Undressing Mr. Darcy (16 page)

Just as Vanessa reached his knee, the doorman buzzed at the intercom.

Julian stood, clasping his pants together and sidestepping toward Vanessa’s bathroom. “I think I’ve got it from here. Thank you, Vanessa, for releasing me. Now, I’ll get into my breeches and cravat, and pack not just the books I’m selling but also the books I’m reading for leisure. Then I’ll be all ready for Indianapolis.” He looked at his watch. “Although it is nearly teatime. I would fancy a tea.”

Him and his books—his tea—his—him! She buried her head in her hands. The sad thing was that tea sounded good to her, too. Tea!

“Miss Roberts? Are you in?” asked the doorman.

“Yes, I’m here, Chris.”

“You have two ladies down here to see you. They say they’re all ready to go with you to Louisville? A Sherry Pajowski and a Lexi Stone?”

Vanessa shot a glance at Aunt Ella. “Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?”

“Vanessa, if you don’t escort our Mr. Darcy to Louisville, I will.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Paul said.

“You see. This is what happens when you get a good, strong man in your life.” She looked at Paul and smiled. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Vanessa laughed. “Well, then. Look out, Louisville, here comes Mr. Darcy and entourage.”

C
hapter 9

O
utside of Indianapolis, after a hugely successful book signing, both Lexi and Sherry had fallen asleep in the backseat.

Moths, drawn to the headlights, splattered on the windshield as Vanessa and Julian endured flatlands, cornfields, and an increasing awareness of their proximity to each other in the dark.

Julian tried to read his book, but there wasn’t enough light anymore. Only their path on the GPS system offered the faintest glimmer.

“You know there are these things called e-readers and tablets and phones, and they light up so you can read in the dark?” Vanessa smiled.

“It’s not the same. I prefer the heft of a book.” He lifted the book and set it down on his lap. “It’s the smell of it.” He opened the book and breathed it in with a satisfied sigh. “The turn of the pages.” He turned a few pages, running his fingers gently down the length of each page.

Out of the corner of her eye Vanessa watched him. Only he could make turning the pages of a book
sexy
.

“I like to know exactly where I’m at in a book. Am I halfway? Three-quarters? To me it’s not just the reading, but the tactile, sensory experience.” He rested the palms of his hands on the leather book cover.

Vanessa’s mind turned to other tactile, sensory experiences, and she wished she could shut those thoughts down as easily as turning off a reading gadget.

“There’s something on the horizon,” Julian said, breaking the silence.

It was the Midwest at night, and there was nothing on the horizon—ever. “Even I have to admit there’s nothing on the horizon, Julian. You’re hallucinating. Why don’t you take a nap?”

“No, look. Perhaps you see them? Colored lights?”

“Must be another alien abduction. Or maybe they’re making crop circles.”

It turned out to be a Ferris wheel all lit up and turning, signaling a county fair. She’d been to a county fair once, with her parents, before the divorce. “Hey, you’re right. There is something there. It’s a Ferris wheel.”

“Might we go for a ride?”

“Julian. We’re here on business. You have a big day tomorrow.”

He folded his arms, clenched his jaw, and stared straight ahead.

She laughed. “Are you brooding? I don’t go for brooding. Unlike all the women we’re about to meet at the Jane Austen Festival in Louisville, I’m not into the brooding-hero thing.”

“Mr. Darcy doesn’t brood.”

“Really,” she said.

The Ferris wheel came into clear sight now, along with pink, yellow, blue, and green lights highlighting the other carnival rides, and Vanessa could almost smell the cotton candy and kettle corn.

Julian sighed.

“Okay. Okay. We’ll go for a ride. And maybe eat a funnel cake. Have you ever been to a county fair?”

“Not since I was a child.”

She knew so little about his life, and it all seemed so vague to her. Did he have any siblings? What were his parents like? Did he grow up in London or a village? What did he study in college? Had he ever been engaged or—married?

Still, she didn’t dare say a word because now Sherry began to move around, and she didn’t want either one of them to wake up. So when she saw the sign and the turnoff for the fair, she just turned toward it and wasn’t even sure why. It would set them back at least an hour, and that would mean they’d pull into the hotel past midnight.

Without saying a word, she and Julian left Lexi and Sherry asleep in the backseat, she locked the car doors, and off they went past the sign that read
MONSTER TRUCK RALLY 9:00 P.M.
—try explaining that one to a foreigner—toward the admission booth, where more than one person stopped to look at Julian’s Regency coat, breeches, and boots.

“Deep-fried Pepsi? We’re trying it!” Vanessa said after she took a picture of him in front of the Butter Cow, a cow sculpted out of five hundred pounds of unsalted butter in the dairy barn. She posted the picture and:

500 pounds of butter and Mr. Darcy . . . Does it get any better? Soon to be #UndressingMrDarcy @ #JaneAustenFestivalLouisville

“Would you like deep-fried Pepsi or would you prefer a deep-fried candy bar, Oreo cookie, or Twinkie?” Vanessa asked him in front of the deep-fry stand.

“What’s a Twinkie?”

Well, since he didn’t know what a Twinkie was, there wasn’t much point in eating a deep-fried one, so she bought him a deep-fried candy bar and the deep-fried Pepsi for herself. “We’ll share.”

“Much obliged,” he said, not very convincingly.

“Come on, Julian, it’s America—on a stick.”

Children’s laughter surrounded them, as did twinkling fairground lights and fiddle music, and even with the distant sound of chain saws buzzing for the giant-pumpkin-carving contest, Vanessa thought this one moment was perhaps more romantic than anything she’d experienced in the past year, at least.

Julian fed her a bite of the candy bar and she fed him a piece of the deep-fried Pepsi.

He tried not to wince. “It must be . . . an acquired taste. And my boots seem to be stuck to the ground in some sort of—”

“Cotton candy,” Vanessa said. “Or is it pink kettle corn? Hard to tell in this light.”

She had to laugh at him checking out the bottoms of his boots, the poor guy!

She tossed the rest of their deep-fried candy bar and Pepsi in the trash can.

“It’s a shame,” Julian said.

“The food or throwing it away?” Vanessa smiled.

“Both, to be brutally honest.”

“You’d better watch out or I’ll sign you up for the cherry-pie-eating contest. There’s no better time to go on a ride, though, than after eating something deep-fried.” Vanessa led him toward the salt-and-pepper shaker.

“Must we?”

“Unless you’re afraid, of course.”

“I’m not afraid. ‘Bring it on,’ as you would say.”

Vanessa walked right past the giant-pumpkin-carving contest (with chain saws) until she realized Julian had stopped to watch. She tugged on his sleeve and led him toward the salt-and-pepper shaker.

He continued to look back at the pumpkin carving. Once they were out of earshot of the chain saws, Vanessa figured he’d never seen anything like it, so she filled him in. “Chain saw carvings are really an art form here in the States,” Vanessa said. “And the medium isn’t just limited to overgrown pumpkins. We Americans also carve ice blocks, wood, and huge chunks of cheese.”

“Such talent. Such—resourcefulness.” Julian smiled as he put his arm around her.

She stopped before getting in line for the ride. Her stomach really did feel a little fluttery—it was either the deep-fried stuff or . . . butterflies?

“On second thought, let’s do the Ferris wheel.”

“Let’s,” Julian said. “After I win your heart at the shooting range over there. I’m quite a good shot.”

“So am I.”

Her phone had been vibrating with calls from Lexi for a while now, but she ignored it.

After three rounds of shooting at rubber duckies, Vanessa won an oversized stuffed pink puppy dog, and Julian lost miserably. Like a true gentleman, though, he offered to carry the thing for her.

At first he set the dog in between them on the Ferris wheel but then he moved it to the side and took her hand.

“It really is beautiful here,” he said as he looked up at the sprinkling of stars in the night sky. He looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek. “You’re beautiful. And you make it all—beautiful.”

She felt so much, there was so much she wanted to tell him, but he began kissing her, and he tasted so good, like salt and something delicious and new that must’ve been his Englishness, and by the time they got to the top of the Ferris wheel they were kissing and groping with a fierce hunger and curiosity that the seat could hardly contain. First the men’s room, now the top of the Ferris wheel? Why did he choose such inconvenient places? Their seat rocked with a rhythmic motion and she ached to be on top of him or under him or—she’d never wanted any man so much before. She couldn’t believe that the breeches, when pressed against her, felt even more revealing than the leather pants. They proved much more of a turn-on. And that cravat! How she wanted to untie it!

She had to admit: she wanted nothing more than to undress Mr. Darcy.

His hands, strong and confident, moved all over her while his boots rubbed against her bare legs. The barrage of sensations, from her tongue to her calves, overwhelmed her.

She slid her hand under his vest while the other ran up the length of his thigh—

“Vanessa! Vanessa!” someone down on the ground was yelling. Once she opened her eyes and unlocked from Julian’s lips, she saw Lexi with her hands on her hips.

Sherry stood next to her, and with two red, white, and blue glow-in-the-dark light sticks, she repeatedly made signals with them as if she were landing a plane. “Come in for the landing,” she joked.

Sherry cracked Vanessa up.

Lexi, however, was something else. “Vanessa! What the hell? Is it middle school date night or what? Get yourself and that boy-in-breeches down here! I need a drink!”

C
hapter 10

V
anessa only wanted to get through this Louisville Jane Austen Festival without getting any closer to Julian. Could she just deliver him safely back to the airport without her ever having removed a stitch of his clothing? Then her job would be done and she could move on with her life.

Or would it serve her better to sleep with him and get him out of her system? The crazy thought crossed her mind as they pulled into the Louisville hotel parking lot just around midnight. She had never really tried sleeping with a man to get over him, but she was willing to consider it. She certainly didn’t want to risk breaking her heart over some man who lived almost five thousand miles away.

Once they checked in, she noticed clusters of people who must have been part of the festival dotting the bar, the common areas, and the elevators. Their bonnets, Jane Austen Festival tote bags, and T-shirts gave them away.

The Jane Austen crowd really did know how to party, and late into the night, too.

They turned and looked at Julian. A few of them recognized him and stepped over to chat. Soon Vanessa, Sherry, and Lexi had been introduced to a smattering of the festival-goers, and many of them, it turned out, knew Aunt Ella.

Up on their floor, another group of festival attendees played whist, a Regency card game, in a seating area close to Vanessa’s room. Sherry and Lexi settled into their shared room, and Vanessa stripped herself down to a tank top and her leopard-print thong. She all but collapsed into bed.

Just as she drifted off to sleep with images of Julian and her on the Ferris wheel dancing in her head, there was a knock on her door.

“What the—” She padded over to the door and looked out the peephole. It was Julian,
in a nineteenth-century-style white nightshirt.

“Good God.” She grabbed her little silk robe and wrapped it around her.

“Vanessa? Are you awake?”

She cracked open the door. “Shh, be quiet, Julian!” He reeked of whiskey. Had Mr. Darcy discovered the minibar? Or had Lexi bought him one too many drinks?

“I must talk to you,” he said.

She looked up and down the hall. Nobody had seen them. And nobody
could
see them like this, in a hotel together, past midnight, him in his flippin’ nightshirt. She wanted fame and book sales for him, not notoriety. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning, Julian.” She tried to close the door, but he stopped her.

“No, it cannot wait. I shall stand here until you let me in.”

Vanessa sighed and opened the door. “Quick, then. Get in here!” She shut the door right behind him and flipped on the lights, only to be blinded by the glare. Once she had rubbed her eyes and adjusted to the light she realized he stood there smiling and gaping at her.

“You look lovely,” he said. “You
are
lovely.”

“And you, my friend, are drunk. And in a nightshirt! I know you have modern clothes—I’ve seen them. Why the nightshirt?”

“It happens to be very comfortable.”

Vanessa put her hands on her hips, but her robe fell open, and she yanked it shut and tied it with resolve. “If you would just use a phone like everyone else on the planet you could text me or call or IM or e-mail—”

“And miss this?” He eyed her up and down as he sunk into the armchair near her bed, staring at her. He crossed his bare legs and she didn’t want to imagine what he did, or didn’t, have on under there.

“Why don’t you use a phone, Julian?
Why?
”

“Must you know?”

“Yes. I must!”

“Have a seat.”

“No, thank you. I’m going to stand.”

“It all started about five years ago, when I was on my way to becoming a professor, and I was like you, Vanessa. All plugged in. Do you know how useful electronic media is to a history professor up to his neck in research?”

“Yes, I can imagine.”

“I had a vast array of social media accounts. Colleagues from all over the world whom I shared information with. And my followings helped build my platform, making me a more appealing candidate for publishers.”

“Go on.”

“Someone else wanted my position, and he got it.”

“How?”

“He hacked all of my accounts, created a false persona, and put together an electronic trail of ‘evidence’ indicating that I’d had indiscretions with several of my female students.”

“What?”

“You’re very vulnerable online. Anybody can bring you to ruination with just a few clicks. You know, I cringe when you post on those locational social media sites exactly where you are and when. At the very least, your apartment could get burgled. After all, you’re announcing to the world you aren’t home.”

Vanessa tried to process all this. “Back to the indiscretion. Was there one?”

“No. But no one gives any regard to the facts. It’s the perception. My reputation was blackened within a fortnight. The university’s choice was clear. Him or me? They chose him.”

“Which university?”

“Oxford.”

“Ouch.”

“Precisely.”

“Why didn’t you fight it?”

“Money, for one thing. Futility, for another. I did the only thing I could. I took down all of my accounts, and with what money I had I hired an online reputation firm to clean up the mess. There is no erasing it—they can only bury the information. There. Now you know.”

“I’m sorry, Julian. I had no idea.”

“I don’t like computers and mobile phones anymore.”

“Of course not.”

“I’ve taken some issue with you splashing me all over cyberspace, but the accounts are all in your name, not mine.”

Vanessa sat down in the desk chair.

“Now I know why I couldn’t find anything on you dating further back than three years.”

“As I said, it’s there. It will never go away. You just have to know how to find it.”

“Do you . . . want me to modify my promotional approach?”

“Oh, no. No. I thought that all through long ago. I really didn’t want to discuss this. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“I’m here because I want to be here. With you.”

“That’s the whiskey talking.”

“No, it’s me talking. Julian. Not the whiskey, and not Mr. Darcy. I want—you.”

She stepped back. “Kentucky whiskey hits you hard if you’ve never had it before.”

“This has taken me by surprise as much as it may be a surprise for you to hear it.”

Vanessa leaned up against the closet. “Julian, it’s late.”

“There’s more. I need to tell you something else.”

Vanessa put her hand up. “I think you’ve revealed enough for one night. You’re drunk, and you may regret what you’ve said already.”

“No regrets. I try to live my life with no regrets. What about you?” He approached, and never in her life had she thought a nightshirt could be hot on a guy. It took all of her willpower to step back, yank open the closet door, and pull out a large gown she planned on using as a prop for his book signing. “You need to get into this gown and bonnet, Julian.”

The look on his face: priceless.

They both burst out laughing.

She held out the gown to him. “Under no circumstances will I let the festival women in the hall see you coming out of my room. You, of all people, don’t want a scandal. It wouldn’t look professional, and it might ruin your book sales tomorrow night.”

“You may be right about that,” he agreed.

“They will see a woman, in a gown and a bonnet, reeking of whiskey. And they won’t see the very hairy legs underneath her gown, either.”

Julian frowned as she marched him into her bathroom to change. When he came out in it, she laughed. He looked absolutely adorable, although the gown didn’t quite button up the back nor reach his ankles. “Light blue is your color.” She tossed a shawl around his shoulders.

“Enjoy. Because you’ll never see me in this again.” With that he took her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue tasting of whiskey, his body masculine even in the gown.

“Have you ever kissed someone in a gown before?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled. “This is a first.”

“Remember what I said to you, because it’s true.”

“Sleep off the whiskey, Julian.”

She put the bonnet on him and tied it tight, so that nobody could see his razor-stubbled face. She made him step into her fuzzy pink slippers. “There. Now off you go.”

She shut the door and through the peephole watched him go to his hotel room with his nightshirt in his hand.

How could a man in a gown possibly have swagger?

She locked every conceivable lock on her door and then propped the desk chair under the doorknob. Would it be enough to keep her from revealing her feelings to him? Could it keep this attraction contained? Her eyes fell on the
DO NOT DISTURB
door hanger she’d forgotten to hang. He’d better not disturb her. She found him charming, but she had to resist or he just might break her heart when he went back to England.

After slipping off her robe she pulled out her tablet, sprawled out on her bed, and did a quick search on how much it would cost to fly to London for the Jane Austen Festival during the week of September fourteenth—if for no other reason than that she would never look at a gown the same way again.

She wasn’t going to buy a ticket. Was she?

* * *

N
o, she didn’t buy a plane ticket.

The next morning, Julian slept off his hangover while she woke to her priorities: Aunt Ella and work, in that order. When she called her aunt to check in, everything was fine. She then posted a few plugs about Julian’s upcoming appearance, prepped for the show that would be capping off the festival that night, and fielded a few things for her other clients from her laptop. In the afternoon she joined Sherry and Lexi at the bare-knuckle boxing event on the green near the festival manor house.

The boxers faced each other, shirtless, in white breeches, one with a red sash tied around his waist, the other with a black sash, both without boxing gloves, bare-knuckled in the Louisville sun.

And she had thought the Regency was all ballroom and no brawl!

Yet, even this spectacle had a genteel air to it on this warm afternoon in the country, on the grounds of a lavish estate. Would her aunt love it here? Yes.

The ringmaster called out various facts while the two fighters prepared to slug it out. “During the Regency,” he said, “a boxing match, called a ‘fancy,’ was much more violent than it is today. Men would often wear spiked shoes. Throwing and kicking were allowed. Just imagine the injuries resulting from such fights. But if a man won, he could acquire a vast sum of money.”

Lexi wore a hunter green archer’s gown complete with quiver and bow while Sherry wore shorts and a pink T-shirt that simply said
Darcylicious
in sumptuous cursive. They were among a large crowd of mostly costumed women (and men, quite a lot of impeccably dressed gentlemen!) gathered at the ring.

Vanessa wore the gown she’d worn to the ball, but Lexi didn’t approve. “That’s a ball gown, Vanessa, not a day gown. And who wears the same gown twice? Only the Jane Fairfaxes of the crowd.”

Vanessa didn’t get it.

“You haven’t read
Emma
, have you?” Sherry asked in a whisper.

“No.”

“Jane Fairfax is the poor girl. The good girl.”

“I see.”

“Nobody cares if you wear a gown twice, though.”

“Thanks, Sherry.”

The dark-haired boxer delivered a resounding punch to the stomach of his lighter-haired rival, and even though it was just a demonstration, Vanessa cringed at the blow while some of the crowd cheered and others booed. She couldn’t help but watch the two men punch and wrestle each other, both sweating and grunting while members of the crowd fanned themselves. It seemed rather brutal, though, without boxing gloves and headgear, and she had to remind herself that, surely, this had to be choreographed. Right?

“Where is our Mr. Darcy?” Lexi asked, unfazed by the fight.

Vanessa took off her gloves and checked the time on her phone. “He should be showering and dressing now. He had to sleep off the hangover you gave him last night by having him pound Kentucky whiskey.”

“He’s a big boy. He could have said no. Do you want my advice about him?” Lexi asked. “As in, him and you?”

“No, thanks,” Vanessa said. She had done quite well until now at not allowing herself to think about it. “He’s a client, he’s my aunt’s friend, and he’ll be back in England in a few days.”

“Excuses. I know you better. You actually want a guy who is a friend to your aunt, and I can tell that’s partially what you like about him.”

Vanessa checked her e-mails.

“He should be here with you right now. A man who has feelings for you, with only a few days left, would chase a girl as amazing as you even with a hangover, a gaping chest wound, and two wooden legs.”

She took the compliment with a large grain of salt. “Thanks, Lexi. It’s cool, okay?”

“Do you know his middle name? If he has any pets?”

“No.” Although now that Lexi mentioned it, what was his middle name? She could find out easily online.

“Good. You don’t want to know too much about him. You don’t want to know his favorite food or his favorite color. And trust me, you don’t want to picture him with a puppy, a tabby cat, or—God forbid—a baby.”