Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  He was hunting.

  His mark was a young woman. She would have been around the age of one of the elder Bennet sisters, he had realized upon first seeing them, but they were nothing like the description. No, the woman he was searching for would have been of utmost quality, come from rare stock indeed, and was sure to stick out like a priceless gem in the mud among all of these country folk. He had hoped to get a start on his search at the dance the night before, but had found no good prospects. He awaited the next evening, therefore, to resume his search in earnest.

  Until he saw the likeness.

  “Wait a moment,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. The entire party had been on their way outside, but they all stopped at his command, even the oblivious Mrs. Bennet. People generally did do as he said when he used that tone. “Who is this? Whose likeness is this?” He leaned forward, squinting at the drawing. There were a number of them framed on the wall in the hallway. The one that had caught his eye was one of a young girl, no more than two or three years of age, her hair up and her face clear. A drawing might lie, but that face never could. Mr. Darcy reminded himself to breathe, taking in the implications.

  There she was, there on the wall of the Bennet home.

  He had found his mark.

  “Oh, those are of all the girls!” Mrs. Bennet said. “We had them drawn when they were young. Come now, let’s be off!”

  He raised one steady finger, pointing at the face. “Which girl is this?”

  Mrs. Bennet came back and peered at the drawing, as if she was unsure. “Well that’s Lizzie, of course! Now come; the day is spending itself outside.”

  5.

  The weather had a way of turning in the countryside.

  Elizabeth had traveled on foot much further than she had originally meant to, intent on avoiding another encounter with Mr. Darcy. Something about him… she could not define it, was not sure of it at all, but something about him made her uneasy.

  Something about him also made her feel strangely alive. And she remembered more and more of her dreams as she wandered down the lane, far away now from the Bennet house. So it was that she found herself distracted, alone, and far from shelter when the weather turned.

  The first raindrops fell few and fat, spattering the dirt and dragging up the smell of a storm to come. The sky grew ominously dark. “Of course, I’ve no idea how far I am,” she muttered. She seemed to have been walking for hours. Likely she was closer to town now, were she to keep going, than she was to her home should she deign to turn around. Since the storm promised to be intense, she made a quick decision to push on, hoping to find shelter soon. Otherwise, she thought grimly, she would have to make shift beneath the scarce boughs of the trees that lined the lane. Precious little would they do.

  What she really wanted was a roaring fire in a warm room with a soft, thick rug to spread out on, as she had in her dreams last night. To be clear, it had been Mr. Darcy who had spread her out in the dreams. His eyes were so bewitching, his voice so commanding, she had done everything he had asked of her. She blushed even now, remembering. She was not typically given to such fantasies. But in the night she had awoken more than once to find her own hand had wandered between her legs, rubbing, toying, caressing, doing the things that Mr. Darcy had been doing in her dreams.

  He had called her “my Elizabeth.” He had told her of his desires, and she had complied, giving herself to him in every way imaginable. He had kissed every inch of her body, licking, teasing, sometimes biting. He had held her close and she had taken in his scent, his musk, as he had penetrated her, pushing his manhood deep into the sacred grove of her virginity.

  It had been during that particular dream that she had awoken to find her bedding conspicuously wet.

  Elizabeth sighed, snapping out of it. She was about to be wet in a far less pleasant manner if she did not hurry along.

  What a strange feeling it was to have such hunger, such desire for a man, and yet to feel as though she should do every thing she could to stay clear of him. Perhaps it was her desire itself that led her to detach from him. Perhaps it was some deeply embedded modesty, some virtue taught to her to steer clear of lustful thoughts and temptations.

  For between the dreams of passion and pleasure she had experienced waking bouts of fear.

  Her thoughts were finally silenced when she came upon a house. The lane opened on the back of a garden, which led to an estate. Voices poured out and Elizabeth slowed to look and listen.

  6.

  Men. Everywhere she looked, men swarmed the house. They went in and out, they stood about talking and scribbling notes. Someone noticed her and began crossing the garden.

  “Excuse me, m’am,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to be heading to this house, would you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know this house, sir. I am only on a walk, you see, but I thought I might seek shelter where I may, as the storm seems about to break.”

  A breeze gusted up and a fresh spatter of rain fell upon them even as she said these things. The man nodded.

  “I see. Well, that’s all well and good, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move along, m’am. This house is closed for business at the moment.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Closed? It looks quite busy to me.”

  The rain began to pick up. Elizabeth softly admonished herself for not dressing for a change in the weather; a few more minutes of this, and she would be soaked through. She would likely catch her death of cold. Not to mention how indecent she would be before all these men with her white garments drenched and clinging to her body, leaving little to the imagination. Already she felt her nipples had hardened against the chill.

  The man scratched his head. “Yes, I suppose it does. But appearances can be deceiving. Here, miss, ah, m’am, ah…” He floundered, blushing, and removed his dark outer coat. Elizabeth noticed for the first time that he was quite handsome, in his way. “Take this, anyway. Least I can do.” He offered the garment to her.

  “I couldn’t,” she said demurely. “I’m not in the habit of accepting gifts from strange men, sir. Or indeed from strangers at all.”

  “Please.”

  “No, I insist.”

  “Then let me introduce myself. Name is Inspector Gerald, miss.”

  “Ah.” So he wasn’t a gentleman, then, but a working man. And an inspector? “What are you inspecting, sir?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not for public knowledge. Here, allow me.” And before she could refuse him again, he had draped the garment over her shoulders. Its comfortable weight immediately brought respite from the rain and warmth to her body.

  “I thank you, Inspector.”

  “Say nothing of it. But you must be on your way. This is not a public space at the moment, I’m sorry.”

  Just then a scream rang out from inside the house. A general commotion followed as some of the men—other inspectors, Elizabeth wondered?—rushed to the door, but they arrived too late to stop a woman from running out into the garden.

  She was in her nightgown, the original color of which must have been white, but it was so drenched with blood that it fairly shone crimson. She managed to escape the house and take several steps onto the garden path before collapsing to her knees and screaming again.

  “Heavens!” Elizabeth strode toward the woman. “Are you alright?”

  “Miss, come back!” Inspector Gerald tried to stop her, but in vain. The woman’s scream had touched some deep well of pity within Elizabeth, and she needed to be by her side.

  “Are you alright?” She reached the woman and knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her. The woman trembled.

  “D… d- d- dead,” she stuttered. “All dead!”

  “Who is dead? What are you saying?” Elizabeth rubbed the woman’s arm, doing her best to keep her voice calm. The poor creature was obviously in shock. Or worse, hysterics.

  “All of them,” she replied. “All dead. All, every one, down to the children. Not one l
eft alive.”

  Firm hands grasped Elizabeth by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. “Alright, miss, I really must insist that you clear the area. We’ll take this from here.”

  Some of the men helped the bloodied woman to her feet and led her to a chair on the porch.

  “What did she say to you?” Inspector Gerald squinted at Elizabeth, his voice a little less charming, a little more businesslike.

  She told him. He sighed through his nose.

  “But what does she mean?” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  The inspector led her back to the lane. “I know this is the stupidest thing to say after what you’ve just seen, but I beg you, put this out of your mind, miss. We are professionals, and we will get to the bottom of this and help that poor woman.”

  Elizabeth nodded, giving in. She would walk back home, shielded as she was with the heavy woolen jacket, and would do what she could to wash the memory of the blood-soaked woman from her mind. What else could she do?

  Suddenly the awkward diversion of Mr. Darcy, who, just a few moments ago, had seemed so troubling, seemed desirable in comparison.

  But just as she turned back onto the lane, putting the garden behind her, the woman on the porch rose to her feet once again and screamed to Elizabeth.

  “Run! Run for your life, girl! None of us are safe! The vampyre has come!”

  Elizabeth stopped cold.

  All around her, the world seemed devoid of sound and color. And in her mind, loud as cathedral bells, she heard again the horrible, wonderful thing Mr. Darcy had whispered to her, just beneath his breath, at the dance.

  It took a new meaning.

  “I long to taste you.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Claimed by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 2

  Copyright 2019 JL Pearl, all rights reserved.

  This scene is a work of original fiction using characters from Jane Austen’s beloved novel, Pride & Prejudice. This story is very steamy, and should be enjoyed responsibly by readers of a certain age.

  1.

  “I simply cannot understand why you will not venture down the lane to speak with these inspectors and learn all you can!” Mrs. Bennet made a show of smoothing out the front of her day dress as she took her seat. If she made any attempt to conceal the excitement brimming in her voice, Elizabeth did not hear it. “Can you not see how it vexes me, how my poor nerves have been worked raw from not knowing all day if there is a prowler about? If we are in danger? And think of the girls, heavens! What sort of shock they must all be in!”

  Mr. Bennet stood with one hand resting atop the mantle of the drawing room fire, the lines of his gentle face set into a permanent frown. “I understand your desire for information, my dear. Indeed I understand it better than most, as I have known you longest. But I am sure the men at work require space to complete their task, and that any lingering danger in the area will be addressed by the time said task is completed.”

  “By the time said task—oh, oh heavens! Lizzie!” Mrs. Bennet reached to her second eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who had just taken a seat beside her befuddled mother. “Whatever does he mean? What is this task to which he alludes? More of this ghastly business, no doubt?”

  Mr. Bennet sighed quietly and bowed, making his excuses, before retiring to the library.

  “Now mother,” Elizabeth said, “I am sure he only means that the inspectors need time to… well, to inspect.”

  “Yes, but in the meantime, who is looking after us? What is to become of us if some misfortune should fall upon this house?”

  Elizabeth patted her mother’s cloying hands. “We are all here together, mother. Should any danger present itself, we will face it with the power of our unity, as a family.”

  “Oh!” Her answer seemed only to agitate her mother more, so after a time, seeing nothing she could say would have any positive effect, she too excused herself in want of fresh air and some respite from the perpetual groans and sighs filling the room.

  “Poor mother.” Jane, Elizabeth’s elder sister, waited by the entryway. “She will never be happy until she hears every tale to be told.”

  “At least every tale in the neighborhood,” Elizabeth replied softly. “Come, let’s take the air.”

  The Bennet house was a modest country house on a modest country estate, and would have been a perfectly suitable home for any of the girls to inherit, had it not been tied to a pesky stipulation. Only a male heir could take possession of the property upon the passing of Mr. Bennet, and he and his wife had produced only daughters. Perhaps it was not without reason, therefore, that Mrs. Bennet was in a constant state of worry, as both she and her husband were getting along in years. But her proclivity to gossip bored Elizabeth, and the more time passed, the more she found her chief solace lie outside the house, where she could breathe, walk, and speak more freely.

  “I do wish this had not happened so close to our home,” Jane said as they strode into the garden together. “And not… well, is it terribly selfish of me, Lizzie, to wish that hadn’t happened just now, just when Mr. Bingley had begun to… that is, I flatter myself to think that perhaps… oh, I don’t—”

  “Yes, dear sister, he has indeed shown an interest in you, and you need not be coy with me.” She smiled a moment, but it soon fell. “Only, I wish now more than ever that you would break off this interest and forget him.”

  Jane was silent a moment. “You cannot mean that, Lizzie.” Her voice had grown tight.

  “Indeed I do. Listen to me. I do not yet understand the extent of his involvement, but I am uneasy regarding the circumstance of the tragedy I witnessed and its timing with regards to the arrival of Mr.s Bingley and Darcy in the neighborhood.”

  Jane scoffed. “This is some joke. It’s a coincidence, Lizzie, nothing more! What, do you honestly expect me to believe that a gentleman of either of their standing would have had anything to do with such a grizzly thing?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything. But I hope for you to trust your sister, who has loved you all her life.”

  “That’s not fair.” Jane stopped walking. When Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes, she saw them ringed red. “He’s the first man of quality to even look at me, Lizzie, let alone pursue me. You can’t really expect me to put him off just because you have a bad feeling.”

  “People have died, Jane. I saw the house. It was…” Memories flashed. A woman, screaming, covered in blood. Her trembling frame. Her haunting words of warning. “It was a nightmare.”

  “I do not doubt that.” Jane resumed walking. “I only doubt the involvement of either gentleman. You’ve no proof of any kind?”

  Elizabeth held her breath. She had not told her sister of Mr. Darcy’s words to her on the night they’d met. At first they had seemed the foulest of improprieties. Now they filled her with fear and apprehension. Still, she could not bring herself to voice them. She shook her head.

  “Then I will not be swayed. Not until some proof comes to light. Be reasonable, Lizzie. Someday we will look back on this dreadful day, and be glad that some good came out of it. I believe that good will be Mr. Bingley.”

  Elizabeth could only hope her sister was right.

  2.

  “Cover your face.” Lieutenant Fink handed a kerchief to Inspector Gerard, who shook his head.

  “I can hold my lunch,” he replied.

  Fink pushed the kerchief into his hand. “It’s not about that. I don’t want you contaminating the crime scene.”

  Gerard sniffed, tied the cloth around his mouth and nose, and pushed the door open.

  The sight was far worse than anything he could have prepared for. Blood was everywhere, viscous, gathered in pools and splashes. From just within the entryway he spotted the first body, a pair of feet at the base of the stairs, the rest of it hidden by a dividing wall.

  Perhaps he should have been gla
d of the kerchief.

  A half-hour later he had made his observations and was outside, trying his best to forget the sights and smells. He crossed the garden and parted a few low-hanging boughs, glancing up and down the country lane just past its boundary.

  “She’s long gone,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  “I don’t know what you could mean.” He turned, feeling a bit of heat rise to his cheeks. His partner, Inspector Davis, grinned wolfishly.

  “Sure you don’t. Keep telling yourself that. But I have eyes, you know.”

  Gerard nodded and headed back into the garden with Davis. “And what have your eyes told you about the scene?”

  Davis grew sombre. “Nothing good. You been inside?”

  “Got the full tour.”

  They were silent a moment. Davis scratched his chin where a bit of stubble had appeared. Gerard had some of that, too, he supposed. Came with the territory. There was precious little time to pamper oneself with a proper shave.

  “What’d they say the woman—the witness—was saying?”

  “She was out of her mind,” Gerard said. “Poor woman. Something about a vampyre.”

  A cloud passed over Davis’ face.

  “You don’t think—”

  “No,” Davis said. “I absolutely do not. But we had better do our due diligence all the same. Cross your fingers and pray to God this is completely unrelated, but… one cannot be too careful.”

  “No,” Gerard agreed. He turned back to face the lane. “We’d best be off, then. Lots of ground to cover.” He frowned at the sky, still cloudy.

  “Indeed.”

  3.