Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  “I’m here, beloved!” she cried. Her voice would give him his bearings. The hooded man must have had the same realization, for the next thing Elizabeth knew, a hand covered in a velvety red glove began to smother her face. She cried out again, but the sound was stopped by the glove.

  Darcy’s horse, which she fancied she had begun to hear, seemed to grow more distant. The hooded man did not let up, neither with his mount nor with his grip on Elizabeth. Real panic seized her. She had seen what this man did. She had seen the bodies. And she had just lost her chance at escape. Before the sun set, she would die.

  Not this day, she told herself.

  “Ahhhhh!” The man cried in exasperation and pain as Elizabeth sank her teeth as deeply as she could into the palm of his hand. She bit through velvet and felt the resistance of flesh, and kept biting. So he was human, after all.

  “Elizabeth, I’m coming!” Mr. Darcy’s voice was more distant, but she heard his horse begin to gallop once more.

  “I’m here!” she called. The man tried to stifle her again, and she bit him again. With a grunt, she shoved her off his horse and galloped away.

  “Here, my love,” she called as Mr. Darcy drew his horse to a stop and jumped down in one graceful motion. He was at her side in an instant.

  “Are you alright? Did he harm you?”

  “No, no, love, I am well.” She gazed into his eyes. His were wide with fear, roaming over her, searching for any sign of hurt. But for her part, a deep sense of peace had begun to well up within her. Peace and acceptance. This, this here—his hand on her cheek, his hair moist in the morning fog, his eyes full of love and concern—this was real. This was everything for her. His eyes stopped roving and locked on hers.

  “You…” he swallowed. “You love me? Truly?”

  She smiled. “Mr. Darcy, for a short time this morning I had almost convinced myself I was a fool to ever think it, but yes, I do. I love you.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth!” He bowed his head. “I thought I would lose you. I thought… oh, God in heaven. I could never forgive myself if… I could never live with myself. I…” When he looked at her again, his eyes brimmed with tears. “I cherish you, Elizabeth. You are the most precious person I have ever known. And I love you so, so much. I must have you, Elizabeth. Now and forever. Say it will be so. Say you are mine.”

  Their faces drew together, their lips perilously close. His eyes grew half-lidded as he gazed down at her mouth. She had never felt so desired.

  “Mr. Darcy, are you proposing to me?”

  “Now I have looked death in the face by your side, it’s all so clear. I would die for you, Elizabeth. I would kill for you. I will live for you. Be my wife.”

  She surrendered to the passion in his words, and finally, blissfully, kissed him.

  To be continued…

  Beloved by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 8

  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.

  It is said that “all’s well that ends well.” Elizabeth Bennet was not sure she believed the letter of the idiom, but the spirit of it resonated strongly with her at the moment. For all the uncertainty and fear that still hung over the country, something real and true and deeper than any of that had taken root in her heart.

  Love.

  It’s also said that “all roads lead to—” well, to whatever location the speaker wishes to emphasize, either by importance or lack thereof. Rome, originally, Elizabeth supposed. But at the moment, all roads led to an inconspicuous inn and tavern in town. It was there that the mysterious but ever-confident Agency of Inspectors had gathered the various families of the neighborhood, vacating their homes for the evening. But evening had passed. Most of the morning had passed as well, and if any news had turned up from the manhunt, Elizabeth saw no evidence of it as she arrived with Mr. Darcy. The Inspectors—those who remained in the tavern—all seemed on high alert, and the residents seemed to have very little idea as to what was happening, why they had been evacuated from their houses, or when they would be allowed to return. So it was with a sense of great duty that Elizabeth and Darcy arrived to relay their own observations to the men in charge.

  “And this was in the house by the lane, you say?”

  The man had a great, furry moustache. It danced whenever he spoke and twitched with agitation whenever he was silent.

  “Yes,” Darcy replied. “That is, we were on our way back from that house when we saw him. And when he… well, when he slew the doctor.”

  The man’s face grew a shade whiter. “Dr. Appleton is dead?” He spared a glance at Elizabeth, who stood very near, and lowered his voice, intending, no doubt, to spare the lady such talk.

  “I was there,” Elizabeth interjected, putting an end to that. “Yes. I saw it happen. The murderer killed the doctor, and very nearly made off with me as well. But for this man here,” she placed a hand tenderly on Mr. Darcy’s arm, “I may have been his next victim. Or hostage.”

  The man gave a little bow to them both. “I am relieved, my lady, to see you safe. And I, and the entire brotherhood of Inspectors, and the Crown itself, sir, are forever grateful for your service. Name any boon and you shall have it.”

  “A good deed is a reward unto itself,” Darcy replied. “And the deed is not yet done, for the monster lives. Is there a plan in action for hunting him down and putting an end to him? Tell me, for I have seen these people terrorized enough, and I wish to help.”

  Elizabeth’s heart swelled in her breast with pride. That was her Darcy, the same man who had held her in his arms and promised to make her his wife. Her heart had, at long last, found its match.

  “At the moment,” the man said, “we are awaiting word from our Captain, a Sir Orland.”

  Just then, the doors of the tavern burst open, and a small party poured into the relative shade. Elizabeth squinted to make them out, then let out a little gasp and rushed to greet them.

  “Jane!”

  “Lizzie!”

  The sisters embraced. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet, who together shouldered the burden of a very ill-looking man, delivered him to the other inspectors by laying him on a table.

  “Give him space,” Mrs. Bennet cried, “Let him breathe!” Her words, though noble, seemed to have the opposite effect, and the throng gathered around the table where she had assumed the role of chief minister to the ailing form of Inspector Gerald. Perhaps that had been her intention all along, as she seemed to revel in the attention this naturally brought. “He is dying! Oh! For goodness’ sake, isn’t anyone here a proper doctor? Oh, Lord above, save this man! Oh, the agony!”

  Her theatrics were cut off by the arrival of one more newcomer, and this one drew all the attention in the room. For it was the captain of the inspectors at long last, come to hear the reports of his lieutenants, and he bore a weighty presence. He was tall and imposing, not particularly broad-shouldered, but tough-looking and with a sort of glowering menace. The sort of glower you hoped to have on your side in a scrap, and never against you. His eyes took in the scene quickly, though Elizabeth thought—perhaps she imagined?—that they lingered on her specifically for an instant too long. Something tingled in her spine with that glance. It was not unlike the discomfort Mr. Darcy had originally inspired in her.

  “Sir Orland,” the moustached man said, saluting his captain. “This woman is an eyewitness to the murderer, and may have details you will find useful.” He gestured at Elizabeth. When Orland looked at her again, the smoldering angst of his gaze seemed to have evaporated. He made a deep, gentlemanly bow. When he spoke, his voice a rich, deep baritone, his manners showed him to be a gentleman of the finest sort. Elizabeth felt the consequence of it.

  “I am
sorry, Miss…”

  “Bennet,” she supplied, making her curtsy.

  “I am sorry, Miss Bennet, that you had the displeasure of seeing this monster in person. But any details you can provide may prove invaluable in catching the fiend. If you would come outside with me, where we may speak in private, please.” And with that, he offered his arm.

  Mr. Darcy noticeably stiffened, but was not about to interject in the business of a knight in the service of the crown, and so he kept his silence, only glancing up once as Elizabeth passed. I am here if you need me, his eyes seemed to say. She gave him a little nod and approached the captain, taking his arm gingerly. His jacket and livery were very fine, and were matched perhaps only by the pair of exquisitely crafted red velvet gloves he wore. An alarm sounded in her mind, but she could not place the memory, and she left with Sir Orland.

  2.

  The street outside was unnaturally quiet, with nearly everyone in the town still cooped up in the inn. A few horses stamped at their posts, snorting as Elizabeth and Sir Orland strolled out and passed by. He led her down the packed dirt street past two or three shop fronts before taking a deep breath and sighing.

  “This is an awful business,” he said. “A terrible thing. I am so sorry it should come to grace your lovely community.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Thank you.”

  Something in his delivery unnerved her, though she knew not what. He sounded put on, as if he was not sorry in the least, and couldn’t care a whit what happened to this or any other community. Perhaps this was just how world-traveled men spoke of such things? But she had been to London and met people of the city before, and he seemed… different. Unique.

  Uniquely unnerving.

  He nodded at two brown mares as they passed the horses. “Fine beasts. Lovely things, truly. You breed them well here. Nothing like that black demon beast he rides. It should stick out like a sore thumb if he’s had the impudence to bring it into the village.”

  Elizabeth paused. “I don’t believe I’ve told you the color of his horse yet, sir.”

  “No? Ah, well. I simply assumed you knew, having seen him. And I knew from other reports, of course.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” She told herself to calm down. This was the chief of the inspectors, their captain. If anyone in all the countryside could be, should be trusted right now, it was this very man.

  But for the gloves, he may have had her.

  It came back in a rush, the memory of that red velvet pressed to her mouth. Her eyes widened, her heart beat to burst from her chest, as cold panic swept over her.

  This was the man.

  She was numbly aware that she was alone with him—had put herself in his power—and that they were walking further away from everyone who could help her with every step. She was carrying herself to her own tomb. Her only advantage at the moment, she realized, was that he did not seem aware just yet that she had recognized him. She cleared her throat and did her best to make her voice sound perfectly normal, though it still came out a few notes higher than she would have liked.

  “Have you been to Derbyshire before, sir?”

  He shook his head. “Never. I’ve spent most of my life on the continent, you know. Working abroad. And of course, headquarters are in London.”

  “I see.” She could not think of a meatier response, but she felt obliged to encourage him to keep talking so as to give herself time to come up with a plan. Her mind raced, but putting anything together was like grasping for pieces of straw in a flood. They simply sped by.

  “I have hoped to come up here for sometime,” he continued, “to hunt. Nothing like a good hunt in the country.” He said these words with an ungentlemanly relish. “So I’ve been given to understand, that is.”

  “Oh, yes,” she blathered, “my father enjoys hunting. So does Mr. Darcy. Have you met him, by chance? He is a witness too; why don’t I run back and fetch him? Surely you’ll want to take our testimonies together—”

  As she said these words, she turned as if to walk back to the inn, but at her first step, Sir Orland reached out and held her by the wrist. He did not hurt her, but the strength of his grip promised hands of iron if he wanted to use them. She recoiled in abject terror.

  “Why, Miss Bennet.” He smiled. “Are you feeling well? You don’t at all look it. I’m afraid the exertion of the night has made you very tired indeed. Come, why don’t we find a place for you rest? Here.” He tugged on her arm, leading her toward the open door of an abandoned shop. It yawned before her like the gaping entrance to hell itself, and as sure as she knew her own name, she knew that if he pulled her through it, she would never leave alive.

  “No, sir, I am well enough!” She resisted and he pulled harder.

  “Nonsense. I’ll see to it that you have a place to rest inside, and then later, when you are feeling better—”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Sir Orland stopped and turned, that bestial scowl returning to his face, as he beheld the speaker. Elizabeth knew him immediately by the sound of his valiant voice, as she would know him anywhere.

  “Mr. Darcy, I presume,” her captor said.

  “I am. Why are you holding Miss Bennet in such a manner? And where are you taking her?”

  “Miss Bennet is an important witness now, Mr. Darcy, and what I do with her and where I take her are the concern of the Crown, not you. Good-day.”

  When Darcy spoke again, his voice was of ice. “Call your second, Sir Orland.”

  Orland drew himself up to his full imposing height. “I beg your pardon.”

  Mr. Bingley came into view and strode up behind Mr. Darcy, a pistol in either hand. From whence he had procured them, Elizabeth knew not.

  “Call your second,” Mr. Darcy repeated. “Mr. Bingley here shall be mine. I challenge you.”

  “To a duel?” The man spat the word out as if it were an insult. “How quaint. I suppose next you’ll want to hold a wrestling match, or spar like a couple of gladiators. My God, what a backwards place this is. But surely you’re joking.”

  “I assure you, I am not.”

  Sir Orland’s own face grew hard as stone, then he sneered at Darcy. “Very well. A duel. I shall dispatch of you myself, and quickly, too. I have no need of a second.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Darcy nodded to Mr. Bingley, who handed him one gun, then retired to the side of the road. “Miss Bennet will be allowed to exit the street so she is not in the line of fire,” Darcy said.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Sir Orland wagged a begloved finger in the air. “That won’t do. How do I know this isn’t all some ruse to make off with my star witness? Indeed,” he raised his voice, for a crowd had begun to exit the inn and gather behind Mr. Darcy, “how do I know you are not the true villain, Darcy? Your figure and frame match the descriptions I’ve heard so far! And you are but lately arrived, are you not? It seems remarkable that your arrival in the neighborhood should coincide with the murders!”

  A few people gasped and murmured, and Elizabeth noticed the wall of spectators seemed to shrink back several steps. Distancing themselves from Darcy.

  “It’s not him!” she cried loudly. “He isn’t responsible! I know this!”

  “Oh?” Sir Orland rounded on her, raising his voice even more. “And how do you know, Miss Elizabeth? Were you in the house on the night of the murders? Can you swear that this… this Mr. Darcy wasn’t present?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “But you’ll claim to have been with him in the night when the murderer struck again. Yes, how convenient. And just how was it that a young woman such as yourself found herself, unaccompanied, in the presence of a strange man?”

  The murmurs from the crowd increased. Elizabeth blushed at the implied accusation.

  “Enough words,” Mr. Darcy growled. “Let us do this, Orland. The survivor can fight for the love of the people after.”

  “As you wish, Darcy.”

  “Wait!” Elizabeth cried. A wild idea had taken her. Wh
atever else this foul man may be, Orland was obviously an officer of the law, and as such, would likely be an excellent marksman. As moved as she was by Darcy’s desire to protect her and her honor, she doubted very much that Orland would miss. So she ran to him, throwing herself to her knees, and grabbed his hands—in which his ornately decorated pistol already rested. “Listen to me!” she said. “He is not the murderer, I swear it!”

  “I care not what you swear, girl!” he snarled, pushing her back. No matter. She’d had just enough time. “Let us be on with it!”

  The men counted out twenty paces, turned, and fired.

  3.

  It’s a funny thing. No matter how well-trained a man is, he’ll still find it exceptionally difficult to hit a target if a small, silver-chained necklace prevents his pistol from firing properly.

  Call it cheating. Elizabeth didn’t care. She knew this man for what he was, and he needed to be stopped. She had wrenched Darcy’s precious chain from the neck, and, while on her knees, had managed to quickly and deftly loop it around the firing mechanism. In the heat of the moment, Sir Orland had managed to take his paces, turn, aim, and fire, all without noticing the thin chain. But it was enough to utterly ruin his chances of destroying Darcy.

  Darcy, on the other hand, had a bit more luck.

  His ball struck true, boring a terrible hole in the knight’s breast. The man, shocked, fell to his knees, then his face. Being closest to him, Elizabeth heard his sputtering noises, and rushed forward.

  “Say it,” she whispered fiercely as she knelt beside him. “Confess. This is your only chance. Unburden your soul, monster, or be forever damned. I know you are the fiend responsible.”

  He turned his face to her, and with one last, ghastly smile, breathed his last. Elizabeth hung her head. She had hoped he would clear Darcy immediately with a confession, but it had not been obtained. And now the entire neighborhood had seen Darcy kill the man. If they could not be convinced that Darcy was not the murderer, he may find himself at the end of a rope.