“Mmm,” Elizabeth replied, tossing her arms around his neck and pulling his face to hers. “I do like the way you think.”
She felt the cool panelling at her back and the reassuring weight of him in front of her, his breath warm against her cheek. The kiss he gave her was brief and bright, a spark rather than a blaze, and it made something low in her stomach turn over in the most agreeable way. She was aware, absurdly, of the faint draught from the tall window and of the whisper of his laugh when she tugged him closer by the collar.
Of course Georgiana had contrived it. Elizabeth ought to be annoyed on principle, but it was difficult to muster indignation with Darcy’s mouth returning to hers, patient and then not.
“Mitigating circumstances,” he murmured, as if drafting their alibi against her skin.
She smiled into the kiss. “Purely procedural.”
His hand settled at her waist, careful, then certain, and she felt, as she often did with him, that curious mixture of safety and excitement. She slid her hands to Darcy’s jaw and took one last, thorough kiss for the road. Research, really. One mustn’t file a report without adequate evidence.
She let the kiss ebb, softening until it was more punctuation than sentence, and touched her forehead to his. “I believe our findings are . . . conclusive,” she whispered, smiling.
He huffed a laugh against her mouth. “Replicable results.”
Elizabeth smoothed his collar; Darcy brushed his thumb along her jaw. She drew a steadying breath. “I suppose we should resume the search for Georgiana’s imaginary glasses and maintain the illusion.”
“Naturally,” he said, offering his hand. She laced her fingers with his. He squeezed once, and together they left the alcove.
They were pretending to search the shelf in the small storage cupboard under the stairs—why anyone would leave glasses there, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine—when they heard a series of distinctly suspicious sounds. “What was that?” she asked.
Darcy tilted his head, listening. “It sounded like . . . rummaging?”
They looked at each other with dawning understanding.
“Waffles,” Elizabeth said, closing her eyes.
They found the dog in Darcy’s room, having somehow gained access to a neatly organized suitcase and redistributed its contents. Toiletries were scattered across the Persian rug like confetti. Judging by the mounds of golden hair, a few of Darcy’s expensive shirts had been rolled on. And Waffles was now greeting them from inside the suitcase with a happy look and a thumping tail that suggested he was at peace with his life choices.
Elizabeth sighed. “I swear I brush that dogeveryday.”
Darcy stared at the carnage for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh.
It started as a small sound like a chuckle but grew into something open and helpless that transformed his entire face. Elizabeth felt the knot in her shoulders loosen as she watched him survey his destroyed belongings with nothing but amusement.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, but his laughter was contagious. “I’ll pay for cleaning, or replacement, or—”
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head and waving a hand at Waffles. “It’s just . . . look at him. He’s such a little terror, but he’s so happy about it.”
Elizabeth knelt to extract Waffles from the suitcase, then began gathering scattered items. “Let me help you repack. It’s the least I can do.”
Darcy’s packing system was as meticulous as she’d expected. Everything had its place, clothes were folded with sharp creases, toiletries organized by some system she couldn’t decipher but found oddly touching.
She wanted to talk to him about the headphones. Given the kissing, maybe she was working herself up over nothing. Or maybe he thought they were just having a good time.
Argh. This was driving her mad. She opened her mouth to speak.
“William! Elizabeth!” Georgiana’s voice drifted up from downstairs. “Have you found them?”
They looked at each other across the half-repacked suitcase, and Elizabeth saw her own frustration reflected in Darcy’s expression. Every time they got close to having an actual conversation, the universe seemed determined to interrupt.
“We should go down,” she said.
“Yes.”
They returned to the drawing room to find Georgiana perched on the sofa, a small tower of presents arranged before her as though Waffles’s earlier romp had never happened. Athena lay nearby, sphinx-like, one paw resting protectively on a neatly wrapped box as though daring anyone to take it.
“Finally,” Georgiana said, all wide-eyed innocence. “I was beginning to worry the glasses had eaten you both alive.”
