Page 102 of All For You

“It’s never going to get that far,” Wills said, hooking his arm through Jane’s elbow. “Partly because we heard Sebastian call Wickham and read him the riot act. Seb clearly has all the legal resources of London at his fingertips, and he knows how to use them. Even I was quaking in my shoes, and Seb is on our side. But then we got the cease and desist with a court stamp, and the judge seemed sympathetic toward Jane. So much so that if Wickham does not hand over those photos by the end of today—or if he harasses Jane or comes near her—he will be fined and subject to jail time.”

A sob escaped my throat. I hugged an equally tearful Jane in relief and then William and Darcy.

“Thank you, Darcy,” Jane said. “I’m so sorry I misjudged you.”

“And I misjudged you, which was unforgivable,” Darcy said, his brows drawn in a frowning apology.

After Maxand Topaz LeStar were dropped off at the field by Darcy’s assistant, Darcy grabbed his gym bag, and we loaded into his car.

He adjusted the seat to a precise position, even though I was pretty sure he was the only one who’d driven this car, then there was interminable fiddling with mirrors and phone and settings on the dash. We set off. I called Mum, who’d heard the good news from Jane. Turned out Mum had to leave my house just before we arrived back. Phew. I’d tell her about Darcy tomorrow.

On the way home, I kept giggling at things I learned about him. He took my teasing in stride and was, in turn, amused at things he did that he’d never thought to question.

The truth was, we’d gotten to know each other much better at Pemberley, but there was still so much to learn. I didn’t know how he drove—aggressively, sardonic comments addressed to Max about drivers who tried to overtake. What music he liked—silence or boring podcasts that had five subtitles. And snacks he enjoyed—no snacking, boo. So there was a lot of teasing from my quarter, which he met with good-natured acceptance.

After two hours, he pulled his car up outside my place—a thatched-roof stone cottage with a garden bursting with roses and flower bushes and lavender, and a grass front lawn that needed mowing and was sprouting daisies. There was no garage because the cottage was so old.

He leaned over and kissed me and squeezed my knee.

Max squealed from the back, maybe sensing Oodles was waiting for him, Topaz joined in, and Darcy let them out. I raced to the front door to let Oodles out. No sooner than I had opened the door, Oodles bounded out and sprinted to Max on my front lawn. They pounced around each other, barking and squealing with glee. Seeing Darcy walk up my front path, his bag in hand, I felt the same unbound rush of love. I ran to him and leaped on him, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“Oh shit,” he cried out in surprise. His head tipped back, and his bag flew into the air.

He toppled backward, but it was in slow motion, his arms winding cartoonishly.

“Bloody hell.” I fell with him. A split-second panic slammed into me at the thought of us hitting the stone path. Instead, we landed in the low prickly hedge, a buffer but a painful one.

“Oh my God,” I said, my face smushed into Darcy’s chest. “I’m so sorry.”

We righted ourselves and rolled onto the grass.

The three dogs bounced around us.

“Are you hurt?” I turned my face to him sprawled beside me, testing all my limbs tentatively.

“No. You?” He plucked a stick out of my hair.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Promise not to do that again.”

“Not outside, but maybe on a soft feather bed.” He rolled over on me. “You’re a menace, you are. Good thing I love you.” His tongue parted the seam of my mouth, and his hands skated all over my body. We ground into each other, my whole body burning for him.

“I want you so much,” I said, tugging at his clothing. “Now.”

A small bark came from nearby, pulling our attention away. The dogs peered down at us.

“It feels like the kids are watching us again,” he said.

I chuckled. “C’mon. I do have an inside, you know.”

He got to his feet and pulled me up too. He stood there for a second, hands on hips, tall and lean and muscled in his sweatsuit and down jacket. He should have made my home look small, he should have looked out of place, but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was looking at him so closely, not from afar, or that we’d been through so much together in so little time and that he’d declared his love for me. My heart bubbled up tooverflowing, him being here, the two of us being together with a future.

“I didn’t get the chance to say I like your house,” he said as he opened my bright-pink front door.

I ushered him in. “It’s small, as you will see. Only two bedrooms. But thanks, I like it too.”

“I love the inside as well,” he said, stepping into the large room—an old kitchen on one side and a living room around a fireplace.

He lingered over the boots and outdoor shoes piled in a wicker basket at the door, wandered over to the kitchen, where he studied the two mugs next to the wildflowers propped on the windowsill. He traced a finger along the blue-and-white artisanal tiles in the beamed kitchen, smiled at the old, wonky wooden floor covered with richly pattered rugs. In the living room, he patted the yellow couches, arranged cozily facing the fire, and pulled out a book from the vintage bookshelves. The room was pretty and light with views out to the meadow, but nothing like his stately home in Derbyshire and, I was certain, less stylish than his apartment in London. Nothing for show. I felt quite nervous as he scrutinized the space.