Alan snorted with laughter.
“Well, here’s your chance. You’re up again.” Sue wrapped an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and steered her once more to the gap in the white lattice fencing that indicated the entrance to the ring.
Somehow Elizabeth resisted the urge to turn tail and run all the way back to Manhattan. Perhaps it was the thought of all the cardboard boxes that awaited her there, ready to be filled with her personal belongings, that gave her the resilience to walk back into Mr. Darcy’s ring. She had barely been able to afford her rent back when she’d had a paycheck. As much as it grieved her to admit it, her days in the fourth-floor walk-up were numbered.
Facing Mr. Darcy again didn’t seem so painful when compared to the prospect of moving back home with her parents. The mere thought of it made her shudder with dread. Literally.
So she relaxed her shoulders under the pressure of Sue’s grip, gave Bliss’s leash a gentle tug and crossed the threshold back into Mr. Darcy’s territory.
She lined up behind the winners of the other classes of the Winner’s Bitch competition. Since Bliss was only a puppy, her chances of winning against the more mature dogs would have been slim under any judge. Given Mr. Darcy’s apparent prejudice against freckles, Elizabeth knew they didn’t have a prayer. Bliss had a few chestnut spots, which Elizabeth had always found adorable, right next to her little black nose. Of course, hers wasn’t exactly an unbiased opinion. She had her own smattering of freckles across her cheekbones.
She scrunched her face and tried to pretend they weren’t there. She knew Mr. Darcy was judging Bliss’s appearance, not her own. He’d cleared up that humiliating misunderstanding.
But something about the way he looked at her just did her in. Every time he turned his penetrating gaze in her direction, it was all she could do to remember her own name.
“Miss Scott.”
Oh, God. Here we go again.
Well, one thing was certain. She’d never forget her name so long as Mr. Darcy kept repeating it like that.
She steeled herself and looked away from Bliss, straight into his eyes. “Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled when she said his name. As infuriating as she’d found him before, she still wouldn’t have believed he could become more handsome. But the smile took his breathtaking good looks to a whole new level.
She swallowed and said a little prayer of thanks that he couldn’t read her thoughts.
She fully expected him to walk away, for his long legs to carry him to the other side of the ring so he could view the dogs as a group.
He didn’t. He stayed right where he was, unnervingly close. “It’s nice to see you again.”
His voice took her by surprise in both its mere presence and its sincerity. Judges rarely spoke to individual exhibitors in a crowded ring, and certainly not about anything unrelated to the show. Part of her wondered if he was simply mocking her. Her earlier appearance in the ring could hardly be described as nice. But the haughty air about him had somehow seemed to dissipate, leaving her in a fog of confusion.
Will the real Mr. Darcy please stand up?
“Um, thank you.” She kept her response brief. To the point.
What was she supposed to say? Lovely to see you again, Mr. Darcy. The last time was such a pleasure. Let’s see...I can’t seem to recall which moment I enjoyed the most. Could it have been when I accidentally flashed you, and you looked down my dress? Or perhaps when you insulted my dog? Or maybe when I started to cry? Yes, that’s it! A moment to cherish, for certain.
He paused, as if waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, thunderclouds gathered in his eyes before he finally turned away.
The exhibitor beside Elizabeth groaned under her breath. “Thanks a lot.”
Elizabeth glanced at her, more out of curiosity than anything else. She was taken aback to find the woman glaring at her with hostility. “Excuse me?”
“I said thanks a lot,” she hissed without moving her lips, “for putting the judge in such a foul mood. I don’t know why he didn’t excuse you or why he’s even talking to you, for that matter.”
“For your information, I’m not responsible for his mood.” Elizabeth cast a fleeting look at Bliss in search of support. A nod would have been nice. A low growl perhaps?
Nothing.
The woman rolled her eyes. “We all saw the way you acted,” she muttered, once again without the slightest movement of her lips.
Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if she was a ventriloquist. Probably not, she decided. How could someone who worked with puppets be so bitchy?
Elizabeth started to explain that Mr. Darcy was undoubtedly born in a bad mood, but thankfully, she caught him watching her before she opened her mouth. She turned her back on the woman and made every effort to focus solely on Bliss.
I will not screw this up. I will not make a scene. I will not flash the judge, and I most definitely will not cry.
She inhaled a deep breath. All she had to do was go through the motions and wait for the winners to be awarded their ribbons. Bliss didn’t have a chance. So getting out of the ring without losing it again would be her only victory.
Mr. Darcy made a circular motion with his right hand, and everyone obediently led their dogs in a loop around the ring. The exhibitor at the front of the line paused once the lap was complete, obviously expecting Mr. Darcy to request to see each dog trot across the diagonal of the ring individually, as was customary.
Instead, he pointed at the second dog in line, a very nice little black-and-tan girl. “This is our Winner.”
His announcement was met with squeals of delight from the winning exhibitor and several people standing outside the ring. Despite herself, Elizabeth felt a stab of envy. To see a judge point to Bliss like that, even once, would go a long way in helping her forget all about everything that had happened back home. It might even make nasty Grant Markham nothing but a distant memory.
Before she could give herself any kind of mental pep talk, or even quell her disappointment the slightest bit, Mr. Darcy pointed his elegant finger once more. And this time, he aimed it directly at Bliss. “And this is our Reserve Winner.”
Elizabeth looked at Bliss, expecting to see a different dog on the end of her lead, as if Bliss had traded places with another Cavalier when she wasn’t looking. A Cavalier with a creamy-white, freckle-less muzzle. But to her complete and utter astonishment, she found her own dog still there.
Bliss reared up and pawed at the air with her tiny fringed feet, reveling in the joy of her victory as runner-up. Her happiness caused a knot to wedge in Elizabeth’s throat, and it quickly became clear that she would soon break her pledge not to cry.
She gathered Bliss into her arms and headed toward Mr. Darcy to collect her Reserve Winner’s ribbon. Somewhere behind him, Elizabeth could see Sue Barrow jumping up and down and clapping like mad, but Sue was little more than a fuzzy, dreamlike vision. She was focused on one thing and one thing only—Mr. Darcy’s magnetic gaze, drawing her to
