“If you go, will you stay with them? With the designs, I mean. I know I’m being paranoid, but I don’t want my stuff with people I don’t know. I trust you.”

I said it last night, but something about repeating the words now makes the room go still. Because I mean it. I trust him. Not because I’m trying to be brave, but because he deserves it. Darcy’s made missteps and gone above and beyond to remedy them—he’s proven himself.

His throat constricts in a swallow. “Of course.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” I say belatedly. “I appreciate it, but don’t feel obl—”

“Bennet.” His face is tight, not in the lights-out way, but paired with the set of his shoulders, he’s clearly holding himself in check. It’s actually pretty hot. “You know my history with Wickham. On one level, this is just another underhanded move from him, but he’s brought you into this, and he’s screwed up an opportunity for Charles. I’ve half a mind to hunt him down so you could strangle him with your garter belt.”

This gets a rusty laugh. “A little kinky, no?”

Some of the tension leaves him. “I’m in this, too, Bennet. Right now, I can offer the legal angle. IP is tricky, but I’m going to do everything I can. You just give yourself a break.” When I frown, he rubs my cheek. “This isn’t your fault.”

The sentiment is so ludicrous I could laugh, but the gentle way he says it has me drawing in a breath instead. My chest expands beyond the crushing tightness it’s been bound in since Jane’s call. The relief is dizzying. Darcy’s face is already angled toward mine, and I tug him in for a kiss that makes me deeply appreciative of the complimentary toothbrushes in the suite’s bathroom.

When we come up for air, he looks a little shell-shocked. “What was that for?”

“Saying what I needed to hear.” I give him another quick peck. “Even if I don’t believe it.”

“Well, I do.” He squeezes my shoulders, then lets me go. I hand him the bag, and he takes it, pulling the strap over his head to wear it cross-body, like I did.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in touch,” he adds, patting the bag. It makes a crunching sound, like crumpling paper, and he winces.

“You might want to look through that on your way,” I say. “I think there was an X-Acto knife in with my pens.”

“Will do.” He gives me a final kiss on the cheek. I watch him stroll down the room, and he opens the door, stepping back to let Ming enter before stepping out.