Masquerade

by Emma East

  “Mr. Darcy,” she breathed as he slowly bunched up her dress.

  “Kitten,” he said with a tiny sigh, cool on her wet skin. “I think we are beyond formalities.”

  A need was growing in her core, spiky and sinful, and so powerful she could only stutter his name when she spoke next. This clearly amused him—though it was a queer amusement, taken at her expense and yet a fond emotion gleamed in his eye. But she did not care if she only amused him. Why else were they here if not to amuse one another?

  “Do I amuse you?”

  “Not at all.” Holding eye contact with her, he gathered the skirts of her dress and slid it up her legs, exposing her to the cool air and his gaze. The fabric sliding along her bare legs was soon replaced with his hands.

  “You are a woman to make a decisive man change his mind,” he said. “A little longer, then.”

  He did not wait for a reply, but he curled his hand around her thigh and spread her open to his hungry gaze. Elizabeth had never seen a man’s member before the fateful masquerade, and had found it to be an exotic, curious sight. But the look in his eye when he gazed upon her womanhood was not in the least academic.

  “How sweet and pure and innocent you are,” he murmured. “To give me your maidenhead with no obligation required in return… Kitten, I cannot say how grossly you misjudged me.”

  “Misjudged you?”

  Her heart beat fast in her throat, but Darcy was not listening to her, and she was not listening to herself, but staring, entranced, as his hand slid through her curls and dipped into her wetness. She gasped. There were nights when she had thought of him, when she had quietly snuck away from the room she shared with her sister to seek privacy to explore herself as the masked man once had. Fumbling, hesitant touches that culminated in her only feeling rather silly and dissatisfied. This was nowhere similar. His touch had surety, had purpose, had knowledge of how to send warmth rushing to her face. He explored her with all the intimacy of a man who had touched her thousands of times rather than just the once.

  I must remember that he is a seducer and not a true man of honor. That is why he can manipulate my body the way he does.

  But that did not matter to her body, which responded to his touch in magnificent fashion. Her head was soon muddled and slow to react, even as he used his free hand to release the ties of his breeches.

  “Come here, kitten,” he breathed into her mouth.

  Slowly, with much adjusting of her skirts, they arranged her sitting across Darcy’s lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. Darcy led the effort, murmuring where Elizabeth should move and adjusting her on his lap.

  The coach was dark enough she could not see the precise shade of his member, jutting up between them and in odd contrast to the velvet fabric of her dress. But her memory filled in the blanks well enough for Elizabeth that she did not need to open the window shade to see him. Pale and a dark pink at the top, rounded and smooth. She remembered the feel of him, but had not explored him with her hands before. She met his eyes.

  “May I?”

  Darcy’s mouth twitched. “You may.”

  “Is this too hard? It doesn’t hurt?”

  “Mm… no, kitten.”

  “You may well be amused, Mr. Darcy, but it is technically you at my mercy.”

  “Is it? Hmm. You might be correct, Miss Elizabeth.” His hands curled around the tops of her thighs and his voice was not in the least apologetic. “Your touch does not hurt. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Oh. Well… good.”

  He squeezed her thighs. “Lift a little.”

  A surge of lust ran down her spine, as red hot as a poker sticking into a hot fire. She bit her lip. Had they not admitted that it would be an uncomfortable affair to make love in the coach? But Darcy did not seem to mind; perhaps there was a good reason for it. She considered him dubiously, but her curiosity was greater than her misgivings.

  He did not disappoint her. The satisfying fullness of him shocked her at first, Darcy bringing her down so slowly upon him that she might feel him even in the back of her throat. Her mouth dropped open as she sank fully onto him.

  Darcy groaned, a noise of unrestrained relief, as if he had been dreaming of the moment they would join again. It rang in her ears and then in her mouth as she fell forward to kiss him. He caught her with a frustrated growl and a hard thrust from his hips.

  She had dreamed about this, both at night and during the days after seeing him. She had dreamt of the power in his arms as he embraced her, dreamt of the curl in his hair as it fell over his forehead, and dreamt of the shape of his full, bottom lip as he ghosted his lips over her neck. She had not dreamed of how much she would need him—it burned within her, a desire to rip at his clothes and press herself to him until she drove out the urgent craving for him racing through her veins.

  What surprised her even more was that his torment nearly matched her own. Elizabeth had believed herself to be desperate for his touch again; she had never expected him to tear at her with an equal agony. She knew not where it came from, what tortured his eyes and made him grasp her so tightly. She only knew that she had to meet it with an equal force of her own lest she be swept away in his storm.

  His fingers dug into her hips as they moved together, hard enough to make her wince. But she relished it, leaned into it, confidence growing with each thrust. This was not what she dreamed of, but she would not be left behind. She braced herself against his chest, fingers curled into his hair, their breaths loud and drowned out by their frantic lovemaking.

  And the friction between them, the constant pressure on her core, reached its penultimate moment and finally, finally she was expelled from her mortal consciousness and into one dominated by a sharp, nearly vicious pleasure. She could hear herself faintly, crying out Darcy’s name and Darcy’s answering groan. She thought he said something else but couldn’t hear him over the rushing in her head.

  Darcy panted against her neck and when he pulled back, he looked at her with an expression like awe. “Kitten. Did you…?”

  She waited, but he didn’t finish. She took a few moments to regain her breath, and then a slow smile bloomed. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did.”

  Chapter Ten

  Darcy had not meant to keep Elizabeth, and he had not meant to assault Elizabeth with his passion in the middle of a wood inside of his coach. And he had not intended to make love to her wearing all of his clothes—again.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her as they straightened their clothes.

  She sat opposite him, gently tucking her hair back inside the pins holding it down. She glanced up at him in surprise. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  “I did not intend for this meeting to end this way,” he said. “First, I had planned to find a more remote, secure location than a coach parked along the road.”

  “If it matters, this lane is rather out of the way.”

  Darcy bridged the gap between them and took hold of her hand, busy patting down her dress. She allowed him to bring her hand to his lips, and he watched as her throat contracted. Despite his recent exertions, a rush of dizzying lust surged through him at the sight of her attraction.

  “I suppose tonight is too soon for a meeting?”

  She blushed. “You would be correct.”

  “Then perhaps Thursday morning, at the cottage you spoke of,” he said. That would give her a day to come up with an excuse to give her family.

  “I—I will try,” she said, her long lashes fluttering as she looked away.

  Darcy swept his thumb over her knuckles. How delicate her hand, how small and fine. Picturing it around his member would last him until he could see her in person again.

  Her lip quivered when he lifted his gaze to hers again. “Did I satisfy you, kitten?”

  “I, er, yes…” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He wished he could bottle her blush so he could admire the different shades of pink in minute detail.

  He squeezed her hand and then pul
led her closer, simultaneously leaning forward to close the gap between them.

  “You never answered my question earlier,” he whispered, a ghost of a kiss on her lips with each enunciated word.

  Dark green eyes slowly shuttered, her breath easing out as she relaxed into him. “What question?” she murmured.

  “Have you thought of me in your room at night?” His lips glided down her cheek and she tilted her neck to allow him to catch hold of her earlobe and nibble.

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  “Did you touch yourself? Bring your little fingers between your thighs and find your rosebud, all the while wishing for my mouth, my fingers?”

  She shivered. He heard her swallow.

  He brought his hands up, cupping her breasts, weighing them against her need to return to Longbourn immediately. Her nipples were hard and erect under his thumbs, as hard as his member that ached against the tight confines of his breeches.

  He bent down, wrapping lips and teeth around that little bud as she shuddered under him. He tasted the fabric of her dress, tasted her desire in the air.

  “Darcy,” she whispered and it was his turn to shudder at how her soft voice framed the syllables of his name. “I did wish for you, I did—”

  He growled, his hands fumbling with the ties of his breeches again. He captured her lips and she cried out when he bit her plump bottom lip, but then she surged forward and met him with a violence of her own.

  “Turn around, in my lap,” he ordered, and soon they were joined together. He groaned as she engulfed him, sweet and searing. Elizabeth braced her hands on the wall of the carriage and he held onto her hips and forged ahead for their mutual satisfaction. He could see her in his mind’s eye: her hesitant touches, the nibble marks on her lip after she tortured it, her gentle cries in the darkness of her room as the crisp sheets crinkled under her. He willed himself into that daydream; he wanted to watch her explore herself with those tiny fingers, listen as she called his name in the height of her ecstasy. He pulled her to him again and again—dominating and overpowering, possessive and greedy. His grunts and her shocked, beautiful cries mingled in the air, as thick as the scent of their lovemaking.

  “Please,” she whimpered when he brought his hand between them, aiming for her pleasure center. She curled toward him and then arched as pleasure racked along her body, and drug Darcy along with her.

  “No, no, no,” Darcy grunted as he pumped into her, the back of her dress providing a useful handhold. He didn’t want to finish this fast. He had more in him, more to give, more satisfaction to bring.

  But it was no use. With a shudder and a groan, he spent himself inside of her.

  “Damn,” he muttered, but she was still shaking in his grip, and realizing she had not come to completion yet he surged forward and dedicated himself on wringing out every little bit of her pleasure as he could. He rubbed and stroked as his member softened inside of her, groaning as she shuddered, until she finally cried out one final, heartbroken time.

  “Yes, there we go,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

  Slowly, they organized themselves once again. Darcy did not speak as he used his soaked handkerchief to clean them both up a second time. Breathing hard, Elizabeth straightened her hair. When they were dressed like decent members of civilization again, she put her hand on the handle of the carriage door and looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Just past dawn. I expect a bed this time, Mr. Darcy.”

  With this, she unlatched the coach door and hopped down. Darcy leaned to look out the open door, watching her walk away. She had a certain flounce in her step that bespoke a satisfied, triumphant woman. He watched her until she disappeared into the trees and he lost sight of her beguiling, womanly curves.

  He returned to Netherfield with plans already coalescing in his mind. Elizabeth would be a welcome diversion from interacting with the dullards that infested the county. She was one of the few bright spots of civilization in this neighborhood. And the fact that she is as eager as I am to explore the physical attraction between us is very desirable.

  He entered through the back entrance from the stables and cleaned up in his rooms before braving the downstairs. Bingley’s company he did not mind. Hurst and his wife were ignorant fools, but they rarely disturbed his peace. Miss Bingley, on the other hand, thrived on receiving a reaction from Darcy, though he rarely gave her the satisfaction unless on his own terms.

  “How kind of you to join us this afternoon,” simpered Miss Bingley after Darcy entered the drawing room to find her playing cards with her sister.

  “Where are your brother and Mr. Hurst?”

  “Out surveying the property, they said,” Miss Bingley said with an airy wave toward the window. But her gaze stayed alert, her focus on Darcy, and her lips curved. “And where have you run off to all morning?”

  “Morning? It is nearly one o’clock,” he said mildly as he took a seat on the settee. He glanced toward the books left on an end table, obviously the victims of careless boredom. “Unlike some, I do not feel refreshed spending half my day abed.”

  “Yes, you do rise early,” Miss Bingley said. “It is a habit I cannot pick up myself, though I admire your audacity in rising with the sun.”

  Darcy did not doubt that she had attempted to rise early in a bid to corner him. Her selfishness and indulgence, however, kept her snoring until past noon most days.

  “I see you have neatly avoided my question,” Miss Bingley said.

  Not nearly neat enough if she noticed it. Darcy merely picked up the book on the top of the stack and examined it. He did not bother to read the title before he opened it.

  The words blurred in his vision when he turned to the first page.

  Should I tell her I spent my morning buried inside of the woman she so dislikes?

  “I went to town to post a package.”

  I will need to go inspect this farmhouse. There is no telling what condition it will be in if it has been abandoned for some time.

  Thursday. Only a day to make preparations. He regretted giving into his desire in the coach, unfit as it was, and he relished the idea of creating a space for them to enjoy one another. A place where he could indulge Elizabeth in what seemed to be her desire to explore him. But he also had needs to fulfill of his own: namely, the desire to see all of her layers fall away. He wanted to see how far that blush ran.

  “Mr. Darcy? Are you paying attention?”

  Darcy jerked his thoughts to the present. “No. Pardon me.”

  Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst watched him stalk out of the room, and all of their polite manners could not have hidden their shock. Darcy paid them no mind. One more second in the room would have resulted in embarrassment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thursday morning came. Elizabeth woke up to the sound of rain pounding on the windowpanes.

  She rose, the sheets whispering with her movement, and went to the window. There would be no getting out in this deluge. She sighed, her breath fogging the window. At least now she could not meet him, though a large part of her wondered if he might go to the farmhouse in his coach and expect her to arrive at the scheduled time.

  He will just have to be disappointed, then. No reasonable person could be expected to get out in this—especially when I would be sneaking out, as well!

  That settled, Elizabeth returned to bed. She had not slept well, after all, with anticipation of the morning keeping her anxious and excited all night.

  She glanced back toward the window as she climbed into the bed, still warm from her body heat. Darcy could even now be trundling toward the farmhouse.

  A few hours later, she rose. Despite the additional sleep, she did not feel well rested and the corners of her eyes burned and itched, a constant reminder of her largely sleepless night.

  “Are you feeling well? You were tossing all night.”

  “Tie me up, please? Thank you. The rain must have kept me awake last night. I only truly slept this mor
ning.”

  Jane sighed as she finished tying up the front of Elizabeth’s bodice. “I love this dress on you. It brings out the color in your cheeks.”

  She had chosen it for precisely that reason, after minutes of debating with herself the night before. All of that work in choosing it foiled by the rain. But she refused to waste the effort she had put into the choice.

  The downpour had turned into a gentle patter by the time they went down to breakfast, but the remnants of the storm were clear. Mr. Bennet reported that little work could be done that day, with both the ground and the roads a mess. He described the loss of one of the workers’s shoes in the mud with such detail that their mother threatened to go to her bed for the remainder of the day before they had quit breakfast.

  No one would go anywhere that day.

  She continued her work throughout the morning after breakfast, sewing baby clothes for a tenant whose wife was expecting her first child. Jane joined her by beginning work on a baby blanket. Her youngest sisters played cards for most of the morning and then worked on some paper crafts.

  Mrs. Bennet sighed and bemoaned the weather all morning, complained about the stuffiness of the room, and fanned herself with a paper fan.

  “A pity,” she sighed to the room at large. “I had hoped to send you and your sisters to Meryton today to visit with your aunt, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth, surprised to be honored by her mother’s notice, looked up in some confusion. “Does out aunt have news for us?”

  “How am I to know, you silly girl? Phooey.” Scrunching her face, she fanned herself a little quicker. “I meant only that it is more likely that you would meet Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley on the road than you will sitting inside all the day!”

  Mrs. Bennet pinned her with a glare born of frustration. “Why must you wear your prettiest dress now instead of waiting for when you see Mr. Darcy next?”

  “Mama!” Elizabeth cried.

  “You must do nothing to drive Mr. Darcy away. Can you imagine, girls? Ten thousand per annum? How can anyone have such an income and not be royalty?”