A Higher Education Read online

  “Well, I changed my mind,” Charlie replied.

  She let it out and decided that, in the interest of full disclosure, she really should make herself known. It wasn’t polite to listen in on other people’s conversations.

  “Uh huh,” Will drawled, sounding about as enthusiastic as Elizabeth felt. “More likely you’re looking to get laid. You might as well forget it—her friend’s decided to nominate herself Chief Cockblocker, so she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

  Elizabeth froze, her hand still on the doorknob, now clammy and slick. The desire to announce herself dissipated in a blink.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word cockblocker,” Charlie said. “I assume you’re talking about the friend.”

  Will grunted.

  “And here I thought you two had gotten chummy.”

  “She’s obnoxious,” Will replied forcefully. “And vulgar.”

  “Jokes aside, man, are you actually ninety or something?”

  “You left me alone with her.”

  “I didn’t realize you needed a babysitter, Will.”

  “You know I don’t like these things.” He sighed—one of those sighs that originates somewhere in the bottom of the stomach and emerges with a growl. It damn near rattled the door. “And you always do this. You always beg me to come along—”

  “Begging is a strong word, I think.”

  “Then take off the moment you see a girl you want to fuck.”

  “I don’t think you understand how this whole wingman thing works,” Charlie replied. “And don’t talk like that about Jane.”

  “So you don’t want to fuck her?”

  “I’m just saying I… I think I like this one.”

  Will groaned. “Don’t tell me. She’s not like other girls.”

  “She’s really not. And from what she told me about her friend… What was her name again?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Charlie said, “from what Jane said, she’s really nice.”

  Will barked a short laugh. “Nice. Perhaps when her fangs aren’t showing.”

  “You’re not exactly a people person yourself, you know.”

  “I don’t go biting the heads off of random strangers.”

  “Well, no. That’d be hell on your teeth.”

  “It’s just… I don’t know.” He paused, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “Not attractive.”

  A pang struck Elizabeth in the center of her chest—hard, unforgiving, and familiar. Just as familiar as the resounding swell of anger that rippled from the impact, rolling hard toward a boiling hot explosion.

  Not attractive. Not fucking attractive?

  That was so it.

  Stifling a growl, she jerked the door open. It caught Will in the shin on the out swing, and he released a woof of pain before his eyes found hers.

  And the color promptly drained from his pompous face.

  “And here I so badly wanted you to like me,” she spat.

  “I… I…”

  Charlie picked his jaw up from the floor and started to laugh. Elizabeth ignored him.

  “This might come as a shock to you, assface,” Elizabeth continued, slamming the door shut with enough force that a few heads turned, “but my self-worth is not dependent on whether men find me attractive. Especially not over-important douchebags like you. So you can take that 1950s attitude of yours, ball it up real nice, and shove it up your ass.”

  She didn’t wait to for his response. The residual heat of her anger had started to melt into something uglier and less manageable, and those damn tears were threatening again. It’d be a cold day in hell before she let any rich asshole see her cry.

  Elizabeth spun on her heels and took off at a rapid pace.

  This time, the crowd parted like the freaking Red Sea.

  Good. There had to be some perks to losing one’s shit at a party.

  3

  By the time Will dragged himself over the threshold at Netherfield Heights, he felt like complete shit.

  His mind, the helpful asshole that it was, kept dragging him back to that space. To the indignation on her face, the fire in her eyes.

  The hurt.

  That was what hit him the hardest. In his world, pissing people off was just part of being alive. No one liked the stuck up rich kid, and those who did typically had their own interests at heart. People wondered why the wealthy stuck to each other—in Will’s case, it was because he knew Charlie was a true friend, not someone looking for a loan or a favor. While Will hardly went out of his way to be an ass to anyone, he knew that ass was how he came across. It was a defense mechanism, one passed down through generations of Darcy men.

  At the moment, though, he was hard pressed to remember a time when he’d said something that had hurt someone on a personal level. Not just someone—a woman he…

  Just say it, you coward.

  A woman he found attractive. That seemed safe enough.

  Not that he’d gone out of his way to hurt her. How the hell had he been supposed to know that she was in the coat closet? That she could hear him over the mesh of screaming lyrics, ear-blasting chords, and general chatter that made up any decent college party?

  Apparently, he’d backslid into anger.

  Will stood still for a moment, not knowing where to go. If the Netherfield workout room had anything practical—more than the five-pound weights and the shiny machines—he might have been tempted to burn off some of this frustration.

  As though triggered by his thoughts, he heard a door open from down the hall. A moment later, Charlie’s sister Caroline strolled into view, wearing practically nothing, which he supposed was the point.

  “Will? You’re back early.” Caroline paused, her hip jutting at an angle that couldn’t be comfortable. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that managed to be both messy and elegant, and her eyes—the same blue as her brother’s—were round with concern.

  Concern Will could see right through. And though he didn’t think he had the patience to deal with her tonight, he managed to find it all the same. “You too,” he said, gesturing. “I thought you’d still be out there.”

  Caroline wrinkled her not-unattractive forehead and made a face. “No. I’ve never been one for those parties.”

  That wasn’t the story Charlie had told, but Will decided not to call her on it.

  “You seemed to be having fun, though,” she said, her eyebrows winging up. “You and Charles both. Did he really go home with her?”

  “Which one?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Will. The girl from that trashy dorm. What’s it called?”

  Will sighed. “Longbourn. I—I don’t know if he went home with her.” Though smart money was on the bet that he had. Will just didn’t want to go there—he didn’t like the idea of Caroline passing judgment on Jane, though he wasn’t sure why in the world he should care either way.

  Except that wasn’t true. He knew why he cared.

  “What about you?” Caroline asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.

  “What about me?”

  “You and that girl—I saw you talking with her. She was with…” Caroline gestured as though doing so was an acceptable substitute for a name. “That black girl.”

  Will’s jaw tightened and he forced himself to bite his tongue. “That was her roommate, apparently.” And just thinking about her made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Before his brain could catch up with his tongue, he heard himself saying, “Elizabeth. She’s a pill.”

  And that was a mistake. There was nothing Caroline Bingley loved more than a reason to hate someone. Particularly if that someone, Will had noticed, happened to be a pretty woman in his line of sight.

  “I’m glad you said so,” Caroline said, her practiced smile blooming on her lips—the one that feigned compassion in place of the real thing. “I didn’t want to say anything rude in case you liked her.”

  “No,” Will r
eplied, forcing a smile. “No, I don’t. She’s…passionate, I suppose. Really outspoken.”

  Caroline nodded eagerly. “She seemed to be dressing you down when I saw her.”

  The smile on his face nearly became authentic, which startled him. “Ah…yes. She’s very protective of her friend. She wanted me to know that if Charlie hurt Jane, she had a shovel with his name on it.”

  Caroline snorted and rolled her eyes. “Classy,” she replied.

  The door behind him crashed open the next moment, and the air filled with the rich baritone of slurred singing.

  Saved by the drunk.

  Will turned around just in time to catch Charlie as he stumbled to a halt beside him, a dopey, lovesick look on his face.

  “Will!” he exclaimed, grabbing Will by the upper arm. “You…you will not beliefth the angel I met tonight.”

  “God, Charles.” Caroline scowled and stepped away from him. “You smell like a brewery.”

  Charlie beamed. “Thankth you.”

  “What happened to you?” Will asked.

  “I was gonna askth you the sthame thing.” Charlie staggered a step, which was impressive given he hadn’t moved. “You tisappeared on me.”

  Charlie had a tendency to morph into Daffy Duck when drunk.

  “And you got wasted in the span of, what, twenty minutes?”

  “Twenty goooood minutes.” He turned to Caroline. “She’s an angel.”

  “So I heard,” Caroline replied dryly.

  “You’ll luff her, Carrie.” Charlie moved forward a few feet. “She’s soooo schmart. And pretty. And schmart. She knowths all the things.”

  “You did shots, didn’t you?” Will asked. “Charlie…”

  “Shots!” Charlie yelled, pumping a victorious hand into the air. “I am the winner!”

  Will heaved a long sigh and exchanged what he hoped was a suitably apologetic look with Caroline. “I better get this moron to bed.”

  “Don’t know what we’d do without you, Will.”

  Charlie seemed in full agreement. He swirled around and slung an arm over Will’s shoulder. “Willth’s my favorite,” he proclaimed, then planted a wet, slobbering kiss on Will’s cheek. “You’re my favorite, Will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Am I your favorite?”

  “At the moment, no. But ask again tomorrow.”

  Charlie sighed happily. “Okay. But remind me.”

  “I will.”

  Will managed to get Charlie upstairs, which was no small feat, given Charlie attempted to escape more than once. By the time Will had maneuvered his way into his friend’s room, Charlie was on the seventh verse of “One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall” and gave no indication of quieting down.

  “I like Jane, Willth,” Charlie said dreamily as he reclined on his bed, his face contorted into what must have been the world’s dopiest smile. “I think she might be the one.”

  Will grunted to indicate he’d heard and pulled off Charlie’s right shoe.

  “She’th gonna be a lawyer, you know.”

  “Did you let her see you this drunk? Because that might have been a deal breaker for her.”

  Charlie didn’t answer. Instead, he went back to humming to himself.

  “Sleep on your side,” Will said, then, realizing he might as well have spoken to the wall, heaved his friend off the mattress as best he could to position him appropriately. Once Charlie was on his side, a stack of pillows against his back and the wastebasket within reach, Will drew back and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “All right. Stay like that, okay?”

  “Mmm…”

  Charlie’s eyes had fallen shut, and the next second, his loud snores filled the room.

  When Will returned to his own room, he felt like he’d won a personal war. Every inch in his body screamed for sleep, his mind becoming sluggish. He went through the rituals of getting ready for bed on autopilot. Once under the sheets, he was certain he’d be dead to the world the moment his head hit the pillow.

  Except that didn’t happen. Will found himself staring at the ceiling, his uncooperative mind lulling like an overheated engine, then abruptly taking off again. In an instant, he was back at the party—that stupid party he should never have let Charlie drag him to—watching Elizabeth laugh at whatever Jane had said.

  The girls he’d been raised with had a certain museum-like quality to them, and anyone else knew who he was—at least back home—and was always on their best behavior. Even the other girls at the party hadn’t looked that free. They’d looked like starving artists desperate for validation.

  Elizabeth either hadn’t known or hadn’t cared. Or if she had, she’d done a very good job hiding it.

  As it had earlier, his mind pulled the emergency brake.

  This way lies danger, Will.

  He knew it. Just as he’d known the second he’d seen her. He was not the sort of guy to get distracted from an objective easily, and dating wasn’t anywhere on the list.

  Which was why the fact that a very real part of him had wanted to rewrite the damn list after just looking at Elizabeth scared the shit out of him. That fire hadn’t burned out after she’d all but verbally assaulted him, and the way her face had fallen when he’d turned down her peace offering might as well have landed a physical blow.

  But it was what had come after that would haunt him for days to come. In his desperation to create distance between his thoughts and his reality, he’d said things he’d never meant her to overhear.

  He’d never meant her to…

  Well, the damage was done. And if fate was fair at all, he’d never have to see her again. He figured she typically wasn’t the sort for those types of parties, given that she’d ignored the main attractions of getting drunk and making out with a stranger. Odds of them sharing classes weren’t great, so aside from possibly passing her on campus, their paths would never again cross.

  His brain had been fixed on the mental image of her for so long that other parts of his anatomy were getting ideas. Elizabeth’s face was so clear in his mind. Those beautiful dancing eyes, the way her lips curved into a smile. The damn near melodious sound of her laughter.

  His cock tented against his boxer shorts. Will stifled a groan, scrubbing a hand down his face. Wrong it might be, but that didn’t do much to kill his boner, and though his brain was in conflict, his hand lacked any such reservations. He popped open the front flap of his boxers and drew his cock out before his stupid mind had the chance to catch up. His length strained toward the ceiling, begging for release, and he was too weak-willed to fight it.

  Instead, Will gripped his shaft and began to stroke. And goddamn if that wasn’t the perfect answer to everything. The clouds in his head parted, the strain of the evening fading back, and all he could see was Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth and her laughter. The fire in her eyes.

  The image of her on her knees before him, her lips parted, her tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock.

  A hard moan rolled through his body, chased by a wave of guilt, but it was too weak to make much of an impact.

  Emboldened, his mind upped the ante.

  Elizabeth taking his cock into her mouth, those big brown eyes fixed on him. Elizabeth pulling hard, cupping his balls as her tongue massaged him, her head bobbing, her hair flying around him. He imagined hitting the back of her throat, of her moaning and gripping his ass to hold him there. Of her eyes telling him it’s okay. Do it.

  Then of her abruptly releasing him, flashing him a wicked smile as she pushed him onto the bed. She became naked—miraculously, because that was how fantasies worked—and he admired the smooth lines of her perfect milky skin as she straddled his waist and positioned his cock at the mouth of her sex.

  And then she sank down, and he felt her clamp around him, slippery with excitement. She steadied her hands on his shoulders and began to move, leaving him with the breathtaking image of her bouncing breasts, of his cock disappearing inside her over and over again. And her
eyes—on him. Demanding. Needy. And—

  Will hissed, his hips jerking, and then he was coming. Pleasure shot wild through his veins as ropey strings of semen met the air before landing on his shirt. It went on forever, it seemed, because the image was so real he could almost see it. Almost taste her. And god, how he wanted to taste her.

  Will lay still for several long seconds, gulping air as though he’d been lost at sea. The falling sensation continued, well past self-disgust and into the heart of unadulterated shame. At once, he felt dirty in a way that a thousand showers couldn’t fix.

  He’d used the thought of a woman he’d hurt to get himself off like a horny teenager.

  And now he was covered in his own semen.

  Fuck. One night out with Charlie—one night away from home—and he was acting no better than Wickham.

  Don’t think that name.

  Will cursed and rolled out of bed, stripped off his boxers and tossed them into the corner with the rest of the dirty laundry.

  Perhaps he’d try a shower after all. Get the sick feeling off him.

  Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

  And hopefully he’d manage to get through it without thinking about things—people—he shouldn’t think about.

  4

  Elizabeth knew before she entered the building that she was the first one back. Well, except for Mary, but Mary hadn’t left to begin with, as she wasn’t the social type. Kitty and Lydia, from what Elizabeth had gleaned, would likely be the last of the party to return for the evening, if either returned at all. Those girls were both in the running for most annoying housemates. It was a small miracle that their rooms were on the other side of the dormitory, else Elizabeth would accomplish very little.

  The downstairs was empty, save an abandoned pizza box lying across the table. There was no noise coming from upstairs, either, so Mary had either retired early—smart thing to do—or was having another overwrought, hushed phone conversation with her girlfriend. Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. Poor Mary. Long distance just didn’t work.

  Every muscle in Elizabeth’s body seemed to have fallen asleep without her permission. The act of dragging her ass upstairs became a herculean effort. Her ears were still ringing with the thumping base of the music, and every time she blinked, it seemed, Will’s face was waiting for her. Like a bad flip book.