Can I just say it, 2021 sucks.

As you'll all have noticed there has been a big delay in the chapter, and even now I've cut it off early in the scene because I didn't want to sit on this any longer. This is for those who have been so lovely in your support, asking politely for an update, reminding me that you're still here for this story, putting up with the long delays. I am sorry, I know how frustrating it is.

I was celebrating starting a new job on the last update, and thankfully that is going very well, it's hard work, but a good change. However sadly on the family side, things are difficult and scary.

Not only has writing been something I've not been able to do time-wise, I simply haven't felt like doing much of anything. We're at a very complex part of the story, that I simply cannot get right, so I've just sort of sat on it, poked at it and left it. It's not a perfect creative system this, but it is what I can manage at the moment, while juggling everything else. I'm working on it.

I hope, at least for most of you, that's understandable.

I want to give a massive shout out to Dr-Lizzie, who is so utterly brilliant. She has been beta reading/editing this story, which takes so much effort and time. I'm still keeping a lot of her edits back in my copy while I also make other changes, but even so she has done a lot for this story and deserves so much thanks.

And again, for those who are sticking with me... Thank you.

Chapter 14

An Injustice

They only travelled for a short spell after leaving the prison with the carriage pulling up just as evening threatened. The inn wasn't quite like those on the road to London but even in the dusk it appeared somewhat respectable. Elizabeth found her hands twisting in the blanket she had since reclaimed; Mr. Darcy had left her in the carriage waiting, assumedly to sort out their accommodation.

The idea of sharing a room, a bed even, with Mr. Darcy had kept her on edge ever since he'd propositioned her, and the day's activities and tense conversation had done little to soothe away her worries. Finding the fibres of the blanket coming away in her hands, she pushed them back into place choosing to relinquish her hold on the fabric and pushing it away.

"Come," Mr Darcy reappeared opening the carriage door and holding out a hand to assist her step.

Even from the courtyard, the bustle of the inn was evident from the loud cheers and laughter flowing throughout the openings. A young lad was going round alighting the lanterns, anticipating the quick change in the evening as was common in the autumn. Mr Darcy stopped before entering the inn, choosing to consult with his groomsman for a moment, casting an approving eye over the care of his equine wears while Elizabeth could only stand and do the same.

The now tack-light horses were being walked around slowly, blanketed, but letting the evening air cool their muscles slowly from their exertions. Led round and round the yard, heads low and compliant, stopping only for the water and feed buckets being held up by day weary servants. Such powerful creatures, beautiful, but clearly exhausted by their owners demands. The care of Darcy's beasts was probably more extensive and enforced than that given to the hands providing it, and yet somehow she doubted that the horses found enjoyment in their labour.

Elizabeth was aware of the expectations of the evening, and she hoped Mr. Darcy couldn't feel her trepidation through the hand he had tucked into his arm. But like the creatures more fine and powerful than she, she gave little resistance as he finally led them inside the inn.

The interior was not well lit, and it made the journey through winding corridors and stairs a bit more tenuous. A slip thought made her wondered if her new husband would feel something similar walking to the noose, but replacing one set of ill thoughts with another was unlikely to bolster her for the evening. They had no-one to guide them, but Mr. Darcy did not fault in his step and led them both confidently to what she would suspect to be the inn's best suite, it was certainly finer than the inns exterior would have eluded too.

Any small hope that Mr. Darcy was to leave her and go ahead to find his own soon vanished when he followed her inside, closing the door gently behind him.

The room was warm, a fire well-tended too, but nerves had her arms wrapped around her. Seeing this, he unwelcomed companion ventured over to the hearth, tending to the flames with a few pointless jabs of the poker. It made no visible or temperately difference to her but he seemed pleased with his efforts, having risen to admire the flames.

He turned to face her, and they both stood there a moment, the sounds of the logs spitting in the lull.

"I have neglected you," Mr. Darcy broke, seeming a little out of place himself, "you were resting so deeply on the road I did not wish to wake you for provisions. I have ordered a meal to be brought up to us." He looked towards the door briefly as if expecting his declaration to summon the food at his whim. Even she was expecting its instant arrival, she reckoned it was a rare occasion for the great Mr. Darcy that such expectations were not met.

He was searching her for some sort of response, but she didn't quite feel like vocalising herself, giving a bare nod instead. There was no denying her relief that the promise of food was also a delay to the evening. She could feel her hunger, but the idea of sitting, eating, fencing away small talk until her plate was as clear as his intentions made her feel inescapably queasy.

She doubted he felt the same. He was looking over at her, his eyes being drawn to the bed situated behind her and then quickly forcing his attention back to her. Her discomfort must have shown as he forcefully redirected his gaze away from her altogether, clearing his throat.

Playing on his misread of her earlier actions, she repositioned herself closer towards the fire and significantly away from the bed.

Mr. Darcy misread her approach with welcome surprise, "Sit, please," he gestured to the chair closest to the flames. "A drink perhaps, while we wait," he turned towards the side of decanters "Wine? Sherry? Brandy, if you'd prefer?"

"A sherry, please," she choked out, hoping the drink would settle her. He passed her a more than generous glass, fingers grazing even with her sharp retrieval. She took a large rather unflattering drink.

Some men were hesitant when it came to women and drinking, something her father had never been strict on. He often suggested liquor an essential to surviving society beyond the walls of his house and, with a wry smile to his eldest daughters, his wife within them. That being said, Elizabeth herself had never particularly partook, having her mother's deteriorating behaviour as a useful deterrent. Holding the now rather minimally remaining liquid, she didn't hold on her previous reservations, and as to her companion, well she cared very little for his judgements.

Not that there seemed to be any, Mr. Darcy once satisfied that he had seen to her had taken to arranging his own, hesitating only to look over to the doorway when ascending footsteps could be heard, then a knock on the door.

He evidently felt little trepidation about opening the door so she tried not to react herself as the inn's servants brought two plates and settings to the small table in the room before leaving promptly. Servants were second only to high society for gossip and scorn, and can create as much damage. Glancing down to her drink wondering what conclusions they had drawn surrounding the couple, but the clink of her metal ring against glass steadied her. A small piece of metal, but significant in its protection. She could only hope that Mr Darcy had allowed his distaste for deceit to waver when he arranged for the room.

They had travelled in a carriage together for most of the day, but it felt especially intimate to share a meal with the man. This was no fine dining room blessed with distance, but a quaint setting barely fit for two, an oddity in the fine room but she expected most would choose to dine down in the inn. Mr Darcy held out her chair despite the lack of grandeur and she had no recourse but to take it, her trained tongue automatically thanking the gentleman for moving the chair the mere inches. What society had not trained her for were the hands placed on her shoulders on settling. She tensed, but he made no move to remove them.

"You are fine with the minted mutton?"

"Yes," she cleared her throat, "of course." She closed her eyes as the hands remained in place. It felt impossible not to feel the gravity of his presence behind her. She knew had to get used to this, and touches of far less innocent nature, still her body and mind felt no desire to relax into them, no matter how lightly placed the hands were. This was his attempt to familiarise she supposed, the man was probably not so naive given their interactions that he believed her to be particularly enthusiastic of the events awaiting to unfold that evening.

"I'm glad, it would be ill of me to starve you all day only to present you with something distasteful. This seemed the most substantial of the options," he released her, finally, delaying in taking his own seat to fetch his untouched glass while refilling her own that she had left by the hearth.

The food was a simple affair, but well-seasoned, and despite her nerves she found taking mouthfuls a better use of her time than conversing. Mr Darcy tried to bring about some attempts, but her unusually closed answers gave end to that. He was ill-suited to conversation at the best of times, but seemed frustrated at having to allow the silence to settle between them. Frequent looks and aborted attempts at conversation did little to ease either at the table.

A single ring of a wall bell had the remains of the dinner cleared well away efficiently, and soon the door was closed once again just leaving just the two of them.

"I have ordered us privacy for the rest of the evening," he cleared his throat, "If you require assistance, I shall do my best to attend to you."

"I can mana-"

"Your hair perhaps?" he interrupted, "The pins?"

The man couldn't possibly believe her incapable of removing a few hairpins without a maid, unless he was expecting to have purchased himself an imbecile. As she doubted the man had done something as mundane as removed a hair pin in his life, Elizabeth could only conclude this was some attempt to move the evening along a bit. Preparing herself to comply with her side of the agreement, she managed a small nod, choosing to remove any attempt of pretty illusion and stepped towards the bed.

"The chaise perhaps," he stopped her with a hand on her back, picking up and passing her glass from the table, gesturing to the seat back by the fire, "it will be easier to see them to take them out."

Surprisingly, the man was deft picking out the pins, releasing her curls. There was no hesitation in his handling, enjoying the excuse to run his fingers through her locks, sitting closely behind her, while she, in turn, concentrated on keeping her breathing steady.

She supposed that this fitted a scene in his mind, having her sat by a fire, generously enriched with sweet wines. She would be lying if she said she was unaffected by it. The false calm brought by the drink was alluring, the warmth of the flames, gentle strokes through her hair was all doing its best to lull her into calmness and help hold back the knot of panic she was trying to control. The tenseness she had felt so strongly before, while still present, was proving harder and harder to keep.

She didn't understand the purpose of all this. What little she understood of the act, none of it required such pointless intimacies. Having more or less expecting an order to undress and a push towards the bed this facade of sitting there, feeling fingers through her hair and warm breath on her neck was an event she wasn't sure how to react to. She almost felt that the cruelty of her expected instructions would have been easier to stomach, at least then she could just bear it with anger. The pretence of gentility was becoming more difficult to comply with than she could have predicted.

When it became long past evident that all the pins were removed, he swept her hair over to her front, resting his hands on her shoulders once more, thumbs moving in small circles. The lips to her neck were gentle, even as her own flinch and breathing were not so and both reactions were ignored as she tried to keep her panic under her control. He almost seemed to be nudging at her, hands becoming more firm in their motions all the while Elizabeth tried to make no further reaction or attempt to pull away.

"Stand up," he directed her after clearing his throat, following his own order as he pulled himself away, guiding her to standing with his hands lightly on her waist.

"You should drink," he spoke from behind, "it will help your nerves." She had almost forgotten the glass she gripped so tightly, with no objection she finished the glass.

Coming round to face her he plucked the empty glass from her fingers, drawing her to him, setting a hand on her lower back preventing her instinct to step back. Her head felt almost fuzzy, and she found herself leaning back into that hand to keep steady.

"Your lips are stained," he observed. She automatically went to bring her hand up to feel them, but it was caught before she could. "They were stained that day too," he spoke gently, smiling at her confusion, "with the berries," he clarified, "I so very dearly wanted to kiss you then, even among all those thorns. You have no idea how much you tempt me Elizabeth," countering his insult from all that time ago, releasing her hand to take her face, "So much beauty, so much fire."

Every woman has pictured her first kiss, and Elizabeth was no different. Sneaking such privileges with a cherished suiter she had pictured gentle laughter and timid exploration. Awaiting the sparks and sweetness that filled the tales within her storybooks, she had bitten and drawn in her own lips, redden them in an attempt to create the experience to little success. Believing, that in the real moment, the words forever repeated in books would come true.

The reality of her first kiss was a sour mockery of imitation. The hand on her face was firmer than she'd prefer but the lips stroking over hers were soft. She could not fault him for being harsh or even wildly different in the physical act to her expectations, but it was nothing but a warm wet pressure pulling at her lower lip. Except for an uncomfortable level of intimacy of her person, she felt nothing but a halt in being able to breathe properly. With the hands holding her firm, she kept herself compliant, knowing that this was only the start of what she had committed to.

He redrew, studying her expression even as she kept her own gaze on his neckerchief. She tried to keep her recovery breaths shallow, not wanting to show any response at all to his actions, even as she could see her breaths moving the fabric moving around his neck.

It was with more force that he attempted his second kiss, his thumb encouraging her jaw open, lips breaking apart her mouth and his tongue invading inside as she did her best to remain still, unsure of what was expected of her.

"Kiss me back," he whispered against her lips, "just-" he pulled on her lower lip, "copy what I do."

She could not say she responded right away, but his movement continued with enthusiasm and so she made a weak attempt at something similar, partly in compliance, but also in curiosity to see what purpose such movements gave. She didn't know what he was getting from such actions but even her small attempts seem to please him as he groaned into her mouth.

His hand on her jaw released her as his lips kept her in place, trailing his grip down her neck and her arm. He drew her even closer, so close she could feel the buttons of his jacket pressing through her dress, and her chest against his, and a firmness at her hip. She tried to step back shifting against him, in confusion more than anything but he groaned again, deeper, tightening his hand, inadvertently pressing on her bruises. The dull pain caused Elizabeth to flinch back, instinctively trying to pull her arm away and starting to panic when it wasn't released.

"Shh no, don't be afraid, come," his grip increased on her arm, even as the other drew firm circler strokes on her lower back, keeping her to him. The pain in her arm wasn't unbearable, but it seemed to cut through whatever lull the wine had given her. The panic she felt at not being able to pull away, not being allowed to pull away, breached beyond her attempts at composure and compliance.

"No," she pushed out against his lips, "let go of me, please- just let-"

The hands-on her remained while he ended the kiss, taking in her expression with surprise as she tried again firmly to away from him, for the act to cause more pain. His surprise quickly fading into irritation, and the hands that held her so firmly in place changed in an instant.

She stumbled back in her efforts to be released and had to grasp hold onto the edge of the seat to avoid heading fully splayed to the floor. She instinctively looked back up at him in surprise. He seemed somewhat regretful at his abrupt release, but once he seemed certain she remained unharmed, his rising embarrassment and anger at being rejected drowned out his guilt.

"Elizabeth if you cannot bear to even be in an embrace with me, what expectation do you have to be able to lie with me?" he spoke with derision as he looked down at her precariously balanced between the seat and the floor.

"I-" she swallowed her response, looking away from him, trying desperately to blink away her oncoming tears. Her arm hurt, but she resisted the temptation to try and soothe away the damage under his watch.

"You think I desire a mistress who responds to my attentions with flinches and tears? You think any man would want such a woman?"

"Well if you wanted someone who was more enthusiastic," she spoke hoarsely, ignoring her own tears, "then maybe you shouldn't start such a relationship with leveraging their family."

"Leverag-" he scoffed, "You seem so very determined to cast me ill Elizabeth. It matters not that I bought up your father's debt, that I'm prepared to save your family from ruins. You don't seem to even acknowledge the time I allowed you to spend in blissful ignorance of your father's foolery. How little you seem to value the care and feelings I have past expressed towards you, you don't even – Oh get up Elizabeth," he snapped at her, choosing to turn away heading to his abandoned tumbler.

Elizabeth hated to follow his instruction, but remaining hovering over the floor wasn't exactly a great alternative. She pushed off from the seat carefully, still feeling somewhat unsteady, wiping her face while his back was turned.

"I would have offered assistance," he poured himself a refill, "but you've made your opinion of my touch quite clear," he said bitterly before taking a swig, content to keep his back turned to her as the distance lulled between them. "It would only cause unwanted gossip to ask for a second room now, so I'm afraid you'll just have to suffer my presence for one night. I will return you to your family at first light. Untouched."

She wanted nothing more but to agree, but she knew it wasn't an option she could accept, "My family cannot afford that," she spoke the admission quietly as if fruitlessly hoping it would be lost in the silence. He turned around to consider her.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you wrenched yourself away like I was some…." he trailed off shaking his head, "No Elizabeth, I knew you had reservations about this arrangement, I am not a blind fool, but I cannot bed a woman who recoils at a mere touch," he said, nursing his drink taking one of the dining chairs.

"I didn't mean to pull away," she countered, the words spilling out of her, "I was taken aback. My arm, you hurt-"

He scowled at her, "You hurt yourself, I was simply holding you. It was you who pulled away."

"I-" her voice firmed, "I asked you to let me go Sir, and you did not."

"I did," he corrected sharply, "If you had the sense to just wait mere seconds for me to consider what you'd asked of me before wrenching yourself away," he gestured his free arm wildly, dismissing her claim. Elisabeth followed the mocking action with anger, taking a step out away from the seat.

"And I should have to wait until you deem it an acceptable time to listen to me?"

"Before injuring yourself?" the man deadpanned, "Yes."

"You were hurting me," she insisted.

"I was kissing you," he drawled, "Few people would describe the experience as painful," he gestured coldly towards her, "present company excluded of course,"

"It wasn't the… the kissing, it was my arm," she insisted as he shook his head dismissively, "it, you - well it obviously doesn't matter," she let her attempt drain away at his blatant dismissal, insisting at this point would only move them further apart and she couldn't afford that. She controlled her voice and her stomach, "I will be more prepared for it going forward. We...we can proceed," she stepped forward again, attempting to inject some confidence into her words.

"This," he gestured between them with a raised brow, "isn't proceeding at all."

"Sir, the damage is already done, my family can't afford – it would make everything so far meaningless not to proceed."

"The damage," he gave her a look over, "is most assuredly not done."

She couldn't help but blush, moving an arm across herself, "Not that- I travelled alone with a man-"

"-I hardly think" he interrupted, "a single day away from your family will be given much notice. And not to forget, with the news of your family's financial state as a distraction, I hardly think your short getaway will be what causes the tongues to wag," he looked over her coldly, "You will be quite safe to return."

Elizabeth glared at his dismissal of the risk, "To return, wearing a wedding ring…"

Mr. Darcy gave a sharp laugh, "I would advise Elizabeth," loosening his necktie slightly as he spoke, "that you have the forethought to remove it."

"Of course I would…that was not what I was inferring," she clenched her weighted hand, the skin around the metal pinching in protest, "I was willing to marry that man to do this. I am also equally willing to proceed with this arrangement."

Mr. Darcy turned even colder, "And I should be flattered that you address the act of marrying a criminal, with the same approach as becoming my lover?"

"What does it matter?" she pushed back, "You have my agreement, isn't that enough?"

"No," he drew a hand to his brow as he studied his empty glass, "Surprisingly Elizabeth, no, it isn't enough."

"You can't just…." she began, her voice breaking away from her. The idea that going through all this would be for nothing, that she was having to push for something she didn't even want, was making her eyes sting. "Are you being deliberately cruel?"

He just stared at her, watching her step backwards and lower herself to take a seat back on the chaise as she spoke.

"Nothing has changed," she met his scrutiny, "you have known where my feelings stand. I have made no effort to hide that I would not be here by choice. If you have deluded yourself into imagining something more, then that is your burden. Punishing me, punishing my family for your unrealistic expectations is just cruel."

"It was not my intention to be cruel Elizabeth, as you declare it, I had not anticipated the strength of your reaction to the…physical requirements of our arrangement," he struggled to align himself, "it is simply not possible to proceed without the act being distasteful, for both of us," he clarified.

Elizabeth had trouble holding back her irritation, "I had no expectations of this being pleasant, simply a necessity."

Mr Darcy looked over at sharply, "I had hoped differently."

"On what basis?" she rose from her seat in exasperation, "And my family should be punished for your unrealistic expectation? You pursued this, knowing full well where we both stood. Is this just some sort of attempt to-"

"You want to proceed," he stated, observing her closely.

Taken aback by the blunt interruption to her rising anger, "Y-Yes."

He gave her a doubtful look at the rather stuttered agreement, "Then you need to show me Elizabeth."

"I've told you I'm happy to proceed,"

"Saying it and actually acting on it are quite different as we have just witnessed," he drawled sarcastically, considering her before dropping his gaze to his glass, "Prove to me that you choose to do this, that you can actually do this. Show me that you won't try and –" he waved his hand meeting her gaze, "throw yourself across the room again to get away from me."

"I didn't-" she protested.

"Prove it," he spoke softly, echoing his earlier demands, he rested his glass on his lap as he leaned back in his chair, still watching her intensely "I do not need you to proclaim any sentimentality, you have made it quite clear that you do not, but I need you to show me that you are willing to proceed physically, that you choose to. Otherwise this arrangement… it cannot move forward. It just…it cannot. Words are not enough, Elizabeth."

Her mouth went dry as he challenged her. She had not anticipated being asked to instigate anything and found herself stood awkwardly in the middle of the room unsure of what to do. It was the same words he had spoken in that bookshop, before ordering her to kiss him, so she didn't have any illusions about what he was asking.

She knew so very little of the character to the man before her. Did making her instigate their intimacies give him some sort of illusion of compliance? Was making her take control of this act something he had worked into whatever expectations he had of this arrangement? Was his offer to take her back to her family a cruel, empty threat meant to inspire her co-operations? And yet, she thought bitterly, even should all thoughts fall true, it changed nothing at all. He could afford to play such games. She had no such luxury.

The fire in the room had reduced, its coals still set to give a warmth throughout the evening, but the large flames that had filled the room with light had burnt away casting the room in shadows. Instead of heading towards him, as his posture seemed to expect, she turned her back on him, choosing to venture closer to the bed.

"Elizabeth, I don't think running away-"

She ignored his words, ignored him completely, letting the noise dim to a mumble as she focused on recapturing the lull and strength the wine was slowly still providing her. Taking a nervous breath, she started to unbutton her dress. The bed was to her left, layers of thick blankets beautifully embroidered probably hiding soft cotton beneath. She traced the diamonded shaped stitching with her eyes as her fingers worked succinctly, blindly. She had undressed every night of her life, she could do so again, the company shouldn't matter.

Except it did. The man behind her had drawn silent, but still she found his heavy presence difficult to ignore. With the last button and ribbon done, she held the dress up only by the sleeves, removing her arms one after another, until the fabric slipped through her fingers and puddled at her ankles. She could hear a glass being placed on a surface and the heavy intake of breath of the man who had moved it. The man, she decided, couldn't exist, not right then. She was simply getting ready for bed, little else held any significance if she was to hold her nerve.

Reaching behind, her fingers shook too heavily over the lace ties at the bottom of her white undergarment, she clenched her fists to control herself. Taking a small stumble out of her fallen dress, she collected the discarded garment from the floor. But finding nothing but the bed itself to place it, she turned to the ottoman at the bed's footings.

"You're beautiful," Mr Darcy broke her illusion and Elizabeth couldn't resist the instinct to look over. Mr Darcy was no longer sitting, but standing central, a mirror of her own previous undecided position. His expression was so very far away from being cold and detached.

She looked away, turning her back on him once more, fingers shakenly moving back to those ties that her nerve couldn't tackle before. She had barely managed to fumble her way through the bottom tie, when in a few short strides he was at her back, his hands almost floating over and under hers, to rest about her waist.

"Elizabeth," he whispered so close and present, "turn around, please." His hands firmed and guided her even before she had chosen to obey, once again under his hands and at his mercy. But her time and ability to object had run its course. She had a task to complete, a task she would simply have to bear.

"You really ar-"

She had her lips pressed against his before she could think on it, not wanting to hear more false platitudes. Expecting that the act on her behalf abiding by his requirements would reduce his complaints, but the mouth beneath hers was unmoving, nothing to how it was before. What felt like minutes must have been mere seconds, but it was enough that the panic sunk in when her feeble attempts were failing to inspire a reaction. That she would fail at this, purely because she didn't know what to do, that she couldn't …. His mouth softened to her attentions, groaning against her lips.

The relief and fear she felt as he took over matched equally. Falling back into herself, knowing that now it had started again, she could just allow him to take what he wanted, she simply had to comply. His fingers loosening her stays behind her as he focused his attention. Her arms fell awkwardly in the way, so she moved them to his shoulders, creating an embrace of sorts that seemed to spurn the man on further.

Making even a worse attempt at the strings than she had, he pulled away from her, hand on her waist pushing her firmly to turn around once more. Dragging her towards him a step, bringing the complicated latis back into the light of the room.

She was not prepared for the intake of breath as all hands left her abruptly.

"Elizabeth…"

It was his tone that had her turning around. Mr Darcy exhaled sharply, staring not at her face but her arms.

I know, I know but if I didn't cut it there, you'd be waiting till Christmas, and you'd all hate me, not just the odd few of you.

Finding these intimate scenes very difficult, they are so tense, so action and emotionally heavy, so it might read a bit clunky.

As always thank you for your time, constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome 3

Until next time,

EJC