Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  “Murderer!” someone cried, as if on cue. Elizabeth looked up to find a wall of angry faces, all of them trained on Mr. Darcy.

  “He killed him!”

  “Just like he killed those others!”

  “Friends, please!” Mr. Bingley rushed to Darcy’s aid, raising placating hands. “This was no murder you witnessed, but a manner of honor, challenged and accepted. Mr. Darcy had no choice but to offer the challenge in response to a threat made on Miss Elizabeth’s Bennet person. Any one of you, if you call yourself a man, would have done the same, I am sure!”

  “Well, what if he was right?” someone yelled. “She’s just a harlot, and he killed him for her!”

  “Yeah!”

  Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet, trembling. Her head spun. This was not going well at all.

  “I say we serve justice,” another man yelled.

  “String him up!”

  “String them both up!”

  By now Elizabeth’s family had made their way outside, and they, along with Bingley, endeavored to reason with the crowd and pacify them. But the mob was well beyond reason. Almost nothing could have stopped them just then, until another man came riding up from behind them, parting them like Moses and the sea, one gun raised high in the air, firing once above his head. It was the moustached man, the inspector lieutenant from the inn. He rose a tall, terrible looking beast, a great black stallion. Elizabeth recognized it all too well. And in his hand he held a wadded-up bundle of black fabric, which he threw to the ground once he had cleared the crowd.

  “Stay, good people!” he called. “There is your monster’s cloak! Here is your monster’s mount! And there”—here he pointed ahead at the lifeless body of his own captain, Sir Orland—”is the black-heart who terrorized you all night!”

  He dropped down from the horse and approached the body.

  “But how can this be?” someone asked. “He was a knight!”

  “Yes,” the lieutenant replied. “He was. And my captain, too. But it was all artifice. All a facade, carefully crafted to hide his true nature. I found the cloak in his personal bunk, and the mount in his personal stable.”

  In the face of such proof, the people seemed to accept Orland’s guilt and forget all about Darcy. The crown melted away, leaving the Bennet family to tend to Elizabeth. But she had already rushed to Darcy’s side and wrapped her arms around him.

  “My dear sweet Darcy,” she cried, nearly sobbing with relief. “I thought we were done for!”

  “You saved us, didn’t you, Elizabeth?” He glanced to her neck, no doubt noting the absence of the necklace.

  She smiled and laughed. “You can buy me a new one. I demand it!”

  “You shall have it, my love. For that is what you are. Beloved to me, Elizabeth.” He kissed her, long and deep and full.

  They were interrupted by the gentle but firm sound of Mr. Bennet clearing his throat. Mr. Darcy pulled away, as if he suddenly realized the terribly impropriety of his actions, and bowed before Elizabeth’s father, blushing very deeply. “Mr. Bennet,” said he, “I… I apologize, sir. I have fallen very deeply in love with your daughter, and I wish—that is, I hope—I—what I mean to say is—”

  “We’re to be married!” Elizabeth supplied.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Bennet beamed, breathless, as she clasped her hands together.

  “With your permission, sir, of course,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Elizabeth watched as her father considered Mr. Darcy a moment. His gaze flickered up, distracted by the sight of Jane and Bingley likewise embracing. “It seems,” he said, “it may be a double wedding. I hope that won’t bother you, Lizzie.”

  Elizabeth smiled so widely it nearly hurt. “Nothing could make me happier, papa!”

  “Of course you have my blessing, child. And Mr. Darcy.” He made a little bow.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Yes, well. I’d better be off to learn the good news from my eldest as well.” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at Darcy and Elizabeth before striding over to speak with Jane and Bingley.

  “Oh, heavens!” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy! I always said you were the most agreeable, most pleasant man to ever visit the neighborhood!”

  4.

  A week passed. Inspectors came and went, closing the investigation. The dead were buried. The case was closed. And life in Longbourn began to settle into the new normal, with Mrs. Bennet all a-twitter over her eldest two daughters’ engagements. For Elizabeth’s part, she looked forward to leaving her parents’ house, but part of her would always live here, in the old neighborhood along the lane. Where she had found her love.

  She was reflecting on this one night as she sat before her mirror, undressing for bed. She had not seen him in two days, as he had been to Pemberley to begin making arrangements for their life together. How she missed him! She marveled at how someone could miss another person so much after not seeing them for such a short amount of time. She had really only known him a week and a few days, and really only truly known him since that night. The night he saved her, and she saved him, and they had pledged themselves one to another.

  She smiled at the glint of gold around her neck. He had, true to his promise, replaced the petite silver chain with a new one of gold. Its shimmer caught the warm candlelight, reflecting back to her in the mirror, and she thought of the warmth of his touch, of his embrace. Oh, if only he were here just now! How she would love to model her new necklace for him. Perhaps take everything else off to better highlight it for his appraisal.

  “Elizabeth,” a man whispered.

  She sat up like a rod, eyes wide, and turned. There he was, Mr. Darcy, in the flesh, at her window.

  “What are you doing?” she rushed to the window and pushed it the rest of the way open—it had been cracked just a bit for the breeze—and looked out to see he had somehow scaled the outside of the house. “You’ll break your legs if you fall!”

  He grimaced. “Unpleasant, to be sure, but if you don’t mind taking care of an invalid—”

  “Mr. Darcy! Come here at once.” She made to pull him in by his arms, and he pulled himself in through the window and onto her floor. Sighing, she raced to the door and fastened the lock. “I can’t promise Jane won’t come by,” she said.

  “Tell her you don’t feel well.”

  “You clearly don’t know Jane. That would only encourage her to come back with a damp towel and stay by my side.”

  “Ah. Perhaps you can employ her to care for me if I break my legs, then.”

  She swatted at his chest. “That’s enough of that. I am vexed that you put yourself in danger, though.”

  “But are you not pleased to see me?”

  His eyes softened like those of a schoolboy. On such a man, the look was both comical and deeply romantic. Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether to laugh or swoon, but she certainly wasn’t angry anymore. “I’ve missed you,” she finally said.

  “And I you. Elizabeth, however will we survive the next month?”

  This was to be the duration of their engagement. She sighed. Kisses and embraces and been few and stolen since that public display in the street. Elizabeth had a reputation to restore, even if her slanderer had been proven a murderous fiend. She glanced at Darcy. His shirt had come open just a bit, probably during the climb, revealing the broad, chiseled muscles of his chest. She longed to be held in his arms, not just for a moment, but all night. Her eyes grew half-lidded as a comingling of love and lust filled her body, and when she met his gaze again, she felt the intensity of it.

  “Let’s not,” she said, her voice huskier than she expected. “Let’s not wait. Why should we? You are mine and I am yours, Fitz, now and forever. And here we are,” she gestured to her bed, “and we have hours.”

  His face grew unreadable beneath that lock of dark curly hair. A quiet moment passed.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he finally said, his voice soft, “I believe you are attempting to seduce me.”

  “Your powers of perception
are unrivaled, Mr. Darcy.”

  In a moment, their lips met, all their pent-up desire releasing in a flash of passion.

  5.

  The next few moments were blurred by pure, carnal lust. Elizabeth’s hands found Mr. Darcy’s chest and began searching, roving, exploring every inch of muscle while they kissed. Her fingers found his remaining buttons and opened them, then pulled the shirt up over his head. For his part, Mr. Darcy began to free Elizabeth from her clothing. She was already in a state of relative undress, being in her night-clothes. Off came the long night-gown, then the slip underneath. Their bodies pressed together, more flesh against flesh than ever before, and shots of electric energy went zinging along Elizabeth’s limbs. Mr. Darcy drew her to the bed and lay her on her back upon it.

  “Wait,” she whispered. He stood still, looming above her, the very vision of every sensual dream she had ever dared indulge. His shoulders were broad, his neck strong, his face, noble and kind, with a hunger burning in his eyes, reigned in just barely. The rest of his body… Elizabeth blushed. She had no basis for comparison, but she found him very pleasing indeed. “I’ve never…”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Is that troubling you, my love?”

  She smiled gently. “Does it trouble you?”

  “What if I were to tell you I never have, either?”

  A man like that? She almost ogled him below the waist, but managed to keep eye contact and said, “I might say I find that hard to believe. Not because you lack honor, Fitz—you’re the most honorable man I know—but surely you’ve had opportunity enough.”

  “Perhaps.” He sat on the bed beside her. “But I have not wished to lay with a woman I did not love.”

  He said the words so simply, so free of any drama or beguilement, she was forced to believe him. “So you have never…”

  “I have never.” He smiled wryly at her. “Though I hope very much that is about to change. With my lady’s blessing, of course. But if you have changed your mind, and wish to wait, then my dear, of course I—”

  “No!” She stopped him, reaching a hand out to clasp his own. “No, Fitz. I want this. I want you. Now. Right now.”

  He nodded. “I have never wanted anything more than I want you, Elizabeth.”

  They were kissing again, only this time she was on her back, he was above her, their naked flesh teasing and brushing together from time to time. She marveled that he did not tire holding himself up.

  “You,” he whispered in her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine, “are my beloved.” His lips found her earlobe. Then his teeth. Then his tongue. He gasped in pleasure and wrapper her arms around him, pulling his body down unto hers. His manhood throbbed against her soft thighs, and she very nearly quivered in anticipatory pleasure.

  “And you are mine,” she answered, kissing his neck, his face. He returned the kisses and began to move down her body, worshiping her neck, her breasts, her navel. She took a handful of his soft, curly hair, and tightened her fingers. He growled in pleasure.

  “All mine,” he murmured against the soft skin of her belly.

  “Prove it to me,” she whispered, shocked at her own audacity. With a chuckle, he descended further. Her back arched up in response to his hot, hungry breath between her legs. Soon he was kissing her sex, sucking, licking, and tickling, too. She bit her lips to hold back a giggle, afraid to seem girlish, and found herself moaning like a woman instead.

  “I have always longed,” he said, his voice thick with lust, “to taste you.”

  “Do it now!”

  She began to pull his head forward and back by the hair, rubbing him against her, even as he licked and licked. “Was this what he had meant all those nights ago? Or perhaps what her subconscious had implanted in her own mind? No matter, perhaps she would ask him later. Right now, there was only passion and pleasure.

  “Stop, stop!” She pushed him away, fearful of the growing urgency in her body. It tickled too much. She would enjoy it too much. This was too much pleasure for one person to have, surely. It must be sinful. It must be wrong.

  “Have I displeased you?” he asked—not wounded, exactly, but with a hint of concern. No, there was no vanity in him now. Whatever pride he had was lain low before her. He was only concerned for her happiness. She smiled at him.

  “No, my love. Only I am nervous.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then come.” He lay on his back beside her. “Kiss me. You be in control for a while. Perhaps it will ease your nerves.”

  His hands roved over her body, inviting but not pressuring her to join him. She rolled and climbed on top of him, following his example and pushing herself up on her arms. It was tiring.

  “You can sit, if you like,” he said. She sat up and found herself more comfortable immediately. And she found him throbbing against her buttocks, waiting impatiently.

  “How do you live with that… all the time?” she said, blushing and almost laughing.

  He laughed, bless him. “Well it isn’t like that all the time! Only when a certain young lady is nearly sitting on it. Good god, Elizabeth, you are so beautiful.”

  She watched him look at her. His eyes wandered over her belly, up to her breasts, to her face, taking in every detail, approving, delighting. She beamed.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “And I, you.” She leaned forward to kiss him, and their mouths savored each other.

  When their lips broke again, he positioned himself beneath her. “There,” he said. “Do you want this?”

  “I want you,” she whispered, facing down her last bit of fear and laughing in its face. “I want you right now.”

  He slid into her as gracefully as a swan glides down to a pond. He gasped with pleasure, and she answered, nearly crying out. It hurt a little, at first. But as her body grew accustomed to him, it began to feel very different indeed. He slid slowly in and out, letting her maintain most of the control.

  “Do you ride, Miss Bennet,” he said.

  “I love to ride, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Then ride. Ride now!”

  His hands reached behind and clutched at her buttocks, guiding her over him, and she slid on and off, forward and back, with ease. The same looming wave of pleasure as before began to approach, but this time, she embraced it.

  “Oh, Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy’s face was growing quite red, his breathing short and ragged.

  “Mr. Darcy! Fitzwilliam!”

  He slapped and grabbed at her backside again, pulling, agreeing with the urgent need of her own body, and she sped up, thrusting into him and feeling him plunge inside her again and again and again. She was slick and slippery, and she slid all the way till their bodies met, a sort of intimate embrace. Again and again they met. Elizabeth began to gasp for air. The wave had come.

  “Oh, god, Elizabeth!”

  Her wave crashed over her and she moaned, quaking, feeling her body squeeze him even as he began to pulse within her. For a moment time seemed to stop, their hearts stopped, their breath stopped—everything. For a moment there was nothing in the world. Just the magic between them.

  When it was over, she collapsed, her legs weak, and he cradled her in his strong arm, kissing her on the cheek. “You are magnificent,” he whispered.

  “I am also pleased with your performance,” she teased him.

  “Will I do for a satisfactory husband?”

  She laughed. “You’ll do, Mr. Darcy.”

  THE END.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for joining me on this wild ride! I know it’s been a bit different than my other steamy P&P stories, and I appreciate you sticking around to see what would happen. This thread is all tied up now, but who knows? Maybe I’ll try my hand at another mystery in the future.

  If you’d like to read other steamy P&P variations, please check out my Darcy’s Darkness series. There’s no mystery there, just a good old-fashioned romp in each story
;)

  And hey, thanks!

  Love,

  JL Pearl

  It's Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth like never before.

  For the first time in one collection, read all eight serialized installments of JL Pearl's steamy romance with a murder-mystery twist. From Parts 1-8:

  She was nothing but a girl at a forgettable country dance. Tolerable. But not handsome enough to tempt him.

  So why can't he stop thinking about her?

  ___

  His eye is on her. His will is iron.

  ___

  An evening breeze pushed Mr. Darcy's hair from his face. "You have much to learn, Miss Elizabeth."

  His voice was soft and low. Elizabeth leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough to catch his scent on the air, and whispered, "Then teach me."

  ___

  Death is certain.

  But love is eternal.

  ___

  Becoming His, an eight-part serialized Pride & Prejudice variation, delivers tantalizing "what ifs," scandalous impropriety, and a matter of life and death.

  This story is very steamy and should be enjoyed by readers of a responsible age.

  Current Titles by JL Pearl

  The BECOMING HIS Serial:

  Desired by Mr. Darcy

  Claimed by Mr. Darcy

  Taught by Mr. Darcy

  Spoiled by Mr. Darcy

  Taken by Mr. Darcy

  Adored by Mr. Darcy

  Cherished by Mr. Darcy

  Beloved by Mr. Darcy