His poor horse. She took quite a punishment.

Mr. Darcy was quite unrelenting as he rode her hard.

To be fair… and he was almost always fair, he eventually stopped at a scenic brook and offered the dear girl some refreshment for her willingness to indulge without complaint.

He beat down the adjacent tall, brown grass with his pristine tasseled boots and his great coat flaring and flourishing around him. Since a young man, there was always an incessant need for perpetual motion while in deep thought.

Women.

If a woman could be as simple as his trusted and beloved Bess. Her form was all that it should be – strong, long and lean; her coat held a brilliant shine, always groomed to perfection. She easily took the full weight of him upon her back, and there was, of course, her perfect pedigree.

Better yet, she complied with his every whim. Silent and obliging, so biddable. His crop was seldom required, but she responded most favorably on the occasion he lightly smacked her backside.

All good qualities for prime horseflesh.

And, all good qualities for a wife.

Not the qualities of Elizabeth Bennet. She was petite and soft, and her mane while perfect, was wild. He could imagine it free and blowing in the wind that whirled through the valley of Pemberley.

But, she would never be biddable, or silent, or obliging. He imagined she would break the vow of obedience at the first chance just to prove she was her own woman. And, she would do it with such a charm he would immediately accede to her. No, marriage to Elizabeth Bennet and he would be the one bridled, saddled, and turned by the reins held firmly in her delicate hand.

Perhaps, though, if he were lucky, she would ride him astride? Of course, he would insist on retaining the crop… just a light tap to spur her on.
His laughter at the thought eventually sobered him. Marriage?

It would be an outright abomination. Or rather, that is what his family would certainly say. He could hear his uncle booming and threatening; one aunt would pitch priceless ornaments at his head, and one would give him a silent sniff of her nose.

Matlock would never truly follow through on a threat to sever ties - he never had before. But, disappointment and scorn would be an ever present companion to any happiness he could find with a woman such as Elizabeth Bennet. Unfortunately, her pedigree rendered her as worthless as an old plow horse on the auction block at Tattersalls.

He was a scion of an old and noble lineage. Nothing but a filly with the purest lines would satisfy duty.

He must be serious and give over to prudence, denying all hopes of pleasure. Above all, he must resolve to particularly be careful that no sign of admiration should escape during Miss Elizabeth's final duration at Netherfield. Though he failed miserably with her at breakfast - he was certain he roused her ire by the accidental harsh tone of his voice and lack of basic civility in forgetting to enquire after her ill sister - he knew there were other times, many other times, his regard was clear for her see.

How many times had they engaged in a jousting of wit? Certainly often, but still fewer times than he had been lost in lust staring after her ever move or edged his way close enough to listen to her voice and smell her sweet fragrance.

Miss Bingley had teased him most cruelly for his preference of the lady with the fine eyes. Yes, he was an incomparable idiot for baiting Miss Bingley with that declaration, but as much as the heinous woman observed him and was capable of some reasonable deduction, she would have come to her own conclusion and perceived her rival had a tighter hold over his affections anyhow.

Miss Bingley was clever, but Elizabeth was ten times so. How many times had she caught his gaze only to stare back or blush demurely? And, she was always so challenging with her words. If she did not welcome his attention, surely she would simply ignore him. He saw the attempt of several young men in the neighborhood to court her favor and how she dismissed them with kindness. She even allowed them their pride in that she pretended to be completely insensible of their aim. She was graciousness itself.

However, her response to him was altogether different. Instead of gentle benevolence, she was teasing, playful and everything encouraging. And, always, she injected just enough inducement to engage him further. He credited her intelligence too much to think she was unsuspicious to her effect of her art.

Of course, she could not know all things she unwittingly affected in him. But, she knew must know she was on the brink of holding him in her power.

And, now, he must crush the possibility lest he have to eventually devastate raised hopes… her raised hopes, as well as the secret ones of his.

He walked into the library. It seemed his resolve was to be immediately tested.

There she was, perfect and sweet and charmingly posed upon a sofa with a book.

He would win this fight. He would prove to himself he could manage in a room alone with her and ignore her until he forced himself content.

He grabbed the nearest thing to read, some journal or some such, and opened it while taking a seat in a winged chair that was not too close but near enough to try his new determination. He sat half-obscured from her. The slight turn of his head and she was clear in his vision.

He opened the magazine haphazardly to a page and looked down to a jumble of words.

Curse her scent for wafting over him and obscuring the text. What was that - cherry blossom, vanilla? whatever it was, it was delicious. But not delicious enough to tantalize his palette, not today.

Her sister came to his mind. It would be dreadfully rude to not ask after Miss Bennet. He was remiss this morning for not doing so. His manners were irreparable whilst in her company as he could not be bothered to retrieve his rational mind from his breeches. Should he rectify that now?
Before he could decide whether or not to speak, he was arrested by her light laugh.

Looking up with some abruptness, he caught her eye and was further pinned down by the sight of her dainty little thumb resting between a smile she was doing a poor job at hiding.

He sucked in his breath and held himself to his chair. He tried to force himself back to his occupation of reading but could not resist sneaking another glance.

Then, she raised her wonderfully arched brow, tilted her laughing face and let loose the saucy grin.

She was a damned imp.

The siren was strong and he was losing his will to restrain. Just what was so amusing? Her book? Was it him?

Oh god, could she see his physical reaction that he now had no chance of stopping? Why would she laugh at him so?

Not just an imp, a teasing imp who dearly love to laugh… at him.

He had to master this and pay her no mind. If he were a man at all, he could resist the fascinations of an enticing country miss with no connections, no money… and the prettiest face, with the most luscious curves.

At least she was not speaking. When she engaged him in conversation, it was his heart that swelled. No, when she was silent, he was safe from that travesty. At least in her silence, it was only an enlarged physical reaction that required calming, and he had years of practice at hiding that.

He turned his attention away from her and back to the page, though he did not see what was before him. His eyes were closed wondering what could amuse her so. He wished he could leave his chair, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she promised to cease her teasing ways. But, he could not. He could never.

And so the next several minutes went.

Ever stubborn, swearing he could sit with her alone unaffected, he parried and rallied his defenses of gentlemanly conduct swearing he was stout enough to deny temptation. He was too far into his campaign to simply beat a hasty retreat from the room. He could and would do this.

The power of her closeness united with his most intimate thoughts eventually cancelled all hope of valor and promised a most vicious slaying, so there was naught to do but to soar with his flight of fancy into the fracas wishing desperately to become a spoil of war, pillaged and plundered by the lovely Elizabeth, his own personal Bellona.

Opening an eye and shifting his gaze to the side, he basked in her allure. Fear of being caught out was vanquished by a heady sense of eager need.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back to indulge in the feeling of gratification her presence lent.

The dying skirmish between his restraint and passion was interrupted by her voice, and to his ears, it was a silky purr. "Mr. Darcy?"

He turned in his chair. Her eyes were still held some of their earlier amusement, but he noticed something lurking there, just waiting for him to draw it out. "Miss Elizabeth?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the settee before she addressed him again. He could swear she was looking through her lashes and moved in a way best to display the swell of her hip as she was sitting somewhat on her side, almost lounging. Her stockinged foot was peeping from below her petticoat, and he saw her toes curl. His did too. "Can I be of assistance?"

She nodded her head, biting down again on her thumb. That blasted, lucky thumb. He was sure there was drool dripping from his chin and pooling over his cravat by now. "Well, you see, sir, I wondering, that is, if you would be so kind as to…"

"Anything, anything at all." All earlier his earlier determination flew in the face of her seeking him in such a sweet, and dare he say, sultry way.
"I am reading this passage, and I am quite at a loss as to understand it. Do you think you could give me your opinion, perhaps enlighten me?"

How he felt his pride billow! (Almost to the proportions of other, more intimate parts of his person.) She actually desired his opinion. She actually thought his understanding superior to her own. How he would enjoy teaching her anything she so wished.

"Pray, come and direct me how I may be of assistance. I am your servant, Miss Bennet."

She flashed him a bright beam of her teeth that she had previously seemed to reserve for her intimate acquaintances. Could he now be counted among those lucky few? She answered his unspoken question by letting her mouth fall into something like a pout before she bit down on that rosy, juicy piece of flesh that was her bottom lip. He did not mistake that she looked through her lashes this time. She was flirting with him. She must have forgiven him for his rudeness earlier at breakfast.

As she slowly and most torturously glided off the couch, he crossed his legs in an attempt to hide the impact of her enticing appeal.

She seemed shy and eager all at once as she proffered the open book in her hand. His fingers felt hers when he reached up to help balance the pages.

He looked down and laughed. "Miss Bennet?"

She said nothing but her blush was telling, and the feel of her skin under his was becoming warmer still to the touch.

A slender finger from her other hand pointed out the particular text.

…I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

He was not laughing any longer. She wanted his opinion? On this? Ludicrous! And, blasphemous!

Her voice was quiet and low in a way he had not heard before. "Your thoughts?"

He dared to meet her bold eyes. "No."

"Then I am quite disappointed." She pulled back the book, closed it in her hands, and raised her brow in challenge.

All restraint was gone. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, down into the chair. The word of God fell the floor with his best intentions.

"Do you enjoy your torture, madam? Are you so cruel to inflict it upon me? Tell me, what exactly do you seek?"

"I suppose I thought to provoke some effect. I assure you, I am firm in my interpretation and know my own wishes. I only want to know yours."

With that, he pulled her the rest of the way onto his lap and kissed her with great fervor. Her passionate response was all he could have ever dreamed in his wildest imaginings, and before he realized, his hands slid down her back, all the way down, where he most steadily pressed her closer. She sat on his lap with her knees to either side facing him.

The only thing between them was her heaving breast and one of her hands and it was caressing his chest and then further.

He tore his lips away and replaced them upon her neck. As his tongue tasted lower, her hand took a similar southerly path.

He tightened his arms around her back as he pressed his face into the neckline of her dress. His words were intelligible as he encouraged her.

Elizabeth Bennet did not need instruction much to his utter delight. The pressure of her hand upon him was otherworldly, and now he only wished to feel the skin of her fingertips against him without the barrier of his breeches.

He was becoming concerned for his sanity as it seemed she chose to comply with every wish his thoughts invented. How could she know his mind so? And, how was she so adept with the buttons on his fall?

Ohhh! He was not prepared for the actual touch of a woman. Her hands were not as course as his own, and her movements were not as skilled. But, it was a thousand times better. A thousand little thrills running through his body.
He could not do much but hold his face to her chest and alternate kissing what flesh he could take and growl his pleasure into her skin. It was maddeningly exquisite.

Suddenly her touch stopped, but it was replaced by the feel of her dress washing against him as she slid to the floor. How was his waistcoat unbuttoned? And, how lovely did it feel to have her caress under his shirt and over his stomach!

His eyes rolled back. What sweet suffering it all was!

But, not as sweet as what she did next. The blow to his mind when her mouth fell over him was enough to drive him to his finish, but he persevered not wanting it to end. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly trying to hold himself together.

She wound her hands up and down his chest and her mouth followed a similar motion. He was so close. As she kept her beautiful head in place, one hand reached to grab his. Then she trailed it up his arm and squeezed while she looked up and smiled, still firmly attached. It was his undoing, and he was completely spent.

Somewhere in the haze, he thought he heard her say his name. What a nice sound, from a kind mouth.

"MR. DARCY!"

The bliss was torn from him and he looked up (and not down) into the face of a very concerned and bewildered woman. She was certainly not on the floor but standing next to his chair.

He had lived out a reverie that had seemed so, so real. Clearly real based on what he now felt in his breeches - which were very securely fixed. Thank everything holy my hands are still gripping the arm of the chair and not my own…

"Are you ill, sir?" Her voice carried something a little uncomfortable and much insistence. Her blush was rather abundant.

"I, um, yes, I mean no?" He closed his eyes and sat as still as a statue. The tension he had easily expelled away during his imaginings came back in full force to grip him in a vice of fear.

Had he spoken aloud as he let his mind wander down its sinful path? Had he made any unbecoming noises?

Please tell me I did not take myself into my own hand! I swear I will give up every vice I have ever had if I can but escape this.

"Shall I fetch Mr. Bingley? Do you need assistance?"

"No!" What else could he say? Excuses were hard to come by in his panic. Bingley could absolutely not be called to witness his monumental shame.

"I must have drifted off and have had something, well, like a dream." It was a painful slap to his pride to admit, but it was better than the truth. His guilt was further heightened by the wave of compassion which crossed her expression.

"You seemed quite tortured in your sleep." Her voice was quiet, and she looked anywhere but at him.

God, she had no notion he most certainly was tortured, indeed, and at the expense of her mouth no less. It was impossible that she should feel sorry for him.

Her hand was still on his arm, and as they looked to it at the same time, he saw rather than felt the little squeeze before she lifted her gentle fingers. Fingers that were concerned, not immoral. He was pitiful to pray on her sympathy.

"Miss Bennet, can I trouble you to spare me the library? I find that I need a moment."

"I am certain you do."

He managed to bestow a parting nod as to not completely slight her. There was no way he could possibly stand to execute a proper bow in his condition.

She did not move to leave, and he caught her eye trying to convey his contrition. She quickly acknowledged his apologetic look with a small smile and then let her eyes fall to his lap with a little smirk. Blast. She realized. She knows.

"Do enjoy your reading, Mr. Darcy. I pray it will restore your mind."

His eyes dropped. La Belle Assemblee was open and draping over his lap. A deuced woman's monthly was covering his spent seed. That is what he picked up to read? Had that been what she was laughing over when he first entered the room? His mortification truly knew no bounds. At least the evidence was properly obscured.

He prayed, no, he could not pray because he had already bound himself to hell for his wickedness and the use of divine Word to instigate his very unholy musings. So, instead, he wished, wished more than anything she did not know what was lurking under the pages - pages he would absolutely have to burn.

She still remained, and he understood he could not let her leave without some explanation. "My sister. You see, I make it a habit of reading anything she might read. I am her guardian."

"Understandable, indeed. How nice to have a brother in which to discuss such trivial matters of fashion with."

Looking as if she could not hold back further, she continued. "Perhaps I should share your practice with my father? If so, I shall have to trouble you to return my copy. I can send it to papa now and ask him to prepare himself for a discussion over fashion upon our return. He will not be pleased with the suggestion as he detests talk of sleeves and lace, but I am sure he will see the merit in knowing what interests his daughters."

He paled. Lifting the pages from his lap to place back in her hands was not an option. He could never return it. He would have to send to London for a new copy right away as he feared he most likely soiled it.

He stammered for something to say. "Miss Bennet – "

Her hand forestalled his speech, and her blush reappeared. "It is no trouble, Mr. Darcy. By all means, finish your perusal. It is not even mine but Jane's. She will not mind. I am sure you are wishing me away. Good day."

Turning his head down back to his lap in utter disgust, he did not reply.

He heard her slippers grow more distant, and he lifted his head to watch the sway of her hips as she walked through the door. It was a beautiful sight, but the attraction of it all had waned considerably in the last few moments under the burden of disgrace. His better sense was wafting back to his mind, and he began to eye her figure with disdain.

How dare she use her womanly arts to enthrall him so much? She was too much a temptress. Does she even know? He decidedly preferred not to suppose an answer to that question – either response would not go far to quell his pathetic obsession. The only hope was to remove himself from her company entirely as he failed miserably in his attempt to act in a rational manner while in her presence. Clearly, he could not even keep to the same room as her without his every desire being preyed upon.

Once he could puzzle out how to get to his chamber without scandalizing himself further, he would take to his rooms until she and all her inducements were in a carriage and returning to Longbourn. The previous night he thought himself in some danger, and now he knew full well he was teetering on the precipice of complete damnation.

A/N: Well, I achieved the challenge part of what I originally intended when I set out to write this. So, now I am at my leisure to help Darcy broaden his one-track mind from lust to love... but no promises. He is still a dude, and this is really just fluff, and I am still really blushing. I have the idea for the next chapters, but I am open to your feedback and direction if you want to leave a review.

Also, if you are following my other story - I'm almost ready to update. That one is so much harder to write, and this just helps when I need a break from the emotional drama. :)