Gently he lowered her down until she was lying on the towel. He lay beside her, and the shock as their bodies met skin to skin dissolved any reserve he had left. It no longer mattered that they were not in private, that Bingley and Jane were just a short distance away and could come upon them at any time, or that their bodies were sticky with salt from the bay. Everything else faded completely from his mind as his hands discovered her most intimate secrets and used that knowledge to steadily increase her arousal. As her body shook with pleasure under the provocation of his touch, he knew this was what he wanted, and he wanted it forever.
Had Calder really been so powerfully focused on her? It was consistent with his behavior, just not with her interpretation of it. Certainly he was a considerate lover, but she had assumed this was basic politeness on his part. But she had never thought him polite. That he would feel so involved in her response as to practically neglect his own came as a revelation.
At least his description of the action bore little physical resemblance to what had passed between them beyond the actual setting. He must have deliberately chosen to alter it. There was no reason to do so for the story. She was fiercely glad he had kept that part of it private between them. That night had been too special— their coming together too magical—to share. It was a relief to finally admit it.
She realized how stiff she had become, hunched over the book as if it held the secrets of the universe. Her universe. It was already dark, and the lights over the pathway outside shone in her window. She got to her feet and shuffled into the hallway, down to the staff lounge. It was late enough that no one else was there. She poured herself a cup of leftover coffee and watered it down substantially with milk. No need to worry about caffeine tonight. She'd be up late. There was no way she'd be able to go to sleep before she finished reading the book.
She was in his room, and he was removing her clothes, and it was so incredibly, unquestionably right. This was how it should be; her mouth belonged underneath his, and her breasts belonged in his hands. When she looked up at him with that mischievous glint in her eyes, he knew he wanted to see that look directed at him every day of his life. Her playfulness enchanted him, and her open, uninhibited response to his touch aroused him beyond his imagination. Her pleasure was like a gift to him, one he could not have enough of, as he sought to tell her with his hands and his body and his mouth all the feelings he could not express in words. And she seemed to enjoy his pleasure and his excitement equally, as if meeting and surpassing his needs was an entertaining challenge for her. Finally, as satisfied desire and passion subsided into exhaustion, she fell asleep in his arms. As he listened to her light breathing, he felt as if he had been given a great gift, one beyond measure. Her spark had brought him to life again. It would be difficult, but they would make it work. If it came down to a choice between his family and Elizabeth, he had no doubt what his choice would be. He had spent enough of his life trying to be someone he was not. Now he intended to live for himself, and that meant being with Elizabeth.
He had never known this sense of connection before, this lightness of being that said he was no longer alone. There had been more than enough women over the years, but never before one who could give him such pleasure just by sleeping beside him. He stroked her hair tenderly, thinking of all the ways he would show her how much she meant to him. Yes, tonight had been for passion and the excitement of discovery; tomorrow would hold more of the same, but there would also be time
for tenderness. A faint smile curved his lips as he drifted gently off to sleep.
Tightness gripped Cassie's throat. She knew what was coming next. After reading his eloquent description of happiness in her, how could she bear what was going to happen? And she had been so completely unaware of it, so wrapped up in her concern for the fragility of her own feelings that she had never stopped to think whether he might have any. If his writing expressed anything of what he had been feeling that night, then she had been unspeakably cruel to him.
Unshed tears blurred her vision. She had been so selfcentered, yet how could she have known that someone like Calder Westing could possibly be interested in her? How could she have known the loneliness and emptiness he was feeling, or how hostile the world appeared to him? He never told her. From this account, he would have felt unable to say something like that, and now he was telling her the only way he could.
When he awoke in the morning, she was gone. For a confused moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream, but then he caught a hint of her scent on the pillow, and his body's memory reminded him of the reality of it. He stretched with a smile, thinking she must have awakened early and was waiting for him downstairs. Eager to see her and to hold her in his arms again, he put on a bathrobe and hurried down.
No one was there, not even Bingley. Puzzled and beginning to worry, he checked the deck and
the porch before discovering a note lying on the kitchen counter.
Will,
I had to be at the lab early this morning and didn't want to disturb you.
I helped myself to a bagel and OJ—hope that was
okay.
Elizabeth
His first thought was relief to know where she was, followed closely by disappointment. He wanted to see her, to be with her. Well, he would go be with her, if she could not be with him. He showered quickly with the resolve to go immediately to the lab, and it was not until he was partway dressed that it occurred to him perhaps she would not want that.
He read her note again, and this time saw what was missing from it instead of what was there. There was no endearment, no sign of affection, no suggestion of seeing him or talking to him in the future. It was a note she could have left for a casual acquaintance. A sick feeling settled to the pit of his stomach. Could she possibly have regretted what happened between them? She seemed so pleased and content at the time, but was there more he didn't know? Could there be a man at home she had never mentioned?
A feeling akin to panic ran through him. He had to see her now, had to feel the reassurance of her presence; it was the only thing that would stop these racing doubts. But what if she did not want to be interrupted at work? Perhaps he was reading far too much into a simple note. Perhaps she was just uncomfortable expressing personal sentiments in writing, but he was now uncertain enough of himself not to want to risk upsetting her. No, he decided, he would wait, and she would no doubt call at some point. Maybe she needed some time alone to think through what happened. Certainly it was a profound change for both of them, and if she needed a little time, he would give it to her. His calm resolve lasted only a few hours. There had been no word from Elizabeth, and he could not bear it any longer. Perhaps she was waiting to hear from him. He went to the phone and found Bingley's list of numbers, leafing through it until he found the listing for "Jane @ lab." Quickly, he dialed it. As soon as he heard Elizabeth's voice, something in him relaxed and was happy again. "Elizabeth, it's Will. I was wondering whether you'd like to have dinner tonight."
"Sorry, but I can't. I've got a lot of work here." He wondered if she were perhaps feeling shy and needed some convincing. "How about if I bring dinner to you, then?"
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to work straight
through. Thanks anyway." Was that coolness in
her voice, or was he imagining it?
"Maybe tomorrow, then?"
He heard her sigh. "Look, Will, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you don't owe me anything for last night. It was just something that happened." Stung, he retorted, "I'm not trying to pay you for it. I thought it might be nice to spend a little time together."
"It's very nice of you, but it's unnecessary. Look, I need to go, okay?"
He felt unable to breathe. "If that's what you want, then."
"Yes. Thanks for asking, though, Will. Take care." "You too," he said automatically, just before hearing her hang up.
For quite some time, he felt nothing but numbness. He recognized her message. He had been the one to
give it often enough in the past to women who were interested in more than he wanted to give. He had never spent a great deal of time thinking about how they felt, beyond trying to do it as gently as possible because he did not want to hurt anyone's feelings. Of course, he was sure Elizabeth had tried to avoid hurting his feelings as well. Unfortunately, that was impossible. She had stolen all his feelings away.
He had never been the one to be left behind before. For so many women, it was enough that he was rich and came from a famous family. That was all they wanted. But whatever it was Elizabeth wanted, he did not possess it.
The hurt did not begin until he went up to his room that night. She had only been there for a few hours, but the memory of her filled his room—her teasing smile, her laughter, her agile hands and warm body that seemed to accept him into it so gladly. But it was just a bit of fun for her, a release of tension, perhaps, nothing more. And he had been prepared to give up almost anything for her sake. He buried his face in his hands, feeling once again what it was to be unnecessary, unaccepted, and unloved. It was a position with which he was quite familiar.
Cassie could no longer control her tears. She couldn't separate out how much of her was hurting for the character of Darcy as Calder had created it and how much was hating herself for what she had done. If he had written this as a punishment to her, he couldn't have done a better job. But she knew better than that. From what little she did know of his character, cruelty wasn't part of it. No, this was raw, naked honesty, and it hurt.
If only she could stop reading. But she had to know what happened next, or rather, how much worse it would get. She already knew what was going to happen.
By the next morning, he was angry. He was angry that he had slept poorly, haunted by Elizabeth's ghost; he was angry with Bingley for coming downstairs whistling after Jane left for the day; and most of all he was angry at Elizabeth for leading him on and then giving him the brush-off. If she wanted nothing to do with him, why had she come into his arms and made love with him as if there were no one else in the world? Why had she given no indication that it meant nothing to her? Why could she not even be bothered to have dinner with him? Surely that was not too much to ask, that she let him down gently?
His resentment was fueled through the day by several strong drinks. By midafternoon, the combination of sleeplessness and alcohol overcame him, and he dozed off at his desk. Bingley woke him by pounding on the door at dinnertime. Darcy kept a grim silence during the meal, speaking only enough to keep his friend from becoming suspicious. Afterwards he went out onto the porch, yet another drink in his hand, to watch the sunset and brood. He ran through in his head his brief telephone conversation with Elizabeth again and again, letting himself feel her abruptness and unwillingness even to talk. Then, in the midst of his anger, he realized what he had missed earlier. Elizabeth's behavior during the call was out of character. Even when they had first met, when he had been unquestionably rude, she was unfailingly patient and pleasant with him. She never hesitated to take time to explain things to him, even when she was busy. She had never, never been abrupt or dismissive or unwilling to explain herself, not until that phone call.
He knew instinctively this was important, but his clouded mind could not see through the issue. He wanted to find Jane and demand she explain what Elizabeth was doing, but fortunately his good sense prevailed.
Elizabeth was upset, that much was clear. But why? Perhaps she was angry, either with herself or with him, for what happened; perhaps she was carried away by the moment and had gone further than she could be comfortable with, for some reason. Perhaps a commitment to someone else? No, that he could not believe. Or maybe it was a moral position; though she had obviously not been a virgin, it was equally obvious it had been some time since she had taken a lover. But she seemed so down to earth about it. That did not make sense either. Or… the realization suddenly hit him. He had made the mistake that any intelligent teenager knew to avoid. He had not thought about protection. It never even crossed his mind. Now that was something that would upset Elizabeth. She would have no tolerance, either for herself or anyone else, with that kind of carelessness.
He felt a huge sense of relief at having found an explanation. For a few minutes, all he could do was look blindly at the sunset and breathe deeply. Anger or anxiety: those were only stumbling blocks, not a brick wall. They could be worked through. He was impatient to fix things with her, but it would have to be tomorrow. He should talk to her in person; they had not done well on the telephone, and he should not be driving now. Not to mention the conclusions she would draw if he appeared unexpectedly at her cottage at night! No, it would have to wait until the morning, but now he could wait, now that it was no longer hopeless.
Despite his fatigue and the effects of alcohol, he awoke early and immediately readied himself to go to Elizabeth. Jane had said Elizabeth was often in the lab before anyone else, and he would prefer to talk to her when there were fewer people around. He walked down the Penzance Point road toward town, enjoying the early morning chill and solitude, filled with hope and energy. He would find a way to make it all right for her, and then they could be together.
Cassie braced herself for what was coming. He described his visit to her lab evocatively, his hopes as he arrived dashed by the coldness he met with from her. He had shown so little that day of what he was feeling, or had she simply not been looking?
Elizabeth rested her hand on her microscope. "I really don't have time for this kind of thing in my life right now; I have to focus on my work and getting tenure."
His heart sank. No time. That was the one reason he had not expected to hear from her; he could not say why he had not expected it, as he had certainly heard it often enough in his life. Work always came first for the people he loved—it came ahead of family time, it came ahead of playtime, it came ahead of any desire to understand him. Unconsciously, he put back on the mask of formality he used to cover pain.
It was over. There was no point in arguing it. There was no reason to hope for sympathy just because he felt ripped apart. Still, there was one thing he still needed to say, and perhaps it might leave a door open. "All right, I can accept that. But if I can take another minute of your time," that precious time, he thought "I just want to say that I know I was irresponsible. I'm not used to doing that kind of thing on the spur of the moment either, and I wasn't prepared, or even thinking. But if there are any… consequences, I hope you'll tell me. I wouldn't want to be left out of it, no matter what decision you made."
She looked at him for a moment, and then realization dawned over her face. Unpleasant realization, it was obvious. "There's nothing to worry about."
It was as if the woman before him was a completely different person from the one he had thought he knew, and it left him feeling helpless. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you." She looked down at her papers on the bench. "I'm fine." It was a patent lie. "I'm just worried about my work."
"I guess I'll leave you to it, then. Good luck with your paper." He could not quite bring himself to say good-bye.
"Thank you." Her voice was firm, but when she looked up at him, he saw a trace of the woman he loved in her eyes. "Good-bye, Will." She could have no idea how much it hurt him to see it. Without another word, he turned and left. So much for that dream. It was nice while it lasted, the idea that a woman could value him for himself and not for his name or his money. But it was not realistic. There would be plenty of women who would be willing to put up with him for the material advantages he could offer, and he would have to settle for that.
His writing always had the power to move her, and this was agonizing. She had been so angry that day. She had done it again, put the worst possible interpretation on everything he said and treated him badly when he meant well. And she had failed completely to recognize how vulnerable he was.
She couldn't stop crying, and the worst was yet to come. This was going to be nothing compared to the Christmas party. And he had been so kind to he
r the day they met in Woods Hole, though she couldn't have deserved it less.
The book continued, telling the story of Darcy's return to New York and how he plunged himself into activities in an attempt to forget her. It turned to bitterness when Bingley reentered the picture.
Bingley was in New York for a meeting, and arranged to meet Darcy for lunch while he was there. They met at an elegant restaurant where Darcy was fairly certain they would be untroubled by celebritywatchers. He was surprised at the difference in his friend's appearance since he had seen him last, just six weeks earlier. He looked a little thinner, but more than that, his mouth had a turn of discontent atypical of the usually cheerful Bingley.
Darcy knew he had only to wait for Bingley to raise the topic of whatever was bothering him. The appetizers had not even arrived when he was proven correct. "I saw Jane last weekend," said Bingley.
Darcy buttered his roll. "How is she?" He did not particularly want to talk about Jane; the less they said about anything that reminded him of Elizabeth, the better, but it was the issue on Bingley's mind, and there was no avoiding it.