“What is he doing here?” He straightens, and the movement shifts a gust of air that matches the ice in his voice. His eyes are hard, fixed over my shoulder. Oh, hell. Wickham. My chest seizes. That shitshow is what was lodged in the depths of my brain. Damn sexy vibes had me sidelined.

Darcy’s eyes meet mine again. His face softens some. “I’m sorry.” He skims his thumb along my spine, replacing my flash of indignation with ideas about where else his fingers might travel. “You want to talk, and I do, too, but Wickham . . .” The name settles like a stone in the pit of my stomach. “He’s with your aerialists. Do you know him?” Darcy’s tone thaws with another pass over my skin, his hand returning to the center of my back.

I don’t turn to look at the party behind us; whether it’s because I don’t need to or because I don’t want to create any separation between our bodies, I can’t say. “He’s friends with my boss.” With some defiance, I add, “We’ve had drinks a few times.”

Darcy takes in a breath. A thrill skitters through me. Is that— jealousy?

Do I care?

“You—” His lips press together, hand at my back tensing.

I do care. But I shouldn’t. What Darcy did to Wickham was cruel. He disregarded his own father’s final wishes to ruin the man, sent him fleeing across the country. Wickham may be a flake with exceptionally bad taste in going-out clothes, but no one deserves that. I know what that’s like. It’s taken me three years to get myself back on track, and my situation didn’t have nearly as much baggage and history as what happened with these two. I keep that in the forefront of my mind, and push. “He has been unlucky to lose your friendship, it seems.”

Darcy sneers. “He feed you the sob story? The poor urchin plays nursemaid to my father, then I come along and rip his dreams away?”

The callous comments twist my stomach into a tight knot. Welcome back, Mr. Tolerable. It’s been a while. I drop the hand at his neck to his shoulder. “You’ve got the CliffsNotes version down.”

His jaw sets. “Don’t get in bed with him.”

I pull back enough that his hand slides to my waist. “Excuse me?”

Darcy’s eyes widen, the hand on mine pressing tight. “No! In business terms. Your boss, I hope, isn’t bringing him on or investing with him, is he?”

I shake my head, still stinging at the earlier implication, though the mention of Toby makes me stay where I am. “Why?”