Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions

by Valerie Lennox

  But anyway, Darcy knew that killing was a thing that men sometimes had to do. Much was made of the idea that killing in war was noble and righteous, doing a service for one’s country and all that.

  But the way Darcy saw it, it was all the same. People fought wars because they wanted more land. Well, not people, but kings and whatever Napoleon considered himself. They wanted to expand their kingdoms. So, they went out and tried to take land by killing people. And if the other kings—whose fathers had killed people for their land—didn’t like that, they started killing people to stop it, to keep the land themselves.

  There wasn’t anything noble or righteous about it. It was all just the same land, passing back and forth from king to king over and over again.

  Well, Darcy wanted his land back. He wanted the land that he’d gambled away, and he wanted enough money to secure Pemberley, and to possibly find himself a wife, so that he could have an heir, and he could pass the whole business down.

  So, he had to kill some people to get the money to get that land.

  He wasn’t a king, but it was all the same in the end, wasn’t it? Kings had more land than men like him, but it was all the same. He was a miniature version of a king. There would be less blood on his hands in the end.

  And that all made sense, and made him feel a bit better about what he’d done.

  But it didn’t mean that it cleared his conscience entirely, because it didn’t.

  And he knew what that fellow had meant when he went on about the eyes. He’d seen the light go out behind men’s pupils, and it haunted him sometimes. A day like that one on Miss Bennet’s ship, when there had been so much bloodshed, the ship running red with blood…

  He felt cold all of the sudden.

  Pulling a blanket around his shoulders, he settled down on the little cushions he’d constructed for himself and began assembling the things he’d need to smoke opium.

  He didn’t have anything like a proper opium den, but he did have a decent lamp, and a proper pipe. He could recline on the cushions and hold the pipe over the lamp, and let the ecstasy wash over him.

  There was nothing like smoking opium, nothing at all. It was bliss, pure joy, the most wondrous thing he’d ever experienced. He didn’t do it too often, because he had heard tales of dependency, and he wanted to be careful. But there were times when he had to do it, or he thought he might lose his mind.

  And there were times when he did it just because he enjoyed it.

  There was something pure and perfect about being lost in the darkness and warmth, only seeing the beautiful patterns cast by the decorations on the lamp, and drifting into a state of oblivion.

  Thinking of it made his mouth dry with anticipation.

  Surely, opium was the cure for all ills, the most wonderful thing on God’s green earth.

  * * *

  Elizabeth awoke from a deep sleep to the scrape of her door opening. She sat up straight on her bed roll. “Hello?” she said into the darkness.

  The door opened, and a sliver of light from outside widened, spilling into the room.

  She gathered the covers tight against her chest.

  Two men stepped inside the room. She didn’t know who they were. She had seen them before. She thought they were among the men who had been on the deck that night, who had watched her with shadowed eyes. But she didn’t know their names.

  “What do you want?” she said, her voice shaking.

  One of the men scrunched up his face. “Hush now, missy. It’ll be better for all of us if you keep your tongue in your head.”

  “No,” she said. “What are you going to do? I’m under the captain’s protection, you know, and if you hurt me—”

  The other man darted across the room and put his hand over her mouth. “Shh, now.” He nodded at his friend. “Rip off a bit of the bottom of her dress there. We’ll shove it in her mouth.”

  The first man knelt down and grabbed at her skirt.

  She kicked him.

  He made a face, and seized both of her feet, holding them in place. “Now, look, missy, it’s not as if this is how we’re wanting to have a woman, mind you. It’s only that the knowledge of you being down here has been driving us both wild with wanting, and then seeing you on the deck tonight, so pretty… Well, you can hardly blame us for taking what it is we need. We’ve been cooped up on this ship for too long, and you’re too pretty. So, our apologies, but it’s the only thing that can happen.”

  Her heart began to race. This was happening. All the threats from Darcy hadn’t been mere bluster, and now she was really going to be ravished right here in this cabin and—

  No.

  She elbowed the man who had his hand over her mouth.

  He let go, yelping.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs, putting everything she had into it. She screamed loud enough to wake the entire ship. Someone would come and put a stop to this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Darcy heard the scream, but he didn’t care.

  He had finished smoking some time ago. He didn’t know how long. It was impossible to gauge when he was under the influence of the opium, floating here in this perfect cloud of warmth and happiness and pleasure. Time didn’t matter in a world like this. Nothing mattered. Here, he was able to contemplate the fact that everything in the universe was connected, that the ship and the water and the men were made from the same building blocks, and that they all flowed into each other. Nothing was important, because everything was one. So nothing bad could happen, not if everything just flowed from one state to another.

  His room was filled with intricate shadows cast by the ornate decorations on the lamp. They looked like vines and flowers, beautiful flowers, and when he gazed up at them, he could see that they were moving in the breeze.

  Or maybe that was just the rocking of the ship.

  Whatever the case, it didn’t matter.

  It was beautiful here.

  It was wonderful here.

  He was basking in the most perfect and excellent place in all of the world, and nothing could touch him.

  * * *

  The man behind Elizabeth let out a string of curses and then tugged her body against his again. This time he pinned her arms to her sides. “No more of that.”

  The other man, the apologetic one, stuffed a wad of fabric from the skirt of her dress into her mouth. “Sorry about this, missy. Really, I am.” He was still holding her legs in place with one hand.

  She struggled.

  “Now, don’t do that,” said the voice behind her. “Because Finn here is going to cut open your dress, and if you’re squirming about like that, he might nick your pretty skin.”

  Elizabeth was choking on panic. She could hardly breathe around the gag in her mouth, and she couldn’t move her body because the two men were holding onto it so tightly. She wanted to buck and writhe and kick until she was free.

  But Finn pulled out a knife, and its blade glinted in the light from the open door.

  She was still.

  Finn leaned over her, grabbing the bodice of her dress and bringing the knife down to the fabric.

  She screamed again. It was muffled, but it was still loud.

  The knife jerked in Finn’s hand. “Don’t do that!” he said.

  And then there was a noise from the door.

  She looked over to see that someone had arrived, but it wasn’t Darcy, it was a throng of four or five other men from the ship. They were pushing their way inside the room.

  “Now, what have we here?” said one.

  “Why it’s Finn Welch and Eli Brown,” said another. “I don’t think anyone ever taught them that it’s nice to share.”

  Finn turned, letting go of her feet, and pointing the knife at the newcomers. “Now, we were here first, boys, and we’ve done all the work getting her subdued.”

  “She’s a girl, how much work—”

  Elizabeth kicked Finn in the stomach.

  He make an oomphing noise and the knife fell o
ut of his hand.

  If only her arms were free, she could grab it. She would have a weapon.

  The man at her back, Eli, held her all the tighter, however. He stood up, bringing her with him. “Finn and I got her first.”

  “I say we put it to a roll of the dice,” said one of the newcomers. “That’s fair, leaving it up to fate, that is.”

  “We were here first,” said Finn, scooping the knife up off the floor. “She’s ours.” He put the knife in one of the other man’s faces. “And if you don’t like it, then I’ll cut out your eye.”

  The man raised his arms in surrender. “Ah, very well, boys, let’s let them have the first poke, then. Her cunny’s not going anywhere, is it?”

  The other men laughed in approval.

  “Just be quick about it,” said one.

  “Yeah, what are you doing?” said another.

  “I was going to cut off her dress if you lot hadn’t stumbled in,” said Finn.

  “Well, then do it,” said a newcomer.

  And they all turned their gazes onto Elizabeth’s body.

  She shut her eyes against it. Inside, she was started to shut herself down. Something bad was going to happen to her, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to feel much of it if she could help it. She had fought, and she had lost. Now, it was time to burrow inside, to take her mind away from what was happening, to go limp. She wouldn’t be part of this, not really. It would happen to her, but only to her body. She would take her spirit and hide it and protect it.

  Finn grasped her bodice again, and she heard the sound of the knife going through the fabric.

  But she didn’t feel the air on her as he bared it. She didn’t feel anything.

  * * *

  Someone was knocking on the door to his cabin, but Darcy didn’t care about that either.

  “Cap’n!” called the voice of Mackie. “Cap’n, you awake?”

  “Go away,” he whispered. But he might not have. He might have only thought it. It was difficult to lift any of his limbs now. He was tired.

  Truly, if done properly, smoking opium could be energizing. But he hadn’t gone that route tonight. No, instead, he had smoked a lot, hoping for oblivion, for being blanketed in joy and welcoming, wondrous sleep.

  At any rate, he wasn’t sure if he had spoken or not.

  The banging was still happening, but it sounded far away, as if it was taking place in another world, the old world, where things were bright and sharp and painful, and Darcy didn’t have any desire to go back into that world.

  The door burst open. “Cap’n!” Mackie was carrying a lantern, and it was bright.

  Darcy shied away from it. “The devil take you, Jacob Mackie.”

  Mackie strode across the room and dragged him to his feet. “You’ve been plundering the opium again, haven’t you, Cap’n?”

  Darcy shoved him away. Now that he was standing, it was as if a spell had broken, and the real world was intruding again. “To hell with you, I’m serious.”

  “It’s the girl, Cap’n. You took her out on the deck today and now the men are going after her.”

  Darcy blinked, hard. “The girl.”

  “The one you didn’t kill, sir. The one who’s been causing trouble ever since you let her on board, just as you thought she would?”

  Darcy smacked his lips together. His mouth was dry. “Where’s my sword?”

  “You’re in no state to wield it, if I do say so myself.”

  He rubbed his face. “Fine, fine. Let’s…” He pointed at the door and staggered forward.

  Mackie grabbed him, pulling an arm over his shoulder to support him.

  Darcy shoved him off. “I don’t need that, man. I’m fine.” He took several more shaking steps before the business of how to walk seemed to return to him. Squaring his shoulders, he strode out of the cabin.

  Mackie caught up to him. “Shouldn’t we be going a bit faster?”

  “Are we going slowly?” But then he saw that the door to Miss Bennet’s cabin was open, and he heard the sound of laughter coming from within it.

  The sound galvanized him, and he ran forward, seizing the first man he found inside the door and throwing him out. He pulled aside three men before he saw her.

  She was pressed against the wall, her dress cut to her belly button, one of her breasts on display for anyone to see. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but he could see the terror etched into her expression.

  “Stop!” he bellowed.

  The men all turned to look at him and they cowered.

  “Cap’n,” said Brown. “You can’t be angry with us, not truly. If you put a woman on board a ship like this, there’s no way that—”

  “I’ll deal with you in the morning,” said Darcy. He turned and looked at each of the men, gazing into their eyes, cataloging the faces of those who had been involved.

  Then he rushed to Miss Bennet, pulling the tatters of her dress over her body, covering her, and he lifted her into his arms.

  The men scattered before him.

  He didn’t look at them. He just carried her down the hallway and into his own cabin, where he shut the door and enclosed them both inside. He carried her to his bed and laid her there.

  She didn’t move. She lay there, her eyes still squeezed shut.

  “Miss Bennet,” he whispered.

  “Mr. Darcy?” she said, slowly opening her eyes and looking around. “Where am I? Is it over already?” She looked down at her body, saw that her dress was still somewhat intact. She touched the place where it had been cut. “Oh. It didn’t happen, did it?”

  “I think I got to you in time.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill them all in the morning.”

  She sat up, and her dress gapped open.

  He looked away.

  She pulled it closed.

  He handed her a blanket from the bed. “I would have killed them tonight, but the fact of the matter is, I’m not really at my best.” He looked around for a chair, found one, and sank into it.

  She wrapped herself up in the blanket.

  He leaned back, shutting his eyes. “If you want to take off the dress and just wrap up in the blanket, I won’t peek, I promise.” Even though he’d already seen— But he shook that thought off. It would be obscene to find Miss Bennet desirable under those circumstances, and he simply wasn’t going to allow himself to do it.

  It was quiet for several minutes.

  Then, her voice, unsteady, quiet. “Thank you.”

  He yawned. “Don’t thank me, Miss Bennet. It’s all my fault you’re even being subjected to this.”

  More silence. She didn’t contradict him.

  He felt himself slipping off into an opium dream, the colors behind his eyelids swirling delectably. He smiled. Perfect. Well, except for the fact that this chair wasn’t that comfortable… But even that wasn’t much of a bother. He could ignore that discomfort, since he was being pumped full of the most joyous, ecstatic feelings.

  “You can open your eyes now,” she murmured.

  “That’s okay.” His chin was resting on his chest. He was vaguely aware that his voice sounded a little slurred, as if he’d been drugged. He chuckled to himself. That was the truth of it, actually.

  “Are you all right?”

  Oh, was she really going to keep talking? He forced himself to sit up, to open his eyes. “I am marvelous, Miss Bennet.” He stretched out the syllables in marvelous. He smiled at her. She was really beautiful in this light. Well, maybe that was the opium talking.

  No, she was a beautiful woman. She had lovely wrists. They were so delicate and small. And her neck, it was long and graceful, and he could imagine that it would be quite a nice thing to brush his fingers over her chin, and feather them over that graceful neck. And then let them dip lower, down over her collarbone, to her…

  He flashed on her naked breast.

  He shook himself. No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He shouldn’t have seen it. She had been terrified,
and taking pleasure in her molestation was disgusting.

  He held up a finger. “I’m going to go lie down.” He pointed to his cushions, where the opium pipe was still out, next to the lamp. “Over there.”

  “You’ve been smoking opium,” she said, her voice one of understanding dawning.

  He laughed softly, getting to his feet. God, it was hell standing. He stumbled to the cushions and threw himself down on his back. He gazed up at the ceiling. That was better.

  Her voice carried. “Once I hurt my arm rather badly, and I was given laudanum, and it was… very nice. Is smoking opium the same at all?”

  He laughed again. “Oh, laudanum is nothing compared to smoking, Miss Bennet. Laudanum is a smudgy shadow of the excellence that can be obtained if one knows what he’s about.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  He raised his head to look at her.

  She looked like a refugee, younger than her years, huddled on his bed with the blanket clutched around her shoulders.

  “You can sleep, you know,” he said. “I’ll be over here, and no one will bother you in my cabin.” He shut his eyes again.

  It was quiet again for a long stretch, and he sunk into himself again, into a world of color and pleasure, soft and wonderful.

  “Mr. Darcy?” came her voice, cutting through it.

  “What?” he groaned. “And don’t call me that.”

  “Are you quite sure that no one will come in here?”

  “Very sure, madam.”

  “What if they did? Would you wake up?”

  He struggled to sit up. He pointed. “Do you see that there? My dagger, hanging?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Why don’t we say that’s your dagger from now on, hmm? Sleep curled around it, and if anyone should disturb you, stab him with it.” He flopped back on the cushion, and it was as if a soft, warm open mouth swallowed him whole.

  If she said more, he didn’t hear it. He was lost to his pleasure.

  * * *

  When Elizabeth awoke, she was tangled in the blankets of Darcy’s bed. She struggled to sit up, still keeping herself covered, because she wasn’t wearing anything. The tatters of her dress were lying on the ground.