shoulders, same man.
Same flutter in her belly.
The way he was looking at her, with a twinkle in his eye that could only be described as wicked, told her he’d figured it out, as well.
“Nice dog.” She nodded at the cute little Cavalier at his feet. “Is he yours?”
“Thank you. And yes, he’s mine. His name is Finneus.” He sidestepped a group of women carrying covered casserole dishes who looked as though they were headed toward the little stone church on the corner, then steered Elizabeth and her pack of dogs inside the short wrought-iron fence of one of the townhomes.
Safely out of the way of passersby, Elizabeth gave the dogs a little more slack on their leashes. Bliss went to work sniffing Finneus from head to toe while the Border terriers arranged themselves in a neat row. Rose and Hyacinth—in bookend positions—sat, while Violet and Daisy sank into Sphinx-like downs, with their shaggy legs stretched out straight in front of them.
Mr. Darcy raised his brows. “This is an impressive group you’ve got here. The Borders belong to Sue and Alan Barrow, I presume?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth eyed the terriers with suspicion, as though they were responsible for this surreal situation. “How do you know that?”
“The Barrows are my neighbors.” He bent to give Bliss a pat, and she flipped on her back at once, eager for his attention. Elizabeth glared at her. The traitor. “I know your opinion of me could stand some improvement, but believe it or not, I’m not all bad. At the very least, I know my neighbors’ names.”
“Your neighbors? But that’s not possible. You don’t live here.” Elizabeth glanced at the sleek black door behind him with confusion. Granted, she’d watched him emerge from it last night, take his dog for a stroll and return to it. And here he was again, standing in front of it, as if it did indeed belong to him.
But it couldn’t.
Could it?
A trickle of suspicion made its way up her spine.
She looked around, as if some sort of explanation would materialize from thin air. A sleek sports car was parked at the curb, directly in front of Mr. Darcy’s alleged house. It was gunmetal gray. An Aston Martin. Just the sort of car a filthy-rich man like him would own.
“I’m afraid it’s entirely possible. My dog, my door, my house.” Mr. Darcy stood.
She’d forgotten how tall he was. If she took a step or two closer, her head would have tucked neatly under his chin.
Where did that thought come from?
She took a preventative step backward until she bumped into the decorative iron fence with her calves.
“But I thought you lived in a grand country house somewhere.” A house with a name, she almost added. Thankfully, running into him hadn’t rattled her to such an extent that she lost complete control.
Yet.
“Chadwicke.” He nodded. Violet, Hyacinth, Daisy and Rose mirrored his nod while the Cavaliers, oblivious to all but one another, tumbled at Mr. Darcy’s feet. “You’ve heard of it?”
Great. Now he probably thought she’d been asking about him. And thinking about him. Which she had not.
Much.
“Sue mentioned it to me.”
“And yet she didn’t mention my London home, which happens to be directly across the road from hers.” The wicked gleam returned to his eyes with unprecedented intensity. “That’s odd, don’t you think?”
Suddenly everything made sense. Sue practically swooning over Mr. Darcy at the dog show. The job offer, seemingly out of nowhere. The fancy blue room at the top of the stairs that seemed wholly extravagant for an employee.
Oh, my God. Sue didn’t bring me all the way here just to be her dog nanny. She’s playing matchmaker.
Being the target of such a plan was a tad bit embarrassing. England was halfway around the world. Apparently, she couldn’t be trusted to find a man within a thousand miles or so of her own home.
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