Rated: M

Genre: Romance/Humor

Summary: Two restless warriors take turns training at night in Netherfield. What they observe makes their feelings towards one another all the more confusing and bothersome. An extended look at what could have developed between Lizzy and Darcy while Jane was ill.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. It all belongs to Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. Just borrowing the characters for my own amusement.

A/N: It could not be helped. To my readers who are reading my Once Upon a Time and Strange Magic stories do not fret! I will return to them but this little plot bunny just came up and bit me and I could not let it go. As for the lines from the movie, I did my best with my recollection, but I might revisit this once it is out on DVD. I hope you all enjoy this story and please don't forget to leave a review! Thank you!

A/A/N: Okay… so in my excitement to post this story, I didn't realize I should probably split it since it is pretty long. If you have read this already, then nothing new has been added. I just took the part starting with the morning after Darcy and Elizabeth watched each other train onward for part 2.

Midnight Trainings

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

Chapter 1

Insufferable man! Such haughtiness! Both he and Miss Bingley are fortunate I did not give them a taste of my dagger, courtesy of the Shaolin masters.

Elizabeth Bennet was still fuming by the time she arrived in Jane's room. She should have known the evening would not be as pleasant as she would have liked; not with the present company that the affable Mr. Bingley kept. Of course he could not help who his relations were, Elizabeth understood that quite well. But his friend… Now that was entirely different matter and how two people who were indeed quite polar opposites could be friends was a mystery!

Leaning against the closed door, Elizabeth shut her eyes and reflected on how this started with her refusal of playing cards. Mr. Hurst's comment of how singular it was for her to turn down a hand was unfathomable to him, and while every inch of her body screamed at her to retaliate in a way that would be considered improper, she reigned in her desires and continued the pretense of politeness as society dictated she should behave. She responded she should read instead, which Caroline Bingley latched on and announced how she must be a great reader since she is not fond of cards.

Such censor and assumptions about her character! Elizabeth could only brush it off as civilly as she could until she chosen Sun Tzu's The Art of War. To find such a treasure (despite it being an English translation) restored her faith that she could suffer the company for a while longer.

Alas! Fortune had other plans.

The Japanese that Caroline spoke (rather rudely she might add) caught Elizabeth off-guard as it intended to bring to light her "inferior" training of the deadly arts. Indeed, Elizabeth would not trade a single moment of her time in China. She was quite proud of her skills with the knife, but to be ridiculed and mocked in such a manner was insupportable. Elizabeth would never bring herself to speak Mandarin or any other form of the Chinese dialect to someone else less familiar with it. For Miss Bingley to hint at the obvious in their social status was to also recognize that her training was very much the same as Jane's, and to insult one was to insult the other. Elizabeth knew her sister was besotted with Mr. Bingley as he was with her if her suspicions were correct. However, thanks to his sister and friend, they reminded him that Jane was beneath them. She could only pray that if Mr. Bingley's affections were true, then he would overlook the insinuations.

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth glanced over to the bed and was relieved to see that Jane was fast asleep. The last thing she wanted was to explain why she had retired so soon or even share the conversations below. Let her angelic sister sleep with pleasant dreams of her dear Mr. Bingley.

Besides, she needed all the rest she could get to restore her strength and health. The sooner Jane was feeling better, the sooner they could quit Netherfield and return to Longbourne.

Moving around the room with light steps so as not to disturb the patient, Elizabeth went over to her trunk to retrieve her nightgown. Before she could undress herself her mind was too active to even think about going to bed. Her temper still had not dissipated and her body was itching for some kind of activity to put her at ease.

Returning back to her trunk, she was delighted to see that her training outfit was packed. Inside she found a note written by her sister Mary to remind her that idling is not becoming in a warrior and Papa would be displeased if she didn't put some training in despite Jane's illness. Ever the practical one Mary was Elizabeth was grateful she could have this respite. It would do her good to work out her frustrations.

The only problem remained was when and where. The where seemed appropriate that she should take to the gardens so she could have some seclusion whilst she meditated. The when was the issue. She knew the other occupants were awake and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally run into them. Even the servants she wished to avoid as well.

Elizabeth was at an impasse but she was not one to give up simply because there were obstacles. No… She would wait for a suitable amount of time to pass when the household was in bed and then she will sneak out to train.

Satisfied with her plan, Elizabeth donned her attire and then took vigil at her sister's bedside. The moonlight from the window washed over Jane's features, making her skin glow prettily. There was some color returning to her pallor complexion, which signified that she would recover. How long was another question but it only reminded the second eldest of earlier in the day when Mr. Darcy dared to enter her sister's sickroom.

So anxious she had been to see Jane that she barely registered Mr. Darcy's presence when the physician arrived. She heard his announcement but she had been so focused on her sister and the doctor's examination that she didn't realize what Mr. Darcy had done until she heard the buzzing.

Her trained ears alerted her to the sudden intrusion of carrion flies. Their purpose was all too clear to her and the audacity of him to presume that Jane was stricken had her instinctively clutch the folds of her gown. She refused to add any stress to Jane or shock the doctor with an immediate thrust of her knife in Mr. Darcy's direction, so she settled on getting rid of the annoying impediment.

Breathing slowly she listened to what the doctor said, but she was flexing her muscles and waiting for the right moment to strike. Master Liu taught this lesson of patience when she had to do something similar; although, those insects had been poisonous and the stakes were slightly much higher and left no room for error.

Without breaking her concentration, her arm snapped outwards as her fingertips deftly captured a fly. Then a second, then a third. In all, she had six flies imprisoned in her fist as they brushed and flapped against her skin to escape. She had not looked behind her to see Mr. Darcy's incredulous countenance but continued focusing on the doctor's prognosis. The wound on Jane's hand was from the gun backfiring and the fever was brought upon from the rain. It was as exactly as Elizabeth figured it would be from her sister's own lips, and she was grateful that the doctor supported the conclusion.

The older man excused himself and Elizabeth turned around to find Mr. Darcy still standing over Jane's bed with this stupid and dumbfounded expression. She would have laughed at him were it not for the serious and grave implications that ensued with the release of the carrion flies. He thought Jane was a zombie? For a man claiming to be a colonel he should know the difference between a bullet wound and a bite. Her ire was already alit from the moment he entered the room, but his presumptions only served to stoke the flames as she glared at him explicitly.

"I believe these are yours," she said coolly, raising her fist over his opened hand. He was expecting her to return his pets and so she shall. With a tightening grip, she squeezed the tiny messengers to death and dropped the bodies in his palm. Never once did she bat her eyes or change her visage as she strode out of the room. However, she did notice it did take Mr. Darcy a couple of minutes to leave the room, and if there was some kind of repercussion, there was none that followed. Mr. Darcy had been characteristically silent except for the accustomed stares in her direction.

If he thought he could intimidate her with a piercing look for killing his flies, then he did not know her at all. Not that I would want him to know me, she had to remind herself. His behavior in Meryton was inexcusable and she would never forgive him for the unmerited insult. Not handsome enough to tempt him? I wonder if he would feel the same if I returned the favor after altering his countenance to match his character.

Such violent musings kept her entertained and it made it easier to laugh at his expense. Unfortunately, she had no one else to share her reveries but knew Papa would enjoy it once she returned home.

However, she could not help but ponder if Mr. Darcy would dare try again to test to see if her sister had joined the undead. If he does… then he would find himself without a head. Let him suffer the same fate as the unmentionables if it meant keeping Jane safe. Maybe then it would be decided on who had the better skills—Kyoto or Shaolin?

The minutes ticked by and Elizabeth stood to walk over to the door to see if all was quiet. Opening the door just a crack, she listened intently for any signs that Netherfield was awake.

Everything seemed to be still.

Elizabeth grinned.

xxXXxx

After dismissing his valet for the night, Darcy slipped into his bed to read for a while. The candlelight's shadow flickered across the book as he carefully traced the lettering of The Art of War. Why he had selected this particular tome he could not explain. Or better yet why he was compelled to conceal he even took it. He had read it enough to practically memorize it, but he could not stop thinking about the conversation he had with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

"Have you ever read it in its original Wu dialect?" she inquired.

"No. I am afraid I had not the pleasure."

With her brow arched, she haughtily replied in Chinese.

While Darcy had completed his combat training in Japan, he did learn enough Mandarin from the men who served under him who did theirs in China. It was a useful and practical skill to learn another language regardless of its lower station. Miss Bennet must have thought she was being clever in responding thusly, but he understood quite clearly what she said.

"Then you have not read The Art of War."

Darcy disliked being viewed as incompetent or even the implication of being such. To have his knowledge and experiences challenged was a blow he could not allow. A heavy flaw it was to strive in being the best, yet his pride demanded he came on top in whatever victories he obtained. It would not do to be anything less than highly competent.

And somehow this woman managed to make him feel slightly affronted with her arching looks and cutting words.

Even now he could not find himself in enjoying the text in its English translation. He was now curious about the original edition and whether or not if what she had said was true. Was he missing something? Did he overlook the possibilities of how crudely an interpretation could be if not presented in its native tongue?

Snapping the book shut, Darcy pursed his lips as he tossed the book aside. It would not do to continue this innocuous diversion. He will have to seek out the original text and see if the English version lived up to the expectations.

He snuffed out the candle and lay against the pillows. Sleep evaded him.

Once again his thoughts were being plagued by Miss Bennet. Her long brown tresses pulled up with a wayward curl poised delicately against her swanlike neck, her pink petal lips so soft from afar, and her wide, luminous brown eyes that were bewitching and bold. He could not forget how fine her eyes were, especially after her battle with the zombies in Meryton, so bright and lively from the vigorous slaughter. Her combat movements—fluid, graceful, agile—a dance like any other with her arms twirling powerfully with each thrust of her daggers; her high kicks revealing the pale, firm, and lean legs that spoke of immeasurable strength. He was mesmerized, enchanted with her skills as a warrior but as a woman… She was a goddess, the reincarnate of Diana the huntress, standing over her prey with a triumphant glint in her countenance.

How he had failed to notice before he could not explain but she certainly captured his attention.

On the ride back to Bingley's estate, Darcy could not stop envisioning Miss Elizabeth tearing through the hordes of dreadfuls, but imagining instead, sparring with her to test her limits. He imagined her skin to be soft and supple but the muscles hard and unyielding, a stark contrast in what society deemed feminine yet not so that would be unattractive. And those legs, wrapped powerfully around his waist, squeezing tightly to make him incapacitated, his hand roving upwards to grip the full shape of her…

He nearly forgotten where he was when his thoughts took a sudden turn that he blushed hotly at the improper turn of events. He hardly knew her but his body responded at meeting its equal in skill. To soothe his ardor he looked to Caroline, knowing her training (despite going to Japan) was not up to par as the Bennet sisters. That provided momentarily relief but despite his best intentions not to think about Elizabeth Bennet… He often found himself recalling her bravery as she charged into the hall without question and admiring her lithe form.

Somehow he did manage to convince himself that he would never see her again. Her family was inferior to his own, their connections were wanting. And from what he gathered from Caroline… the Bennets did not possess a lot of wealth. It was rather unfortunate that a good breed of warriors did not have the same opportunities or the same discipline as someone of his caliber. Their only hope would be to marry well and to a man with enough funds to secure a decent future for the rest. Darcy glowered at the idea of Mrs. Bennet, the mother, having her sights set on Bingley for her eldest. Indeed, Jane Bennet was lovely but beauty could only have its limitations. No doubt Mrs. Bennet would even throw her other daughters at his own purse, being one of the richest bachelors in all of Derbyshire. He detested sycophants who wanted nothing more than an advantage in society, and Mrs. Bennet was terribly guilty of such crimes.

Nevertheless, his resolve was quickly tested when Jane Bennet fell ill and a letter was dispatched to Longbourne. Having Elizabeth hastened to Netherfield so swiftly was admirable in itself; her concern for her sister touching and seeing those fine eyes once again had rendered his voice effectively trapped. His eager eyes took their fill when she entered the room and he was suddenly bereft when she departed. Darcy never knew such feelings and he could not understand why this country girl, a low-born, could make him feel conflicted. She was of no consequence, insignificant. Not even her fighting skills could save her from her upbringing.

Forcing aside whatever this was, Darcy had to look at the situation objectively. Jane Bennet was ill and they knew that zombies were lurking now in Hertfordshire. The inclement weather would have them springing out like the worms and maggots that they were. She came across a couple of zombies and that was all she had been able to speak before falling unconscious. Darcy saw the bandage around her hand and knew she was injured. To what degree he had not been able to investigate as Bingley quickly whisked her to a room, shouting for the nearest manservant to fetch a physician.

Simultaneously, the letter was written but from whose hand Darcy was unable to ascertain. He had been preoccupied trying to see to Miss Bennet himself to determine if she was afflicted but Bingley kept preventing him from doing so. Then Miss Elizabeth Bennet showed up and his thoughts were blindly distracted. Thankfully, his senses prevailed and he was able to pull Bingley away to inform him of his suspicions. Naturally, his dear friend would not hear of the possibility and Darcy could not fault him. Bingley was becoming quite enamored with Miss Bennet and her well-being was his top priority. However, one must put aside any feelings of attachment to focus on the larger picture:

The plague was present. No one was safe from infection.

Despite Bingley's protests, Darcy knew it fell upon his shoulders to make the tough call. It was a duty he did not take lightly and in the safety interest of everyone within these walls—Colonel Darcy must obey. And after what had happened the last time with Mrs. Featherstone… Darcy knew he could not err.

Of course, it did not make it any easier for her sister to be in the same room. He had hoped once the physician arrived, Miss Elizabeth would step out but her loyalty and dedication to her sister kept her close by. Nonetheless, he had to check Miss Bennet himself with a little help.

Removing the top of the vial, he let loose his carrion flies. Never had these tiny soldiers failed him in his pursuit of the undead. Waiting calmly for the results, Darcy released his hidden dagger in his coat sleeve. Once a zombie was exposed, the reaction was always one of violence and Miss Jane Bennet would not be any different if she wanted to survive in her newly zombified form. It only grieved him that he might have to conduct the dirty business in front of her sister, but alas, this was a war and sometimes reticence was not possible.

Therefore, to his astonishment, he had not expected his flies to meet their maker! In the lethal hand of Miss Elizabeth no less!

He did not know what to say when she approached him with her disapproving gaze, her brown eyes glittering with unrestrained anger, as she held up her closed fist and deposited his flies into his stretched hand. He wanted to explain his actions—as a warrior she should understand the predicament—but he could not find the words or his tongue when she walked away. Instead, he was alone with the sleeping Miss Jane (no longer in the danger of returning from the dead) and his decease flies. Darcy disposed the bodies in the closest waste basket and pulled out his handkerchief to clean off his hand before rejoining the other guests.

He was not angry at Miss Elizabeth but he did mourn the fact he would have to obtain more flies for the foreseeable future.

Dinner had been tense and awkward regardless of the amiable conversation being exchanged. Darcy could not tear his eyes away as Miss Elizabeth ate and conversed with Bingley and his sisters. Mr. Hurst was drinking (as usual) and offered little to the discussion, which was no great loss to anyone in the room. Darcy contributed when his response was required but kept to himself throughout the meal. He studied Miss Elizabeth's profile carefully; noting how her smile would make her eyes sparkle with intensity and her laugh was musical and pleasing to the ears. It was hard to discern her affable character to the warring siren he had witnessed, but appearances could be quite deceiving, an experience he was completely familiar with.

A few times she turned in his direction, which he hastily glanced the other way lest he should be caught with his frank stares. There would be something unreadable in her expression but Darcy knew he must tread carefully. If she had a hint to his attention, then he could raise her hopes for a possible courtship. This, of course, was not an option and he loathed to break a young girl's heart if she believed a romance was probable.

Despite his best efforts to dissuade Miss Elizabeth from believing an attachment, Darcy continuously found himself having her in his sight. Then the conversation in the parlor… He begrudgingly was grateful Caroline had spoken in Japanese and confused Miss Elizabeth, knowing full well she wouldn't understand. It was a swift reminder in the difference of rank and how disappointed his relations would be if he should forge an alliance with Miss Elizabeth's skills and connections.

He hadn't taken into account that Miss Elizabeth was not a simpering waif and insulting her training would not have the desired affect that Caroline was seeking. She stood her ground and defended herself proudly, even so far as putting him on notice about women and their accomplishments. Never had anyone, anyone challenged Darcy about his opinion and he could not bring himself to be slighted.

Rather, his intrigue deepened as did the growing admiration.

It was disheartening to have her retire so soon and the room seemed less bright without her presence. He kept his disappointments to himself but Darcy couldn't bring himself to enjoy the card game anymore. To his surprise, he was suddenly bored with the activity. He felt like reading and when it was time for the others to take their leave… Darcy quickly lifted The Art of War and hid it in his coat. The cover was warm against his breast but he wondered if it was because Miss Elizabeth had been holding it not so long ago.

His heart pounded loudly, hoping no one would suspect his intentions. True it was only a book and there wasn't anything illicit about it. However, he couldn't stop thinking that it was Miss Elizabeth with this particular book clutched in her embrace and if found on his person… one might conjecture if it was something more.

Foolish, yes. But weren't all fools irrational?

He had stashed the book away before his valet could help him ready for the night. In the back of his mind, he knew it was within his reach but he prayed to the heavenly Father above that Smith would not find it.

Then when it was safe for him to reveal this secret of his… Darcy could not bring himself to even read it, not with Miss Elizabeth's teasing voice in his head.

Now, Darcy couldn't find the repose he required. The restlessness continued as his thoughts were assaulted with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and an emotion unlike any other began to take hold of him.

It was a stirring in his blood, a feverish yearning that was overwhelming and stifling his senses. Finding no relief in slumber, Darcy kicked off the bed-covers and strode towards the balcony doors. He was instantly greeted by the cool, crisp air as he seized the stone railing and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to allow the welcoming distraction penetrate and soothe the throbbing passions that enflamed him.

Breathing deeply, Darcy gazed across the grounds with the moon acting as his guide. He almost laughed out loud as his faculties started to return to him. It was exactly the cure he needed to settle the raging beast that Darcy was about to turn away when he sighted the object of his fiery torment.

Elizabeth.

She was down in the garden, a flitting nymph, moving through the bushes and flowers. Her hair was piled high with several strands escaping the practical coif to plaster itself on her neck and face; her countenance sketched pensively, her dark brows knitted together; her chest rising and falling with each flare of her tiny nostrils.

His eyes widened at how close she was from where he stood that he froze instantly, afraid he might startle her. He could see the puffs of air coming from her lips, the sweat gathering at her temples. His gaze slipped down as he registered what she wore was hardly decent but a little chill went down his spine and right to his belly: a white-collared blouse with the top buttons undone and a long black leather stay over the shirt, teasing the tops of her swelling bosom. Gone was the accustomed skirt but a pair of black trousers, fitted nicely to her tone legs, and high-topped lace boots adorned her feet.

It was not uncommon for women to wear pants; his Aunt Catherine was quite fond of them, but seeing Elizabeth wearing them so she could move freely without being restricted by her gown… Darcy could appreciate much more of her figure as he watched her move about stealthily, stalking before she finally engaged an invisible foe with a jab of her fists—one, two.

What followed next was a series of movements that were beautifully choreographed as she twisted, turned, ducked, dodged, kicked, and punched in florid strikes. Her soft panting and sharp grunts were the only sounds echoing in the night as she danced the warrior's dance to the music of her own warfare. Then, without warning, she pulled a blade from its hidden sheath in her boot, and continued her thrusting and stabbing of this merciless opponent.

Darcy was in awe before but this time it was something different. This time he was able to view the full blooded warrior in her training. She was marvelous, enthralling, and she showed no mercy as she deftly lobbed a rose from its branch. It was a clean cut with the floral head intact as it floated to the ground that Darcy could only imagine what she might be like in an actual battlefield surrounded by zombies.

She smirked, a hidden amusement to herself, as she looked at the fallen bud. But it wasn't just a bud… oh no… it was a zombie head as she lifted her boot and squashed it with her heel. The tingling in Darcy's belly was soon growing rampant and his irises darkened with lust. His body longed to be down there with her, to fight her and test her, to see if she was a really the equal he believed her to be. All he had to do was jump the railing, a short fall of ten feet, and…

He blinked rapidly, realizing Elizabeth had disappeared. Did she see him? No… If she had, then surely she would have alerted him that she knew.

It was the dose of reality he needed to keep himself in check. If he had followed his instincts, then there was no telling of what trouble could have ensued. Moreover, what might happen if they were caught in a compromising matter, even if it was only a spar. Yet, the frantic beating of his heart betrayed what he really desired.

Spinning sharply on his heels, Darcy retreated to his bedchamber and slammed the balcony doors with a resounding crash. He didn't care at the moment if it aroused anyone but all he could do was paced about in his room. The temptation to relieve his tension was too high and he had to remember he was a gentleman and she a maiden. That aided him somewhat but Darcy knew without absolute certainty…

Sleep was not going to come easily.

xxXXxx

Elizabeth found the exercise quite invigorating. It was exactly what she needed to ease her mind from any thoughts of Mr. Darcy and his holier than thou attitude.

She stole back into her room and was pleased to see that Jane was doing well. At least it didn't appear her rest was disturbed.

Elizabeth shed her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. Next, she pulled out her hairpins so her unruly curls could tumble down her back. She brushed them out until the tangles were gone and cleansed her face with a cloth so her perspiration would not make her appear barbaric. Once her evening ablutions were finished, Elizabeth crawled into bed next to her sister, resting her chin on the pillow as she listened to Jane's deep, rhythmic breathing.

At last, she closed her eyes in the hopes of joining Jane in the land of dreams.

xxXXxx

Elizabeth immediately awoke to Jane's erratic coughing. She hastened to light a candle before returning to aid her sister. The coughing sounded hoarse so Elizabeth went to the pitcher of water that was left for her and poured Jane a glass. Once Jane was sitting upright on the pillows, Elizabeth handed her the glass and encouraged her to take slow sips.

Eventually, the coughing subsided and Jane smiled gratefully for the drink. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said.

"Jane, you're sick. There is no need for apologies. Just get better that is all."

The eldest Bennet sighed. "I cannot help but think what a burden I must be. But Mr. Bingley and his family have been so accommodating and attentive. I'm not sure what I did to deserve it."

"Nonsense Jane. You and I both know that Mr. Bingley is half mad in love with you and will do anything in his power to see to your care. Besides, if he wasn't, then Mama would certainly make sure he does," Elizabeth teased as Jane let out a soft groan.

"Do not remind me! Although, I will admit I am happy to see him. I'm sure I must look an awful fright and yet he smiles at me so handsomely that I forget I'm ill."

"True love, my sweet Jane." With a gentle chuckle, Elizabeth added, "To be fair, I cannot account Mama for knowing it would rain, but I suspect, she might have had a hand in sending out those zombies."

"Lizzy!" Jane admonished even though her eyes were twinkling with mirth. "Mama is desperate for a wedding but I do not think she would stoop that low." Jane began to yawn and Elizabeth decided it was best to talk later in the morning.

"You must rest. Then we'll be back to Longbourne," Elizabeth promised as she pulled the blanket and covers over her sister.

"Good night Lizzy," Jane mumbled as her eyes drifted shut once more.

It didn't take long for Jane to be fast asleep and Elizabeth was left with the desire to sleep; however, she could not. She doubted another training session would help and it was far too late as it was.

Rising from the bed, she picked up the candlestick and headed over to the window. Perhaps counting the stars would help inspire a visit from Hypnos.

As Elizabeth began her quest, she caught sight of something darting below that diverted her attention right away.

At first she thought it was an unmentionable that managed to sneak onto the estate and was up to get her knife. Then she saw the figure again but it was no unmentionable.

Mr. Darcy!

The man, himself, was underneath her window prowling the Netherfield grounds. His countenance was too far for her to judge what could be on his mind or why he was still awake at this hour, but what had her catching her breath was his unkempt appearance. In the short duration of their acquaintance, Elizabeth had seen nothing out of place when it came to Mr. Darcy's pristine and immaculate presentation. He was so stiff, so rigid in his stature that she could not fathom how this could also be the same Colonel Darcy that people boasted about on the battleground. Before he rebuffed her, she overheard the endless stories and was quite impressed. But meeting him disillusioned her and she wondered if it was his income that led to the generous compliments.

Now, she was getting a glimpse of Colonel Darcy with his dark mane tousled and wild; his long overcoat was shed, leaving him clad only in a white shirt and black pants. There was no cravat as she could tell and the collar was pulled down to expose his throat to the elements. In addition, it was starting to rain lightly, leaving the shirt to being soaked. However, none of that seemed to disturb him as he raised his katana and proceeded to swing it around in a deliberate manner.

Elizabeth, transfixed, could not look away at the masterful approach Darcy took. She could see the flexing of his arms as he maneuvered the sword very methodically. It was a union of man and his weapon, an envious sight to behold. Quick as lightning, he struck as the katana sliced through air and chopped off the head of a statue.

Her brow lifted in astonishment at how swift and clean the damage was done. She doubted if she would be able to recreate such swordsmanship. Perhaps Mr. Darcy did possess some talent after all!

I daresay in this light he looks rather roguish.

Gasping, Elizabeth turned away from the window. Was she admiring Mr. Darcy's looks in an agreeable way? True he was a handsome man but his character was wanting. And just because he knew how to handle a sword did not mean he was attractive now.

Remember Lizzy. Mr. Darcy is the one who believed Jane was a zombie and would more than likely would have killed her on the spot if one of those flies should happen to land on her. Disagreeable, spiteful man. He is arrogant and has no regard for the feelings of others. This is certainly not the features I would wish in a husband.

Finding the anchor she needed to drive away any further notions of Mr. Darcy in a favorable light, Elizabeth returned back to the window to see what else she might learn from his late-night training.

She refused to acknowledge the disappointment that he was nowhere to be found. And she was positive it was not the man, but the sword she wished to see again.

Regardless, Elizabeth did feel a little warm and hoped it wasn't Jane's sickness that passed onto her. To prevent any possible risk of becoming ill, Elizabeth took one of the extra blankets and curled up on a chair.

Resting her head on the back of the cushion, Elizabeth did manage to close her eyes and block out any further thoughts of Mr. Darcy.

TBC…