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25.

Longbourn….

Fitzwilliam had found the entire journey from Kent to be torture. He knew that Elizabeth's courses had finished and yet the entire universe seemed to be conspiring against him. Lizzy had spent the first part of the journey telling her of her parting exchange with his cousin Anne, and quite rightly she was left unsettled by the encounter. He felt it would not be the right time to engage in the type of distraction he most desired – true he would not take his gently bred wife in the back of a carriage, but he could have indulged a little. Instead, he had spent the tail end of their journey discussing Bingley and Jane… well, Lizzy had talked predominantly, while he had offered reassuring replies where he could. In truth he did not know what to make of the conversation himself. When his friend had visited him in London rather out of the blue, it has been safe to assume he was decided upon marrying the eldest Bennet sister. Fitzwilliam, wondered distractedly if he might have inadvertently said the wrong thing and been the cause of his friend's hasty departure… He had been wracking his brain and could not pinpoint anything he had said which might have been the cause.

Elizabeth's voice broke through his voice, "There is Longbourn!" she exclaimed in excitement, and he felt her happiness lift his spirits.

They were to stop at Longbourn for tea and to exchange gifts before making their way to Netherfield. However, as they pulled up to the house it was immediately apparent that something was amiss. None of the family or staff came to greet them and upon entering the house, they found it in disarray and despair.

Elizabeth looked up at him frightened and rushed into her father's study, leaving Fitzwilliam to stand alone in the entryway. Above stairs he could hear Mrs Bennet's hysteria, while the main servant was rushing about in search snatching at things and juggling a pot of tea.

What an earth has happened?

Brighton two days prior…

"What a bloody mess!" cursed Wickham sulking in the shadows outside the inn he had just been barred entry.

Joining the militia had seemed like such a fine idea, but he had already begun to see the signs of mistrust from his comrades. All of a mind to probe and to find flaws in his history, no longer being easily manipulated into lending him coin. There were not even any rich families whereby a seduction might help to afford his next dose of opium. If he had any pride left, he should not even wish to be anywhere near the dank and dark den in backstreets of Brighton. A wretched hold, one could barely stand to full height in.

Wickham laughed bitterly to himself, it had been too long for his pride, his morals or self-respect to be a consideration in his desperate actions. He began scratch at his neck, his skin crawling in agitation as he awaited the unlucky sod too far in his cups that he would follow and fleece.

"This is taking too long!" he snarled pulling at his hair and stumbling deeper into the town towards the iniquitous den. He could already pick up the slight floral notes in the air, casting its spell and quickening his stride. Perhaps he might be able to charm someone inside to sharing or procuring a pipe for him he hedged as he ceased thinking clearly when the doorway came into view. His foot sunk into something softer that and slipped, but he managed to catch himself on the wall of the building beside him. A foul smell reached his nose...

"Urgh! Horse shit!" he snapped looking to the night sky. "You needed try so hard, my life is bad enough already." he said talking to the heavens. Scraping his shoe on the pavement he fought the need to retch when he realised it had seeped into the hole on the ankle of his boot.

A soldier in regimentals tripped out onto the street, sending the woman on his arm crashing to the floor, too addled to put her arms out to break her fall as she knocked the side of her face with a loud smack. The man laughed wheezily. There was something jarringly familiar about the woman to Wickham and as he drew nearer, when he realised that he recognised the soldier as lieutenant Denny.

"Denny? What in the blazes are you doing here?"

"Whickham!" he cheered, "Give us a hand, will you?"

Reaching for the young woman's other side they both hauled her up. Her feet struggled to find purchase on the cobbled stones, as her head lolled back moving her dark hair in the process to reveal the steadily bruising face of Miss Lydia Bennet.

"Good God, Lydia!" gasped Wickham leaning her head to rest on his shoulder and tapping her cheek. "Lydia! Lydia, can you hear me?"

Lydia's response was a low groan, but her eyes remained closed.

"Are you mad?" hissed Wickham.

Denny, the blaggard grinned. "I was responsible old boy; I did not sample any of the pipe myself. But she so wanted to see you and knew this is where you disappeared off too and offered to show her how you liked to have fun." He waggled his brows. "I only wanted to loosen her up a bit so she would grant me some favours."

"George here, y-y-yet." Groaned Lydia, her eyes opening to reveal a glassy eyed stare.

"I am here Lydia. Do not worry, I will get you well." He said in reassuring tones.

"Oh, do not pretend such shock or disgust. You are no paragon of virtue!" sneered Denny letting go of Lydia and shoving her full weight onto Wickham. "You would sell you arse to the devil for a fix. No doubt you already have."

"Don't fuck with me Denny. Why her? She is a gentlewoman from the countryside."

"Exactly, they're always the more trusting and curious. Won't say not to much. So, why not?" He said grabbing at her breasts over her clothing salaciously.

"I can think of one terrifying, tall, influential fellow by the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy her brother through marriage, as pretty good reason not to." He snarled moving Lydia away.

Scoffed, "I am scared of no top hat wearing fop!" he said lunging towards Lydia again but stumbling too wide. "Come on Wickham, I'll share her with you."

"No." moaned Lydia trying to move herself but failing.

Lydia went limp in his arms with another small groan and Wickham moved to gently seat her propped up against the wall behind him.

"Do not forget that I grew up with that fop, I know exactly what he is capable of. And even if he wasn't a formidable opponent with swords, pistols, or even bare-knuckle fighting. He has more money than you can count to buy the sorts of men that make the shadows shrink and shiver."

"Fine, I'll dump her somewhere once I'm done with her. She'll never remember anyway. You never know what's what after you've liberally indulged in the poppy. Shall I give you a further incentive?" he slurred, though Wickham could see he was only drunk, not fuelled by the pipe.

Wickham's hesitation was enough for Denny to creep in closer. "I will buy you a sample of your precious puff, George." He said in seductive tones, pulling the coins out of his pocket and holding them to glint under the light of the Dens lanterns.

Wickham's eyes dropped to the coin, and he swallowed hating himself for the fierce hunger that roared to life threatening to overwhelm his decent intentions. Grabbing Wickham's hand suddenly Denny pulled it to the front of his breeches and flexed into his palm, with a taunting look in his insulting stare. "I might even let you suck me off."

Snatching his hand back, his breathing harsh and ragged. "W-W-What the hell did you say to me?"

Denny only laughed derisively at him, "You heard me." Reaching his limit Wickham swung at him, knocking the man to the floor and sending the coins scattering.

"You're a dead man, George!" he spat using his fingers to check for blood and he struggled to his feet. "Oh, and good luck with that frigid bitch. I am sorry my friend, but she told everyone as she was leaving, she was off to see Mr Wickham," he said affecting a high mocking voice. "I also had her pen a small note before she was too soused and sent it to Mrs Forster. I hadn't intended to go back with her you see – too risky. But we're all starting to see the pathetic lowlife that you are. I would get packing because if her family and your almighty Darcy, the law will hunt you down for desertion." He cackled as he walked away stumbling and veering until the shadows engulfed him.

Quickly scrabbling to pick up the coin he fretted over his next moves like a beggar, he darted a look around to see if anyone else was about. There was no way anyone would believe he had had no part to play in the fall of Miss Lydia, and he needed a plan of action. As he went to pick her up, he noticed her reticule dangling from her arm and to his blessed relief there was a enough coin in there for a place to sleep and to get them to London. From there he was sure he could beg assistance from Mrs Young, she had always been fond of him when working as Miss Darcy's companion and that had continued long after.

One he had found a cheap room a few streets away where he knew no questions would be asked, he had settled Lydia on the bed and tried to wake her but to no avail. He knew he would just have to let her sleep it off. The drug was always more potent when someone was untried to its affects. Sitting by the window Wickham scratched at the back of his hands until they were raw and then finally saw no reason in waiting for her to awaken. He needed a fix after the events of the evening, how was a man to refuse such a welcome relief? Wickham vowed this would be the last time, Denny had given him enough to get it out of his system and enjoy one last hit of the pipe. And so, with those intentions, Wickham had left Lydia and lost himself in the sickly-sweet fumes of the Opium Poppy.

On his walk there he surmised that perhaps this was not the worst turn of events after all... Darcy would do what he could to avoid a scandal at all costs. He genuinely cared for his childhood friend, but he was desperate and Darcy could certainly afford it...

The clock struck one, the lonely sound echoing in the darkness of her chamber. Elizabeth blinked, still sat upon the window seat staring out at the moonlit Longbourn in the distance and listening to the crackling fire. She felt exhausted, yet unable to sleep. Fitzwilliam had yet to come to bed as he was working his way through the penning of a great many letters to every contact, he had in London to make discreet enquiries. The most they knew was that Lydia and Wickham had been traced as far as London but not beyond. Her Uncle Gardiner was doing what he could, but the suspicions that his business was in a spot of bother had proved true and he might even have a need to abscond to Scotland for a time! Elizabeth felt for her poor Aunt Gardiner and little Maggie but was grateful for her husband. It turns out the Darcy's have a property in Scotland of which, William had offered them the use if they should need it.

Sighing she stood and moved to the vanity and began losing her hair from its braid and began brushing it, for want of something to do. The door opened and William entered, he was still dressed but had discarded his jacket and cravat. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to reveal prominent veins on hands and forearms. Shutting the door with a gentle click he walked to stand before her, his hand lifting to settle on her jaw as he looked down at her. A new growth of whiskers showed on his jaw, the dark shadow giving him the look of a rake or a renegade.

"You cannot sleep?" he asked in a low whispered.

Elizabeth shook her head. The air felt thick and her pulse quickened.

Mutely taking the brush from her hands Fitzwilliam moved behind her, gently swept her curls out over one shoulder, leaving her neckline exposed to his view. He shifted so he could lean forward and touch his lips to the base of her neck, and then proceeded to place a trail of soft kisses upwards until he finally reached the sensitive skin behind her ear. Sighing Elizabeth allowed her head to drop back to rest on him, thrilling when his large hand took hold of her neck and jaw to turn her face to receive his devouring kiss. He did a slow and sensual sweep inside her mouth that dulled all her other senses. And then took her mouth in a brutal kiss, doing nothing to temper the heat of his desire.

Suddenly, he reached under her, cupped her buttocks, and lifted her. Elizabeth instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, and before she knew it, the wall pressed into her back. His mouth found hers once more in a drugging kiss, and his arousal, hard and rigid, nestled perfectly into the cradle of her thighs. She loved that she caused such a reaction in her powerful, controlled husband. Unable to resist she ground herself against his length, and he growled, a low and thrilling sound. So, she did it again in attempt to drive him wild. He turned the tables gabbing her hips and taking over, angling and rolling his hips to tease her most sensitive flesh. Each brush made her gasp, the pleasure spreading down to her toes, but it wasn't enough.

It had been too long, but her body well remembered the sensation of having him inside her. "William," she breathed, moving her hips in time with his. He pressed closer, crushing her to the wall, his mouth hot and urgent on her throat. She panted and clutched his shoulders, delirious with the intense pleasure of this heady moment. She needed this. She wanted everything he could give her and more. The desire to please him, to join his body to hers, took over. She reached between them, intent on undoing the buttons on his breeches but the angle was not conducive to achieving her goal.

Needing to touch his bare flesh, she slipped her hands under his shirt, delighting in the play of warm, smooth skin layered over taut muscle and hard bone. He seemed to approve, moaning low in his throat at her increasingly bold strokes. Exploring further, she slid her fingers beneath his waistband to tease the slight dip where his back merged with his hips. He pulled in an audible breath, shuddering beneath her touch.

"Oh God, I want you like this. I want you on the bed, I want you in every way!" he admitted, kissing her deep and long. "I have dreamed about the feel of your body welcoming mine. Tasting every inch of you again and again." She whimpered in response.

Pulling away from the wall he walked them over to the bed and lay her down, chuckling when she refused to unclasp her legs from his hips. Bending at the waist he grabbed her thighs where her nightdress had ridden up and using his palms he began to push her gown up only pausing when he had exposed her feminine core. Mortified Elizabeth tried to close her legs and pushed the night gown back down.

He ran one hand down her leg, leaving it to rest behind her knee. "During my stay in Hertfordshire I thought of your legs often, dreamt of them, in fact. They are just as I imagined." He pushed them apart, looking at the mound of her womanhood before covering her body with his. Untying the ribbons of her nightgown, he dipped his tongue into the hollow at her neck, then trailed down to the space between her breasts sending a flash of heat through her middle. Her hands came up to thread into his hair as she arched into him. Growling against her flesh, he murmured soft, sensuous words of praise. Then the stroking hand between her thighs went higher and before she knew what he meant to do; he slid a long, very male finger deep inside her. A fresh rush of wetness gathered low, her body embarrassing her with its uninhibited response. But Fitzwilliam didn't seem to mind as his hand moved, finger stroking in and out, over and over. When he added a second finger, she cried out and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Straightening and leaving her bereft he stripped off his waistcoat and shirt tossing them onto the nearby armchair. He was lean, but still muscular, with a trim waist and broad shoulders that tapered into a taut, lean stomach rippled with muscles. His chest had a fine peppering of dark hair that disappeared into a line into his trousers.

"Elizabeth." He said catching her attention. "Nightdress. Off. Now!" he growled.

Giggling she shimmied out of the nightdress, but then a sudden wave of shyness overcame her - he had never seen her naked before just as she had never seen him so. Quickly, she pulled the nightdress over herself to hide any imperfections. Looking up in time her breath stuttered as his hands reached for his breeches, roughly releasing the buttons, the roped muscles of his arms flexing with his actions until her stood before in all his masculine beauty. Her eyes drank in the brazen sight of him in the flickering candlelight, long and thick, rigid with arousal. Reaching out to touch his powerfully muscular thighs, she looked up at Darcy and their eyes met.

Elizabeth watched in both wonder and horror as he bent closer to her sex lifting the cover of her gown. His nose nudged at the inside of her thigh. "William, wait! W-What are you doing? This isn't proper-" The tip of his tongue flicked out and Elizabeth's hips lifted off the bed. That tiny nub, that spot which he had introduced her to, was now the focus of all her pleasure.

"I assure you, Mrs Darcy that this is one place that propriety holds no weight whatsoever." He growled against her folds sending delicious vibrations through her.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She sucked in her breath loudly, and her whole body went rigid as he continued with the wicked attentions of his mouth, simultaneously sliding her dress further up before snatching it and flinging to the floor. The dam built in pressure between her legs, bringing the pleasure to almost a point of frustrating pain before he sucked her clitoris between his lips and the world came to a halt. Pleasure burst and she arched up wildly, her body shaking with uncontrolled spasms.

When the spasms began to finally subside, he crawled up over her, pausing as his arousal slid against her wet folds. He groaned lowering his head until it rested upon her shoulder his breathing laboured. He surged his hips and nudged against her so that just the tip of him was inside her.

"Lizzy…"

Wet heat gathered in a heavy rush between her thighs at the strangled way he had said Lizzy, her legs still quivering from her climax. She uttered one word and he was lost, "Please…" she whimpered.

With a low groan, he spread her legs wider, hooking both his arms beneath her knees, raising them before he entered her in one strong, powerful stroke. Her hands fisted in the bedsheets and her toes curled, as he filled her to the hilt, his thighs connecting with her bottom.

"Oh God." He moaned arching back slightly.

She gasped in anticipation, flexing her hips, pleading him to keep going. "Have mercy, or you will unman me, wife." he teased as he drew his hips back painfully slowly.

Fitzwilliam plunged into her again, slow and deep, pressing his hips into her as he pulled her legs higher. He wrapped her legs around him and pressed her into the mattress, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, feeling her body tighten around him. He pressed her down into the mattress and bore down on her, as her body convulsed, and she begged for reprieve. Her head fell back, and she clutched his shoulders, fighting to hold on as he pounded into her while wave after wave of her climax tore through her, her nails drawing across his back. He responded by doubling the force of his thrusts and she screamed out whimpering for more and at the same time certain she could survive more.

Pulling his face to hers, Elizabeth kissed him with wild desperation feeling tears leak from the corners of her eyes, as the tumultuous events of their first months of marriage and the deep love for him forcing its way into her heart came rushing through her. She felt a wicked thrill at the musky taste of herself still on his lips. Revelling in the sounds of his thrusting groans vibrating in her mouth as her climax subsided. Tearing his mouth from hers, his breathing hoarse as his thrusts grew a little gentler, his eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth dropped open in a silent cry of completion. Elizabeth cupped his face rejoicing in this closeness with him as he thrust once more before, finally, he slumped down onto her, his face buried into the crook of her neck. Elizabeth ran her fingers into Fitzwilliam's hair, brushing her thumb along the length of his sideburns. Playing her fingernails at his smooth skin at his nape. He hummed softly in appreciation.

Pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw and his shoulder, she felt the thrum of his heartbeat against her breast. Fitzwilliam shifted, turning his face to her and claiming her lips in slow passionate kiss. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she sucked and exhilarated in feeling his member twitch still sheathed within her. He fell back groaning almost in pain. He was as sensitive as the last time after reaching his own completion, but he was also did not seem to want to break the connection any sooner than needed.

Eventually he rolled taking Elizabeth to lay have across him and they fell asleep in one another's arms.