Elizabeth stared back at him, deep brown eyes made black with desire, her chest heaving as her breath came in pants. She did not look like a seasoned courtesan . . . yet. In this moment she was still unsullied, experiencing the throes of passion for the first time and being completely overwhelmed by it. Soon though . . . soon she would master desire as she did every challenge and what would she do with this newfound knowledge?
Darcy could not imagine her a practiced seductress, using her skills on another man, but then he had never imagined she would consent to be his mistress. Was he, by purchasing what should be priceless, degrading her—cursing her to the life of a demimondaine?
"I shouldn't do this," he said as he sat up, raking his hand through his hair.
He reached for his boots. "I should leave."
Lizzy was still, mystified by his sudden change. "This house . . . my mother's debts . . . I cannot pay you back."
"Consider it a gift."
Darcy watched as astonishment, joy . . . and disappointment crossed her features. She lay back against the pillow and let out a slow breath. He could make out the rosy hint of her nipples through her chemise. Before lust could tempt him anew, he looked away.
"I am free if I wish to be?"
He nodded, not venturing another glance at her.
A war raged within Lizzy as she watched him dress. Just like the serpent to tempt me and then leave me with the blame.
"Wretched man." The words left her lips in a wrathful hiss.
Darcy's eyes were full of confusion when they met hers. He had no doubt expected gratitude for her saved virtue, no matter that he was the one who had endangered it. Foolish man, she thought, my virtue vanished when I agreed to be your mistress. No, perhaps it was even before that. Perhaps I was doomed from the moment I lay eyes on him and that first treacherous yearning sparked to life.
Lizzy leaned forward and kissed him. It was an inexpert sort of kiss that would not have seduced a man who was strong—who had not already been brought so close to the brink. His arms came around her again, all his earlier fervor resumed.
Suddenly she was falling backwards, landing against the mattress. She thought he had found his self-control, but then—yet again—he wrenched off his boots, tossing them forcefully aside. When he turned back to her those eyes—those intriguing eyes that could speak what his lips could not—were full of passion and fury. But it did not frighten her as it should.
With every raging storm came renewal. He was what she needed, a tempest to wash away all the despair in her life. Something to remind her of own vitality after these dreary years.
Lizzy clasped the hem of her chemise and pulled the garment over her head. His eyes flared, raking over her hungrily. Yet he did not rush to her, instead he began the removal of his own clothes.
She watched expectantly, the need to feel his hands on her body growing with every second. When he stood before her in all his denuded glory, she blushed—but she did not look away.
Theirs was a lovemaking of contradictions—leisurely yet harried, tender yet rough. Lips—tongue—teeth found the tip of a pert breast as fingers stroked her most intimate place. The combination of these sensations set her to quaking.
She moaned his name—just his surname now, that honorific prefix had fallen away with their clothes. It was not as he dreamed it would be, but as he watched her wonder-filled eyes open and a dark blush spread across her cheeks he found he did not care. He took her then. Hating the pain he caused—hating himself—as he moved within her.
The pain was not as she expected, barely a twinge. It should be more than that, she thought. The destruction of her maidenhead ought to feel like the end of the world.
But it did not. The pain subsided and pleasure took over. She met his gentle thrusts with abandon, desirous of another trip to that wonderful place he had brought her to earlier. It was not to be. Abruptly he withdrew himself from her. Lizzy, deprived of sensation so near to release, cried out in despair as a gush of warmth spread across her thigh.
Darcy sighed, his weight resting on her for a moment before he stood and crossed the room to the basin of water on her bureau. He returned and pressed a damp cloth to her thighs. Lizzy flinched, the water felt like ice on her passion-fevered skin. Darcy whispered an apology as he continued wiping away the evidence of their sin.
He returned the cloth to the basin then crawled in bed beside her, pulling her against his chest. Lizzy stiffened at this affectionate gesture. She crossed her arms over her breasts and pushed away from him. Her lust had abated, taking with it its soft illumination. Now she saw the scene in the stark light of clarity.
"My God, I don't even like you." Her words were not spoken with cruel intent, rather they were blurted in a murmur of horror.
Darcy's expression was beyond penitent, like a man set aflame, endeavoring to be silent in his agony because he knew he deserved the punishment. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No . . . I want never to have met you."
His jaw set, though he tried to rein in his anger. He sat up and began putting on his clothes.
She caught his hand as he stood. "Please . . . stay."
"I don't understand you."
"Nor do I." She crumpled then, tears spilling from her eyes.
Darcy hauled her into his arms. This time she clung to him, pressing her face against his chest to hide her tears.
"I am sorry," he whispered.
"Whatever for? The decision was mine. You gave me my escape and I chose sin. I hate you for that. You were supposed to be the villain."
He knew not what reply to make so he continued to hold her in silence, laying soft kisses against her hair as she sobbed.
Chapter Eight
Darcy had not slept more than a few hours. Elizabeth had tired herself out weeping and had fallen asleep in his arms. He dared not disturb her by moving, so he had held her until the sun rose, unable to sleep beyond a few minutes at a time. The sleep he had gotten was haunted by nightmares. Those nightmares, however, were preferable to his waking thoughts.
Never had he loathed himself as much as he did now. Even his role in Anne's death had not trouble him as much as this fresh sin already did. In the past he had committed many wrongs—oh yes—poor decisions, mistakes, but all had been in reaction to circumstances not fully within his control. This mess, however, was completely of his own making.
He should have anticipated she would be distraught. What other reaction could he have possibly expected a virtuous woman to have? Was he so much a simpleton? Had he really believed pleasure would cause her to forget her principles?
The truth was he had not wanted to think; he had wanted to make her feel something for him—to be bonded with her. He had gotten his desire for a brief moment during their unholy union, but now found her devastation was not a price he was willing to pay.
Simon roused Darcy out of his dark thoughts with a rap upon the door.
"The Earl is here for you, sir," the valet said as he entered the bedroom.
"I suppose Barnes cannot be convinced to tell him to go to the devil?"
The venerable butler of Darcy House took consequence very seriously. He would sooner die than not show an earl proper deference, even when said earl was inconveniencing his master.
"I dare not even suggest it."
Darcy sat up in bed. Holding his head in his hands, he mumbled, "Then I shall see him."
A disgruntled Darcy entered the library some minutes later, having dressed expediently. "Care for a drink?" He asked, selecting a bottle of brandy and a tumbler from the cabinet.
"It's half nine!" exclaimed the earl, who was looking rather disgruntled himself. His cheeks were flushed from the short trip up the stairs and one foot was propped upon an ottoman.
"Ah, so you do know what time it is," Darcy said as he poured himself a generous helping of brandy. He generally did not partake so early in the day, but he knew his uncle's physician had disallowed him alcohol and he found it irritating to watch anyone
else enjoy it while he could not.
Lord Matlock folded his arms and cast his nephew a petulant glare. Darcy fought off the urge to tell him how much he looked like Catherine when he made that expression. He was annoyed with the man, but he couldn't be so harsh.
"Well."
"Well?"
"You've come to deliver a scold. Get on with it."
"Impertinent whelp."
Darcy ignored the insult, gesturing impatiently for him to continue.
"It is time for you to do the right thing. I should not have to remind you of your duty to your family," said the earl in his best attempt at sternness.
It was truly comical. Lord Matlock was terrible at playing the tyrant. He should have sent Lady Catherine to do his bidding, but then he would have to communicate with his sister, an action he avoided at all cost.
"Forgive me, have I been lax in my duties to my family thus far? I am here in London when I would much rather be anywhere else for the purpose of chaperoning my sister to every dreadful ball and dinner party just so she might make a respectable marriage—which I am not even certain she wants. And then of course there was my marriage."
"I did not approve of your marriage. I told Catherine time and time again not to pressure you into it. I knew it would end in disaster"
"You certainly made no objection at the time—at least not to myself—yet now you claim to be omniscient. It is a wonder you didn't share your misgivings and save me the scandal."
"I did not think it my business to order your life."
Darcy smiled and the Earl let out an annoyed huff at having undercut his own argument.
"In that case you might leave me to order my life at present. Or have I done something that has caused you to doubt my competence? Are you, like my dear Aunt Catherine, convinced I've become a rake?"
"She tells me you left around eight last night and did not return until sunrise."
So his uncle and aunt, who rarely spoke, had been discussing him already this morning. Most alarming.
"Yes, I was out late last night. Clearly I'm as dangerous as Byron."
"You were supposed to be at the Bennington to-do. You said that you were indisposed. If anyone saw you out gallivanting and the gossip gets back to Lady Bennington it will endanger the match with her daughter."
"There will not be a match. Perhaps before Anne I might have been persuaded by your arguments, but never again. I have no intention of marrying in the near future. If I ever enter into the farcical institution again it will not be the bullying of my relation which persuades me."
"You need an heir."
"I have an heir."
"Be serious."
"I am perfectly serious. All the world sees Lewis as a Darcy."
"You do not."
"My opinion hardly matters. How would it look if I left everything to my second son? People can gossip all they want about Anne's indiscretion it will only become truth if I acknowledge it."
"That's what Miranda says."
"She's right." As an afterthought Darcy added, "She's much clever than you, you know."
"She says that, too," Lord Matlock replied. He doted on his wife to the point it almost made one nauseated to be in the same room with them; they were so sickeningly sweet together. He'd had the luck to fall in love with a lady of equal birth and fortune. Sometimes he forgot others did not share his luck.
Darcy and the Earl exchanged a grin, a relic of the much easier relationship they used to have.
Almost as quickly as it appeared, the grin slid from Lord Matlock's face. "I've made promises to her father."
"Well, you shouldn't have. I am not a pawn in your political games, Uncle."
The Earl harrumphed as if he did not quite agree.
Darcy continued, "I fail to understand why the Marquess would want me for a son-in-law anyway. Surely he could do much better."
"He could, but Lady Celia has declared she will not marry an old man and titled, wealthy, single young men—appropriate titled, wealthy, single young men—are a rare find at the moment. You're the next best thing."
"How I love to be second best. What does Lady Celia feel about me?"
"She finds you acceptable."
"Lovely."
"You might come to like the girl if you spent more than five minutes with her."
"I have no objection to Lady Celia. My reluctance to bind myself to her—to anyone—is because I do not believe there is a place in my heart available for a wife. I've had one loveless marriage, it is not as easy as some in the ton make it appear."
"No room in your heart you say, so there is already a woman? Miranda said as much. My sister hinted at it too though that was some time ago. Before Anne," Lord Matlock paused, turning a penetrating stare on his nephew.
Darcy made no reply to his uncle's fishing.
The earl continued, "I take it this woman is not appropriate if you did not marry her before."
"She as herself is completely appropriate. She is perfect. It is her circumstances that leave much to be desired."
Observing Darcy's impassioned look, Lord Matlock launched into a lecture. "Let me remind you one marriage for the sake of duty does not give you the freedom to marry as you wish the second time. You need to forget this woman if her circumstances are so unworthy. After Anne our family can hardly stand another scandal."
Feeling perhaps that his words were not being taken seriously he added, "It will not be tolerated," punctuating his point by banging his fists on the armrests of his chair with each word.
Darcy did not find his uncle's attempts at despotism comical now.
With a strikingly cold look in his eyes, Darcy stood. "If we are quite done here I have business to attend to as I am sure you do as well. Perhaps in the future you might spare me these uncomfortable meetings by remembering I always do my duty." Never mind the harm doing so might cause myself.
Lizzy woke up late. And alone.
She knew not when Mr. Darcy had left. There was a note upon the pillow in his place, expressing his hopes she would feel better and warning he would return to check on her that evening.
Horrible man. Could he not understand she needed time to think? And she could not think properly in his presence. Of that she was sure.
It was the only thing she had any certainty about. She felt she had never known herself before last night, and now, having discovered the awful truth she must reconcile herself to it. She needed to examine each conflicting emotion with a clear mind; she needed a long walk.
Hyde Park was a walkable distance away, at least to an accomplished walker such as herself. However, though it was not quite the fashionable hour for promenading, Lizzy feared she would meet with an old acquaintance if she dared venture there. As unlikely such an occurrence might be, she could not bear the thought of it. She yearned for a walk like those she would often take at Longbourn. There she knew secret paths where she might walk for hours and not see another living soul. That was the best sort of walk for thinking.
She had not been on a proper walk in years. Perhaps that was the reason behind last night's rash decision. A decision she feared had very little to do with two thousand pounds.
Lizzy tried not to think about whose fingers had touched those buttons previously as Sally, one of the maids, did the buttons at her back. Mrs. Walters, the housekeeper, knocked on the door just as her toilette was complete.
"There is a gentleman to see you, ma'am. A Mr. Mumford. He says wants to speak to you about the health of your sister."
Lizzy knew this must be the physician Mr. Darcy had hired for Jane. "I will see him presently. Please show him to the drawing room."
Contemplation, it seemed, would have to wait.
The man she found standing in the drawing room did not look like as though he was about to deliver grave news. His expression was jovial in fact, as if he had an amusing joke he was keeping all to himself.
"Dr. Mumford, please, do be seated. Shall I call for some tea?"
"I am a me
re mister I fear—only a humble surgeon," Mr. Mumford replied, seeming not at all humble.
Lizzy's first thought was that Jane needed a physician not a butcher. A wave of rage swept over her at Mr. Darcy's miserliness—surely he could afford a real doctor?—but she tried to keep an even mien.
"Though tea would still be most welcome, thank you," he said, looking more at Mrs. Walters, who was lingering in the doorway, than at Lizzy.
Turning back to Lizzy he said, "I can see you are one of those who believes in the superiority of the physician. I will be the first to admit there is a great deal one can learn about the medical sciences from books, however, I do not believe all the mysteries of the human body have yet been discovered. How is the science to progress if someone doesn't dirty his hands?
"Theory is all well and good, but a medical education, in my opinion, cannot be complete without some practical knowledge, which the physician's education is sorely lacking in. My Latin does not extend beyond the rudimentary lessons of my early years, but I am quite confident in my ability to treat my patients."
Having heard this speech, Lizzy understood what Mr. Darcy saw in the man. He was obviously eloquent and intelligent, with the kind of unrepentant confidence Darcy himself possessed. She concluded it had not been parsimony that caused Darcy to send Mr. Mumford to Jane.
Mr. Mumford let out a bark of laughter, seriousness draining out of his features. "You will think me mad after that lecture. You must accept my apologies, I have become too quick to defend my profession. Even when it has not been impeached."
Lizzy managed a small smile in reply.
"Now concerning your sister, I have listened to her lungs and it does not sound like consumption."
A great whoosh of air escaped Lizzy's lungs. She had not noticed she had been holding her breath. Yet for all her relief she could not quite trust his optimistic diagnosis yet.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 5
