Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  After a time Elizabeth and Jane grew fatigued, having been accustomed to taking a rest in the afternoon, and their guests pledged to keep watch from the ground floor while the ladies retired for an hour or so.

  “Oh, Lizzie! Can you believe it?” Jane whispered excitedly as they rounded the top of the stairs. “Have you seen us? Heavens, he fills me with the most sublime feelings, I declare! Have you marked how he looks at me? How he smiles?”

  Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself at seeing her sister so happy. “I have seen it, Jane.”

  “And I have seen how Mr. Darcy smiles at you, as well! Who would have believed it, just a day ago? My, how a good night’s sleep changes things, does it not?”

  Jane’s tone was one of jest. She likely was nervous that bringing this up at all would make her sister upset, as the day before she had been pleading with Jane to forget Mr. Bingley on account of her distrust and dislike of Mr. Darcy. But now, with the turn things seemed to be taking, Elizabeth did not at all mind admitting to herself that perhaps she had been wrong all along, and she only smiled at Jane as she said, “It does indeed. Now rest, dear sister, for their shall be smiles many more to come, I am sure!”

  Alone in her bed, Elizabeth found herself still smiling. She lay beneath her blankets and pictured his face, his voice, so recent in memory, and fantasized that night had fallen and he was still there. Perhaps he was even here, in her room.

  Her heart beat a little faster.

  What if she had let him in earlier, when he had come to apologize?

  What if she had been dressed as she was now, in just her nightgown, and she had opened the door and told him that she would only accept his apology if he came into her bedchamber and made it from his knees?

  What if…?

  Images of Mr. Darcy on his knees, pleading for her forgiveness, Mr. Darcy removing his jacket and opening his shirt, Mr. Darcy pressing himself against her again, but this time not beneath the trees outside but here, in her bed, on top of her, his breath on her neck, his lips brushing her cheek, his…

  Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady herself. She was all too familiar with these dreams. And she knew, from her experience the last time, that indulging herself in them now would not encourage the madness to pass. Indeed, her desire for him had only increased. How much she wished he would enter her chamber now to apologize, to hold her close, to tell her he meant to claim her and protect her, that he longed to taste her—

  She rolled over.

  No, she told herself. She must put this foolishness away, or risk being consumed by it. He was an acquaintance, and now a friendly one, and that was all. She would sleep, and when she woke he would likely be gone, her family having returned, and life would resume some sense of normalcy. She told herself this until she finally fell asleep.

  7.

  The problem was that when she woke an hour later, nothing had changed. No one had arrived or returned. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were still in the house.

  And Elizabeth was still struggling with how to hide her roiling desire.

  She was a lady, she reminded herself. No matter that she was not of such great consequence as Mr. Darcy. She was still a lady and would behave as such.

  A few minutes after rejoining the gentlemen downstairs, Jane voiced a desire to walk outside again.

  “It is too dangerous, do you not think?” Mr. Bingley said.

  “Well,” Jane said, “we do not have to take the lane again. We could stay on the grounds and simply pace the garden. But I long for a bit of fresh air.”

  “Then you shall have it,” Mr. Bingley replied, and the matter was settled.

  Dusk had come. Each couple took to a separate end of the garden to enjoy the coolness finally creeping in, now the hazy sun had set. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy walked slowly, enjoying the feeling of walking beside one another.

  “I am sorry they have not yet returned,” Elizabeth said. “I hate to think you have been inconvenienced on our behalf.”

  “No, think nothing of that. Bingley and I will stay however long is necessary. But I am sorry for you—I know you must be worried.”

  “I am,” she admitted. “But you know, these inspectors in the neighborhood, I think they must have something to do with it. Perhaps they rounded up all the neighbors for testimony. Or perhaps they have evacuated the houses for peoples’ safety.” The thought put a knot in her stomach. Were they safe even now?

  “If that is the case, Bingley and I will sleep by the door tonight and one of us will ride to town in the morning to learn all we can. In any event, we will find them when the sun rises.”

  She inclined her head. “I appreciate your generosity, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I am glad to serve you. In any way possible.”

  She gave a quiet laugh. “And to think. Just as recently as this morning, I believed you the last person on earth capable of such goodness.”

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

  His voice was soft and low. And… playful? Elizabeth leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough to catch his scent on his air, and whispered, “Then teach me.”

  “You are bold.”

  “Am I alone in that?”

  He was silent, his face shadowed. Before he could answer, they both looked up to the gate facing the lane. A man, haggard and wheezing, pushed it open and collapsed just inside.

  “Bingley!” Mr. Darcy called, racing to the man. He knelt and supported him, asking if he was alright. It was difficult for Elizabeth to make out details in the dark, but it looked like the man was exhausted. His form heaved with every breath.

  “I am… I… not me… him… I…”

  Mr. Darcy looked up from his charge. “Elizabeth, would you fetch some water? Bingley, take Jane inside. Come, man, take a few deep breaths. That’s it. You’re safe here. Calm down.”

  A moment later Elizabeth returned with a glass of water. As she crossed the garden toward the men, still collapsed just inside the gate, she heard him telling Mr. Darcy, between panting breaths, what he had seen.

  “Dead!” he cried. “And most terribly. The poor man… he never wanted this assignment in the first place, only came because I encouraged it. Hates the country. And now… so much… blood.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward with the glass just as the moon shone clear from between the clouds, illuminating the man’s face.

  “Oh,” he cried, “I’ve found you!”

  She gasped.

  “Inspector Gerald!”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Spoiled by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 5

  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.

  The night of the great squall was one of the longest in Elizabeth Bennet’s young life. Concern for her family, for their safety, for her and her sister, combined with a sense of dread at all the horror that had befallen the neighborhood, and beneath it all, a steady, gentle thrumming in her heart, like a constant plucked string, each time her eyes met those of Mr. Darcy, who, for all his complications, was steadily growing more and more attractive in her estimation—all of this weighed her down and lifted her up and twisted her about so that she hardly felt herself at all. The storm that raged all around the house nearly paled in comparison to the storm within her breast.

  Nearly.

  But the weather had grown severe, far worse than Elizabeth or Jane could recall seeing ever before. The sky faded to the black of darkest night before the stars should have appeared—which never happened—and before the rain even began, she could smell it rolling in over the countryside. When it did arrive it began as fat, heavy drops spattering them all in the garden. They h
ad scarcely taken shelter inside before the sky had cracked open and poured forth a deluge.

  Now they were huddled about the fire in the great room. Inspector Gerald had washed the blood from his hands and taken a bit of brandy for his nerves, and was staring into the flames. Mr. Bingley sat beside poor Jane, doing his best to assuage her worries. And their party was short one, for Mr. Darcy, in spite of the rain, had rode out, pledging to make haste to town to report the new murder and to inquire after the rest of the Bennet family.

  Elizabeth, bringing tea, joined the inspector before the hearth.

  “I should have gone,” he said wistfully. “The man was my partner.”

  “Mr. Darcy is a difficult man to persuade once he has made up his mind,” she answered. Indeed, Gerald had intended to go to town at once, but he was exhausted, and Mr. Darcy had insisted he stay to regain strength and composure.

  Gerald seemed to frown slightly. “Is that so?”

  Elizabeth looked down, feeling a little heat in her face which had nothing to do with the fire. When she looked up again, his face had turned serious. His eyes were locked onto the flame but his mind seemed miles away. What a terrible thing, she thought, to have to go through.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” she said.

  He inclined his head. “As am I. It is a loss sorely felt.” He sighed and took a sip from his glass. “I shall always feel I bear some responsibility, I am afraid. ‘Twas I convinced him to join me out here in the first place. Had I not done so, he would still… well.” He took another sip.

  “You cannot think that way,” she said. “Surely he would not wish you to do so. Mourn him, Inspector, yes, but if you concede to despair, if you blame yourself, then you will break tonight, and will never be fit for bringing him his vengeance.”

  He turned to meet her eyes. His own were not unpleasant to gaze upon, even though he was a man in pain. Perhaps his vulnerability tonight aided in the beauty of his manliness, she thought idly. “Miss Elizabeth, your words are wise beyond your age. I thank you for your charity in sharing them.”

  Just then a particularly loud peal of thunder rang across the landscape, booming within the house. Jane fairly jumped in her seat.

  “Goodness!” she cried. “Poor souls to be in this! You don’t think—you don’t think Father and Mother are outside, do you, Elizabeth?”

  It was an odd moment for Elizabeth. For though she was perhaps in some ways more particular in her own thoughts and feelings than Jane, nevertheless Jane was her elder sister. It struck her, as she heard the uncertainty and the question in her sister’s voice, that Jane was reaching out to her for reassurance, for support. For strength.

  “Of course not,” she answered, though she had no idea. “I’m sure they went into town this morning for some reason or another. They are well, Jane. Put any thought to the contrary out of your head.” She smiled, and it was returned with relief.

  But now it was not just for her parents and younger siblings that Elizabeth feared. With every deafening roll of thunder, she regretted that she had not argued against Mr. Darcy riding out into the storm. It had been a foolish thing of him to do. Gallant, naturally, but foolish. She told herself that he was too experienced a horseman, too fine a rider, too intelligent and competent a man to be taken by some accident or misfortune on the road. But it wasn’t enough. Things had changed sometime during the day. Whereas before she would not have wished him ill, but would certainly have been glad to see him gone, now she sighed that he had left, and felt a tinge of barely concealed panic at the thought that any harm might come to him.

  How quickly such feelings had materialized! And to them Elizabeth had capitulated before she had even truly given them consideration. Well, she thought, there was no use in chastising herself for having feelings. That damage was done. Now she could only hope he would be safe and return safely to her, though she knew now what to expect from him after.

  “You are very noble,” Gerald said, rousing her from her thoughts.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I heard the levity in your voice as you told your sister not to worry. But I see oceans of worry in your face as you gaze at these flames.”

  She smiled uncomfortably. “You see much, Inspector.”

  He inclined his head. “It is my job to do so.”

  She regarded him. He had shifted in his seat so that he was facing her more than the fire, and his expression was soft.

  “And what exactly brought you to the country, Inspector? We have heard the horrors of late—indeed, I saw with my own eyes—but how is it that you and your men happened to be passing through at just that time?”

  His face fell a little. “It is a dark tale. Suffice to say my mission has taken me across the land as I have tracked my query. If he eludes me here, as he has before, I will follow him on to his next haunt as well.”

  Mr. Bingley and Jane had fallen silent, apparently, for Mr. Bingley overheard this statement and responded. “A manhunt, you say, Inspector? For the killer?”

  “Aye.” Gerald nodded, looking back into the fire. “For some seven years now.” He grew silent, and Elizabeth, curious, would have pressed him, had it not been for the sound of neighing taken up on the wind. She rose to her feet. Jane looked at her, hope kindling in her eyes. Had they returned?

  They rushed to the front and swung the door open, a storm gust sending it flying inward. Rain spattered the stoop and came in just over the threshold with the wind. Elizabeth stood, her mouth open. Her parents had not returned. Instead, a single brown mare stomped in the front yard, riderless.

  Mr. Darcy’s mare.

  2.

  “I’m going after him,” Elizabeth almost said, but the words flew out of Inspector Gerald’s mouth first. But he seemed pale again, and a few beads of sweat had broken out at his temples. Mr. Bingley rushed out to tend to the horse as Elizabeth ushered the inspector back inside.

  “Sir, you are not well,” she said.

  “I am fatigued, that is all.”

  “No.” She shook her head and brought him to a mirror so he could see the picture of sickliness he made. “I fear you are injured, sir. You are not as well as you believe.”

  “I am well enough,” he said gruffly, looking away from his reflection. “I should never have let that man go in my place. Now he is in grave danger, if he stands at all, and it is my duty, Miss Elizabeth, to see to his safe return.”

  She placed her hand upon his arm, hoping to sway him. “Truly, Sir, I do not believe you can safely leave in your condition.”

  He looked down at her, something like tenderness in his eyes. “I am moved by your concern, Miss Elizabeth. I hope and pray I shall be able to return safely soon enough to repay the sentiment. But duty is duty. It must be done.” And with that, he left her presence to make himself ready.

  Elizabeth frowned. She had not known the man very long, but she knew a sick man when she saw one. She knew he was putting himself at great risk, and she feared the likelihood of his return was very little with the storm raging as it was.

  Mr. Bingley returned, sodden with rainwater. Jane attended him immediately, bringing him to the fire and serving him tea with a heavy dry blanket to drape over his shoulders. Soon the two were lost in conversation together again. Elizabeth calculated. She wagered she could trust this man, whom she had not known long either, but who seemed entirely honorable, and who cared for her sister with an obvious chaste passion. If Jane were left alone in the house with Bingley for a time, she would be safe. Of course it crossed all boundaries of propriety, but circumstances were beyond unusual at this point. And anyway, she told herself, the neighbors need never know of it.

  Of course Bingley himself would likely be the first to ride out after Mr. Darcy, had he not been bearing the burden of concern for Jane. Elizabeth considered this as she watched them. No, she could see that the man would never leave her sister alone or with others on a night such as this, with the storm, the disappearance of her family, and the grisly killings that had ta
ken place.

  It was settled, then.

  “Miss Elizabeth.”

  She roused herself from her thoughts and looked up to see the inspector in his cloak and boots.

  “I am off,” he said. “I leave you and your sister in the care of this gentleman. Please see that you also care for yourselves.”

  She inclined her head. “We will do as well as we may, Sir. Though I must suggest one last time that you stay. I am worried for you, Sir.”

  “I know.” He turned and pushed a curtain to the side, gazing out the window just as a crack of lightening split the sky. “It is not the ideal night for a ride.” He turned to look at her again, a wry smile on his face. “I wish it were a pleasant afternoon, and I had called for the pleasure of riding with you through this lovely countryside.”

  Elizabeth looked down, finding herself blushing. She had expected neither the compliment nor the apparent interest.

  “But some happier time, perhaps,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, meeting his eyes one last time before he strode out into the rain.

  3.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy woke to the sensation of rain pounding the skin of his face. He was on his back on the ground. Gasping, he rolled to his side. Pain. His body ached. But the shock of the water, chilling in the night air, helped numb it somewhat. He took a moment to do nothing but breathe, getting his bearings. Trying to remember.

  “Captain?” he called. Where was that mare? He’d been riding, he remembered that much. His favorite brown mount. He’d named her Captain as a bit of a joke, since she had the bearing of a stallion. The temperament, too, before he’d trained her. Now she was his most steadfast companion.