by Emma East
Merry Mishaps
A Steamy Pride & Prejudice Variation
Emma East
Merry Mishaps: A Steamy Pride & Prejudice Variation
A Darcy’s Winter Nights Novella
Copyright © 2019 by Emma East
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Merry Mishaps
A Darcy’s Winter Nights Novella
“How wonderful it would be if it snowed on Christmas Eve. Can't you, my husband, do something about this horrible lack of snow?”
Her husband did not pull his nose away from his book. “And how wonderful it would be to fulfill your wish, but I'm afraid it is out of my hands.”
They rocked along on the road, a three day trip so far from Longbourn to Pemberley. Elizabeth insisted she could go farther without resting, but her husband was adamant. Truthfully, she appreciated the chance to rest and relax from the bumpy, uncomfortable trip, however, Christmas Eve at Pemberley was waiting. She was desperate to be there for it, even if pushing through the journey gave her a sore backside.
But she was dreadfully bored.
“It must be humbling to know that there are some things even out of your reach,” she said.
Darcy glanced over the top of his book, found her teasing eyes resting on him, and twitched his brow. “I suppose, with some effort, I might be able to conjure up a dust storm. Would that satisfy your desire for me to control the weather?”
“Would it be a very big dust storm?”
“That would depend upon your definition of very big.”
She leaned over, lightly resting her hand on his thigh. “I have a sizable definition of very big.”
Darcy's dark eyes glimmered. He lowered his book to the seat beside him. “Perhaps I could find a way to create a small rain storm beside the lake.”
Fondly remembering a day they spent in the creek that fed said lake, she squeezed his thick, muscled thigh. Darcy's jaw twitched. In the months since they had married, Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to find her stoic husband's erogenous zones. His thigh was one of the first she had discovered.
“Finally, a real use for irrigation equipment.”
To be fair, she appreciated any chance to caress those sculpted thighs, hard and thick from years of riding. It was only a bonus that he seemed to enjoy it too. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched her under his stern brow. His soft deerskin breeches were fashionably fit, which meant she had no trouble reacquainting herself with said attractive anatomy. She ran a finger along his left thigh, a tickle.
“I do like to find a use for everything,” he said, his hips lifting infinitesimally as she stroked his inner thigh.
“Resourceful, I'd say.”
“Yes, I do have my positive qualities.” He leaned forward and captured her lips. His hands, free from his book, gently cradled her face. His tongue, tasting of tea and sugar, swept into her mouth, exploring, drawing her closer to him, erasing any thought of boredom.
“Quite a few,” she gasped when he released her. Her hand curled on his thigh, squeezed, and then explored higher.
A soft puff of air escaped him. “Lizzy, we'll be at Pemberley in mere hours. Where there is a bed. Dozens of them, in fact.”
“Yes, I do recall a number of those beds. In the meantime, there's plenty of time to entertain me.”
“Brat,” he said fondly, thrusting lightly into her hand, his eyelids falling and lips parting on a groan.
“You'll only find yourself to blame, spoiling me like you do.”
“Come here.”
Without warning, Darcy pulled her into his lap, steel arms keeping her from wriggling away. His laugh, dark and knowing, tickled her neck and his hard length against her backside demanded her attention.
“I can be demanding and imperious, too,” he said with a quick nibble of the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He lifted his hips, pressed against her. “Very demanding.”
She smiled, running her hands through his hair, her nails tickling his scalp. A second erogenous zone for her husband. “But Darcy, we are but a few miles from Pemberley. We must wait for our bed.”
Darcy growled, and there was a frantic pulling at her tangled skirts, Elizabeth giggling as he struggled with the thick fabrics protecting her from both winter's chill and her husband's wandering hands.
CRACK!
Elizabeth yelped as the carriage listed to one side. Boxes tumbled from under seats and from up above. Horses whinnied in fear and confusion. The driver and his assistant started shouting.
Darcy grabbed Elizabeth before she could slide off his lap. Her hand flew to the ceiling of the carriage for balance as they listed to the side. His grip now protected her from a nasty fall, hands splayed across her back as he braced his feet in the badly tilting, still moving carriage, his eyes now wide with shock instead of lust.
The carriage thudded and bounced to a juddering stop. Their gasping breaths filled the inside of the carriage.
“Are you injured? No? Good. Here, let me help.”
Darcy shoved open the door before one of the men could get to it. Elizabeth followed her husband out of the carriage, squeezing her body through packages and the cramped doorway behind him, the door now facing the ground instead of the horizon.
“What's happened—oh.”
What happened was a broken front wheel. Wheels shouldn't come in two pieces. That the men had managed to keep them safely upright and the horses unharmed spoke a lot of their abilities.
Elizabeth grimaced at Darcy when he finished talking to their men, leaving them to unhook the team of spooked, but now settling horses. “How are we to continue on?”
“The nearest inn is the Crooked Spaniel, only a few miles away. Once the horses are safely disconnected, we will ride one there and get the supplies we need for repair.”
Elizabeth, hands safely tucked in her mink cuff, looked toward the horizon and the slowly sinking sun. Darcy touched her elbow. “It's midday. We have plenty of time. In fact, it would be the perfect time for us to stretch our legs and rest, take lunch, while the men repair the coach.”
This decided, two horses were prepared. One for the driver to collect the supplies needed to repair the coach. The second for Darcy and Elizabeth to travel to the inn for lunch and rest.
Darcy situated Elizabeth on the saddle in front of him, ensured she was settled securely and as comfortable as one could possibly be, and then they were off toward the nearest village.
“This is not quite what I imagined when I sought to relieve the boredom of the trip.”
“Is it not?” The hand not loosely holding the reins traveled up her waist and brushed against the underside of her breast, a teasing tickle in revenge for her earlier antics. His warm breath spread goosebumps over her exposed neck. “I find myself uncommonly entertained,” he murmured, his voice as rich as dark coffee.
She licked her lips. It was a pity the saddle couldn't accommodate two people, thus depriving Elizabeth the feel of Darcy's strong thighs cradling her—among other parts of his anatomy she could be close to if not for the leather saddle acting as chaperone.
She leaned back against him, appreciative of the hard chest that met her spine. “I suppose the village inn will have plenty of places for travelers to stretch their legs.”
His lips brushed the side of her neck, sending a frisson of warmth down to pool in her middle. “A most welcoming village. It's a pity we won't see more of it.”
Grinning, she tilted her head, allowing him more access. “Stop that. M
r. Hershel could see if he looks back.”
“See what? Your furs are plenty thick… and you are so warm, dear wife.” His free hand now traveled down, down, toward the juncture of her thighs. She squirmed as he slipped his hand into her pelisse, the cold of his flesh a shock even through her layers. The warm breath on her ear as he nipped the soft flesh there soothed some of the discomfort, only for Elizabeth to find herself gasping as Darcy cupped her. She squeezed her thighs together, grateful beyond belief she could only ride sidesaddle.
“Stop that,” she muttered.
“Very well.” He released her… and then slid his hand back up, over her waist, cupping her breast. Even through the linen of her dress, his touch made her tingle. His thumb swept across her, and then his fingers tweaked her nipple.
“You are a very bad man to tease me so,” she whispered.
His chuckle sent a shiver through her.
“A pity we are so close,” he murmured, pulling his hands away and letting her pelisse fall closed. “I would be curious to see what all I could do to you on the back of a horse.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said with a laugh. She had little desire to test the limit of her horse riding capabilities, which were marginal at best. Her fashionable attire also did not contribute to Elizabeth's confidence on horseback, being unfit for riding.
“Yes, your attire leaves something to be desired,” Darcy said when she relayed this information. “I think the first order of business shall be correcting this foul oversight.”
Her insides flipped at the promise in his voice. “How many more miles?”
“We're not far.”
She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I wish it was a white Christmas, but at least we do not have to ride in the snow.”
“Yes, there is that small mercy.”
They arrived at the village within half an hour. At the advice of the local inn’s landlord, Mr. Hershel broke off from them to seek out a replacement wheel. The upbeat and friendly landlord ushered them in, assuring them they would undoubtedly be away to Pemberley within the hour. Their stomachs growling, Elizabeth and Darcy decided lunch was the first thing on the agenda for their impromptu break. Afterwards, they stretched their legs on a walk about the town, seeing what sights there were to see, and generally getting their appetites up for dinner. Mr. Hershel's absence did not bode well the longer it continued. They returned to the inn after two hours with no word from Mr. Hershel. Elizabeth, anxious to be home for their first Christmas as a married couple, did not miss the beginnings of a frown on her husband's face.
Too nervous to leave the inn again in case the driver came back and could not find them, Elizabeth insisted they sit in the common room and enjoy the warm fire and cider the landlord’s wife offered to them. The cider was nothing like the one made for them in Pemberley, but it was warm and comforting. Darcy, meanwhile, was pulled into conversation by a local landowner come to the village for a hot meal and beer.
It was close to sunset when Mr. Hershel strode into the inn. Elizabeth perked up in her seat beside the fire, straining her neck to watch as he greeted Darcy beside the bar and began to speak animatedly to him. He shook his head several times to what Darcy had to say. Darcy’s face grew grim. Her heart dropped, knowing what to expect.
Once Mr. Hershel left, a determined set to his chin, Darcy approached her spot by the fire like a man walking up the steps to the gallows. “It appears we would do best to spend the night.”
“I thought that would be the consensus.” She sighed and rose to her feet. “I may as well bathe while I have the chance, even if my trunk is with the coach.”
Darcy squeezed her elbow, his gaze regretful but relieved. He must have expected her disappointment to overwhelm her good sense. "I'll have someone fetch a nightgown. The landlord's wife has already offered to clean your dress.”
A bit of good news at least. Elizabeth disliked the grimy feeling of three days’ worth of road dust on her skin. The kind of dust that clung to a person’s skin no matter how many sponge baths one took. She needed a good soak to unsettle it, and that was just what the landlord’s wife provided after a room was arranged for their use. It was warm and the soaps smelled like perfumes rather than wax and, all in all, Elizabeth declared it to be the best bath one could have under the present circumstances.
The landlord’s wife brought her a dress to wear for dinner. And though she insisted it would be no problem to set them up a table in the rooms, the rooms were rather cramped and small. The idea of eating there held no appeal for Elizabeth, who at least wanted to enjoy her evening if she could not do so at home. Therefore, she put on the borrowed dress, grateful for the pins the servant brought to help her shorten the length a few inches, and threw her fur shawl over the loose, sagging shoulders of the dress. Satisfied no one would be the wiser, she returned downstairs where they were quickly sat for dinner.
“They have been so kind to us when they needn’t have been, and they have gone through much trouble,” Elizabeth said to Darcy’s ready agreement. “We shall do something for them. Perhaps send a nice goose.”
“Apparently, the man who could potentially sell us a new wheel is out of town and his wife has no means of access to his store,” Darcy told her as they ate. “She nearly broke a window for Hershel to climb through and search—but it was a bad idea, no matter how good her intentions. It would be too great a risk for her to leave her husband’s shop open for thieves.”
“I’ll say,” murmured Elizabeth. “How sweet of her, though, to think of it. When will her husband be back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“There is no other person or nearby village to go to?”
“No.”
Her husband’s terse reply, the lack of eye contact, the stiffness of his shoulders. Dread grew. They’d had little bad news in their marriage so far this past year, but she thought she might get her first real taste tonight.
“Tomorrow… when?” she asked lightly, fearing the answer.
“Evening, unfortunately.”
“Ah.”
Darcy grimaced. “Yes.”
Elizabeth forced her shoulders not to slump. It took several more moments to blink away the tears beginning to prickle the corners of her eyes. Silly of her, to be so distraught over a slight delay! They would at least be home for Christmas. And if they were not, then at least they were able to spend their first Christmas together. Many couples did not do so, though at the moment she couldn’t think of any so unfortunate.
But she refused to cry. It would be silly to cry.
Darcy’s expression turned uneasy, his gaze distressed as he leaned toward her over the table. “Please don’t cry, Lizzy. It is only a slight delay. I will get us home as soon as we possibly can.”
She laughed, her voice thick with emotion. She hid her face behind her hand, shaking her head at herself. “I’m sorry—I know you will. It’s terribly silly to waste breath over, much less tears.”
“I feel your disappointment as well,” Darcy said, later, as he followed her up the stairs to their rooms for the night. He pulled her to him at the top of the landing, hands sliding over her hips in the dim light from the candles. The scent of firewood and hops clung to him, a strangely inviting scent on him. His face in shadow, he leaned close to breathe in her ear. “I did so hope to unwrap you like a present on Christmas Eve morning.”
She slid her hands up his chest, liking the rough feel of his waistcoat under her nails. “Mm. In my house, it is Christmas Eve night when special presents are exchanged.”
“But you are a Darcy now, which must therefore trump any prior Bennet traditions. Unless you are not a Darcy.” His voice contained a smile and she felt it against her neck as he began to press gentle kisses to her skin. “Now tell me, Miss Bennet—what is a pretty woman like yourself doing out on a night like this?”
His hands slid down, curving over her backside in a smooth, strong display of need. She gasped, and then smiled into his shoulder. If Darcy was willin
g to play, then so was she.
Pitching her voice as innocent as she could, she trembled under his touch. “Please, sir… I-I am on my way to my rooms.”
He stepped forward, forcing her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall. He squeezed her backside again, and she expected she would soon be a puddle on the floor if he didn’t stop. He dipped his head, his lips lingering on her collarbone, a frisson of heat in the droughty stairwell sweeping through her.
“I prefer you here, where there is less chance of a pesky chaperone.” As dark and sultry as chocolate, his voice alone could have undid all the buttons on her borrowed dress. “You are a naughty young woman, to be here by yourself. Don’t you know what sorts of blackguards walk these streets?”
She pressed against him, her nipples aching as his chest brushed against them. “Then it is lucky I have you here to protect me.”
“I would not call it luck, Miss Bennet.”
He pressed his thigh between her legs, hard against her core, and her hips answered back without question. He chuckled as he lifted his head, his lips finding hers with unnerving accuracy. He smelled like burnt out matches and fir trees. His kisses as light as winter’s breath, and then smoothly transitioning into a deeper freeze, his teeth nipping her bottom lip just as Jack Frost howled outside. He swallowed her sighs and his hands dragged her to him, cupping her derrière against him as he thrust, an animalistic enactment of what he wished to do to her.
Then they heard footsteps on the stairs.
Slowly, tending to the fire he’d ignited with one last sensual caress of his lips, he pulled away.
“Come along, Miss Bennet,” he said, taking her hand. His dark eyes glimmered with promise in the dim light cast by the candles. Her core aching with unmet need, she made haste after him.
Inside their rooms, he at once took her by the shoulders and claimed her mouth. There was no playful teasing now, no risqué games, only their shared desire for completion with one another. He groaned as her nails scraped his scalp. She gasped as he slipped free a few buttons on the back of her dress and splayed his warm hands across her heated skin. Her loose dress was an asset now, assisting them in meeting their needs, and he yanked the dress down her shoulders, her chest, allowing the cool air to kiss her breasts.
