Recap: Due to an epidemic of scarlet fever, which kills Mr. Bennet and Mary, the oldest Bennet daughters' stay at Netherfield is extended. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional sexual relationship, before he leaves suddenly for London, frightened by the strength of his feelings for her and afraid that he will lose control and compromise her. After meeting Mr. Darcy again at Rosings, Elizabeth becomes alarmed by his attentions, fearing that he has some nefarious plans for her. After he embarrasses her with an inappropriate toast at dinner, she avoids the next invitation to tea. He turns up at the house when she is alone and announces that he loves her.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth opened the door to him herself. Ah yes, the servants. Lady Catherine had been most displeased with Mr. Collins when he had let slip that he had left her home alone. Well she wasn't alone now. Mr. Darcy moved inside, not thinking to wait for her invitation before presuming his way into the parlour; this had gone on long enough and he needed resolution this evening. She gave him some story about being ill- a likely tale: he knew her to be in robust health, not thin and vague like his cousin. Did she know, he wondered. Did she know that he would come? That she had summoned him with her absence as surely as if she had sent for him.
Once she had joined him in the parlour Elizabeth's civility maintained a reserve between them; she couldn't meet his eyes and was obviously uncomfortable. Elizabeth wanted him, he knew she did, but why she insist on running from him, Darcy could not explain. Her increasing distress agitated him and he was half rage, half ardour by the time he exploded in proclamation of his tender and long-held adoration.
In a burst of movement, he stepped forcefully towards Elizabeth until he loomed over her and in a voice quieter than she had expected, but of alarming warmth he spoke.
"Enough of this evasion! It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
He did not look particularly loving: his brow was creased and he almost glowered down at her. She knew that he was not finished and dreaded the advances he was about to make, yet she could not bring herself to do anything but wait for him to continue in dismay and anticipation. He needed no encouragement, so stifled did he feel, and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed.
"In vain I have struggled, but to no avail. Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, which, despite all my efforts, has overcome every rational objection, and I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted and was silent. His wife? From the moment he had mentioned love, she had thought this an attempted seduction, but marriage, she had never countenanced.
Darcy needed to let her know that he was serious, that all her apprehension about his intentions and evasion of his touch were for nothing. He took her silence for acquiescence and began to speak with unbecoming fervour of the obstacles which he had overcome to present his suit: namely her family's lack of fortune, connection, or even manners. Much of this she had heard before in the guise of his concern for Mr. Bingley. This speech certainly shed new light on that one and she realised that Mr. Bingley's nuptial felicity had become a sacrificial lamb on the altar of Mr. Darcy's self-control. He rounded out his diatribe, stepping far too close for a man who so recently had disparaged her entire family:
"None of this can be helped, however. I trust that our… passion… will be such, as to ameliorate the degradation of such a reprehensible connection." He paused, though the light in his eyes suggested that he was feeling uncharacteristically verbose and would not stop there.
Finally, Elizabeth found her voice. "Mr. Darcy, you presuppose my acceptance, but you forget that I have made you no answer. I believe that we have both been grossly mistaken as to the intentions of the other and I confess I am shocked at your proposal; I have never sought your affections and you have most aggressively fought against the urge to bestow them. "
To say that Mr. Darcy was stunned would not do justice to the conviction he had felt of her acceptance. He could not speak immediately. Moving about the room, he stopped periodically, by the fire, or the window, attempting to comprehend her response, only to repeat the procedure all over again when he failed to fathom it. Eventually, he turned to face her and expressed his incredulity in the strongest terms.
"You stand there and tell me that you have never sought my affections, when you pursued me all the way to my bedchamber for want of them!"
Elizabeth had known he would not take the rejection well and was accustomed to his propensity to lash out when distressed. "I sought your attentions, Sir; never your affections." she replied coolly. He acted as if he had not heard her; perhaps he had not, in his disbelief.
"As for my reluctance to give in to my sentiments," he declared, "I will admit that I did, for a long time, struggle with my feelings, as I have said, but given our relative status that was only natural; and you cannot tell me that you are surprised by my proposal. My attentions recently have been marked: I all but declared myself at dinner, for God's sake."
"Your attentions, Mr. Darcy, have been inconsistent and confusing, at best, unless scowling silence can be considered courting." In the silence left by Mr. Darcy's finally conceding a point, she contemplated how unattractive she must look with her sour expression and arched brow, delivering a shrewish tongue-lashing. Can I make him fall out of love with me this easily? Is he even in love, or endeavouring to justify his baser instincts?
Mr. Darcy finally came to the point. "Are you refusing me?" he asked in a brusque tone, the question she thought she had already comprehensively answered. It was just like Mr. Darcy to make her say it so plainly, to make her act cruelly and expose herself: he had a talent for that. Darcy, agonising in the negative space between his question and her answer, had never felt himself so vulnerable in all his life. He was certainly not eager to inspire her malice, but could not abide uncertainty. He was finding it hard to maintain eye contact, and thus was staring at her unrelentingly.
Under his glare, Elizabeth could not verbalise her refusal- much to her chagrin- in the strong voice that she wished for and a strangled "Yes, I am." was all she could manage. When she had given her answer, she began to think what it would mean- what Darcy had offered her in becoming his wife and what she had lost and preserved in refusing him.
"And this is all the reply I am to have the honour of expecting?" Mr. Darcy seemed to have grown in height as well as in hauteur. "I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected: in direct contradiction of your avid and visible enjoyment of my company on previous occasions. But it is of small importance."
Elizabeth steeled herself for a moment and made a futile effort to cool her blood and calm her mind. "It is not my wish to occasion pain to anyone, but I must speak plainly: I do not love you. I cannot return your sentiments and so I am unable to accept your proposal, whatever other considerations may support your application."
She expected that Mr. Darcy would retreat, mortified by her statement. He was startled at her candour, but shortly, began to smile- of all possible reactions, he was smiling!
"Your actions tell the lie to your refusal. I recall you practically begging me at one point."
"I cannot believe you would act in such a manner or enter into such an arrangement as ours without some regard." In a quieter voice, frighteningly caring to Elizabeth's ears, he continued, "You are… nervous, I think- intimidated by the prospect of your new position."
Elizabeth was too startled by this last comment to acknowledge it. Neither was the messy truth of their entanglement convenient to her purpose, so she brushed it aside.
"I agreed to our arrangement to meet a purely physical need," she dissembled.
Darcy was not in the mood to be so obliging, however. "I will not humour your self-delusions. It was never just physical, though your need, as you put it, was part of it. And quite a need it was; voracious, one might say." He revelled in her furious countenance.
"How do you intend to sate your appetite in the future? With such high standards and without the dowry to match them, you may never marry. You cannot go through life chaste and you will find yourself in serious peril if you try to lead on another man as you have done me. Or have you already set your cap at someone?" Here his voice became cold and sharp. "If Fitzwilliam is the man, then I may as well tell you, you can give that up- he cannot offer for you."
Reminded of his interference in her acquaintance with the Colonel, she jumped in to the rebut him. "For your information, I have no current intentions to wed Colonel Fitzwilliam or anyone else. Oh yes, I know you warned him away from me. That was one of the more mortifying conversations I have ever had. The poor Colonel felt the need to debase himself in apology for a slight that was all of your imagining. At least now I can understand the motivations for your mendacity, though it casts you in no better light."
Mr. Darcy had at least the good grace to appear ashamed of his deceit. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should not have interfered. However, it was done with good intentions and my intervention was for the best, for both parties; you will come to see that," he said in a quiet, dismissive tone.
He was silent then and it was clear that, despite his words to the contrary, he couldn't brush off his guilt as easily as all that. Upon comprehending the ignominy of his own actions, he turned to condemning hers.
"This is absurd. What are you thinking? After all we have done we must marry, there can be no two opinions on the matter. I have never before heard of the compromised woman being the one to run away from her responsibilities!"
Elizabeth found that she could meet his abusive arguments with perfect calm, hardened as she was to his invectives. "Mr. Darcy, I am not compromised in any meaningful way," she replied steadily. "There can be no scandal as long as there is no evidence or witness to the act. If I were compromised it would be your doing. You took advantage of an innocent."
Mr. Darcy almost growled at this description of himself, but she barrelled through his attempted objection. "And yet you did not take it upon yourself to propose for four months after the first act. My reputation has obviously never been a consideration before, so you can hardly take the moral high ground and claim such concern for it now. If a sense of responsibility is your true motive, rest assured that you have done your duty with your proposal and need feel no further obligation."
This speech enraged Darcy. He grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders and shook her slightly as he spoke. "Stop this. You know what I am about and obligation has nothing to do with it."
He was looking at her in the most intriguing manner, still holding her. He was infuriated. However, it seemed that, now that he had said his piece and was standing in such close proximity to her, he was only so because he was trying to be; endeavouring to remain angry with her, in spite of a softer emotion creeping up behind his conscious thought, which shone from his features despite himself. Elizabeth needed to revive the animosity between them, or she thought he may do something very foolish.
"Do not think that I have missed the self-congratulation in your words- the presumption that you could be the only man to ever please me in that way, or that I couldn't find another who would have sincere intentions towards me. I can think of at least one gentleman who seems to enjoy my company very much, and is not deterred by my situation; Mr. Wickham has been a frequent caller at Longbourn since joining the local regiment. I believe you are acquainted."
Her words had their intended effect. Finally she had silenced and repulsed him. He flushed red and his eyelids twitched slightly as he struggled to comprehend what she had just said. During their conversation he had changed position several times, coming in close and backing away, pacing the room in rangy steps when in full flow. Now he was all but on top of her, his grip on her arms, painful, and she was scared, for the first time, that he would strike her- so furious was he.
"What of Wickham," he spat. "What is your connection to him? How do you know that man?!" He struggled to control himself. No, not control, he was far past that; just trying to manage his discomposure, as he screamed in her face. Oh God, Please not again. Let her have had no part in any of Wickham's schemes.
She could not speak in her shock, yet felt she could not afford to remain silent.
"I do not know what you are insinuating, Sir, but Wickham is an acquaintance, nothing more; and quite a recent one, as I have said," she replied shakily. She was humiliated to be forced to row back on her words and admit that, despite her efforts to convince him otherwise- despite Mr. Wickham's familiar demeanour towards her- she did not really know the man. Her words were ice water through his searing veins, quenching the fire of his growing dread. Of course she is not in league with him. How could you think such a thing of her! Still, he knew Wickham, and the man was incapable of a respectable connection with a woman.
"Though, he has been quite forthcoming on your treatment of his inheritance," Elizabeth continued with the express intent of injuring the man before her. "I find Mr. Wickham to be charming: agreeable in both countenance and manner. He is an acquaintance I should very much like to know better."
"You would claim us to be no more than acquaintances," Darcy hissed. "Is Mr. Wickham as well acquainted with you as I am… or more so? I know full-well his insinuating manners. Perhaps he has succeeded in getting to know you even better than I have!"
It took a moment for Elizabeth to parse Mr. Darcy's words- to comprehend the insult and to deliver a well-deserved slap across the face. The crack of her palm on his cheek was oddly satisfying for them both: like a bolt of lightning in a pregnant sky.
Before he knew what he was doing Darcy had backed her into the door- slammed her into it, almost- oblivious to her writhing between his hands. He crushed his lips against hers passionately and desperately. If he had been looking, he would have seen her widened eyes staring right back at him, but his were screwed shut in an expression of tense ecstasy, every particle in his body focused on the velvety feeling of her lips on his. He held her slender body hostage, caged between his hands on the door as he leaned in and dipped his head to further invade her mouth and cut off any possible escape. The depth and force of which was indicative of his anguished desire to seize her imagination and influence her judgement.
It felt like a lifetime of shifting tongues and clashing lips, but eventually, after what must only have been only a matter of seconds, Darcy's fervour cooled enough for his awareness to return. With it came his trepidation and he ended the kiss gingerly, stepping back for good measure. He was not disappointed by the strength of her reaction and the hand that came out to once again strike him was bearing its claws. Her nails did not break the skin, but angry red lines bloomed down his cheek.
"You have spared me the guilt I might have felt in striking you, if you had responded in a more gentlemanlike manner."
He did not answer, or react with more than a wince. She was right, he knew she was. He gazed down at Elizabeth, in the dawning awareness that he was losing her, all armour abandoned, and his unguarded expression stopped the vitriol in her throat.
She was contemplating his eyes, so full of remorse and longing- and regret- then his nose, long and noble, slightly aquiline, and finally his lips, not overly full, but more than capable, she had just learned.
He had kissed her. Whatever his effrontery in doing so, he had given her her first kiss; her first and probably her last- she had to agree with him there. She knew that her criteria for marriage were unrealistic and uncompromising, and that she may be experiencing the only romantic moment in a long and barren life. He had given her a gift and she had attacked him for it.
Elizabeth thought of their previous activities and a cog clicked into place in her mind. She fully understood now that she had experienced but a fraction of what could be between a man and a woman, and that perhaps she would never have another occasion to do more.
She leapt at Mr. Darcy, pressing her lips to his and almost climbing him in her zeal to eliminate all distance between them. How could she not? This was her opportunity, her only prospect for intimacy and she must take it. She could not allow her scruples, or hurt pride to deter her from the pursuit of knowledge by satiating her desire.
She knotted her hands in his hair, clinging to him like a drowning cat. This kiss was different from the first, where Darcy had moulded their lips together through the sheer force of his will; he had allowed her no independence, given her no respite, no option to evade him. Now, he was the hesitant party, confused by her reaction and afraid of scaring her away. She was inexperienced, and so a little clumsy, but she experimented with his lips, sucking, licking, even gently biting, in the vacuum that his consternation had left.
A stinging nip to his bottom lip awoke him from his astonishment. As his awareness was rekindled, he came alive around her, deepening their kisses and clutching her to him; this time with her acquiescence- her enthusiasm.
Soon, their movements were harmonised- bodies exploring and undulating- but their intentions were not. Darcy attempted to pour all of his love and penitence into every caress, whereas Elizabeth was motivated purely by lust- lust and panic- both of which he could detect. He grew frustrated, despite her being so willing and so close. He wanted her, but could not quiet his misgivings.
Cursing himself, he broke their kiss with one parting graze of her lips, savouring what he knew may be the last he would ever have with his beloved. She was still kissing him, even as he moved to hold her back at arm's length, rejoicing in her reluctance to part. He stared at her, willing her to tell him what he needed to hear. Her efforts to continue rebuffed, Elizabeth felt more unfulfilled than she could ever remember, and her frustration led her to be unkind.
"To think that I was concerned you would try to seduce me! I need not have worried, since I see you obviously cannot bring yourself to do it."
Elizabeth had slighted Mr. Darcy's virility, his mettle, but worst of all, she had insinuated that his feelings for her were less fervent than he had claimed. Darcy bent low, utterly confusing her, and she shrieked as he quickly grasped her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, her round derriere on display. She attempted to raise her head from her upside down position and look around, berating him all the time. She tried to strike him, but her position made it challenging and the only accessible piece of him was his tight bottom, which she thought may give entirely the wrong impression.
By this time he had opened the door and was heading for the stairs. When she recognised his likely destination, Elizabeth realised that the situation was beyond her control and began a new round of kicking and wailing, to which Darcy only responded with a hefty smack on her rump. When he reached the top of the stairs, which he had ascended as if she weighed nothing, he had also reached the limit of his knowledge of the house. On a punt, he went for the door directly across from him and was about to turn the handle when Elizabeth called out.
"No, Not that room! On the right." Why she had guided him, she did not know, but Elizabeth's heart thumped in her chest as Mr. Darcy opened the door to her bedroom. He briefly glanced around, and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed, standing back and throwing his hat onto the dresser. He glared down at her with agitated eyes, his chin thrown up in that expression of aggrieved indignation she knew so well.
Darcy was waiting, she knew; waiting for her to attack him for his profligate behaviour, but she did not. She may have kicked and railed, but now that he had put her down she felt the lack of his grasp. She would not be the one to turn away. If he wanted to back out of this, he would have to be the one to do so. She raised herself from her prostrate position on the bed to rest back on her elbows and crooked an eyebrow in challenge. He did not move, though he was enthralled.
Elizabeth did not know where her courage or recklessness came from, but she very slowly and seductively (she hoped) opened her legs. Her skirts tented over the gap in between covering her secret place, but Darcy knew well enough what was within and her seduction had the desired effect.
Quick as a dart, he crossed the room and grabbed her by the ankles so fast that she was thrown down on her back. He pulled her forward to the edge of the bed and in doing so her dress rode up. He released it from its catch over her knees and tossed her gathered skirts from him dismissively; all the while he stared hungrily into her sex.
There she was, laid out for his perusal. And still he did nothing, but held her legs open and gazed at their moist source. He missed Elizabeth's impatient glare in his direction. However, when she further spread her legs and the pink inner flesh behind her plump lips peeked into view, Darcy took notice. He dropped to his knees and leaned forward immediately to devour her. The frantic movements and the thrill of their mundane surroundings amplified Elizabeth's pleasure. She lay back, spreading her legs as far as she could.
She loved the feeling of a man's head buried in her notch as much as she had the first time. She enjoyed Darcy's tongue on her pearl, the rays of the setting sun on the counterpane beside her and the feeling of assurance and desirability she received, knowing now how very much he wanted her. He had her coming apart within five minutes and this time she made no bones about clutching his head to her and forcing his attentions deep inside her.
Darcy had not looked up from his task once and, when he was done, he raised himself stiffly off of his knees, backed away to his spot by the wall and began twisting his signet ring in agitation. This combined with his ruffled appearance gave him a wild, abandoned air that was most bizarre. The mood remained heavy and tense.
When Mr. Darcy did not make any other move, Elizabeth goaded him, "Is that all, Sir?" a cheeky smile on her face.
Mr. Darcy was not amused. "Don't look at me in that way. You do not realise the danger you are in." His voice was low and strained and he attempted to look away, but could not take his eyes off of her, her glistening pussy still on exhibition.
His warning served to check Elizabeth momentarily. She considered what it was she was doing: she was dallying with a man whom she had no intention of marrying, contrary to every rule or principle of propriety, trying to spur him into compromising her. The insults she would suffer, if it were known! She would be a pariah from all society. And if they went any further, she would be physically ruined- spoiled for any man who might come after.
But then again, she would probably never marry. When she looked into the future, she saw only a dark abyss stretching out before her: she would have to live on sacred memories, stored up like a squirrel in winter. If this be the case, why should she save herself? Who or what was she saving herself for? This may be her one opportunity, before entering a lifetime of service or dependence, to experience that privilege, which would most properly usher her into womanhood. She made up her mind like the crack of a whip and would not now be deterred. Now it was only left for her to assure Mr. Darcy of her conviction.
"I do not claim to know much about what follows, but I do know enough to say that the act is not complete. Do you not wish for your own relief, Mr. Darcy?" His eyes widened. Is she suggesting what I believe she is?
He delayed his response by removing his coat and hanging it over the back of a chair in the corner. He was unsure whether she was really consenting- whether she was capable of consent, sheltered gentlewoman that she was. Amorous congress, she would probably call it and he was certain that she would have no idea what she was talking about.
He left on his waistcoat and walked cautiously towards the bed, unbuttoning his cuffs as he did so. He continued to scowl, trying to discourage her, and had expected her to flinch at the physical reality of a union between them; but she was still looking up at him, appreciatively, he thought, which caused him to stand taller and roll his shoulders slightly, finally allowing himself to consider that this may happen.
He felt uncomfortable- thought that this was a poor notion- but how could he refuse her. She was allowing him to possess her physically, to mate with her: the most primal method of claiming a woman. He could not eschew this opportunity. It may be a meaningless experience, without her love, but where Elizabeth Bennet was concerned, he could not prevent himself from acting in contradiction to his principles, his better judgement and even his own self-interest.
His knees, by now, were against the base of the bed, and when he climbed onto it, she shifted into a lengthwise position. Darcy kneeled over her on his hands and knees, his shoulders and arms holding him up powerfully as he enjoyed the anticipation of the carnal act; Elizabeth had the sensation of becoming a cat's next meal.
He was still not touching her, but his hands were on either side of her waist. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice deep and quiet and his whole demeanour, unexpectedly warm.
Elizabeth replied that she was, with more poise than she felt. She was determined, yet the reality of it, the unknown, illicit act perturbed her. She knew there would be pain.
He rose up to sit back on his heels and reached for her feet. Her delicate slippers slid off in his grasp to be thrown aside. He was still at war with himself, but as his body went through the motions, he found his mind was dragged along with it. He took her compact foot in his hand, her toes curling as his light grasp tickled her sole. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it delicately, before travelling down her ankles and inner calf with feather-light kisses.
By the time he had released her foot back and positioned himself between her legs, she had relinquished all control to him and lay limply on the bed. He was kneeling before her and gently revealed her quim, pushing her knees towards her chest. He undid his fall, adjusting his shirt tails to take a hold of his cock (1). Elizabeth watched him as best as she could, from her position on her back, but both her clothes and his, as well as her languid state, colluded in thwarting her from getting a clear view. Her attention was returned from his body to her own, when she felt him place his tip at her lips: a warm, smooth sphere pressing into her entrance.
Darcy looked up, meeting her startled and nervous gaze with an enquiring one of his own. She nodded, giving him the reassurance he needed and he eased himself into her tight cleft, as far as her barrier. Neither looked away, the gaze of each encouraging the other. In the throes of both blissful pleasure and surprising discomfort, Mr. Darcy pushed deliberately through Elizabeth's maidenhead to fill her a little more. She did not make a sound, but her face spoke eloquently of her agony, her eyes pleading with him to alleviate her pain.
He withdrew somewhat and waited a moment, before sinking further into Elizabeth's beckoning walls. He tried to hold back, but he was almost trembling now and she felt so good. Darcy climbed up over Elizabeth, without pulling out of her, and could not prevent himself from ramming into her as he lay on top of her, stopping only when he had reached his end and hers. Darcy groaned in pleasure, but Elizabeth hissed beneath him and he was reminded of her discomfort. He froze above her.
She was glad of it at first. The raw sting of his intrusion ebbed- thankfully- and as the seconds passed, Mr. Darcy's only movement was his laboured breathing and his pounding heart, which she could feel through their connected chests. His head rested in the crook of her neck. He had nestled himself there and closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth of her body and holding himself as still as he could. Elizabeth's hands were flat on the bed as she submitted to Darcy's invasion. As she adjusted to his presence inside her, an urge, an inexplicable need for friction built within her. She placed her hand on his back, trying to convey her readiness, but he merely twitched his cock at her touch. She could feel it moving.
Mr. Darcy is inside me! The thought was ridiculous and yet indisputably true.
In a further effort to urge him on she ran both her hands down his silk waistcoat to round his pert buttocks and squeezed until Darcy was forced to move. He complied with her request, savouring the exquisite feeling and then tentatively moved again, this time at his own behest. When she did not object, he attempted to increase the speed and power of his thrusts. She did her best to disguise her agony.
"Do not grip so tightly, madam," he commanded after one such thrust wrung a whimper from her.
He had risen up a little on his elbows and was looking down at her with a slight, yet condescending smile. Elizabeth realised that her nails were gripping into his buttocks through his trousers and immediately released him, imagining she could feel them detaching from his flesh. Yet he did not move and his smile only widened exasperatingly.
"I was not referring to your hands," he finally elucidated. She was momentarily confused. Mr. Darcy raised a brow, waiting for the penny to drop. But, I am not… Oh! The moment of her comprehension was obvious; Elizabeth coloured and could not meet his eyes. She turned her head away and huffed in annoyance at his arrogance and insensitivity. He chuckled at her embarrassment and buried his head in her neck once more, nuzzling it, as had proved so effective in the past.
"You are insufferable," she managed to say, but could not convey much poison behind her words given her current position. Her aggravation was making her tense and causing her to grip tighter still. Now that Darcy had mentioned it, Elizabeth could feel her bite clenching his member in a death grip (2). It was not unpleasant in itself, but any movement hurt. She closed her eyes, attempting to calm her temper. She concentrated on his ministrations; his tenderness, now, as he tried to soothe and coax her, his nose and lips whispering across her shoulder blade.
Sooner than she could have imagined, her muscles began to relax and Darcy's exploratory thrusts became more comfortable. His pace increased rapidly when he realised that she was finally ready for him and he soon fell into a pounding rhythm, all humour forgotten as he went about the serious business of fucking the woman he loved (3). He felt restricted by his waistcoat and starched cravat, but soon overcame his discomfort in the gratifying exertion- leaned into it- and the irritation came to add to his pleasure.
All thought or intent was now lost to the pair, as they came together with the relentless pace of animals in heat. Mr. Darcy's hips bucked freely into her and his torso was supported on Elizabeth with satisfying heft. Her vagina responded like a singing glass, producing succulent noises and plenty of fluid. The sounds emanating from Darcy involved strangled moans and unintelligible words of wonder and appreciation, which occasionally escaped him.
"Ugh… Your cunt is so tight!" was one of the few phrases she managed to decipher. His voice trailed off on the last word as he could no longer maintain the control necessary to speak. She smiled while his face was buried in her hair and there was no chance of his seeing it.
Suddenly he rose to his knees, still inside her, pulled out to the tip and drove deep into her once more. He had hit on an interesting spot and their groans came in unison, his low hers high- a spontaneous duet. He closed his eyes and tilted his head in carefree gratification, as he leisurely pushed in and out of her, and Elizabeth could hardly credit the satisfaction she received from the sight of him. Darcy lifted her ankles and moved over her once again, linking his elbows around the backs of her knees, in a position that pulled her buttocks slightly off the bed. He was directly above her, staring down at her whenever she chanced to look up. He bore down in manic fashion, pummelling her mercilessly and without restraint, as she urged him on with her moans; Darcy was really going to work now and neither could go much longer without completion.
Their breaths and utterances were not loud, but were close and intimate and the crunch of the gravel under a pair of feet in the courtyard could not compete for their notice. The bang of the knocker on a heavily closed door was more able to do so and they froze in a tangle of limbs and genitals when they heard it. Mr. Collins' grating voice could be heard in the vestibule and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's eyes met in mutual horror. She slapped him off of her and he unsheathed with a grunt. In careful and quiet panic, they both stood from the bed and grasped for a way to extricate themselves, while righting their apparel.
"You must leave! If they see you…"
"And how am I to do that," he interrupted, "unless you expect me to climb out of the window?"
Elizabeth did briefly consider it, but thought his falling and injuring himself on the descent would cause more problems than it solved.
"Under the bed. Make haste!" The thought could not have come soon enough, as Elizabeth heard the soft creak of her sister on the stairs. Luckily she remembered to grab Mr. Darcy's hat and coat and threw them at him, before stuffing his reluctant frame under the dust ruffle. When Kitty followed her soft knock into the room Elizabeth was sitting on the bed, a book in her hand acting as a limp alibi.
"Lizzy you are still up. I half expected you to be sleeping off your headache."
"I had no Mary to undo my stays," she spoke truthfully.
"Oh no, I should have thought of that before I left. I will loosen them now for you." Kitty was already moving towards Elizabeth, who could think of no reason to refuse. As she loosened the ties, Kitty chatted.
"There must be something going around: Mr. Darcy was taken ill, also. When he retired to his room, Lady Catherine was very sour. She basically threw us out. Oh I am not sorry the evening is over, though. I had thought Lady Catherine easier to take recently, but now I think it's just because you were there."
Elizabeth made some reassuring noises, willing her sister to leave before Mr. Darcy gave away his position. She did not believe he would do so willingly- though it would serve his purposes should they be forced to marry- his pride could not take the degradation of being found under the bed in a clergyman's guestroom. Furthermore, Elizabeth found it hard to believe that Mr. Darcy genuinely wished to marry her, even after he had just mounted her and declared himself in love.
Kitty was still talking: "I did think it strange that Mr. Darcy suddenly felt ill when he found out you were not there. You know, Lizzy, I've been thinking, since that odd toast he made at dinner: I think he favours you." She paused for Elizabeth to express her amazement and disbelief, which she endeavoured to pretend and convince her sister that she was mistaken. She was mortified at Mr. Darcy's hearing this, but Kitty would not give up the idea.
"I think he was sulking that you were not there. You never know Lizzy; you could be staying at Rosings Park the next time you visit! Just be sure to bring Colonel Fitzwilliam with you," she giggled.
"Oh Lord, just imagine," Kitty continued, delighted with her little joke. "Living with Mr. Darcy and holidaying with Lady Catherine. Perhaps Mrs. Darcy will not be so fortunate after all, no matter how many carriages she will have."
"I am quite of your opinion on the subject, Kitty." Elizabeth wanted to say more and she regretted saying that much, when she considered who was under the bed.
(1) At this time many men (and women) didn't wear underpants. They just tucked their shirt tails under themselves as makeshift underwear.
(2) Bite: a woman's genitals.
(3) I actually had a bit of a dilemma, whether to use the word 'fuck' here. I think the word is very evocative, but thought that it wouldn't have been in use at the time (I heard somewhere it came from a WWII fighter plane). But some research showed that it was in use well before the 16th century. During the regency, it was actually declining in use (recorded, anyway) and would not become popular again until the 1960s.