A/N: And here comes our first big confrontation! Enjoy.


The morning after Netherfield Ball, Elizaveta Benetin was surprised to find the house completely empty when she awoke. She was usually not one to sleep in late; on the contrary, she tended to return from her morning walk before the rest of the inhabitants of Lucas Lodge descended to breakfast. But not today. Today, she awoke at eleven, and still felt heavy and exhausted from the night before.

A neat note from Charlotte awaited her in the drawing room:

'My Dearest Liza,

I have gone with Mama to visit the Bennets. We shall return by lunchtime, I hope. There should be breakfast left for you in the dining room.

Enjoy your rest!

Yours,

Charlotte'

Despite the warm tone of the note, Liza felt that not everything was quite well between her and Charlotte. There was something strange about the way her friend left without waking her, and she wondered briefly if Charlotte was hiding something from her.

But already feeling less cheerful than she would have liked, Liza decided not to trouble herself any further by mulling over Charlotte's behavior. She grabbed a quick breakfast, and then retired to the library, where she at last found some peace in Candide.

An hour later, she heard a faint knock on the door.

"Come in."

Sarah, the maid who typically tended to her, entered with a slightly perplexed expression, and announced:

"Mr. Darcy is here to see you, ma'am."

Liza raised a surprised eyebrow. She felt a light tremble pass through her body as she recalled that strange man's actions from the night before. The way he had acted seemed almost possessed. Liza was not an innocent by any means, and had no doubt that Mr. Darcy was strongly attracted to her. But his behavior was so contradictory – so hot one minute and cold the next – that she did not quite know what to make of it. 'What could he want from me now?'

As she descended the stairs and entered the drawing room, she saw the handsome gentleman pacing rather nervously along the windows.

"Mr. Darcy," She greeted curtly.

He did not reply. Only glanced at her briefly, and sped up his pacing.

His next words came so suddenly, that Liza at first wondered if she may have imagined them.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I desire you!"

He stopped pacing, and stood before her, his blazing eyes not leaving hers.

"I know it is ridiculous, preposterous even. But I can no longer fight it. Almost from the fist moment of our acquaintance, I have felt for you a desire far stronger than I had ever felt for any other woman. I tried – oh yes I have tried! – to forget you, to fight you. But it was all in vain."

Liza was too stunned to speak, so Mr. Darcy continued, taking one step closer to her:

"I know it goes against everything I believe. For twenty-eight years I have strived to achieve the highest level of propriety and morals, and it all came crushing down with one touch of your luscious lips. I am ashamed, disgusted, appalled. But I can do nothing about it. I need you, Miss Benetin."

He paused to catch his breath.

"I need you even though you are exactly the kind of woman I would never wish to associate with. I need you even though you drive me to want to do things I am ashamed to even think of. I need you even though I hate myself for being reduced to the kind of man that would keep a mistress. Your social station is far beneath mine; your personal condition is unspeakable. You are a fallen woman. But none of that matters anymore. I give up; I surrender – I beg you to relieve my suffering and to consent to be my mistress."

Liza blinked in surprised, her mind drawing a blank, her head feeling weak and dizzy.

"Your… mistress?"

"Yes. I know it is incredible; I can hardly believe it myself. I never imagined that I could fall so low. But I can no longer resist you."

Then he suddenly dropped to his knees before her, and exclaimed half-anxiously half-hopefully:

"Make love to me, Liza!"

Those desperate words of a desperate man made Liza feel for a moment – but only for that one brief moment – something other than fury. Here he was, a rich, handsome, and powerful man: brought down to his knees begging her to make love to him. She was the only one to break down his twenty-eight years of utter propriety. She was the one whom he needed so much that he was willing to give up all his principles only to have her. And for that one little moment, in a way, she was flattered.

But none of it came even close to being enough to make up for the insult he caused her.

Calmly, she took a few steps away.

"I am not quite sure, Mr. Darcy, what the proper etiquette is for a response in such a case. I cannot thank you for your insulting proposition. Nor can I express any regret in potentially causing you pain with my refusal, since you obviously had no squabbles in causing me pain."

Darcy raised himself to his feet.

"What do you mean?" Liza heard a tint of defensiveness in his tone.

"Do I really need to spell it out to you?" Her calmness was now giving way to frustration.

He was silent for a few moments, schooling his features into an impassive mask and leveling his tone.

"Do you mean that you choose to refuse me?"

"Precisely." She turned to leave the room.

"And why, may I ask?"

Here, Liza could no longer control herself. She spun around abruptly, facing him, burning him with the intense and hateful look of her eyes.

"Why?! Did you just ask me why I will not consent to a proposition that any decent lady would find absolutely, totally, and horribly insulting?!"

"But you… you're not –"

"I am not a decent lady?" She snickered bitterly.

"You are not a maiden."

"And that, according to you, means that it is fine for any man to insult me?"

"I did not mean to insult you."

"Your proposal, Mr. Darcy, was the most humiliating and insulting thing I have ever heard. If you truly did not mean to insult me, then why did you choose to tell me that your desire for me goes against everything you believe? That wanting to be with me is regarded by you as something to be ashamed of? But that hardly matters; it is only the icing on the cake. The greatest insult lay in the offer itself. If you had the slightest bit of respect for me, you would not have asked me to be your mistress. "

He sighed; then spoke to her as if he was the one being reasonable:

"Miss Benetin, if I am not mistaken, you have slept with men before?"

She did not deign that with a response. But none was really necessary.

He continued slowly: "And what, pray tell me, makes my proposal more insulting than theirs were?"

Liza gasped. "Do you really think, Mr. Darcy, that I have already been someone's mistress?"

"What else am I to think, pray tell me? You are not widowed, as far as I know – since you go by Miss Benetin… though of course, I have no confirmation that that is in fact your real name. Is it?"

She huffed. "Of course it is!"

"Well then, you were never married, yet you are not a maiden… you have shared a bed with a man out of wedlock before. So I cannot see why my proposition is so insulting to you."

Liza's cheeks burned red, and her eyes flashed wildly. Never had she felt so angry before. She felt nauseous and cold. She was, to put it plainly, far more hurt than she would have liked to admit. The way he treated her, the way he spoke to her, the way he obviously regarded her as a mere possession – and a damaged one at that – sickened her to the core.

"Mr. Darcy," She addressed him now quietly. Too weak to argue vehemently anymore. "The men with whom I had slept before never asked me to be their mistress. It was all at a different place and in a different time – so perhaps it is difficult for you to comprehend. But I only ever slept with men who loved me. Not ones who wished merely to possess my body, only to discard it whenever it suits them."

"I never said that I would –"

"Then what would you do? When you do marry?"

At this, he actually did look sheepish. He had obviously not thought quite that far ahead.

"Well… I would… I would set you up with a generous allowance. You will always be comfortable, and will never want for anything."

"Precisely," She laughed half-bitterly half-sadly. "That is all you think about. Your own pleasure, and money. And that is why your proposal was so insulting. You want to buy me. And I swear to you that I have never slept with a man who viewed me as a possession to be purchased!"

"But none of them ever married you!" He countered defensively.

If possible, Liza's face was suddenly twisted with even more pain. She thought of John, and she missed him a thousand times more now than before. And she hated the tall, dark man before her even more for evoking the memory of her John – and for somehow attempting to sully it.

Her voice was simply tired when she replied:

"No, none of them married me. But not one of them had explicitly decided against marrying me even before becoming involved with me. In fact, the last man I was with – a saint of a man, but you would not understand, how could you? – and I were going to be married shortly. Unfortunate circumstances separated us, but I still harbor a hope that I will see him again before long…"

Darcy felt a sharp pang of pain at her words – at those words of tenderness, of praise, towards some other man. She was in love, or at least she had been in love, and not with him. But he did not have much time to dwell on his jealousy before her next words:

"If you had come here saying that you loved me, and not merely expressing your desire," She hypothesized almost wistfully, "If you had come here asking me to marry you, and not asking me to become your possession. If you had come here regarding me as your equal, and not highlighting with your every word your fervent belief in your own superiority… Then perhaps, just perhaps, my answer would have been different. But as it is – your proposal is vulgar, low, and offensive. You had, from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, impressed me with your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. But even from you I had expected better. You disgust me, Mr. Darcy."

He was so seething with anger at her last words, that he hardly cared how his reply might hurt her:

"Surely, Miss Benetin, you must know that even the mere thought of me marrying someone like you – someone in your condition – is quite plainly unthinkable. Ludicrous, preposterous, impossible. No, someone like me could never be married to someone like you! The position of my mistress is the most you could ever aspire to."

"Well, I am glad you feel that way, Mr. Darcy. Because on my part, you are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to bed."

There was a short pause, in which they regarded each other, each pair of eyes saying volumes, yet neither willing to understand the other. At last, he pronounced coldly:

"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. I bid you good day."

And Darcy hurriedly left the house – after one final glance at her angry eyes, which seemed especially fine when filled with passion.