Teri Wilson - Unleashing Mr Darcy

“A judging change?” Elizabeth’s gaze darted to the ring, but it was empty.

“Yes. Some visiting judge we’ve never heard of before.”

Another of the exhibitors nodded and murmured behind her hand. “Rumor has it he’s from England.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. Why were they whispering? The judge, whoever he was, wasn’t even there yet. For once she was relieved to be the new kid on the block. She wasn’t familiar enough with the judges to care one way or another if there was a judging change.

Simple curiosity propelled her to the giant white clipboard posted at the steward’s table beside the entrance to the ring. She glanced at the top of the board, where the scheduled judge’s name had been marked through with a bold, black line. Directly beneath it, simple block letters spelled out the name of the replacement.

Mr. Donovan Darcy.

Elizabeth lifted a brow.

Donovan Darcy. What kind of name is that?

A rich one, by the sound of it.

Plumbers and auto mechanics didn’t name their kids Donovan. Elizabeth had worked at one of the most prestigious private schools in Manhattan long enough to learn a thing or two about blue bloods. Thus she knew good and well that a man named Donovan Darcy wouldn’t have dirt under his fingernails.

She scrunched her face in disgust. Grant Markham had finely manicured hands, but that didn’t make him any less dirty.

“Donovan Darcy” came a clipped British whisper over her shoulder. “Aren’t we lucky?”

Elizabeth turned around to find the voice belonged to an older woman decked out in a matching tweed skirt and jacket. Rather than leading a dog around on a leash, she pushed a stack of four crates on wheels. Scruffy terrier faces peered out from the wire doors. The kind smile that reached all the way to the woman’s eyes told Elizabeth her comment was sincere.

She smiled back. “Lucky? How so?”

“He’s a breeder judge. His dogs are legendary. Haven’t you heard of Chadwicke Kennels? The big country estate out in Derbyshire?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just shook her head and made a few clucking noises before continuing. “What am I thinking? Of course you haven’t. This is America. I keep forgetting.”

Elizabeth could only laugh. “You keep forgetting?”

“Yes.” She waved a hand toward a red-faced man organizing a stack of armbands at a grooming table. “My husband’s company expanded last year. For fourteen months now we’ve been flitting back and forth between home and America. I’m afraid it’s beginning to wear me down. Sometimes I forget where I am entirely.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re in New Jersey.” Elizabeth offered her hand. “I’m Elizabeth.”

“Sue. Sue Barrow.” She nodded toward her husband, still at the grooming table, huffing and puffing while struggling with a wad of rubber bands. “And that’s my dear Alan. Poor thing. He’s not terribly fond of dog shows.”

Elizabeth nodded her understanding. Alan looked about as thrilled to be there as Jenna had before she’d made her escape to Starbucks.

She swiveled her gaze back to the posted judging schedule. “So, what were you saying about this mysterious Mr. Darcy?”

“Oh, yes.” A faint flush rose to Sue’s cheeks. “He’s wonderful. His kennel has excellent bloodlines.”

For some reason, Elizabeth doubted that rosy glow had much to do with his kennel’s bloodlines. “What kind of dogs does he breed? Terriers?”

Sue’s flush intensified. She fanned herself with a copy of the show catalog. “He’s here.”

A tall gentleman with a ramrod-straight spine strode past them and into the ring. His presence brought with it a flutter to Elizabeth’s heart. She tightened her grip on Bliss’s leash and tried to tell herself it was a simple case of preshow jitters. Bliss looked up at her with a crease in her furry brow. Even the dog seemed to know Elizabeth was kidding herself.

Mr. Darcy was handsome. Sweaty-palms, forget-how-to-breathe handsome. Apparently, his dogs weren’t the only genetic-lottery winners.

Elizabeth made an attempt to take a deep, calming breath and willed herself not to look at his intense, dark eyes or his broad shoulders, shown off to perfection with the tailored cut of his suit jacket. It wasn’t easy. Everything about the man was captivating. Noble, even. Which, when she thought about it, really should have disgusted her. She’d been right, after all. Mr. Darcy was clearly wealthy. What kind of person jetted all over the globe to judge dog shows?

Good grief. He was rich, imposing and handsome enough to cause heart palpitations. Next to Elizabeth, Sue’s fanning arm had gone into overdrive.

Life just wasn’t fair.

Of course, Elizabeth had learned that lesson long ago. And, just in case it slipped her mind, the recent Markham incident had served as a painful reminder.

“You’re up,” Sue whispered.

The comment barely registered in Elizabeth’s consciousness. She blinked. Somehow she was once again staring at Mr. Darcy. She must have also been hallucinating because he seemed to be staring back at her. All the breath whooshed out of her lungs. His intensity was almost crippling when it was aimed directly toward her, even though it was only in her imagination.

“Elizabeth,” Sue hissed. “You’re up.”

The older woman gave her a shove, and she stumbled forward. Bliss let out a little yip as Elizabeth tripped over her and slammed into Mr. Darcy’s impressive chest. It seemed he’d not only actually been staring at her, but he’d also taken several steps in her direction.

Horrified, Elizabeth backed up. “I’m so sorry, Your Honor. I mean, sir...um, Mr. Darcy.” Too mortified to look him in the eye, she aimed the words at his tie. It was royal-blue, by all appearances silk, and likely cost more than Elizabeth’s entire ensemble. Shoes included.

The tie rose and fell with his irritated sigh. “Cavalier King Charles spaniel puppy number eight?”

“Yes, that’s us.”

“The steward has been calling you for two full minutes. Is something preventing you from entering the ring?”

Your exquisite bone structure? “No. I’m sorry. I was a bit...distracted.”

“Would you care to enter the ring now, or do you require an engraved invitation?” His smooth voice and the beauty of his British accent did little to soften the blow of his sarcasm.

Once she got over the initial shock, Elizabeth was almost grateful for his rudeness. At least he was no longer perfect. He was a man, just like any other.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Even then she almost had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. A wasted effort, since he appeared to look right through her.

“That won’t be necessary,” she whispered.

“Then by all means...” He waved her through the white lattice ring gates with a flourish.

Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. The other judges she’d encountered since she’d begun showing Bliss had all been friendly. Or civil, at the very least. With only three strides of his long legs, Mr. Darcy was halfway across the ring. Even at that distance, Elizabeth could still feel the frosty chill emanating from his every pore.

What is his problem?

All she could reason was that, unlike Sue, Mr. Darcy was fully cognizant that he was in New Jersey rather than his posh country estate in England. And he appeared none too pleased with this realization.

“Number eight?” From his place in the center of the ring, Mr. Darcy tapped his foot. Bliss watched it with rapt attention. “If it’s not a bother...that is, if you aren’t too distracted, could you take your dog around the ring?”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what happened in the next instant, other than that she’d finally reached her breaking point. After all she’d been through, she couldn’t tolerate breathing the same air as another arrogant, wealthy man. Even one who looked more like a god than a mere mortal.