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So here is chapter two hope you like it and send me some feedback...thanks.
Stormy Pride– Chapter Two
Elizabeth knew she was pouting as Mr. Darcy continued to stride forward, still holding her in his strong arms. He had swept her off the ground and refused to release her or be swayed by logic - no matter which argument she presented. He truly was insufferably arrogant.
"Mr Darcy." Her tone was biting as she allowed her anger free reign. "Do you know what it would look like if we are seen? Holding me so close in your arms, we would look like lovers meeting for a clandestine tryst!" Elizabeth could not help but blush as she spoke.
Once again, Darcy ignored her. He continued to walk forward, taking her deeper still into the forest.
"This will leave my reputation in tatters!" She bit back the angry tears that threatened to spill. Curse Fitzwilliam Darcy and his stubborn nature! She stared off into the dense forest and tried not to sound petulant when she said, "Even the merest hint that something of this nature had occurred would be enough to have my father forcing us down the aisle to the alter and that, sir, is something neither of us would wish for!"
Mr. Darcy stopped suddenly. He looked down at Elizabeth, studying her face for several long heartbeats before resuming his hurried strides.
Elizabeth was stunned into silence. The expression on his face just then… It had been… No, she must have misinterpreted the look he gave her. It could not have been hope that she saw… Could it?
She could scarcely believe it was less than twenty four hours since that heated scene at the Parsonage. She had rejected his proposal with such vengeful words that she could not have conceivably imagined a time when he would wish to be in her company once more. Yet here she was, being carried - bridal style - in his arms. Mr. Darcy had not only voluntarily sought her company, but had in fact thrust his upon her in such a way as to brook no refusals to the contrary.
He was impossible to sway; she could present no argument that he would respond to. His arrogance was so complete, his belief in his own superiority so strong, that Elizabeth's cool, logical reason stood no chance.
"Here we are." Darcy finally spoke, nodding his head in the direction of a small cottage nestled among the trees.
Elizabeth looked up as he spoke. She could not help but notice a light dusting of stubble over Darcy's square jaw. She had not noticed this previously – but she was considerably closer to him than she had been. Closer, in face, than she had ever been to any man, her own dear father excluded. That fact was not lost on Miss Bennet as she fought the urge to reach up and run her fingers along that dark hair. She wondered absently if it would be coarse or smooth under her fingertips.
Had Mr. Darcy left Rosings so early that his manservant had been unable to perform his usual duties? He was looking decidedly less immaculate than usual…But, of course, he had been engaged in carrying a fully grown woman through the woods. A gentleman could be excused for looking slightly ruffled in such an instance.
Elizabeth only became aware that she was staring when the cottage's heavy, wooden door slammed shut with a bang, making her start. Looking around, she was surprised to find that it was nothing like the forester's hut she had been expecting. An empty fireplace was the dominant feature of the room they stood in. An odd assortment of chairs sat around it and there were several tables of varying heights scattered about the room, most of them piled high with books.
"I thought you said no one lived here?" Elizabeth's voice was full of doubt.
Darcy moved further into the room without releasing his hold on her.
"It is uninhabited" he replied vaguely.
It did not look uninhabited, Elizabeth thought. She thought it looked cosy and rather inviting, in fact.
Walking over to the fireplace, Darcy hooked one mud covered boot under an upholstered armchair and tugged it forward. He eased Elizabeth gently onto the cushioned seat.
"This house was built by my late uncle, Sir Lewis de Bourgh," Darcy explained as he
dragged an Ottoman across the floor. Gently lifting her injured foot, he gingerly placed it upon the stool.
"He used this as a hide away from his dearest wife, Lady Catherine." He smiled at her sardonically and began to unlace her other boot. "He would come here to sit and read and smoke his pipe, without incurring the constant ire of her Ladyship."
Elizabeth chuckled at the picture he had created. She had never heard him speak in such a forthright way before; it pleased her to hear what she had always suspected: Mr. Darcy did not kowtow to Lady Catherine's overbearing personality.
"And her Ladyship did not mind?" her tone was almost saucy. Darcy responded to her teasing tone with a grin.
"Lady Catherine is so busy overseeing every minute detail of those around her that she frequently overlooks many of the larger ones. Sir Lewis proclaimed himself to be an avid fisherman," Darcy told her. "I do not believe my uncle ever once lifted a fishing rod in his life. He did, however, spend many a happy hour here. It would appear that the lack of either pond or lake in Hunsford has never crossed Lady Catherine's mind."
They shared a laugh at that great lady's expense. Elizabeth gloried in the rare sound of Darcy's laugh. It was a deep, baritone sound and made odd things happen in the pit of her stomach.
"And how is it, sir," Elizabeth asked, still smiling. "That you have come to know of this safe haven?"
Darcy rose from his position at her feet, removing his great overcoat which deposited a sizeable deluge of water onto the floor. He went to hang it upon a battered coat rack by the door. As he walked, he shook his head, sending a spray of water in every direction.
"If you hand me your Spencer, Miss Bennet, I will hang it up to dry." Darcy stopped in front of her. He waited, his hand outstretched.
As she struggled out of the soaked garment, a shiver ran through her body. Elizabeth could not help but notice that her pale yellow dress was nearly transparent. Feeling self-conscious, she folded her arms across her chest.
Darcy must have noticed her discomfort because he strode to a closet at the far side of the room where he unfurled a large blanket.
"Please forgive me, Miss Bennet." Embarrassment laced his voice as he passed her the blanket. Turning his back on her, he said, "You must be chilled. I should not be rambling on about family history whilst you are suffering."
"I have already told you, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth answered at once. "A little rain is not going to harm me. And the 'family history' as you call it is distracting me greatly from the pain in my ankle so please, continue your story."
Elizabeth pulled the blanket up under her chin in an attempt to preserve what little modesty she had left.
"As you wish." Darcy offered her a small, forced smile. "But I must insist upon building a fire as I talk, for no matter how much you protest, a little rain can do a great deal of harm." His voice was both authoritative and playful at the same time. Elizabeth was not sure what to make of this enigma of a man. Before today, she could have attributed many qualities to him: pride, arrogance, conceit and - if she were forced to admit it - intelligent, but playful and honest? They were not words that would have sprung to mind. Now, however, she really was at a loss.
Darcy removed his jacket, remaining in his coat sleeves. His white shirt remained relatively dry; his overcoat had afforded him much more protection from the rain than her thin Spencer had.
He gathered an armful of logs and placed them, one by one, into the fire grate. Watching him work, Elizabeth was struck by the intimacy of the situation. A blush washed over her cheeks as an unwelcome through came to mind. If she had accepted Mr. Darcy's proposal, they would be in much, much more intimate situations…
Elizabeth found it near impossible to tear her eyes away. The only man she had ever encountered in his shirtsleeves was her father and Mr Darcy's strong, athletic physique was nothing like that of her elderly father. She watched, mesmerised by the play of muscles under the shirt that stretched tightly over his shoulders as he bent over the grate. Strange that he had not yet lit the fire and already Elizabeth felt her temperature rising…
"Where were we?" he asked, his voice breaking through her haze. "Well, as you can imagine, having had the pleasure of Lady Catherine's presence yourself, my late uncle was not the only one who was in need of a reprieve. My own father would occasionally join him on his "fishing" trips during our family visits to Rosings. As a boy, I was completely unaware that this was nothing more than a ruse and therefore begged to be allowed to join them one day. I was but a boy of five-years-old and was extremely upset when my father explained that this trip was not appropriate for a young lad."
He looked away from his increasingly unsuccessful attempts to kindle the fire and shook his head ruefully. "Lady Catherine, overhearing this, ordered my uncle to allow me to join them. I therefore spent the whole day long being very bored. I sat in the corner as my father and uncle read their books and barely spoke at all. I was sworn to secrecy of course, but did not really understand at the time why. When I took over the duties of overseeing Lady Catherine's estate, after both my uncle and father had passed away, I was finally able to appreciate this quiet little corner of Rosings."
"Are you fishing as we speak?" Elizabeth did not attempt to hide the mirth in her voice.
"Not this morning." Darcy's voice instantly lost its playfulness and was replaced with his usual dry tone. "This morning I am recovering from a sudden illness I was struck with yesterday which sadly prevented my ability to join my aunt for dinner - much to her annoyance and displeasure."
Elizabeth did not have to ask what 'illness' he spoke of.
At long last, a flame burst into life and grew. The fire crackled as it consumed the dry logs.
When Darcy finally turned back to her, his face was far less open and merry. Elizabeth felt a moment of guilt at the rapid change in his demeanour. It was her fault; the memory of her rejection had chased away the jovial mood they were sharing.
"I have, however, gone "fishing" many times on my visits to Rosings over the years and, although I have failed to catch even a single fish, I have nevertheless found the experience very rewarding." Elizabeth could see the effort Mr Darcy was putting forward to regain the comfortable mood she had shattered.
Elizabeth managed a weak smile, but could do no more. Inside she was in turmoil.
She realised that she had never considered his feelings during - or any time after – her very vehement rejection of Mr. Darcy's proposal. She was only just beginning to realise how cruel she had been. Only now did she take the opportunity to dwell upon the depth of the emotion it must have taken to lead a man such as himself to ask a woman far beneath him in both wealth and social stature to be his wife. At that moment Elizabeth hated herself.
When Darcy took the seat opposite her, he was gazing intently into her face.
"Are you still cold, Miss Bennet?" There was real concern in Darcy's voice.
"No, Mr Darcy, thank you. The fire has warmed me considerably."
Darcy did not reply but he continued to gaze upon her such intensity that Elizabeth began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny. The only sounds to be heard were the hammering of the rain against the window pane and the crackling of the fire. Elizabeth and Darcy continued to sit in silence, the companionable mood having washed away with the rain.
Suddenly springing to his feet, Darcy walked to the window, turning his back on Elizabeth.
"Miss Bennet," Darcy began in a faltering voice. "I feel it necessary - as a matter of utmost importance - to mention a delicate subject to you." He cleared his throat before continuing.
His gaze was earnest yet unsure when he turned to face her once more. "I am uncertain of how to broach the subject, but I feel that, if I do not, your health will certainly suffer. Despite your protests to the contrary, the rain has permeated your apparel to such an extent that sitting by fire will not be sufficient to dry them. In short, Miss Bennet, I am convinced that your health will be at risk if you do not remove them."
Darcy spoke these words quickly, the embarrassment of them causing a red flush to stain his cheeks.
Elizabeth could not have imagined a situation in which the proud Mr Darcy would feel uncomfortable, let alone blush. Were it not for the blush spreading across her own cheeks, she might have relished the sight.
"I apologise for my directness, Miss Bennet but I have been contemplating upon the matter for several minuets and the whiteness of your complexion has convinced me of the need to voice my concerns."
Elizabeth sat in stunned silence, unable to articulate a reply.
"There are several more blankets in which you might use to cover yourself," Darcy continued. "While your clothing dries in front of the fire."
Elizabeth was on the verge of a scathing reply but was unable to form the words as an untimely bout of sneezing overcame her.
The blanket fell from around her shoulders as the sneezes jerked her body. A cry escaped her lips as her injured foot fell from its perch when a particularly violent sneeze overcame her. The dull ache in her foot rebounded tenfold.
Darcy came to her rescue. He gently lifted her foot from the floor, gently lifting it back onto the ottoman.
"Please, Miss Bennet," he implored. "You must remove those wet things before you catch a fever."
She contemplated her options. She did not want to remove any articles of clothing in front of any man, much less Mr Darcy. However, as the fire began to warm her chilled body, the damp cloth had begun to feel increasingly uncomfortable against her skin. A shiver ran down her spine but whether it was form the cold or at the prospect of undressing before Mr. Darcy, she did not know.
Elizabeth could see the logic in his request but could not bring herself to say the words aloud. She nodded her accession, earning a relived smile from Darcy before he headed back to the cupboard to retrieve more blankets.