Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  3.

  Jane Bennet was growing truly concerned.

  For a time she had allowed herself to be pacified by her charming suitor, because she sensed he was in earnest, and his only wish was to bring her comfort. But now she had held the house alone with him nearly an hour, and it had been all day and night with no word from or sign of her parents or younger sisters, none save Elizabeth.

  Who had also rushed out into the night.

  “We are beset on all sides,” she muttered.

  “Is there anything you wish done, dear Jane?” Mr. Bingley asked, his face a mixture of concern and eagerness. To please her, to help her. She blushed. She had blushed often that night at his attentions.

  “I do not know anymore what ought to be done. My father, my dear father… he is the rock of our family. Without his guidance…” She shook her head. “I confess I often defer to Elizabeth. Or at the least, rely heavily on her council. She is the younger of us two, but in many ways, the more wise.”

  Mr. Bingley smiled sympathetically, as if he wished to disagree, but thought better of it. Good. The last thing Jane wanted right now was to debate and compare her and her sister’s respective faults and virtues.

  “I trust Mr. Darcy nearly more than myself,” he finally said. “In all things I have found him the most competent man I have ever known. His only fault is being a bit stuffy. He will see to your sister’s safety, you may depend upon it.”

  Jane smiled. “I have no doubt.” She had observed the way Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had been drawn to one another. Indeed, she had attributed all her sister’s strange hesitations about the two men to her discomfort with these new feelings, this deep attraction she obviously felt. In this matter, Jane had decided, she was the more wise, for she was the one who had seen and accepted it at once, for both of them. She was besmitten with her own suitor, and Elizabeth, whether she cared to admit it to herself or no, was clearly besodded with hers.

  “Yes,” she said, “I believe you may be right on that score. But that does little to address the danger to them both.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Nor to the rest of my family.” A sinking feeling took her stomach. Where were they?

  Mr. Bingley rose to his feet. “I will have lamps put outside to light their way. It is frightfully dark out. Your house will be a beacon to them!”

  Jane smiled more deeply as she watched him go to make the arrangements. It would do no good, she knew. He was only doing it to feel that he had done something, to show her he was doing something, to bring her some modicum of comfort. It was lovely of him. But it would do no good. Her smile faded.

  Mr. Bingley would not leave her side. And she would not do him the disservice of sneaking away without him. There remained only one path to take.

  When he returned to the sitting room, he found her standing and wearing a heavy coat.

  “My dear Mr. Bingley,” she said, “please make yourself ready. I have decided I cannot wait any longer. Will you do me the honor of being my escort?”

  “Jane! Is this really the best course of action? Consider: who will be here to greet them—to care for them, if any need care?”

  “You are really very kind at heart, Mr. Bingley, and I know and understand your only concern is my safety. But I would put myself in peril now, of my own will, if there is a chance I can help my family. We will simply have to trust that any who arrive while we are away can care for themselves. After all, you have put out lamps to light their way.”

  She said this last bit with a playful lilt in her voice, as if to tease him. He proved himself a good sport with a small smile.

  “Very well, Jane. I will do as you bid, for I am loathe to ever do anything that would displease you, and because I see you clearly mean to go in search of them with or without my help.”

  “Just so.”

  4.

  Elizabeth saw the house long before she expected to. The glow of the lamps flooded the lawn and spilled out into the lane, eerie in the mist, like the glow of an iron forge.

  “They left the light for us,” she said.

  “That was wise.” Mr. Darcy strode beside her. Once they had made the decision to return for horses, they had fallen silent. Elizabeth relished the tension between them. It sent a shiver up her spine. She no longer feared him, and she believed him to be a man of honor, doing his duty to aid her, her family, and that poor man, the inspector. This opened the possibility for warmer feelings. Indeed, she had wondered several times during their walk back what might happen should they brush hands, or begin to speak again in hushed tones, the way they had when he had given her the necklace. But this did not take place.

  They sped up and left the lane for the lawn, striding across to knock at the door. When no one answered, Elizabeth frowned. In the heavy silence she thought she would hear even if someone inside the house were rising from a seat to come to the door. But they heard nothing.

  Mr. Darcy turned and left the stoop.

  “Where have they got to?” Elizabeth wondered out loud. For a moment she considered the possibility that she had interrupted some scandalous activity, and that Jane and her suitor were on a sofa or bed inside, doing their best to be silent after hearing the knock. But she dismissed this idea out of hand. Jane would never act so impetuously, nor so inappropriately.

  “They have taken the horses,” Mr. Darcy called. She followed his voice around the corner of the house and found him standing in the open door to the stable. It was empty.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “That poor man!”

  “This will not do.” Mr. Darcy took a step back and glanced around, as if another horse would manifest itself. “He must receive care. Immediately.”

  “We must go back to him!”

  “But we have no doctor, Elizabeth.”

  Even in that moment of despondent dread, it softened her knees to hear her name pass over his lips. How very sweet it was for him to call her Elizabeth rather than Miss Bennet. When had that changed, she wondered?

  “No.” She pondered. “But the inspectors will have one. Back at the murder house.”

  Mr. Darcy’s face grew dark. “I would not see you return to that place in the small hours of the night.”

  “They will have someone who can tend to Inspector Gerald. At the least, the men posted there are of his profession, and will know if there is any sort of protocol to be followed.”

  Mr. Darcy seemed to consider this a moment. “You may be right. But I am loathe to leave you here alone.” He looked up the lane and heaved a silent sigh. “Very well, then. We will go together. Only, stay close, Elizabeth. I do not trust this night.”

  “Is that the only reason you wish me to be close to you?”

  He turned his gaze on her and she felt her own eyes widen, so intensely passionate were his own. “It is not,” he said. “But for now, it will do. Come. I will take you with me on this errand.”

  And with that, they returned to the lane. Elizabeth, emboldened by his response, decided to press the flirtation. “You wish to take me, then?”

  “I think your words betray more meaning than you intend.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Hmm.”

  “This is twice now tonight I’ve done as you asked, Mr. Darcy.”

  “As I’ve demanded. For your own safety.”

  In the darkness of the lane she could not make out his face, but his tone betrayed a hint of levity.

  “Very well, as you’ve demanded. Are you accustomed to always getting what you want?”

  He slowed just a bit. “I am accustomed to taking it, if need be.”

  She considered. Suddenly every bit of shelter in sight, every generous shrub or tree, looked like the ideal place to leave the path together and let herself be taken in whatever way he saw fit. If only their mission were not so very urgent.

  5.

  The problem was the bridge.

  Jane and Mr. Bingley had made good time and a thorough search until they came to it. The rain had dissipated to a fine, cool
mist, and the moon was even, at times, seeing fit to illuminate the path before them. So far they had been searching over an hour with no sign of anyone else. They had spent a good part of it canvassing the fields to the south of the lane, and Jane hoped and prayed they had not missed any of her family members passing by at that time. But they had covered the lane as they had gone, so she knew they would not miss anyone who was in any way incapacitated.

  That was when they came to the old wooden bridge that crossed a shallow gully. A little stream passed beneath—usually nothing more than a brook, but tonight, after the hours of heavy rain they’d had, it had fattened to a modest river. A short-lived moment of glory, but Jane marveled at the sound of the water passing beneath them as they began to cross.

  The problem was that the bridge was very old, and had not been kept well. And on this night, when the boards were sodden and the frame had been loosened in the stormy gale, it was not prepared to support the weight of two horses.

  “I’ll cross first,” Mr. Bingley said, eyeing it dubiously. “If it feels weak, perhaps we can go beneath and ford our way across.”

  Jane doubted this very much. Though the stream was usually small, the walls of the gully were treacherously steep. And tonight they would be slick with mud, a recipe for disaster for any horse. But Mr. Bingley had no trouble getting across, for his horse was the less sturdy of the two, and he was alone. Jane eased her mount to follow, and the wet wood creaked ominously.

  “I am unsure, Mr. Bingley,” she said. “Perhaps we should—”

  Before she could finish forming her thought, the wood beneath her horse gave way, sending her and her mount tumbling down into darkness.

  “Jane! JANE!” Mr. Bingley, safe from the collapse on his side of the bridge, leapt from his horse and plunged into the water after Jane.

  To Jane it was all a jumble of dark and wet and shockingly, shockingly cold. Her chest seemed to freeze like a stone, and she began to panic, unable to take air into her lungs. Was she underwater? No, the stream was hardly deep enough for that. She had plunged beneath the shallow surface and immediately come back up. But the cold had frozen her, and the shock had bound the muscles of her body, and she simply could not breathe.

  “Jane!”

  She felt the strong arms of a man find her sides and lift from her armpits. Then she was standing, her feet numb but beneath her, and he was beside her, her arm draped over his shoulders. He knelt down and lifted her feet up, swinging her into his arms and carrying her from the icy water altogether.

  “Jane, dear Jane! Are you alright? Are you here?”

  He laid her on the muddy slope and she began to slide back down toward the shallow torrent. No, she told herself. Not again. Digging deep into a strength she had not known she possessed, she stopped herself just as Mr. Bingley reached her once more. Together they began to crawl up the side of the gully.

  It was bitter work. And by the time they had finally crested the edge and emerged on the level ground, they were both slathered in mud. But that was the least of Jane’s problems.

  The greater was that the icy chill had only grown worse. In the almost frosty night air, her water-soaked body felt like the very heart of winter. What had been a pleasant cool mist now felt like the kiss of death. And her clothes were soaked with freezing stream water, clinging to her body like a snake around a mouse.

  “I can’t… I can’t… breathe!”

  “Jane? Jane!” Mr. Bingley was holding her face in his hands, slapping her face, shaking her, trying to bring her back. She was drifting away. He was growing dark and distant.

  “Forgive me, my dear,” she heard him say. “But I must warm you!”

  She heard a tearing sound, as if someone were ripping fabric, and she was dimply aware of the sensation of being lifted. Then he tore his own clothes from his body and, completely naked, pressed himself against her. As she began to feel his warmth enter her, she realized she was naked, too.

  It hurt at first. That tingling sensation, like a limb that has fallen asleep and is waking up, but she welcomed it, knowing the heat must return for life. And she marveled at the feeling of his body, so gentlemanly and refined, yet hard and manly, against her own. He did nothing to imply he meant to take advantage of the situation; he merely held her and rubbed, albeit vigorously, her back, her arms, her shoulders, with his hands. Face-to-face they lay and she let him run his hands over her back, let his heat seep into her belly, let him press his naked body against her own.

  “Mr. Bingley,” she finally murmured, smiling. “I believe you have disrobed me.”

  “Forgive me, Jane! You would have died; I know, for I have seen it happen. You needed the warmth of my body, and immediately. Your clothes, soaked through, would have killed you in this chill!”

  She leaned back enough to look him in the eye, and slowly shook her head, feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. “You misunderstand, Sir. I am not complaining.”

  “No?”

  “No. In fact, now that it is too late to not disrobe and lie naked on top of you, I find I must confess, I quite enjoy the activity.”

  He laughed then, and it was the most glorious, beautiful sound she believed she had ever heard. And as his body shook, and she shook atop him, she found she could not help but laugh with him. Until he stopped it with a kiss.

  “Then, dearest Jane,” he finally said, drawing back again, “I shall not be cause for regret, but will allow you your enjoyment.”

  “Do,” she said, pulling his hands a little lower.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Adored by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 6

  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.

  Mr. Bennet was having the worst night of his life.

  He and his family had been forced to leave their house early that morning, and made to hole up in a public house with nearly everyone from the surrounding area, under watch of the secret police, while they awaited news of the capture of the loose villain. Well enough, but the public house afforded very little in the way of comfort or even common courtesy. And there had been no sign of his eldest two, Jane and Elizabeth, since before they had left for town. In vain had he insisted upon staying to wait for them; the inspectors had none of it. No, they had assured him, the best thing was to join the rest of his family in town and let them care for Jane and Elizabeth. Then they had removed them all.

  Now, sitting on a bench behind one of the rough wooden tables and listening to his wife simper over their younger daughters, he was having second thoughts about coming along.

  For her part, Mrs. Bennet had thrown a most marvelous fit about leaving the house at all, though it seemed clear to her husband that she was secretly delighted to be finally included in the drama that was unfolding in the neighborhood. Along the way she had weeped and wailed for the safety of Jane and Elizabeth—though, to be fair, she had grumbled and groused a good deal more about the very unfortunate timing of it all, and she made it clear to all she was sure it was very unfair that her poor Jane should have her time with the very handsome and eligible Mr. Bingley marred by such goings-on. Now, some hours later, after a little rest and reflection, she was entertaining all who would listen with the tale of how very enamored of Jane that same young man had been during their first evening together at the Meryton assembly.

  “And you should have seen,” he heard her say, “how very vexed all the other young ladies were! For, I declare, Mr. Bingley was the single most eligible bachelor there, and he would have none of them for even a minute—not one minute!—but my sweet, darling Jane!”

  Nevermind that most of the other young ladies in question were themselves present and within earshot. Mr. Bennet bristled. Here
he had no recourse, no library in which to hide from such embarrassment.

  “And did you hear,” Mrs. Bennet went on, “about his income? Lord! I heard he has five thousand!”

  “Oh really now, wife!” He could be silent no longer. But his protestation was ignored.

  “That is true,” one of the other ladies said, “but what of his companion—the taller, more handsome one? For I was given to understand he has twice that of Mr. Bingley, and is in possession of one of the finest estates in all the English countryside.”

  “Yes,” another lady said, “tell us more of Mr. Darcy!”

  Mrs. Bennet frowned. “I do not speak of that man. He is not worth the air.”

  That comment drew a number of satisfied smiles, for many of the women present, whom she had offended, were by now aware that Mr. Darcy had scorned the second eldest Bennet girl, Elizabeth.

  “All right, everyone,” a man called from across the room, “lend me your attention, if you please.”

  A short bustle of whispers was followed by relative silence. Mr. Bennet saw the man was in the attire of the inspectors—one of these secret policemen, then. He was still not clear on the details of why these men were here, but he understood a murderer was on the loose, and that was reason enough, so far as he was concerned, to comply with the law.

  “When can we leave?” a woman called.

  “I want to go home,” a child wailed. Other voices began to join. The inspector, standing on a table, raised and lowered his hands to pacify the crowd.

  “Now, now, good folk, I understand, believe me. And I am sorry to have kept you hear all day, I am. I apologize for what I know must be an uncomfortable situation.”

  “Uncomfortable?” a man yelled. “There’s a madman out there! We want news! What are you people doing about him?”