eyebrows raised. “How about not bothering to reply at all?” Bing and Darcy both swivelled their heads to the doorway where Wick stood in a brand-new Tom Ford suit, looking every inch a man of wealth and power. He had one hand in his trouser pocket and was leaning against the door frame as if he’d been enjoying the show for quite some time. “Look what the cat dragged in. How kind of you to join us, Mr Bennet,” Darcy mocked. “Did your owner let you off her leash for a few hours?” Wick grinned wolfishly. “My owner? It’s funny you should say that.” Wick pushed off from the door frame and called over his shoulder, “My love. The senior partners are ready to do business with us. Why don’t you come and let me formally introduce you?” Wick stepped away to the side to make room for Lydia Bennet—now Austen— to sashay her way into Darcy’s office. Dressed to kill in a form-fitting red dress, matching red lips and the ubiquitous red-soled, patent leather shoes, Lydia looked like the ultimate femme fatale. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she purred. “My husband tells me, now that I’m part owner of this little family business, that you may be looking to divest yourselves of your

share.” She sauntered towards Darcy’s desk and proceeded to make herself comfortable in his chair. Those red soles flashed at him like a rag to a bull when she propped her feet up on his desk and relaxed back into his seat. Her eyes flickered to the open screen of his laptop, and her face broke into a maleficent smile. “Well, well, well. It seems I’m not the only Bennet sister making offers today.” Lydia flicked her intense blue eyes—made even more startling by their kohl-lined lids —from the screen filled with her sister’s email to Darcy. “So are you going to go with Eliza’s, what did she call it?” Her eyes moved back to the screen. “Ah, yes, ‘necessary concession.’” She brought her eyes back to his, and Darcy had to admit to himself that Wick had married a truly beautiful woman, but the gleam in her eyes also told him she was more than a handful. “Or would you like to hear a far less condescending offer from someone who is more than happy to be in your acquaintance? One that will be mutually beneficial to all parties.” Darcy looked from Lydia to Wick and then Bing, taking in each of their faces, and wondering how the hell he’d suddenly become the Bennet sister’s bitch. “How about,” he began, walking towards Lydia who remained lounged in his seat. “You get your shoes off my desk.” He swatted her feet off the surface, knocking some papers and a few pens to the floor in the process. “And stop trying to play me like you played my little brother.” Lydia let out a squawk as her feet hit the floor with a thud, and carried by the momentum, she slipped down awkwardly in the chair. Scrambling to right herself, she glared fireballs at Darcy, and he waited to spontaneously combust at the ire in her stare. “I wouldn’t play games with me if I were you,” Lydia smirked, the blue of her eyes turning steely. “Unless, of course, you wish to be left with only Eliza’s offer on the table.” Darcy took a self-assured step forward, and Lydia sat even straighter, her spine rigid and her eyes flinty. “As my brother’s wife, I will allow you more leeway than others, but do not mistake me for my brother. I am not easily manipulated or enticed.” Lydia’s face hardened. Her pretty features pinching into something unattractive. “And it would serve you well to know that I am not my sister. As you already know —” she flicked a smug glance over at Wick who had been happy to let his new wife do all the talking “—I go after what I want, and I get it. My husband has promised me a business, and that’s exactly what I’ll get. So, choose, brother dearest. Do you wish to do a deal with me today, or would you rather grovel to Eliza?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TO: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re- The Bennet Group Acquisition Proposal MISS BENNET, With a proposal such as yours, I believe it is expected that I offer the obligatory sentiments of gratitude, but in this case, I find I cannot. Let me say this, and this alone. You could not have made me an offer for Austen’s that I would ever have been tempted to accept. Yours Darcy Austen

P.S. Bing kindly requests Jane’s number. P.P.S. I asked that favour under duress.

ELIZA’S initial reaction to Darcy’s reply was to laugh, which she did for almost a full five minutes, but then she reread the main section of his email and decided that she could decipher his tone from those four lines of type. He was a pompous arse. Nothing unusual

for Darcy but she thought after their last evening in Vegas where they shared a moment, and the generosity of the offer she made him would have, at the very least, earned her some politeness. Unwilling to dwell on his email, and because her fingers were itching to type out a shitty reply, Eliza grabbed her phone and dialled Jane instead. As much as she was trying to refrain from responding, if Jane wanted Bing to have her number, Eliza would send it. “Hey, would you like the good news or the great news?” Eliza asked her sister without greeting. “Uh, shall we go with the great news first?” Jane replied perplexed. “Bing has requested your phone number,” Eliza stated bluntly, her smile genuine at the sound of Jane’s sharp intake of breath. “And the good news?” Jane asked attempting to ignore the way her stomach flipped at her sister’s words. “I made Darcy an offer for his family business, and he turned me down.” “Why is that good news?” “Because,” Eliza began, her feet pushing her chair around so she could take in the view out of her windows. “Austen’s is dead in the water. I only made my offer as an olive branch of sorts, but he turned me down, in quite a shitty way actually.” Jane didn’t offer a reply, and after a moment of silence Eliza turned back to face her desk and saw a smiling Jane standing in her doorway with her phone pressed to her ear. “What are you thinking?” Jane’s mouth hitched up at the corners, and her eyes widened a fraction. “You like him, don’t you?” “What? Why would you think that?” Eliza asked a little too outraged. “Oh, my goodness. You do. You’ve got a crush on Darcy Austen.” Jane disconnected their call and all but bounced into her sister’s office. Eliza rolled her eyes. “This isn’t boarding school, Jane. I do not have a crush on anyone.” Jane smirked and mocked Eliza by making a W with her fingers and mouthing ‘Whatever’ in an over exaggerated teen way. Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. It was good to see Jane coming back out of her shell, and likely all because of Bing’s request. Which made Eliza squint her eyes devilishly and say, “Huh, I guess you don’t want me to pass on your details after all.” “I didn’t say that.” “No? And yet here you are trying to get me to admit to a schoolgirl crush just to push my buttons. That’s not the behaviour of someone who really wants her favourite sister to play matchmaker. Maybe I’ll delete the—” “Don’t you dare,” Jane interrupted, rushing forward at the same time as Eliza to grab

at her laptop. Eliza got there first and snapped the lid closed, a smug grin stretching across her face. Jane huffed, wisps of her hair fluttering on the puff of air, and then she surprised Eliza by stepping back with a shrug and saying, “I already have a town car booked to take me to Austen’s head offices. So, you can keep your email information and your secret crush. I’ll give him my number in person.” Eliza was rendered speechless. Jane never pursued a man. She was too timid, too unsure, too guarded to ever take things into her own hands and go after someone she wanted in this way. “You’re really going to do this?” Eliza asked, but Jane didn’t have the chance to answer because George buzzed through on the intercom to tell her that her twelve o’clock appointment had arrived, and her sister chose that moment to sneak out while Eliza’s focus was elsewhere. The move told Eliza that Jane was nervous about her decision to pursue Bing and that she was still willing to push through her apprehension anyway. “Go and get him,” Eliza said to the space where Jane previously stood. “If anyone deserves her happily ever after, it’s you.”

“HE’LL TAKE THE DEAL, stop fretting.” Wick watched as Lydia stormed around her loft-style apartment and wondered if the fact she was his wife made it their loft-style apartment. They hadn’t discussed living arrangements since arriving home from Vegas, yet every night —and often in the day too —Wick found himself in her bed. Lydia had a voracious sexual appetite, and if they had one thing going for them, it was between the sheets. Together they were hotter than anything he’d ever experienced before, and it was the one place Lydia allowed him all the power. “You need to ensure he does,” Lydia snarled, her movements stopping and her annoyance focused solely on Wick. “Nobody makes Darcy do anything, but he’ll take the deal. He’s wanted out of Austen’s for years. He’s only taking charge now because I’m not there, so let me go back to work and I’ll get our deal from the inside, not the outside.” “And what would you have me do with myself while you men make the deal? Stay at home like the good little wifey and have your dinner on the table by the time you get home?” “I wouldn’t say no to a home-cooked meal,” Wick replied, entirely missing the sarcasm in Lydia’s voice. “Really?” Lydia took a sultry step towards her new husband. “How about a foot rub too?” “You’d do that?” he asked in excitement. “Because I get terrible pains in my arches if I’ve been on them for too long.”

“And maybe I could run you a bath, wash your back, shave you?” Lydia’s next step brought her toe to toe with Wick. She lifted her head to look up at him beneath her long lashes, licked her lips—a movement he followed avidly—and then reached out to cup his balls and caress his package. “God, I’d love that,” he groaned, thrusting himself into her hold. “I bet you would,” she purred giving his length one last leisurely stroke before reaching lower to squeeze his balls, tight. Wick yelped and attempted to step back, but Lydia’s hold tightened further and a pain shot from his nuts to his belly. Lydia literally had him by the balls. “The thing is, husband dearest. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t wait for anyone, let alone a man, and I certainly won’t become your trophy wife.” She stepped closer to Wick, not releasing her hold on his crown jewels, but close enough to press her ample breasts into his chest, and close enough for her to bring her mouth just millimetres away from his. Against his lips, she breathed, “Get me Austen’s. Get rid of your brothers, and keep up your end of the bargain. Just because your cock is talented—” she let go of his balls and pressed her hand firmly against his surprisingly stiff member “—doesn’t mean I can’t acquire another to fulfil those needs, and if you found yourself out of that job, I’m not sure your position would remain viable.” “I’ll get you Austen’s,” Wick panted. “I know you will,” she exhaled, before dropping to her knees and unbuckling his belt. “Let’s call this an incentive.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

J

ane’s hands trembled so much that she wondered if the car’s air con was on too low.

The driver had announced their arrival at least fifteen minutes earlier, and yet she hadn’t moved. Her gaze was locked on the front doors of Austen’s head office as her town car idled along the kerb outside. A few people had come and gone, but none was Bing. “Open the door, go inside and talk to him. Open the door, go inside and talk to him,” she repeated until her shaky hand found the door handle. “It’s just Bing. It’s just us,” she told herself, using Bing’s words to convince herself that searching for this man was the right thing to do. She knew it was the right thing to do. She pushed open the door with purpose and stepped out into the early afternoon sunshine. All around her, people bustled about on their lunch breaks, or on a mid-week shopping trip, and she side-stepped several bodies before finally standing before brass and glass entrance doors. In the same shiny brass was an engraved plaque embedded into the red brick to the side of the doors that read, Austen’s Books Stores. Est. 1898. This was a business that had been established at least fifty or sixty years longer than TBG, and Jane wondered if Eliza would be impressed by that fact or whether she’d dismiss it as inconsequential. Not that it mattered, she wasn’t here to talk business with Bing, she was here to find out why he hadn’t been in touch. Jane’s stomach did a full-blown gymnastic routine at the thought of what excuse he

may offer her. “It’s just us. It’s just us,” she muttered repeatedly, and finally plucked up the courage to push through the double doors into the warm and welcoming foyer that seemed stuck in the forties or maybe fifties—dating antique furnishings and old buildings was more Lydia’s thing. Jane preferred to get to know people and not things. The foyer wasn’t a manned space. Instead, another embossed brass sign directed you to the individual floors. The first-floor housed promotions and human resources. The second floor was the buyers and legal, and the top floor was named the Executive Suites. Jane headed towards the old-fashioned elevator with the wrought iron folding doors and hit the button for the third floor. If she didn’t find Bing there, she would surely come across someone who could point her in the right direction. The elevator arrived with a rattle and Jane tugged on the sliding door which screeched in annoyance. She stepped inside the ornately decorated space that would hold no more than three or four people at once, and with another sharp tug, forced the door closed. Like a rattling box of death, this small metal elevator slowly ascended towards the third floor, and Jane wondered if she would’ve been better taking the stairs. As the deathtrap gave a little lurch, Jane vowed she would use the stairs for her descent. Her sweaty palms and erratically beating heart couldn’t entirely be blamed on the journey in this pretty steel coffin. No, those were triggered by this entire situation. Jane had never chased a man before. She’d been too guarded, too closed off to put herself out there. Plus, she didn’t think she could cope with the mortification of getting turned down. She liked to think that Bing was different. What they had together was different. A tinny ding announced her arrival on the third floor, and the iron door screeched once more, announcing her entry without the need for the previous bell. Jane stepped out onto the third floor and was amazed by the difference to the foyer. Here everything was much more modern, if a little tired, and a petite red-head was sat behind a reception desk waiting to greet her. “Welcome to Austen’s. How can I help you?” Jane swallowed past her nerves which had formed a significant lump in her throat and called on her years of event experience. She could charm and schmooze and engage with the best of them. Lize was good at business, Lydia at men, but for Jane people were her thing. “I’ve come to see Bing Austen.” “Is he expecting you?” the red-head questioned, glancing at her screen and squinting at what she read there. “I don’t have any appointments for him in my diary.” Jane wasn’t good at deception, but she plastered a confident smile on her face, and for likely the first time in her entire life, she lied, “Yes, he is. Please tell him Jane Bennet is here to see him.” The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then offered Jane a seat and called through to Bing’s office.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bennet,” she said a few seconds later. “Mr Austen doesn’t seem to be in his office right now. If you’d like to leave your details, I can get him to call you?” Jane stood, her heartbeat going ten to the dozen, her palms were clammy, but her spine was stiff. She wasn’t going to be dismissed that easily. “What about Darcy? Is Mr Darcy Austen available?” Jane had no idea why she would ask to talk to the elder Austen brother, as they’d barely exchanged a dozen words before, but she wasn’t ready to leave, not after the personal arse-kicking it took to get her here. The red-head turned her squinting eyes on Jane and appeared to conclude that Jane was trying to pull the wool over her eyes. “I’m afraid you’re not in his diary for the day, either. Again, if you could fill this in with your details—” she pushed a pad in Jane’s direction “—and someone will be in touch.” Channelling her inner Eliza—Jane didn’t have an inner Eliza but figured she’d seen her sister in action enough—Jane walked purposefully towards the reception desk, placed her palms on the glass surface and leaned slightly towards the girl who was blocking her path to Bing. “Please inform either Mr Austen, that their sister-in-law Jane Bennet is here. I’d hate for them to find out that you were sending family members away all because they didn’t have an appointment.” The secretary blinked. Jane lost her nerve, began fidgeting with her hands and flustered, “Wick is married to my sister Lydia. It’s a recent marriage, one which took us all by surprise, and maybe you were unaware, but I’d really like to speak to either Bing or Darcy please.” So much for channelling the unflappable Eliza. Jane could practically see the receptionist’s mouth forming the words ‘cuckoo, cuckoo’. “I’ll try Darcy’s office. One moment please.” The red-head turned her back and stepped away from Jane with the phone receiver tight to her ear. Jane couldn’t distinguish the words of her discreet murmurings, but she didn’t need to because moments later she was ushered through to the inner hallway and directed towards an office on the opposite side of the third floor. If she thought her stomach was churning beforehand, it was nothing compared to the bubbling cauldron of emotions she felt inside her as she walked towards Darcy’s office door. The solid wood bore another embossed brass plaque that read: Darcy Austen – Managing Director. Jane took a deep breath, wiped her damp palms on her thighs and knocked. Mere seconds passed before the door swung open and a smiling Darcy Austen stood before her

beckoning her inside. Immediately she was struck by the change in his countenance. This wasn’t the broody, pensive and seemingly unapproachable Darcy from Las Vegas, nor was it the challenging, self-assured man from the bar. This Darcy was friendly and open, and the smile he wore elevated him from good looking to drop dead gorgeous. She could see why Eliza was drawn to the man, even if she was choosing to deny it. “Jane, please come in.” He opened the door wide and motioned for her to enter. “Bing isn’t here, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Can I get you a drink?” “I’d like that, thank you.” “Tea? Coffee? Something harder?” “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” Darcy walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of his office and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, placing one with a glass in front of her. Taking a seat opposite her, he opened his bottle and took a long swig before setting it on the table between them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” he said to break the silence and Jane was grateful she’d yet to pour her drink because her hands would not stop shaking. Had Bing confided in his brother that he’d no intention of contacting her? “Yes, I… uh. What I mean is… I—” “Bing told me he forgot to ask for your contact details,” Darcy interrupted, thankfully putting an end to Jane’s stuttering, but not her nerves. “Yes,” she started but then needed to clear her throat, so she quickly poured herself a drink. “Yes, we both seemed to forget that we had no way to contact the other. Which is why I’m here. I’d hoped to catch him and invite him to lunch or maybe dinner, or even breakfast on another day.” Darcy took pity on her once more and replied, “I asked your sister for your details at Bing’s insistence but have yet to receive a reply. Although I think the tone of my email may have needed some work.” Darcy smirked, and suddenly Jane felt her nerves ease a little. “Yes, Eliza mentioned it to me before I left, but I was already heading here.” “You could have called, we do have phones,” he jested, but Jane, with her heightened nerves, took it as more than that. “I wanted to see him. I thought he’d want to see me. If I’m wrong, please save me the embarrassment of making a fool of myself.” She made to stand, but Darcy stopped her with a gentle touch of his hand on her arm. “He begged me to ask for your details. Do you think that sounds like a man who doesn’t want to see you?” Jane knew he was right, she already knew that Bing had made a move to find her, but her anxiety was ruling her decision making, and suddenly she felt the need to bolt.

“Thank you for the hospitality, but I really must go. Please give my regards to your brother.” She pushed up abruptly from her chair, almost spilling the glass of water that she’d barely took a sip out of, and shot towards the door on unsteady feet. “Jane, wait,” Darcy called as her hand hit the door handle and tugged. “I’m not one for getting into other people’s business, particularly of the romantic kind, but I can assure you that my brother hasn’t stopped thinking about you.” Jane turned her head at his words and looked at him over her shoulder. “Then it is him who must find me,” she stated, feeling stupid with tears in her eyes. She rushed out before Darcy could say any more, and when she got back to reception she bypassed that God-awful contraption they used as an elevator, and took the stairs instead. She was just rounding the landing on the second floor, totally ignoring her surroundings and caught up in the frantic beating of her heart, when her heel caught the edge of a step, and she tumbled. Jane’s heart missed a beat, and as if in slow motion she felt her body lurch forward. Her eyes closed instinctually, her arms flailed, and she prepared to hit the floor, and inevitably a few steps on the way down. But she didn’t. Instead, she hit a broad, firm chest and strong arms wrapped themselves around her saving her from at the very least some nasty bruises, but more than likely a broken bone or possibly worse. “Jesus, are you okay?” a deep familiar voice asked thick with worry, and those strong arms pulled Jane closer to his body. Jane breathed in his familiar Sandalwood scent and opened her eyes to see Bing’s concerned face mere inches from her own. “I came to see you,” she replied more breathily than she intended. “So why does it look like you’re running away?” Bing asked, his eyes flittering over her face, almost like he was both checking to see if she was alright and memorising her features. “I wasn’t running away,” she whispered, her eyes on his lips. “I was waiting for you to stop me.” “There’s a difference?” His voice deepened and got huskier, and on seeing where Jane’s gaze was locked, Bing’s eyes also dropped to her lips. “Yes,” she breathed, her head tilting to meet his. “You only stop fighting and searching for those you wish to let go. I needed to know if you were letting me go.” Again, Bing’s eyes found hers, and he looked at her the way he knew she needed to be looked at—like the entire world was collapsing all around them, but he didn’t need to blink. He just needed her. Just us. You and me.

“MY SON IS A MARRIED MAN?” Anne Austen stared at her youngest son and new daughter-in-law with her mouth wide open and utterly aghast. “You got married in Las Vegas?” she said with disdain dripping from every syllable. “Without telling anyone?” Wick cleared his throat before injecting his voice with a failsafe amount of charm that always worked on his mother. “It was a spur of the moment adventure, mother. We met, we fell, we wed. Aren’t you going to congratulate my beautiful wife for her excellent choice of husband?” Anne Austen was still so distraught at the shocking news of her youngest boy wed, that she did something she hadn’t done for years—she reached over and grasped her husband’s hand in hers. “Congratulations, son,” Claude Austen offered in his wife’s stead. “I think you’ve finally managed to do what many before have tried and failed.” When Wick raised his brows in question, his father clarified, “Rendered your mother speechless. I’ve tried to do as much for years and never succeeded.” At that, his mother broke out of whatever trance had stolen her tongue and backhanded his father across the chest. “Claude Austen, you mind your manners in front of our new daughter.” Lydia lifted her head from her spot on the sofa and placed her phone face down beside her. Since they’d arrived at Wick’s family home, Lydia had said a brief hello then spent the rest of her time scrolling through her phone. “I’m so sorry you couldn’t be a part of our celebrations, Mr and Mrs Austen,” Lydia said with what appeared to be sincerity—she was a master manipulator after all. “Wick and I are hoping to arrange some kind of formal celebration for both our families. Maybe once the deal with the company is done? Isn’t that right, darling?” she deferred to Wick who smoothly covered the fact that this was the first he’d heard on the matter. Wick strolled towards his new wife and sat down on the arm of the sofa next to her, taking her hand in his and placing a soft kiss on her wrist. “The perfect idea, my love,” he simpered. Then he turned back to his parents and said, “Which is partly the reason I’m here. I’d like you to talk to Darcy and get him to be less pig-headed about the deal on the table for Austen’s.” “What deal on the table for Austen’s?” Claude questioned, taken aback by the fact that Darcy had yet to inform him of anything so significant happening with the family company. Claude may have stood down from his role of managing director, but he liked to be kept abreast of everything, particularly since his dividends had been practically nonexistent for the last few years. When one had a wife that loved the finer things in life as much as Anne Austen did, you became very aware of your financial shortcomings. “The deal I offered your eldest son, Mr Austen,” Lydia piped up. “Or should I call you father, since we are now family?”

Lydia’s eyelashes fluttered with the question, and she gave the senior Austen a taste of her tempting charms by sitting in such a way as to show off her figure and her curves. Claude Austen, flustered by the attention of such a nubile young woman, stuttered before averting his eyes. “Ah, yes. Please do call me father. For that is what I am to you now.” He emphasised the word father hoping that any further displays of his daughter-inlaw’s womanly wiles would be thwarted, although he doubted anyone could tame a girl like Lydia Bennet, and he wondered what Wick had gotten himself into. Then again, Wick wasn’t beyond being duplicitous to serve his own purpose either, so maybe they were well suited. “Very well, father,” Lydia began with a knowing smile. “I would like to take sole ownership of Austen’s. I’m aware of the poor state of the company and wish to save a piece of my new family’s history.” “That is so very kind of you dear,” Anne Austen fawned. The buttery tone to her words and demeanour likely to become sickening if left to continue. “And what do Darcy and Bing have to say about this offer?” Claude directed his question at Wick. “That is where I need your help,” Wick admitted, looking earnestly towards first his father and then his mother. His father, on seeing through the gentle tone and puppy dog eyes that Wick was forever using to get his own way, replied before his mother could, “Show me this deal in writing, including the fine print. I’ll see if I can talk to your brothers, but I’ll have some stipulations of my own to make, I assure you.” “Claude,” Anne Austen chastised. “You talk like our son and new daughter would wilfully try and manipulate us into a poor deal, when they obviously only have the best interests of our family business at heart.” Lydia smiled demurely at her mother-in-law and nodded in agreement. “Call Darcy and tell him to accept,” Anne demanded haughtily as if her decision was final and no one else need bother to have a say. “I will, as I’ve already stated,” Claude began, giving his wife a warning glare. “Once I’ve read the proposal and informed Wick and Lydia of my decision.” “But—” Anne started to whine and was yet again silenced by her husband. “But nothing, my dear. Or would you have me giving away a company that has not only been in my family for generations but has also provided you with a very nice living?” “Adequate,” she spat out. “An adequate living.” Claude Austen looked at his wife and was torn between rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out like a child. Instead, he settled on saying, “Whatever you say, love of my life, mother of my children, catalyst for my hair loss.” Anne Austen narrowed her eyes at her husband but had nothing to say in return, likely because she didn’t catch the sarcastic back-handed compliment but understood her husband enough to determine his tone.

“Wick, we must arrange to get the families together. What say we get in caterers and have a full family lunch here this coming Sunday? Lydia, please invite your sisters, we should all love to meet them.” And so, it was done. Claude Austen agreed to read Wick and Lydia’s proposal and Anne Austen was glowing with the news that her youngest son had married into the Bennets. Now if only her other boys would also find suitable partners.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

E

liza gripped the thousand-pound bottle of vintage Chateau Lafite Rothschild that she’d taken from her father’s wine cellar and exited the town car.

The Austen’s impressive Tudor style home beckoned her, and she idly wondered if it had been in the family for the same amount of time as the business. Then, because she knew the state of the Austen’s company, she wondered how they’d managed to hold on to such a magnificent piece of property. The invitation to Sunday lunch had taken Eliza by surprise, mostly because it was Wick who had called George and given her the details, while Lydia was still not on speaking terms with her sisters. Eliza debated on whether to attend, but after a long week at work—with yet more threats and posturing from many of the board members—and a new acquisition blocked by red tape, she felt the need to let off some steam. What better way to do so than by spending time with her little sister and her new family. Eliza hadn’t admitted it to herself, but the thought of seeing Darcy again was the driving force behind her acceptance of the invitation. She hadn’t replied to his email, and she wanted to see how he would react to her in his world. Would he be the antagonising, judgmental man she’d initially thought him to be or the man who’d made her a sandwich and relaxed with her on a Las Vegas roof terrace? She hoped to see the latter but fully expected the former. The front door opened before Eliza had a chance to ring the bell, and an attractive, if heavily made up, older woman ushered her inside. “How wonderful you could join us, you must be Eliza, for your sister Jane is already here with my son Bing, and Wick and Lydia have yet to arrive.”

The woman, who Eliza now assumed was Mrs Austen, barely took a breath. Before continuing, “Come in, come in. Oh, you have brought wine—” she grabbed the bottle from Eliza’s hand “—it looks old, and therefore expensive. What a marvellous choice and such generosity to bring me a gift.” Eliza still hadn’t been able to get out a word. “Everyone is in the parlour. Please make your way through, I must check on the caterers, they came highly recommended, but good staff can be hard to find as I’m sure you must be aware. Do you have many staff?” Eliza blinked rapidly, unsure how to answer the question. “Oh you must do, a busy woman such as yourself would not have time to run her own household. How many are in your employ, my dear?” Eliza blinked again and settled on the answer, “About seven hundred and fifty thousand worldwide.” Anne Austen choked on her next words and covered it with a cough. “Well, that’s delightful, dear,” she dismissed in an appearance of nonchalance. “Now please do go and find my oldest son Darcy. I believe you are both here and unattached, and that you would do very well to get to know each other a little better.” She leaned in as if telling Eliza a secret. “And he is very handsome.” Adding almost as an afterthought, “As are all my sons but Darcy has always turned heads and the others as you know are now spoken for. How fun it would be for our families to be joined with each sister to each brother.” Mrs Austen walked away swinging the expensive bottle of wine about as if it was no more costly than a gallon of milk and giggling to herself, “Oh yes, how marvellous another two weddings would be.” Eliza watched as Anne walked towards where she assumed were the kitchens and wondered if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. The Austen brother’s mother was a character, one she couldn’t reconcile with Darcy or Bing, and she didn’t know Wick well enough to judge. Deciding that if she was in for a penny she was in for a pound, Eliza made her way to the parlour feeling decidedly as if she was in an episode of Downton Abbey. Once there, she stepped quietly into the room and observed the occupants for a few seconds before making enough noise to draw attention to her arrival. Bing and Jane sat hand in hand on a small Chesterfield, totally unaware of anyone else, while an older man—one she assumed was Mr Austen senior because he bore an uncanny resemblance to Bing— sat in a wingback chair reading a newspaper, and Darcy sat in the opposite chair staring into the unlit fireplace. On hearing her clear her throat, both Darcy and his father turned to see who had entered. The older man looked perplexed but smiled in greeting, while his son stared at her emotionless, and Jane and Bing remained oblivious. “Mrs Austen directed me this way,” Eliza began. “She’s gone to check on the

caterers.” Then she walked up to the older man, held out her hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Austen. You have a beautiful home.” Claude Austen stood and took hold of the young lady’s hand before him. Unlike Bing’s Jane, who was all sweet niceness and easy grace, or Wick’s Lydia who was all womanly wiles and conniving smiles, Claude thought Eliza Bennet to be strong-willed, forthright and genuine. What you saw was what you got. The oldest Bennet sister reminded him a hell of a lot of Darcy. “It’s a joy to meet you too, my dear. Thank you for accepting the invitation to dine with us today.” Claude glanced over at Darcy and was surprised to see his son had stood to greet Eliza but was looking at everywhere else except her. “You know my son, Darcy,” Claude introduced. Eliza’s eyes blinked a few times, her smile now plastered across her face unmoving, and with a flick of her gaze to the eldest Austen brother she eventually replied, “Yes, we are well acquainted.” That drew Darcy’s gaze to her, and something flickered in his stare. “In vain I have struggled to forget you,” he began with a smirk, using Eliza’s words back at her. “But you are truly unforgettable, Miss Bennet.” Eliza’s blood boiled at his attempt to bait her. She was about to open her mouth and retaliate but remembered she was in his family home, with his father smiling at them both as if he knew a secret they didn’t. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant way to spend a Sunday,” Claude Austen said through his grin. “Darcy, be a good host and offer Eliza a drink.” Eliza tilted her head and smiled at Darcy in a way that said ‘run along now.’ He returned her head tilt and offered back his own smirk. ‘I’ll get you a drink, but be careful I don’t poison it.’ The two of them stood locked in a silent altercation until finally Jane noticed that her sister had entered the room. “Oh, Lize,” she called in surprise. “When did you get here?” Has Lydia arrived with you?” Jane jumped up and embraced her sister with an infectious amount of joy. Eliza couldn’t help but let a genuine smile break free as she stood in her beloved sister’s arms. Pulling back to look at her, Eliza replied, “No, I haven’t seen our sister since Las Vegas. I’m sure our reunion will be… eventful.” Bing stood and came to greet Eliza, his body always seeking to touch Jane’s in some way, be it a brush of hands, a gentle palm to her lower back or a kiss on her forehead. “It’s lovely to see you once more, Eliza,” Bing offered genuinely, his countenance as open and honest as Jane’s. “Can I get you a drink?” Eliza smiled wickedly, her head turning to look at Darcy and her next words loud

enough for him to hear. “No, you’re quite okay, I believe your brother is already attending me.” “Could you grab Jane a refill too, please Darce?” Bing requested, handing his brother Jane’s empty wineglass. Darcy took the glass and bowed in sarcastic deference. “It seems I am only here to serve.” Then he left, but not before he gave Eliza one last look that had her feet itching to follow him if only to banter with him some more. That damned man had gotten under her skin, and she needed to do something to get him out. With that thought in her head, she turned to Claude Austen and said, “While we’re here for pleasure today, please forgive me for talking about business, but I’d like to make you an offer.”

THE LAST THING Lydia wanted to do was spend more time with Wick’s family. Add to that the fact her sisters would also be there, and she could think of a dozen other more appealing activities—ripping off her fingernails with pliers, shaving her head bald—than spending her Sunday with these people. But the problem was, she wanted Austen’s, and she was determined to get one over on Eliza. Wick had promised it to her, and he’d yet to deliver, so she was taking the situation into her own hands. As the car pulled up outside Wick’s family home, she stared at the old Tudor mansion and wondered how soon it would be before they inherited this place or bought it out from under them. The house was ugly, but the land it stood on impressive, and she couldn’t wait to knock the thing down and put something more worthy in its place. “We’re late. Did you really need that two-hour long massage?” Wick groused as he stepped out into the Sunday sunshine. “I did,” Lydia confirmed. “If I must deal with your family again, I’ll need another twohour long massage when we get back.” Wick ignored the jibe and went over to his new wife to link her arm with his. “I have the proposal for father. Let me give it to him. He’ll be more open if he believes it’s mostly my idea,” he stated smoothly, assuming Lydia would see the sense in his request. “It’s my money, my proposal, my time. Why would I allow you to present it?” she countered haughtily. They were by the oak front door before Wick replied, “Because sometimes, my love, you must swallow your pride and play to win.” “Pride is not something I’m ever accused of swallowing,” she retorted tartly.

Wick’s eyes sparkled and he turned to look at his wife’s mouth. “No, my love,” he rasped. “But you’ve gotten an expert at swallowing—” “Don’t finish that sentence,” Lydia demanded with her fingers pressed to his mouth. “Our sex life has nothing to do with business. It’s time you learnt not to mix the two up.” She stepped forward until they were chest to chest, her sky-high heels putting them at almost equal height, so her lips skimmed his. “I own you, husband.” Lydia’s lips tipped up into a sly grin. “I own this.” She cupped his cock. “And I will own your business.” She squeezed her hand just enough to gain a hiss from Wick’s lips. “I’ve told you we’d keep the Austen name. You’ve bargained your terms, and now it’s time for me to collect my dues. I will convince your father. You will observe. I lead, you follow. Do you think you can understand that, husband?” Wick nodded his head, his hard dick throbbing in Lydia’s hand right where she wanted him. She placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then stepped back as if nothing had happened between them and proceeded to ring the doorbell. “Rearrange yourself, love,” she smirked at his erection as the door began to open. “Your subservience is showing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

D

arcy was pouring the wine in the small family kitchen, avoiding the hustle and bustle of the staff in the main kitchen, when he heard Wick and Lydia arrive. His mother’s over the top fawning echoed down the hallway towards him, and he stifled a groan when he heard Anne Austen say gleefully, “Oh, you must make me a grandmother soon. I’ve always wanted to be called Nanna. It sounds so much younger than Grandma.” Then as if a light bulb went off in her head she gasped and added, “Goodness gracious, is that why you eloped? Are you already with child?” At that Darcy snorted. Loudly. Although nobody heard because Wick was too busy denying impregnating his new wife. “We’ve only been married a week, for heaven’s sake. We are a long way away from making you a grandmother—” “Nanna,” Anne Austen scolded. “Nanna,” Wick unwillingly acceded. “So please, enough of hounding Lydia with this. We have life-plans and children aren’t on the horizon for some time.” “Try not at all.” Darcy heard Lydia snipe. Darcy wanted to pop his head around the door and inform his mother that if Lydia was pregnant, his younger brother wasn’t the (un)lucky father. They’d only known each other a few hours longer than they’d been married. No, Darcy didn’t know Lydia’s game, but he could see well enough she wasn’t interested in trapping Wick with a child. “Eavesdropping is unbecoming of you, Mr Austen.” Darcy almost dropped the glasses in his hands when he spun around to see Eliza had come up behind him through the back entrance.

“And sneaking up on someone is rather unbecoming of you, Miss Bennet.” “You call it sneaking. I call it coming to find out where my drink is. A girl could die of thirst waiting for you to attend her.” Darcy placed both glasses on the counter before him and took a dangerous step towards Eliza. Seeing something in his face, Eliza countered him by talking an equal step back. “Do I scare you, Miss Bennet?” “Eliza. My name is Eliza. Why don’t you use it?” “Because I’m not familiar with you.” He took another step forward and another until she was backed against the wall and he was an arm’s reach away. “We are not friends, merely forced acquaintances.” Eliza’s breath hitched, partly from his nearness, but mostly from the look in his eyes. He looked hungry or maybe a better word would be hangry—like he was confused and angry about his need to step closer. “No one is forcing you to be civil to me or spend any more time than necessary in my direct company. You seem to be unable to help yourself,” Eliza challenged. She cocked one brow and faked bravado. Darcy’s face expressed a wide gamut of emotions before he took the final step that left barely an inch between them. “Why did you do it?” Eliza blinked. “Do you even have a good excuse?” he pressed. Eliza’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head in confusion. “Why did I do what? Come here today?” “No.” He looked pained, but continued, “Betray your best friend. Why did you ruin her marriage?” Eliza’s face paled. She tried to take a step back, but the wall prevented her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her breath caught in her lungs and she was ashamed to feel her eyes fill with emotion. “Huh.” Darcy took a step back, confusion seeming to clear from his face as if it was never there. “I’d hoped it was somehow a lie. That Collins was full of shit, but your silence speaks volumes.” Smack. The force of Eliza’s slap ricocheted through the silent room and echoed off the tiled surfaces. Darcy’s head snapped to the side, and before he’d even turned back to face her, an angry red handprint bloomed across his cheek. “And what does that tell you, Mr Austen?” Eliza snarled. Darcy remained silent, but the tick in his jaw was telling. He was holding back. He let

her have that strike, but he wouldn’t let her have another. “That’s right. Your silence speaks volumes,” she sneered. “I’ll give you a helping hand. What that tells you is to fuck off. You’re an utter arsehole.” Eliza side-stepped the angry man before her and stormed from the room. When Darcy finally moved, he turned to the counter, picked up both glasses of wine, and downed them in quick succession. Even the alcohol couldn’t lessen the sting. Not of Eliza’s slap, but of the pain on her face that she’d tried to hide behind anger. Darcy didn’t need to gain a proper answer to his question. In the kitchen of his family home with Eliza’s handprint on his cheek, he knew that Collins Forster was a liar, and he knew that he’d done the eldest Miss Bennet very wrong.

“LIZE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Jane asked her sister when she re-entered the parlour looking flustered. “I got lost looking for the bathroom,” Eliza replied without making eye contact, and Jane immediately sensed the lie. “You’re just in time, sister,” Lydia called from her place at the senior Mr Austen’s side, and Jane watched as her youngest sister placed her hand on the older man’s shoulder and passed him a pen. “We’re just about to agree on a deal for Austen’s. Isn’t that right, father?” Lydia said sweetly to her new father-in-law. Claude Austen smiled up at his new daughter and then over at his youngest son. “Nothing has been agreed yet, my dear,” he said kindly. “Let me talk to my boys, and we can decide as a family.” “Decide what as a family?” Darcy barked. His entrance into the room commanding everyone’s attention, except Jane noticed, Eliza’s. Wick got to his feet and smugly sauntered towards his older brother. “Father has read our proposal and is all for selling Austen’s. You’ve got your wish, brother. You’ll be free of the business within the month.” Darcy’s eyes narrowed. First, his fiery gaze landed on his father and then Lydia before returning to Wick. “There’s another offer on the table. We’d be foolish not to consider both.” Bing came to stand next to Jane, and without looking at him, she felt for his hand and linked their fingers. Jane wasn’t aware of the family dynamic within the Austen household, but she could sense a storm brewing. “What other offer?” Wick cocked his head to the side and took stock of his brother’s stiff posture and taut features. “You mean to say you’re considering TBG’s proposal? I find that hard to believe brother. Didn’t you once say that you’d never want to acquaint yourself with a frigid ice princess?”

Wick’s eyes sparkled as they sought out Eliza in the room, and he wasn’t disappointed to see her glare at him. “Wick,” Bing warned, releasing Jane’s hand and stepping forward. It was a practised move that Jane could see he’d had to employ often, as he smoothly stood between the youngest and eldest Austen. “This is not the time or place to discuss either offer. We should schedule a meeting at work and leave today as a chance to get to know each other as a family.” “Apologise to her,” Darcy demanded. “Apologise to Eliza right now or I’ll—” “You’ll what?” Wick taunted, taking a step forward and feeling rather proud of himself. Darcy matched his movement, and Bing was forced to place a steadying hand to each brother’s chest. “Enough, boys,” Mr Austen senior declared, standing from his spot at the fireplace and walking up to his sons. “Your mother has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make today special. Wick—” he turned to his youngest son “—apologise to the young lady you just insulted and Darcy.” Claude Austen put a steadying hand on his oldest son’s shoulder, “I agree, we can consider both offers. I’m not foolish enough to believe we deserve either, but I am also not idiotic enough not to accept one gratefully.” Darcy bit his tongue, and before he had a chance to speak, Eliza stood and announced, “I revoke The Bennet Group’s provisory interest in making an offer for Austen’s. One should never do business with family. Now if you’ll excuse me, please give Mrs Austen my apologies, but I’m unable to stay for dinner. I have an important matter to attend.” Eliza walked up to the elder Mr Austen, shook his hand and thanked him for his hospitality. Then she came to Jane and kissed her goodbye. “No love for me, sister?” Lydia called from her spot on the other side of the room, and Eliza stopped in her tracks. “No, that’s right,” she sneered, her pretty face contorting into sharp lines and narrowed eyes. “Eliza Bennet’s love comes at a price. If you’re not worthy, you’re discarded like trash.” Eliza spun around and stared down at her sister, her anger turning to sadness. “I’ve cared for you my entire life Lydia, but I was never enough, so don’t turn this around on me. You thought I was trying to replace mother, but all I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to know you were loved. For you to see that I was there for you no matter what.” Eliza’s shoulders slumped, but she continued, “You’ve done your very best to test my love. I was twelve when we lost mother, twelve. And I still tried to be what you needed. Yet all you’ve ever delighted in doing is making my life as hard as you possibly can. Not once have you ever considered anyone but yourself, Lydia. So, you want to talk about love? About why you feel so undeserving of it? Take a look in the mirror and understand that you get what you give.”

Defeated and completely worn out after her public tirade, Eliza left the room and no one, not even Jane, tried to stop her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

D

arcy stepped back from Austen’s the very next day. He cleared his desk, took what little he needed and informed his father he was to allow Wick to accept Lydia’s deal.

He hadn’t read the terms of the agreement or added any conditions, and he didn’t care whether he got a share of whatever money was left, he was done. The truth was, he was relieved. He’d wanted out for years, but another part of him still needed to make sure he wasn’t abandoning his family. With Lydia’s money behind them, he was certain the newlyweds could, at the very least, attempt to turn Austen’s around, but if they sank without a trace, he couldn’t find it in him to be bothered. Wick had got what he wanted, and Lydia, it seemed, had accomplished whatever scheme she’d set out to achieve. So why did he have a bitter taste in his mouth? It wasn’t because of Austen’s, nor was it about either of his brothers or his parents. Darcy felt unsettled and on edge because of the guilt he felt towards Eliza Bennet. He had no excuse for confronting her. It was none of his business, and he had no right to demand answers to those questions. The pain that poured from her yesterday had been tangible and landed deep in his gut. She’d gone and compounded it by leaving before he could make right his wrongs, but not until she stripped herself raw in front of everyone, including her ungrateful excuse for a younger sibling. Hearing Eliza tell of how she’d taken on the role of mother figure to her sisters from the tender age of twelve, painfully cleaved through all his prior judgments of the woman.

It ripped through the bubble he placed her in—one he’d forced her into while he fought his attraction to her— and the accompanying explosion still left aftershocks in his bones. He’d not only misjudged Eliza Bennet, but he’d also underestimated her worth, her loyalty and her love for those she held dear. She was a strong woman not just in the business world, but of morals and heart and he’d accused her of being the opposite. Worst of all he’d done so on the fabricated evidence of a stranger—and a man who he didn’t even like much less trust. Darcy knew he needed to make amends. He just didn’t know how or if she’d even accept his apology. “Leaving so soon, brother?” Wick’s voice came from behind him as he sauntered into Darcy’s office—or Darcy’s old office as it was now. “You got what you set out to do Wick. You should be proud,” Darcy said without malice, his hands busy emptying his desk drawers, his eyes not on his brother but on the task at hand. “Is that all you have to say? Aren’t you going to offer me sage words of advice or warnings of my impending doom?” Darcy looked up at his brother then and took in his cocky grin, self-assured stance, puffed out chest and gleam of victory in his eyes. “Yes,” Darcy stated coolly, grabbing the small box of belongings he was taking with him. “I have two pieces of advice for you.” “Pray tell,” Wick encouraged acerbically. “I’m sure I’ll be grateful for whatever words you chose to bestow upon me.” Darcy lifted the box and propped it under his armpit before grabbing his laptop case with his free hand. “I’ll make it easy,” he said, walking towards his younger brother who blocked the doorway and was yet to move. “I’ll narrow it down to just one, the most important one.” Wick stood tall and dared Darcy to impart his counsel, which he didn’t want nor care for. He just wanted to hear Darcy’s parting shot. Not one to disappoint, Darcy made it a good one. “Make sure to keep your wife happy. I have a feeling she bores very easily, and you stand to lose more than just your marriage certificate.” “That’s it?” Wick scoffed. “The mighty, commitment-phobic Darcy Austen wishes to impart marital advice on me. How trite.” “Oh no, brother you misread me,” Darcy stated, walking close enough to his brother that it forced Wick to move out of the way. “That wasn’t marital advice that was business advice. Your wife owns you and owns the business you deem so precious. One wrong move and you’re dead in the water. You will lose everything.” He walked past his younger brother and stopped at the corner before the hallway

turned right and into the reception area. “Good luck, Wick. I think you’re going to need it.” “I’m taking your office,” Wick yelled at Darcy’s back. “It’s all yours brother,” he replied. “Enjoy the view.” BING KNEW THIS WAS CRAZY. He’d known Jane a little over two weeks, spent every free hour he could with her this last week, and decided he never wanted to spend another moment apart. He knew it was crazy. Bing didn’t do spur of the moment when it came to relationships. He was a calm, steady, go with the flow kind of guy. He wasn’t like Wick. He didn’t up and elope to Vegas with a woman he’d only just met. But it wasn’t like that with Jane. He knew her. His heart knew her. His body craved her, and his mind called for her. He didn’t have it bad. He had it good. So good he was contemplating doing something that for him at least, was slightly bonkers. He just had to figure out the perfect way to do it. Bing looked up at the marble façade of the jewellery store before him, gripped his newly acquired credit card in his hand and pushed through the front doors. This wasn’t crazy. This was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A

ll Eliza seemed to do was work, sleep, and eat when she had time.

With Jane loved up and in the early throws of desire with her Bing, Eliza was at a loss. It had been only four weeks since Lydia’s shotgun wedding and Jane meeting Bing, but they were now inseparable and Eliza was happy for them, she was, but she was also lonely. She didn’t have friends, except for Pemberley and Jane, and without both, she realised how isolated her life was. Pemberley had begged her to take some time off and accompany her on her current worldwide tour for some light-hearted romance movie the world was going gaga over. But Eliza couldn’t just up and leave. She had the board breathing down her neck and still watching her every move, and she had numerous deals at various stages that needed her input. She was ridiculously busy, with hardly a free minute to take a breather, yet she’d never felt so lonely or adrift. She didn’t even have Lydia’s dramas to worry about since her sister’s cold shoulder had turned into a full-blown shut-out. “Eliza,” George’s voice came through the intercom on her desk. “You might want to look out of your window. Security have received complaints about a problem.” Eliza pressed the button to reply, her gaze never straying from the documents before her. “George, I’m twenty floors up. I’m not sure there’s anything happening outside that could be a problem to me. Tell them to deal with it.” “Just listen to me for once, would you?” the ornery old broad complained. “Get up, walk to your window and look outside.”

Eliza huffed, walked over to her panoramic windows and looked down to the street below. The TBG’s building had a large, paved frontage that lead out onto the pavement, but Eliza couldn’t see where the walkway ended and the road began. All she could see was a sea of people wearing white. It was odd, not only because there must have been a few hundred people down there, but even from up here she could see they all seemed to look up at her, with their heads tilted up to the sky. Then, in one synchronised move, the people began to move and ripple, and some of the white turned to black. Eliza blinked because she swore the black spelt something… Sorry. Eliza blinked again. The word sorry seemed to float above the bodies swarming the street below. Then as one, they moved again. I’m A. Blink. Another flutter of movement. Complete. Eliza squinted and pushed her face closer to the glass unable to work out how these people were making words out of thin air. Arsehole. Eliza snorted. She was twenty floors up and imagining random people wearing white spelling out profanities. She’d been working too hard. The crowd of strangers shuffled and rippled again. Drink? Eliza shook her head and laughed. Only one person could be responsible for this spectacle. “I owe you a drink and an apology,” a deep male voice stated from behind her and Eliza pivoted on her heels to face the unexpected visitor. Darcy stood before her with two glasses and a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice. “You didn’t get your drink off me the other week,” he offered, lifting his peace offering. The movement had the glasses clinking together and echoing around the silent room. “So, I thought I’d go one better and bring you a meal to go with your drink.” He stood to the side, gave a low whistle, and within seconds a full array of food was ushered into the room by silver service wait staff with ornate serving trolleys. Another small group brought plates, silverware and candles, and then the ten or so people began to set up a feast on her conference table. “Who let you in?” Eliza asked, unable to form a more coherent thought. “The lovely Georgiana,” Darcy replied with a grin. “She made me beg first of course.”

“Made you beg? If you’re calling her Georgiana, she made you do more than beg.” Darcy winked. “I’ll never disclose my secret methods.” Eliza had never seen this man so playful and she almost, almost wanted to fall for the charming version before her but she wouldn’t. His words the other month hadn’t just stung they’d burnt her, marked her, and scarred her. What happened with Collins was, she’d hoped, ancient history, so to have it thrown in her face in such a way blindsided her completely. “You need to leave,” she stated coldly. “I enjoyed your pavement trickery outside, and yes, you’re an arsehole, but I’m not doing this with you.” Darcy’s eyes locked on hers and he gave a brief nod. “I wasn’t expecting this to make amends for my wrongs, and I didn’t expect to share this—” he motioned to the spread before them and the servers now leaving “—with you, but I’d hoped you’d share it with them.” Darcy stepped to the side, and Bing and Jane entered the room. “Surprise!” Jane exclaimed joyfully, one hand in Bing’s, the other waving around like a solitary ‘jazz hand’. “You set all this up?” Eliza asked with a genuine smile, having missed her sister’s company. With quick steps, she walked up to her sister and embraced her tightly. “Oh, no. This was all Darcy. We’re just piggybacking his gesture because we have some news to share with you both,” Jane added shyly, looking up to Bing for support. “News?” Jane blushed and deferred to Bing with a tilt of her head. “We’re getting married,” Bing Austen said proudly, his eyes finding Jane’s and filling with adoration. Eliza Bennet stared blankly at her sister and the man wrapping his arms around her. Another Austen brother had come in and swooped one of her sisters off their feet. Okay, so it didn’t work quite that way with Lydia, and she was the instigator of that debacle, but Bing had woven his spell over Jane and Eliza couldn’t find it in herself to hate him for it because Jane was the happiest she’d ever seen her. “Wow. Uh, okay. This is all a little… sudden, isn’t it? Why the rush?” Eliza didn’t miss the way Jane’s smile fell slightly. She wished she could be more excited for her sister and enthusiastically offer congratulations, but she was worried. Jane didn’t rush into affairs of the heart. Jane didn’t spontaneously act and forget about consequences. Bing tenderly kissed the side of Jane’s head, a move Eliza understood as a tangible declaration of his love and support and Jane closed her eyes to savour the touch. When she opened them, and smiled at Eliza, she said simply, “We both know the frailty of life. It’s precious, and it can be cut short. True happiness is rare, so why deprive yourself of it just to watch the clock or give yourself what others deem are suitable time limits.” Jane looked

up at Bing and joy radiated from her smile. “We’re done watching the clock. We’d rather ignore the days, hours and months, live in the minute, and love every second.” Eliza smiled then. A true, genuine, happy smile for her sister and the man she loved. A tear fell unbidden down her cheek and as Eliza dashed it away, her eyes searched for Darcy. She’d been so caught up in Bing and Jane’s shock announcement that she’d forgotten the man whose epic gesture saw her office filled with a feast. Her eyes found the doorway, but he wasn’t there. Instead, a beautiful floral arrangement had been left in the entryway. Jane’s eyes followed Eliza’s gaze, and she released Bing long enough to collect the flowers. “Oh, these are beautiful,” she said, setting them down on the edge of the table. “And there’s a card. It’s for you, Eliza.” Jane plucked the card from the flowers and handed it over to her sister. Eliza knew who they were from before she even opened the small embossed envelope with her name written across it in a masculine script, but she wanted to see what he had to say. With deft fingers, she pulled out a small card that simply read: I called you a princess before I knew you, when in fact you are a queen. He’d signed off with: Sorry, I’m an arsehole. Eliza laughed, she couldn’t help it, and when Jane looked at her perplexed, she handed her the card and said, “I have to go and find myself an arsehole.” Bing chuckled and gave her a knowing smile, but Jane still looked confused even after reading the card. “She means Darcy,” Bing supplied, as Eliza stepped forward and kissed first Jane and then her husband to be. “I’m happy for you both, I promise. There are no two people on this earth more suited as a couple than you.” With one last hug, Eliza released the couple and walked towards the door. Bing called out to her just before she crossed the threshold and said, “Give him hell, he likes it.” “He deserves it,” Eliza retorted through a broad smile.

ELIZA CAUGHT up with Darcy outside the TBG building. She’d had George call security to look for him on their cameras and found him outside handing a stuffed envelope to one of the few people still milling around wearing an oversized white t-shirt and carrying a large black piece of card. He shook the woman’s hand, and she smiled up at him brightly, her body language telling the man before her she appreciated the view. Darcy Austen was undoubtedly a very attractive man. After Pemberley had called him a ‘taller even more attractive Jon Snow’, Eliza had Googled the name and had to agree.

Darcy Austen could be this Jon Snow’s older, broader, more distinguished brother. She still didn’t get the ‘kiss me down there’ reference, though. She watched as the woman lingered before him, and waited until he thanked her once more and turned to walk away. “Arsehole,” Eliza called out, uncaring of using a profanity outside her prestigious offices. Darcy didn’t stop so this time she yelled it. “Hey, arsehole, I’m talking to you.” Darcy’s feet faltered, and he came to an abrupt stop. The man walking up behind him crashed into his back and muttered a curse which Darcy ignored. Eliza waited. She hoped he’d turn around and look for her, but if he didn’t, she would run after him. Something about Jane’s words and watching time tick by struck a chord in Eliza. She didn’t know if this man could be more than a friendly acquaintance, but something was telling her to find out. Darcy turned to face her, his eyes finding hers through the throng of people walking around them on the pavement. He stared at her for what felt like an age, but was likely a few seconds, no readable emotions on his face, and then with purposeful strides he cut through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. When he was less than an arm’s length away, he stated simply, “You called.” But Eliza could see the hope flickering briefly through his gaze as he searched her face. “I don’t want to marry you,” she stated with a straight face. “Just because my sisters like the taste of wedding cake, doesn’t mean I will follow suit.” Darcy’s lips twitched, but he let her continue. “And I don’t want to go into business with you.” “Then what do you want?” he asked, his mouth curving in delight at the forthright woman before him. “A kiss and a drink would be a good start,” she declared boldly. “In which order?” Eliza didn’t answer. She preferred show and tell. She took the step forward and into his arms, lifted her head, and without hesitation took his lips with hers. It wasn’t a sweet brush of lips. It wasn’t a tentative hello. It was a full-blown movieesque kiss of epic proportions, right there on the street with people milling around them all oblivious to the fact that Eliza’s world had shifted on its axis with just one kiss. She pulled back and looked at him through heavy eyelids. “Now you owe me a drink.”

“And then?” “Then you can show me how you worship a queen.”

“LOVE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Wick asked, the cuffs on his wrists biting into his flesh as he wiggled on the bed. Lydia licked lower. “We need to get to the office,” he groaned. “Smith is coming in today to go over our plans for expansion.” “I know,” she cooed, her talented mouth nipping and sucking and biting. “Then release me so I can get dressed. We’ve already had our fun this morning.” Lydia placed a chaste kiss on the tip of his erection, and Wick bucked his hips, a low moan leaving his throat. Then she stood, rearranged her pencil skirt and walked over to the full-length mirror to check her make up. “Lydia,” Wick warned. “Give me the keys. You’ve had your fun.” Lydia reapplied her siren red lipstick, smacked her lips together and then turned to her husband with a perfect pout. “I’ll be back a little later, love.” She looked down at his bobbing member. “If that’s still hard when I get back I promise to put it to good use.” She bent down to grab her bag, and slowly rose, giving Wick an eyeful of her perfectly round rear. “Lydia, this is not fucking funny. I set up that meeting with Smith, he’s expecting me.” “I’ll send him your regards, love,” she offered with a feline smile before sashaying to the doorway. “Oh, and next time, don’t go behind my back making deals with my company. This—” she motioned to his naked and spread-eagle body “—is a reminder that I own you husband, not the other way around.” And then she was gone with a parting wink and a saucily blown kiss. Wick groaned and thrashed for a full thirty minutes, yelling at his wife to release him, but he knew she was already gone. The woman was going to be the death of him—literally. Wick looked down at his still aroused body and said in a rasp, his voice hoarse from all the shouting, “But what a way to go.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to be a little indulgent with this book and who went, “Yes. Do it!” when I said I wanted to write a Pride and Prejudice inspired story with a twist. You see, Mr Darcy was my very first book boyfriend, and I’ve swooned over him for thirty years. Now, those that know me also know that when it comes to film adaptations there is only ONE Fitzwilliam Darcy and that honour goes to the delectable Colin Firth. So, Colin, on behalf of women the world over, thank you for donning Darcy’s breeches and thank you for getting all slippery and wet in that lake.

I always worry I’ll miss someone out in when I write this part, so I’m just going to say, to ALL my author friends, you are my rock stars, and I thank you for your support, your friendships, your advice and the beautiful words you bestow upon the world.

To the crazy ladies in my reader’s group ‘E’s Elite’. All the best people are bonkers, and you lot are, but in the best way possible. Thank you for your support, your friendships and your random posts that often require me to pull out my bottle of eye bleach. You guys get me through hard times and celebrate through the good times.

HUGE thanks to my Ah-mazing beta readers. Sharon - #GoatQueen, Nicola - #TVT, Alexandra - #TeaserQueen, Diane - #ARCQueen, and Karen - #LubeQueen. Your support is unending, and you put up with more than just my crappy first drafts.

Special thanks to Beth Cranford, from Panda & Boodle, for once more handling all things promo related. I’m honoured to call you a friend.

To all the blogs that not only read and review, but recommend, pimp, and promote me, and for no other reason than they love to do so. BIG SWS for you always.

To my ultimate author crush, Jane Austen, please forgive me for bastardising one of your works, but please believe I did so with much love. You are the queen, and I’m merely a pauper (not even a princess). If ever there was a poster child for girl power, it’s you. Finally, for you, the readers. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for your passion, your reviews and your support of authors by legally buying our books. Bookworms will rule the world!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eli Carter lives in Cardiff, South Wales. The home of castles, dragons and folklore.

Her family joke that she was born with a book in her hand, and the urge to write stories soon followed. At eleven, she won her school’s literary prize. At ages fourteen to sixteen - her poetry phase after falling in love with Dylan Thomas and e.e. cummings - she had a few poems published, but life, love and family overtook her dreams, and she was in her thirties before she began the scary journey of self-publishing.

Her debut and internationally best-selling series, ‘Love by Numbers’, are a set of interconnected stand alone romances, all with varying themes of love. From second-chance to romantic comedy and M/M romance. These stories do not need to be read in order, in fact, she is often guilty of advising readers to start at the last book and work their way back through. Contemporary romance is not the only genre she writes, her second series, ‘The Red Order’, is as dark and twisted as you can get, but there is beauty there too if you can open your eyes and look.

With many more stories bursting to be set free, she hopes you stay along for the ride. She loves to connect with readers, so please feel free to friend/follow her on Facebook, IG and Twitter or join her reader’s group, E’s Elite <3

Goodreads Website Facebook www.escarter.com [email protected]



ALSO BY E S CARTER Love by Numbers series Nineteen Twenty One Three (stand alone) Thirteen (stand alone) One (M/M stand alone) Eight (stand alone)

Red Order series Feyness Parasight

The Proof is the Way it Hurts (M/M Novella)