Page 35 of All For You

I was supposed to stay annoyed. I was. But how was anyone meant to maintain a bad mood when the universe threw a live thirst trap directly into your line of sight?

My gaze rose to his face. A corner of his mouth kicked up and his eyes glittered with amusement. Oh shit, I didn’t realize he’d seen me staring.

I saw Harry filming us.

“Oodles, where are you?” I called, theatrically curving a hand over my eyes and rotating as if I were atop the mast of a tall ship.See? Not looking your way, self-absorbed Darcy person.

He kept on with his stupid grinning and nodded to his side. Oodles and Max were right beside him. For once, not running around. For once, being obedient.

“Jeez, did you see that? That guy is ripped,” Emma said. “Yoo-hoo! We’re over here, Knightley.” She taunted him with a wave. “Toss that bale…any old time. We’re up here twiddling our thumbs, waiting for you.”

Knightley grabbed another hay bale. “If you spent more time doing your own job, Emma Woodhouse, instead of getting on my arse, this might go faster.”

“Believe me, I am nowhere near your arse.”

Emma glared at him. He glared back.

I caught Darcy’s face, and he gave me a grin, like we were coconspirators now. I smiled back, momentarily forgetting I didn’t like him, then quickly turned away.

“I suppose he is ripped,” I said, referring to her previous comment about Darcy. “He probably spends a ridiculous amount of time in the gym. And I’m sure he has a personal trainer, so…”

I realized I was describing Emma too.

“You’ve got to admit, he’s hot in a repressed way,” she argued. “Ultimate Englishman.”

A cold stone lodged in my stomach at her words. Surely notjealousy?

“Are you interested in Darcy?” I asked.

She gave me an exaggerated side-eye. “As bloody if. Why would I want a boyfriend? My life is perfect without a man. But as an objective observer, I might be helping you see his finer points.” She swung up her arms as a bale crashed up on the truck bed.

“You don’t have to help me,” I protested. “And especially not with that man.”

“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble.” She inspected her pretty nails and arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I have a gift I need to honor.”

Emma had engineered a romance between her childhood nanny and a family friend, and they were now engaged. She was proud of her new self-appointed role as matchmaker.

“I’ve watched you two together. There’s something between you,” Emma said slyly, as though she hadn’t listened to a word I’d said about him.

She was clearly mistaken. This was her thinking one match made her a gifted cupid…but with Chanel-linking C’s.

The first night I’d met Darcy, he’d insulted me as soon as he walked through the bloody door. I’d seen mostly disdain on his haughty aristocratic features since, plus his scowling, frowning, and glowering. All the bad-tempered expressions, like they were synonyms for his name. I had the same reaction to the meresound of his voice—turning me down for a dance, belittling my romance writing, bringing it up again as I climbed the stairs for the night, saying I was being passive-aggressive about the cooking plans.

There were those times, though, when I’d been intrigued. With the dogs. Shopping with him. That moment at the window in the early hours of the morning. His surprising helpfulness with this painful farming activity. But those appealing, likable moments felt few and far between.

“We clashed immediately,” I said, more annoyed than I should be. “We are exact opposites. You know me. I love walking in the forest for hours with Oodles. Darcy is all about strict training.”

Oodles bounded around Darcy, who rewarded him with a huge scratch and a grin, and both dogs bounced off down the field, as if all conspiring to contradict me.

I sighed. “The rest of my day, I love to spend writing alone in my little cottage, wrapped in my imagination. Iusedto love that.” A jarring reminder I’d been trying and failing to imagine Peony and Thomas’s story and write on the page. “I hope to love it again soon.”

Why was I even talking about Darcy? I was agitated and needed to make Emma see sense.

“Can you honestly see me as mistress of his enormous place up in Derbyshire?” I went on. “Wearing an evening dress and a diamond necklace and hosting a huge table of people, not being able to speak my mind? Most of the time, I wear ripped jeans and half a tree is stuck in my hair. Giving orders to staff? I can’t even give orders to my dog. Or rather, he doesn’t take my orders.”

“You’re thinking about this all wrong.” Emma looked thoughtful.

“What do you mean?” Now I was intrigued.