The suit isn’t helping. The not-quite-navy he’s wearing is so impeccably cut, it’s as though the jacket and trousers have been printed onto him. That upper-arm muscle I found so compelling in his rowing photo is obvious, like he’s clenched tight—a possibility that does nothing to alleviate the revving in my nethers.

I take a breath and try to school my features into something resembling neutral. But based on Darcy’s reflection, my face is not a priority; his focus is much lower. Warmth washes over me, and I free my hem with a quick tug. Darcy’s eyes follow the movement as the skirt falls into place.

I spin to face him. “Darcy! What brings you here?”

“Sorry to interrupt, I—” He falters, blinking rapidly, before his eyes snap to mine. “I’m sorry. Where is everyone?”

I check my watch. “Doing trust falls in Rochester? The staff’s at a team-building workshop. I stayed to man the fort.”

He nods, then looks past me to Ming. She slithers from her perch on the counter and prowls toward him, her ruby smile nothing short of wicked. Darcy has the good sense to look worried.

“Kitten and I had some business to catch up on.” She stops beside him. “Goods exchanged for services rendered.”

Darcy’s worry shifts to confusion. “Goods and services?”

“She’s my go-to seamstress.” I gesture at my dress. “I repay her by doing her meal prep.”

Ming grins, tipping her head my way. “What do you think?” She crosses her arms over her chest, readjusting to tap her chin, as though she really is mulling over her handiwork. “I’m happy with the bodice.” She points to my chest, demanding Darcy send his attention there. He offers no resistance, and I pray to the god of pencil erasers I can suppress any oncoming shiver, because Ming did not add cups. “I’m thinking I can do more to build in support up top, y’know?”

Darcy’s forehead creases, eyes narrowed in study. “Suppor—”

“ ’Cause she’s not wearing a bra now, and I think—”

“Ming!” I warn.

Darcy’s cheeks take on a hint of pink. “I’ll defer to your professional opinion, Ms. DyNasty. I—” He pats at his breast pocket, then frowns. “I’m sorry. I knew I’d be in the area today so I planned to stop by with the refund on your deposit for the party, but I left Pemberley without the check.”

Oh. So much for wanting to talk, too. Then again, with Ming practically circling him, this is hardly the time to bring up Charles and Jane. Or Wickham. Or to ask after his general dexterity with buttons. Would you describe your fingers as nimble, Darcy?

I wait for him to continue. He only stands there radiating discomfort. End of transmission. “Should I come pick it up instead?”

“I think that’d be best.”

“No problem. I—”

“Or . . . no.”