Page 36 of Just for Tonight

“A combination of the above. But they picked the movies and an astonishingly high percentage of them were adaptations of Jane Austen novels. Which is why I take exception to being Mr. Wickham.”

“Why? You’re good-looking, well-dressed and charming to women.”

“Are you suggesting that I am blessed with such happy manners as may ensure my making friends—though whether I am equally capable of retaining them is less certain?”

She laughs outright. “You’re good.”

“Two years and I think we saw or heard Pride & Prejudice at least twice a month. There were weekend marathons comparing versions. I probably know every line.”

“Not a bad credential.”

“Maybe I should add it to my resumé then.” We leave Empire behind and it’s darker than dark. I know there are just fields on either side of the road, but I’d forgotten how tough it is to drive in rain at night in the country. There are no streetlights and little other traffic. There are just Mackenzie’s high beams and the occasional light of a farmhouse. It’s black as Hades out there, shiny and wet. I know there are ditches on either side of the road, a line of hydro poles on one side and the wires above, but I can’t see a damn thing.

Mackenzie seems to know the road well, but I keep my mouth shut and let her concentrate.

We ride in silence for a couple of minutes, but I can’t leave it alone. “But Wickham? Really? I’m much better with money than Wickham was.”

“Tell me you don’t have a creepy thing for young heiresses.”

“I prefer my heiresses to be old enough to know what they want.”

“Then you do prefer heiresses?”

“Not particularly. I should say I prefer women who are old enough to know what they want. Their financial situations are not a big consideration.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be Wickham. How about Mr. Collins?”

I laugh so hard that she laughs too. “I can’t remember the last time I was in church, and really, I would tell anyone remotely like Lady Catherine de Bough what to do with her condescension.”

“I’ll guess you don’t even have a copy of Fordyce’s Sermons.”

“Lucky for you, Isobelle, as you might have stumbled across it inadvertently, seeking the diversion of a light read at my abode, and discovered as a result that young ladies of good breeding never introduce themselves to young bachelors, much less leave a dance attended by people of good family in the sole companionship of…”

“A dashing rake of no good repute, who is also a scoundrel of dubious intentions.”

“My intentions were not dubious and they suited you perfectly at the time.”

“They did. But you’re right. You can’t possibly be Mr. Collins. Mr. Wickham it will have to be.”

“But there are other choices. What about Mr. Knightley?”

She makes a face. “The old man secretly ogling a young heiress? Yuck.”

“He wasn’t that old.”

“Only because of the casting in the movie. If you read the book, you’d know he was sixteen years older than Emma, and she was only twenty-one, which is repulsive.”

“Fair. That is repulsive.” I sigh. “Mr. Wickham it will have to be. Maybe regimentals would be a good look for me.”

“Just don’t feel obliged to start gambling tonight.”

“With more things than heads and furniture broken?” I try to look angelic. “Not me.”

The rain is pouring down, the night is black as pitch, and I’m enjoying myself. Mackenzie is a good driver and I’m glad to be a passenger. It wouldn’t be a relaxing drive, given that I don’t know the road.

“Thank you again for finding that title,” she says finally.

“I promised I’d look for it.”