Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  “Calm yourselves!” The inspector’s voice boomed out in the room, silencing them all. “Now, then. We are currently closing the net, we believe, around the dangerous individual; he will not remain at large much longer. But while he does, we must insist you remain here, good folk, for your own safety.”

  A mixture of groans and grumbles followed.

  “Even now,” the man continued, “our agents are hot on his trail. Believe me when I say this. The scoundrel will not escape. Or he will not survive the night.”

  2.

  The long hours of the night had almost ended, but morning was still hidden behind the dark veil. The world was quiet with that pregnant silence that settles just before the first threads of birdsong begin to waft through the trees. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy parted the bushes and stepped from the path onto the lawn of the tall house, even more foreboding now in the dark than when she had last seen it.

  This is where it happened. Part of her quaked at the realization. She should never have returned. She should have put as much distance between herself and this place of death as possible. But no, she reminded herself. This was the only way to save poor Inspector Gerald’s life.

  They paused just at edge of the yard. Something was wrong in the quiet of the night.

  “Hello the house,” Mr. Darcy called. And waited.

  Nothing happened.

  “No one’s here,” Elizabeth said.

  “So it would seem. That does not bode well for the inspector.”

  “Perhaps they are all asleep.”

  Mr. Darcy raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, but stepped forward. “Stay close,” he murmured.

  “Always,” she answered quietly. In the dark, his hand found hers, and held it tightly for a brief moment. It was all she needed, for now.

  Blood still stained the porch and doorjamb. Elizabeth tried not to stare as she crossed the threshold behind him. It wouldn’t do to fill her mind with dread at horrors that may or may not await them inside. She had to be brave now.

  “Hello?” Mr. Darcy called again once they stood inside. There was a gentle snort from a room further in, the sound of someone rousing awake with a snore. Elizabeth followed Mr. Darcy back through the front entrance and parlor, and came upon a room with a single man in it. He was dressed in the nondescript, uniform black coat of the inspectors, though he seemed shorter and rather rounder than the others she had seen. He had been stretched out on a chaise, though now he sat up, pulling a blanket up over his lap.

  “Excuse me?” he said, still groggy. “Can… can I help you? Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I see you wear the colors of the secret police. Are you an inspector?”

  The man shook his head, then nodded. “No—that is, yes—well, I’m their physician, you see. Not an inspector proper, but yes, I ride with the force. I was left to look after the scene for the evening, as all the other men are out on the hunt.”

  “Hm.” Mr. Darcy’s face was stern, but he had the good grace not to point out how poor a job the man had done of keeping watch if two civilians could sneak up on him like this.

  “You’re a doctor?” Elizabeth said.

  “Just so, lady.”

  She looked to Mr. Darcy, relief washing over her face.

  “One of your men is gravely ill,” Mr. Darcy said. “We left him out on the road, not too far from here, but far enough it was not possible to carry him, and we had no horse. Can you come with us to tend to him?”

  “We fear he will not last the coming day without care,” Elizabeth added. But the man was already shaking his head.

  “No, no, I’m sorry, but… I have to stay here, you see? If I leave, who’s to watch over the scene?”

  “I’ll stay,” Elizabeth said immediately.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Darcy said. “I would never leave you alone in the midst of this.”

  She looked askance at him. She knew he must be doing what he thought was right, but it chafed her to hear him speak so derisively of her. She was her own self, with her own mind to make up, after all. “Then you stay, Mr. Darcy, and I will attend the doctor to where we left the inspector.”

  Mr. Darcy’s frown deepened. Elizabeth waited, as if daring him to disagree. When he spoke again, it was to the doctor. “Look, doctor. This man we left, he’s one of yours; one of the force. Have you not sworn an oath to care for his life? Will his blood not be on your hands if he passes when you could have done something?”

  The doctor grimaced. “I have so sworn.”

  “But you worry about leaving this place. Why?”

  He glanced about. “You would not know these things. Why would you? You are not an inspector. But it is known—it is understood—that a man like he whom we seek, devil that he is… he has a tendency to return.”

  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Why would he do such a thing? Hasn’t he already killed the good people who lived here?”

  The doctor stood, stretching. “I will come with you. Yes, you are right. It is clearly my duty. But… I fear I will fail in one duty by privileging the other.”

  “If no one is here to kill and he returns, no one dies,” Mr. Darcy pointed out.

  “But we may miss our only chance to catch him.”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows raised, and Elizabeth understood. Did this portly fellow believe he was going to catch the killer? All by himself?

  “In answer to your question, my lady,” the doctor said, “who can pretend to understand the proclivities of the perverse? I can only say this. He does not return to kill again, but to relish the first time. To bathe himself in a sort of frenzy of his own flesh, in the memory of his unholy lust for blood.”

  Elizabeth looked away. She did not require the man’s colorful sermonization. She supposed she understood what he was saying well enough. All men knew lust.

  3.

  Jane Bennet laughed. She was naked in the dark, shivering for cold and pleasure, warmed by the heat of the man she loved, upon whose naked body she lay. His hands drifted up her back and buried themselves in her hair, and he gazed into her eyes.

  “Oh, Jane,” he murmured. “I am sorry to compromise your dignity so. I would not have it this way.”

  “Don’t let’s be silly about it, Mr. Bingley,” she said, surprising herself with her own boldness. The icy waters had given her a clarity she had seldom known. “Of course your gentle words are good and well-meant, but we are here now, and it is done. We are naked, we are pressed together, and…” She shifted her weight beneath him, feeling his flesh glide over her own. “I fear we are still very much in danger of freezing if we do not keep active.”

  His eyes lit up. “You speak with wisdom as always, my lady love.” And with that, his mouth met hers.

  Mr. Bingley was a kind and gentle lover, much like the rest of his personality, but he was also enthusiastic. Jane smiled as his hands probed and caressed every inch of her back. He rubbed her shoulders and neck, rubbed down the sides of her spine, rested for a bit in the small of her back, and joyously cupped and swatted at the curves of her buttocks. All the while they kissed and smiled, sharing the pleasure of love.

  “Mr. Bingley,” she whispered, “I have never been with a man, you know.”

  “And I never with a woman,” he answered.

  She pulled away from his mouth, her eyes wide. “Truly?”

  His face fell a bit. “Does this displease you, lady? Have I done ill?”

  “No!” She cradled his face in her own hands. “No, you could never do ill in my eyes, my love! I am only amazed that such a man as you, someone so, well…” she twisted a bit, just enough to tease his bulging manhood to throb beneath her, “so well endowed, would never have touched a woman!” She was quite proud of herself for not laughing as the words escaped her mouth. They were silly, she knew, but the heart of them was true. She was surprised. And honored.

  “Never in all my life,” he said, “never until I met you, have I set
eyes on a lady so wondrously perfect, Jane. I do not regret that I have no other women in my past to spoil this night.”

  His words moved her, and she kissed him again. “I am warming,” she said when she came up for breath. “You are doing your duty, Sir.”

  “That is well,” he replied. “I believe it is my turn on top!”

  Gently, lovingly, he rolled her onto her back. The grass was cool beneath her but she hardly cared; her body pulsed with the warm blood of passion, and all she knew was his beautiful skin, soft and strong and smelling of warmth. She lay back and gasped as his mouth traced down her neck, finding her breasts and taking in each nipple, one at a time, his tongue teasing them, flicking and licking and kissing.

  “You are a amazingly adept,” she said, “for an inexperienced lover!”

  “I have the pinnacle of all inspiration before me,” he answered, moving down her belly. She giggled. It tickled, feeling his hot breath against her navel. And when his hands traced down her thighs, and his breath began moving even lower than her belly, she nearly began to feel faint, so heightened did her arousal become.

  “Mr. Bingley,” she moaned.

  “I would taste you, dear Jane, if you will allow it.”

  “I will!”

  What followed made everything before pale in comparison for her. The man with whom she had so swiftly fallen in love burrowed his face between her legs and made love to her, his every attention dedicated to bringing her greater and greater pleasure. When he finally emerged, she could only beam at him. For all the cold, her cheeks had turned rosy and hot.

  “Come to me, my love!” she cried.

  He grunted in acknowledgment and moved up her body, till he lay between her legs, which she wrapped around him. Now it was her turn to explore his body with her hands. She ran her fingers over him, silent in admiration of the rippling muscles of youth. He was a wild young stallion, and he was hers to command.

  “Enter me, love,” she urged. “Now!”

  “As you wish,” he said, pressing himself against her. She felt the tip of him find the opening, slick with pleasure and still very wet from his lovemaking, and she pressed back, grinding her hips against his. Wish a gasp of surprise, he slid inside her.

  “Jane!” he cried.

  “Bingley!”

  He began to thrust, gliding in and out of her, just as a stallion glides over the grass. He was every bit as graceful, every bit as wild and enthused, and, she was not displeased to discover, every bit as quick.

  “Good God!” he moaned, sliding into her a final time.

  “Ohhhh!” she gasped, feeling her own plateau of pleasure returning even as he finished. He quivered against her, and she cradled him in her arms, full of the simple joy of providing comfort to another creature.

  “My Jane,” he whispered. “Sweet, sweet Jane.”

  “I am yours, now, Mr. Bingley,” she said. “I hope you are in earnest!”

  He laughed, a good, wholesome sound. “Never have I been more in earnest in my life! I declare, before the new moon, we shall be made man and wife!”

  Somewhere beyond the sound of the rippling brook, birds began heralding the morning.

  4.

  “Hold,” Mr. Darcy said. The three of them stood still. Elizabeth, the doctor, and Mr. Darcy were all about to exit the house where the murders had taken place. Now they waited in the dark silence.

  “Did you hear something?” the doctor whispered. In answer, Mr. Darcy brought a single finger to his lips.

  Elizabeth turned her gaze to the ceiling at the faint, quiet creak of wood overhead. Sure enough, there was someone—or something—in the house. Unless those were merely the sounds of the house settling before warming for the day. She looked askance at Mr. Darcy, who waved his chin back further into the house. “Quietly,” he mouthed, not daring to breathe a sound.

  It was rather difficult. Not for Elizabeth, whose sprightly figure facilitated moving about without much noise when she required it, nor for Mr. Darcy, whose gentlemanly bearing gave him a sort of dance-like grace upon which to call, but for the doctor. The rotund man made more noise than the other two just by breathing. So it was rather a hopeless cause to try to find a stair to ascend without making any noise.

  “Wait here,” Mr. Darcy tried to silently command him, but the physician merely shook his head. No, he would not wait. He would do his duty. He was there on behalf of the inspectors, and he would inspect.

  The back half of the house was even darker than the front. The rooms, smaller here, held their shadows, reluctant to let them go. Windows were far smaller, and what little light did peek in was soon broken up increasing surfaces. Finally, Mr. Darcy, at the head of their party, found a stair.

  “Will you wait here?” he breathed to the doctor. The physician looked up the stair, frowning, and set one foot on the bottom step. In the still house, it creaked as loudly as a lumberjack bringing down a heavy oak. The man retreated down, shook his head, and shooed Mr. Darcy up the stair. Elizabeth made to follow, and Darcy turned to her.

  “No,” he mouthed. “Wait.”

  “I will not,” she whispered. “I will not let you face it alone, whatever it is.”

  Mr. Darcy seemed to stare her down for a moment, taking her measure. She knew he could never reconcile himself with the idea of putting her into harm’s way, but he had to understand that this was not his choice to make. She would put herself wherever she pleased, and just now, it pleased her not to leave his side. She pursed her lips. “Don’t leave me here,” she mouthed.

  “Very well. But please stay close.”

  “I will.”

  Painstakingly slowly, they began their ascent. The stair was already narrow, but they stayed close to one side, so as to avoid the creaking so pronounced by stepping in the middle. Mr. Darcy spread one hand out in front of them, feeling along the wall as he went.

  To Elizabeth, it was an alarmingly short climb. She thought the fear boiling in her stomach would make time slow, but she found she hardly had time enough to collect herself before they had reached the top. The second floor was even darker than the first, if it could be imagined. Heavy curtains were closed over every window, so that if there were a sliver of dawn on the horizon, she couldn’t have known it. Mr. Darcy led them past a landing and down a short hallway, peering into a room on each side as he did. The first time he disappeared into one of them, she held her breath, sure he would be attached. But this was not the case. He briefly closed the door to check behind it, then reemerged, shaking his head.

  Thus they explored some four rooms before finally coming to the large door at the end of the hallway. Elizabeth checked herself. This had to be it. And this would have been where the creak originated, based on where they had been standing downstairs. She peered at Mr. Darcy, barely making out his face. He nodded to her and placed his hand on the door handle.

  Just then, a ghastly, inhuman scream rang out, filling the house, and the door rattle. Mr. Darcy pulled his hand back reflexively and brought an arm around Elizabeth. She pressed into him, glad for his warmth, then looked to his face.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “But what is it?”

  He shook his head and reached for the door again, just as they heard the crash of breaking glass. He pulled the door open and they stepped into the room.

  It was lit with the dull, gray almost-light of pre-dawn. To their eyes it seemed nearly blinding. It was a large room, furnished like a study, books on their shelves along each wall, and a sturdy, wooden desk off to one side. Sitting chairs manned each corner. And directly before them, a large, double-paned window was shattered. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy both dashed across the room and gazed out, but no one was to be seen.

  “Oh, my dear,” Darcy said, pulling Elizabeth into his arms. She did not resist him. “I was so afraid I would lose you. Afraid if I left you down there. Afraid if I brought you with me. I am not accustomed to knowing such fear.”

  “I know,” she said, searching his eyes. He spoke the truth;
the bewilderment she found there was a testament to it. “But you need never fear for me like that. Not like a child. You must trust me, my heart.”

  Her breath caught and her heartbeat sped up as she proclaimed her feelings for him with the epithet. Had he known? Surely yes. Surely he could feel it every bit as much as she could—the constant tug between them, far deeper and more real than anything else around them now.

  “I will,” he said. “Elizabeth. I will trust you. I… I adore you, you know.”

  And when she gazed into his eyes again, she saw he spoke this truly, too.

  “Kiss me, Mr. Darcy.”

  “As you command, my love.”

  Minutes later they had rejoined the doctor and were standing on the front lawn. Morning had truly broken.

  “We must be on our way,” Elizabeth said, “if there is to be any hope for the inspector.”

  “Yes,” the doctor said, nodding. “Of course.” His eyes betrayed his desire to stay—he stared up at the broken window—but he assented.

  They found one more strange clue before leaving. In the packed dirt surrounding the front door, there was glass, shards from above, some even with bits of blood on their edges. But there were no footprints. Not so much as a single track.

  “I care not for that,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Overhead, a raven cawed and flew away.

  To be continued…

  Cherished by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 7

  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.