Chapter 5
May 24
I am so embarrassed. If I had known Caroline was Charles'
sister I could have spared a few nails… and some pride. I couldn't
even look at William the whole way back. He probably hates me now. I
had a freaking brawl for goodness sakes, right in front of him. Good
lord, what he must think of me. There is no way I can fix this now. I
hope he leaves soon, and I can just forget I ever met him. Not that I
really will…
May 24
What can I say about this
weekend other than maybe she was right- maybe I am a jinx. At least
for her. Short of a fiery crash, there was little more that could
have gone wrong. And the whole thing seemed to put her off the idea
of me completely. I think I should go home, after all. This whole
thing is becoming unbearable, and I've debased myself enough over
someone who doesn't even seem to like me. What am I doing, really,
chasing after a girl who throws down in hotel parking lots? Sadly,
Caroline is right, what would Aunt Cathy say? I've really got to
get out of here, before I do anything else I'll regret.
Caroline leaned back into a sea of pillows, her eyelids dropped lazily, her lips raised in a faint smile of satisfaction. Silently, she prided herself on her ability to react quickly in a tense situation. That dark haired trollop had nearly gotten the best of her in Corfu, and beyond the horror of having gotten into a rowdy brawl in front of William, the thought of losing to such a hussy would have been too much. So, retreat had been in order, and Caroline had played the part of the eager new acquaintance to the hilt. This had given her precious time to think, and strategize, and it also kept the curly-mopped pugilist away from William the entire trip home. Caroline could have won an Oscar for her performance that night, especially when she had realized that the harlot was wearing a perfectly delicious pair of Louboutins that she had been sure had been ordered for her.
Her smile grew as she stretched out languorously in her bed as her mind turned to Jane and Charles. Maybe, with the right timing, she could bring down two birds with one stone. A phone rang on the other side of her wall, bringing Caroline out of her reverie. With a quickness, she pulled a sleek stethoscope from beneath her pillow and put it in place against the wall behind her headboard. Leaning in she caught the chocolate baritone that haunted her dreams… "Hello, Josh. I need a flight home as soon as possible…"
Elizabeth awoke in a foul disposition. Jane had
not answered her phone or her cell last night, which had started
Elizabeth's black mood. She desperately needed to talk to her
sister but had been cruelly rebuffed by fate. An Elizabeth left too
long to stew in her own juices was a bitter dish. So, when her dark
ruminations of the morning where interrupted by a pounding on her
apartment door, she was ready to go nuclear all over whomever stood
on the other side.
"What the hell…" Elizabeth began, but
just as quickly ended at the sight of a distraught Jane, tears
streaming down her face. In the battle between bitchy and blood, the
sisterly bond won out every time. Elizabeth opened her arms silently
and gave Jane a soft place to fall before leading her into the
apartment. It was some time, and several cups of Earl Grey before
Jane was ready to talk, but once the words started the dam crumbled
and it was all Elizabeth could do to keep up. It seemed that Jane and
Charles had enjoyed the complete antithesis to her own weekend,
having spent Saturday in complete harmony while shopping for
antiques, strolling in the park and ending a perfect day with a
perfectly romantic meal at the Savoy. A strange jolt of shock ran
through Elizabeth as Jane related how she had been sure Charles was
going to ask her the big question that night, and she paused a moment
on that thought. Jane- no longer a singular but a plural. Though
Elizabeth had known her whole life it would happen sometime, the
reality of it was jarring. The soft wave of paper before her face
brought her out of her reverie.
"What is this?" Elizabeth asked, taking the folded cream stationary from her sister's hand.
"Read it," Jane hiccupped with averted eyes, as though unable to speak aloud about its contents.
Elizabeth opened what now proved to be a letter and followed its flowery script to the end where she found the evidence of its author…ess. Much Love, Caroline.
They had gone back to London, en masse. New York was tiring, they had exhausted all acceptable forms of entertainment their first week there, and Charles could telecommute from home should he need to do any future work for the New York office. Dear William was most anxious that they return as soon as possible, and he would not have Charles stay another unaccompanied moment in such a place- for who knew what the sweet, gullible lad would get himself into. Though Jane herself had been a highlight of their trip, Caroline hoped dearly that she would understand that there was no place like home and that she was welcome to visit their not-so-humble abode anytime she was in the area. Elizabeth made a selfish mental note that the invitation was singular as she re-folded the letter and set it upon the coffee table. Her anger robbed her of words, her sister having been so ill used. And here she had thought Caroline had been sincere. Elizabeth now saw she had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
A deep fury ignited like a pilot light in the pit of her stomach, warming the bile into a slow simmer that became a raging boil by days end. Jane had long since been put to bed with a compress and a vodka chaser. It was eight p.m. when Elizabeth decided that enough was enough. Sneaking into the guest room where her dear sister lay crashed out as if in a true Valley of the Dolls valium haze, she left a letter of her own on the bedside table.
If William Darcy's presence had been a jinx for Elizabeth Bennet, his absence from the country was now her most timely blessing. The international counter at JFK was near empty, as was the plane she was able to board within twenty minutes of arrival. Her flight was smooth and eventless, with the subtle exception of being thirty minutes early. By ten a.m. London time she was comfortably ensconced within a fine hotel, where she promptly called back to New York, leaving a message for Mr. Lucas that she was very ill and would not be coming in that day, possibly the next. From there she began calling directory assistance, coming across the first bump in her here-to-fore easy road. One Mr. William Darcy was in possession of an unlisted number. Bollocks.
Luck returned, but her ire never ebbed, as she located his business offices in London. One Pemberley Corp. by name. Another number dialed, and affirmation was gained that he would indeed be in his office that day. After a very convincing tale of late connecting flights and unfortunate weather delays, Elizabeth was able to wrangle an unusual and highly coveted after-hours appointment with Mr. Darcy under the name… Miss Fury.
And on the seventh hour of the plot she had created, Elizabeth rested.
A four p.m. wake-up call roused her from sweet dreams of revenge, and she showered and changed, primped and polished as she created the perfect look to fit her very dark mood. Once finished she inspected herself in the finely cut mirror. Let him drool, she thought with a wicked smile. Let him drool while I roast him alive. He will be sorry he ever tried to keep Jane from the love of her life.
A gentle dusk had settled upon the London scene, and Elizabeth stepped from a smart black cab in three inch black Casadei heels. A sable trench billowed and snapped in the chill breeze around her as she looked up at the tall building that sported the name Pemberley Corporation in tasteful lettering. This was the time and now was the hour and with an electric charge Elizabeth pushed forward into the mire of battle. William Darcy may have been a bastion of power within the world of high finance, but Elizabeth was a paragon of righteous indignation on behalf of her sister- and he had better watch out.
It was after hours, and the building had settled into a sleepy quiet as Elizabeth entered the foyer in long, purposeful strides. Her heels tapped in announcement, and the lone security guard looked up at her approach, a low whistle emitting from his aged jowls as he noted her. Her trench blew open with the force of her pace, and her crisp tailored shirt strained against her chest, tight with puffed up pride and indignation. The dear old man gave her a bawdy wink as she stopped at his desk.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Darcy," she said coolly.
"And ain't he the lucky one," the man flirted as he handed her a laminated pass.
"Oh, I don't think he will see it as such," she tossed back, giving the man a saucy smile on her way out.
A bank of elevators awaited her, and her adrenaline, underscored with a tingling of anticipation, bolstered her nerve. God help him, he was so going to get it.
Elizabeth looked at the pass for the floor she was destined for, and pushed the button. Her reflection stared back at her darkly as she rode the fluid contraption up and up to the top most level. Nerves and synapses snapped in time to the ringing of the elevator bell. The doors slid open, dispelling her image and bringing before her a refined office area. The pass had told her that door 432 was her destination and she followed a corridor to its location. The sleek beveled and etched glass sported his name in graceful lettering. She entered to find that he had let his secretary go home for the evening. Lucky girl.
Elizabeth pulled herself up short before his door. The moment had arrived and she had never felt so ready. This man was going down. It was one thing to mess with her, to play with her and walk away so coolly, but it was an entirely other thing to mess with her dear sweet Jane who had never hurt a person in the whole of her life. If Charles was what Jane wanted, then by God it was Charles Jane would get and no personage of the name of Darcy would say otherwise.
She gave no warning knock, instead she pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her. A richly appointed office, in dark woods and black leather, greeted her, smelling softly of woodsy cologne and wealth. She frowned to find herself its sole occupant, a momentary flagging of her spirits. But then she saw him, stepping from an attached bath, his jacket tossed away upon a sleek sofa, his tie its sole companion, his shirtsleeves rolled lazily just below his elbows. He was unaware he was being watched until she unconsciously took a sharp breath.
"Elizabeth?" he whispered. It was all he could manage.
"How dare you?" she whispered in return.
"What?" He breathed in confusion, taking an unconscious step forward.
"How dare you take away my sister's happiness," her voice grew stronger as she, too, stepped his way.
"I don't understand what…"
"Charles! That's what I mean," she bit into his words, leaving him nothing to say. "You brought Charles back here and out of harm's way. So he couldn't… what was the exact wording… oh here it is 'dear William would not have Charles stay another unaccompanied moment in such a place- for who knows what the sweet, gullible lad would get himself into.'" Elizabeth read from the creamy stationary she had slipped gingerly from her inner coat pocket. She raised her eyes from the damning script to level him with an accusing gaze. "You deny this?"
"What is that? Where did you get it?" He asked, voice rising in confusion.
"Your beloved Caroline, dear William" she spat like venom.
"That is not what I meant at all," he began defensively.
"So! You don't deny making Charles leave New York before he made a 'mistake'," she hurled the accusation like a shot put, and her breath became ragged, her eyes shining with the joy of having cornered her quarry. The sheer exhilaration propelled her forward until she was two steps short of being in his face.
"I don't deny it, and I'm not sorry for it," his voice dropped, low and dangerous. Tension popped and crackled as they faced off, and Darcy closed the distance between them. Suddenly overshadowed by his height, and the dark light playing behind his eyes, Elizabeth realized that he had her pinned between himself and his large mahogany desk. She bristled, far too caught up in her righteous indignation to allow his testosterone-filled attempts to cow her. In two fluid movements, Elizabeth tore off her trench then slid upon his desk and scrabbled to her knees, bringing herself to his eye level. She would be damned if she would give him the higher ground.
"Of all the low down, dirty tricks I have ever seen," she ground out between clenched teeth as she planted her hands firmly upon her hips unconsciously popping the button holding her shirt closed across her chest. "You damned snob. What did Jane ever do to you to label her a mistake?"
Darcy's eyes slid down her face, her neck, to the newly exposed flesh and bit of lace peeking out just lower than what was proper. His eye twitched as he forced himself to leave it alone and focus.
"The mistake," he growled as he closed the small gap between them, "was that a man should never ask a woman to marry him without a proper ring, Elizabeth. His just happens to be in his family vault here in London. Several hundred years old to be exact. I counseled Charles that if you are going to do something, you should do it right and not rush it. I mean, if she's worth it and all. Don't you agree?" he finished in her ear, his warm breath rustling the curls resting on her neck.
"I… it… right," she finished flatly, her eyes seeming to contemplate some engrossing spot to her immediate right. She became very still under the weight of his revelation.
"Elizabeth," he called softly, turning her chin toward him with a crooked finger. Her gaze was slow to follow, but her cheeks too quick to flush. "Are you quite finished?"
She swallowed hard once before she could speak. "Yes, well. I guess that's that then. Good advice really, and I… thank you. For Jane… she'll be… yes. Well," she stammered to a stop, her eyes again averting his gaze. Slowly Elizabeth slid from her knees to sit fully upon his desk, but before she could slither from it and bolt for the door Darcy stopped her.
"Are you quite finished thinking the worst of me?" he caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. Softly she nodded her head. But try as she might, the moment of tender compliance and humility could not last. Sarcasm was her constant companion and would have its say.
"Well," she began, poker face in place, "you still are a jinx. Granted, my heels have managed to survive, but I'm sure it won't be long before something happens. Robbers will mistake this for a bank and take us hostage, the building next door will be scheduled for demolition and they will take this one by mistake with us in it, or maybe…"
In one powerful sweep of his arm, Darcy reached around her and swept his desk clean. Paperweights, pens, calendar, file folders all went sailing across the room like so much dust in a wind storm. One tension traded for another as Elizabeth staunched the flow of her sarcasm vein and stilled again under his dark gaze.
Darcy leaned into her, resting his weight upon his knuckles. His eyes dropped to her lips, then washed over her face slowly, studying her under a fringe of dark lashes. A lifetime passed in that one short moment before he leaned in further still, his lips catching hers. Elizabeth was suddenly buffeted with a wave of desire, and she grabbed his neck for anchorage, pulling him closer still with the force of her grasp. Pitched forward, Darcy grabbed her waist tightly in one arm while steadying them both with the other. The shift caused her legs to be pinched between his hard thighs and the harder desk. Without thought or care she slid her legs free, and up and around his hips, instinctively pulling him closer. The added contact, the heated push and pull and the remembrance of thigh high stockings below a patch of deliciously creamy skin brought a moan of need deep from within his throat.
He lowered her softly to the cool surface of the desk and broke the contact of their lips. Elizabeth gasped softly at the loss, and beneath kiss-drugged lids she watched Darcy as he rose above her before running a large, firm hand up the thigh she still had wrapped wantonly around his hips. A sense of power, spurred on by the utter look of lust etched upon his own chiseled features, coursed hot through her veins as his lips broke into a crooked half-smile of satisfaction. She had indeed worn the stockings.
"Its coming off, Elizabeth," his rich voice dropped to a timbre that pulsed her nerve endings into a fit of frenzied pleasure.
"The stocking?" She teased, her own voice becoming a raspy, deep tremble as her throat constricted with another surge of desire.
His answer was a calculated shake of the head, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent as his fingers slid smoothly beneath the band of her skirt, searching out the enclosure hidden at her side. A flick, a zip and his palms were pushing the fine black fabric of her skirt down her hips, which she lifted in aid. Darcy stepped back, running his hands expertly down the length of her legs, the skirt's fabric pulled in their wake, inflaming her senses as it brushed her skin.
With a firm grip on her calves, he tossed the offending bit of clothing behind him, to be thought of no more. Again his hands were on the move, sliding up now, running to her knees, which he pulled around him as he resumed his place between her thighs. Again, he found the lure of lace at her upper thigh, and he ran his fingers over the contrast of rough lace and silky skin, trapped for a moment in the sensation before his eyes and fingers twitched higher yet to another swatch of lace peeking out at her hip, just below the hem of her shirt. Slowly, he passed a finger over, then under the edge of this new delicacy, moving from the hip inward. Elizabeth gasped and trembled, her legs jerking him closer in irrepressible desire as he brushed areas long untouched. Darcy trailed his gaze up a row of buttons, suddenly annoyed by the fabric they belonged to. Seeing that yet another button was threatening to pop against the new straining of her chest, he grabbed the dual sides of fabric, one in each hand.
"And this," he growled as he pulled, sending small circles of plastic into flight. In that one action he had exposed all of Victoria's Secrets, and he found them very pleasing.
New lands were to be discovered north of the border. Hills, valleys all fertile ground. He ran his hands, his lips everywhere his eyes delighted, and would have lost himself there had Elizabeth not brought him around with a firm tug at his curls.
"I have a little problem," she breathed heavily as he pulled up some.
"That's alright, darling. I'll fix it," he groaned as he swooped in, burning her neck with kisses.
"No, really William. There's something under me… here," she pushed him off and followed him up, raising herself to sitting as she pulled a thin, silver dagger like object from beneath her hip. She held it up for his inspection.
"Is this your letter opener, Mr. Darcy," she drawled teasingly.
"Not even close," he growled as he took it from her hand and with a sleek twitch of his wrist threw it at the wall to his right, burying it deep within the wooden paneling without ever taking his eyes from her. His hands now free, he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, grinding the firmness of his erection against her, giving her a taste of what he was working with.
Having had enough teasing, Elizabeth grabbed him by the belt and deftly undid it, pulled it free and sent it flying. A button, a zipper and soon there was little impediment between Elizabeth's hands and their own exploration. But men being the wondrously tactile creatures they are, Darcy was not one to endure the lengthy, arduous exploration of his person that he was more than willing to bestow upon her. In seconds he had chucked off his shoes, shucked his pants, his shirt, his boxers and stood before her in the diffused lighting of his office lamps the perfect example of good DNA and an upscale club membership. Elizabeth flushed at the sight of all of him.
Darcy was heated to boiling, and the time for niceties had long passed. What was left of Elizabeth's shirt joined her skirt, with her bra soon following. With a renewed attack of her lips, he leaned back upon the desk as his hands pulled at the dainty stitching of her panties. They gave way to his insistent force and soon were a thing of memory. But the stockings, those remained unmolested as he rose above her again and grasped her firmly by the thighs once again wrapped firmly about his person. With one hand bracing her at the hip, he guided himself powerfully into her in slow, firm strokes. Elizabeth's head rolled back of its own volition as he pulled and pushed into her, all the while rubbing a finger gently in counterpoint at the juncture of her legs. The opposing sensations of his forceful thrusting and gentle stroking sent her mind wild and her arms flung out to her sides, seeking to hold her from tumbling off the world. Sadly all they found was wooden desk and hard plastic phone, knocking the latter off its hook and beeping uselessly at the odd button.
With an increased rhythm Darcy pushed on, and pushed her on as well until neither could sustain the moment any longer and both gave in to the mounting tension to fall headlong into the white-hot release with the guttural moans of pleasure. Spent and exhausted, he fell over her, resting his damp curls upon her laboring chest. Softly she ran her fingers through them, tenderly watching them spring and bounce under her touch.
"Thank you, Elizabeth," he rumbled softly against her. She smiled.
"Anytime, William," she answered sincerely.
"Anytime?" he asked softly, raising his head to look at her, a sudden boyish insecurity playing about his eyes.
"Yes," was the simple answer, but it spoke volumes to the man who had not long ago discovered that he wanted all the time she had to give. He rested his newly flushed cheek back down upon her cool breast and breathed deeply- with contentment.
So wrapped up was the couple that neither heard the screeching coming from the unhooked receiver of his office phone.
Caroline sat upon the floor of her intensely decorated London flat, eyes glued to the caller-id on her phone, the joy of seeing his number killed by the whole of the last ten minutes playing through her mind like a horror film. The moans, the gasping, the words they had spoken to each other… the names she had heard being said… William… Elizabeth.
The neighbors would be talking for weeks about the strange wailing animal that had been heard that night, all agreeing that they hoped something had put it out of its misery.
