Be forewarned: The following contains romantically written situations of an adult nature. The reader is advised to exercise caution lest offense be committed without intent.

He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, inhaling deeply of her scent even as soft wisps of hair tickled his nose. Beneath the skin, the pulse of her blood picked up speed as he trailed his fingertips along her naked arm. His mouth followed suit, pressing soft, lingering kisses. Her breathing became ragged, changing to audible gasps as he filled his palms with her petite breasts, massaging the sensitive tips between thumb and forefinger. A low sound of pleasure issued from her throat as her eyes fluttered, having drifted open at his ministrations.

The hardness of his body neared painful intensity but he persevered, leaning to take her nipple between his lips as one hand wandered down her torso. He suckled gently, teasing with the roughness of his tongue whilst stroking her quivering abdomen lower and lower until he felt short, soft curls against his hand. His fingers slipped into her effortlessly and a primitive growl escaped him as he gloried in the wet heat.

The sound was answered by a similar moan as her hips began to undulate, pressing into him. Shifting slightly, he pulled the length of her back against his chest so her buttocks pressed against him maddeningly. She turned her head, a wordless request for a kiss. Their lips came together hurriedly with two sets of shuddering breath mixing together in an oft-practiced dance that fed their frenzy for each other. When she was close to completion he joined with her from behind, fixing his teeth gently on the curve of her shoulder, closing his eyes at the exquisite sensation. He kept the movement as slow as he could stand to draw out their pleasure. As she crested, he stayed within her, matching her cries of ecstasy as the spasms clenched around him. Now he filled her completely, faster and faster until he was spent inside her.

Still connected, he gave a satisfied chuckle and nuzzled her neck again, feeling a familiar desire to memorize everything about the woman in his arms.

"And may I say good morning to you, husband," she panted after a moment. Her inner walls continued to tremble around him, a delicious remnant of their shared bliss. It was one of his many favorite ways to start the day.

"Mmmm… You may, but I would deign to call it a very good morning, my love," he rumbled in her ear. The fire in his blood had barely quelled with their first coupling; she giggled aloud when he next nibbled her earlobe.

"I see you are feeling shall we say, vigorous this morning, Mr. Darcy?" she teased, arching her back.

"Vigorous is but one word," he equivocated. "There are so many others. A more accurate word might be … hungry, or… famished. Perhaps ravenous." He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear in a way he knew she liked. As expected, her mouth fell open, eyes closing to savor the sensation. His hands found her breasts again as he spent the next few minutes thoroughly exploring her ear and the side of her neck with his lips until she shivered.

"Are you cold, Mrs. Darcy?" he asked innocently. She laughed again, nudging him back with the point of her elbow.

"If you insist on behaving thusly, there will be consequences," she told him with mock sincerity, biting her lip. Her teasing had the desired effect of making him begin to harden again where he still lay inside her.

"Really? I find it difficult to believe you," he whispered playfully. He pulled back just enough to allow for another deep thrust, eliciting a gasp from his wife. Her eyes clouded and he grinned in triumph.

"Very well, then. You leave me no choice, sir." She rolled away, causing him to withdraw. Before he could feel the air against his skin, she straddled him, stroking with her hand before guiding him to her folds. Rapt, he watched as she lowered herself slowly, accepting him little by torturous little until her weight was settled atop him. Their eyes met, serious now. He felt an overwhelming love when she lifted his hands and lovingly kissed his palms, laying their hands together over her heart.

"God, I love you, Lizzie," he breathed as she began to rock her hips rhythmically…

… His eyes shot open and he sat up in bed in the same motion. Breathing in great gulps of air, his heart raced as though he had run a long distance. He dripped sweat such as would accompany the breaking of a high fever. The room felt hot and close, the bedcovers too heavy and stifling over him. They twisted around his legs, pulled from the foot of the bed to expose his feet. Looking frantically from side to side, the sense of a second physical presence was all but palpable. Confused, he searched the shadows though all logic told him there was nothing to see and no one there.

He was alone. Again. Still.

For the first time since the dreams began, the identity of the woman was no longer hidden. Rather than a nameless, faceless presence that left a memory of brown-eyes, it was a fully fleshed, living, breathing body. There was nothing for it; he could no longer say that it was a figment he made love to.

The connection he tried so vigilantly to deny had been made for him in sleep. Elizabeth and the dream woman were now one and the same in his mind, no longer merely a stark similarity or the coincidental sharing of a distinct facial feature.

Through the panic, his body was still unbearably aroused though horrified dismay displaced the ardor with ruthless speed. Irrational though he knew it was, the entire experience put him more in mind of waking from a nightmare than something pleasant or blatantly erotic as the case happened to be. Once again the frank specificity of the dream left him mortally embarrassed.

The strain in his muscles gave way to an ache of restless, pent up tension. He struggled free from the prison of his bed, glancing at the sheets with a wary eye as though they lie in wait to drag him back under. He made his way to the doors leading to the balcony outside his room and flung them open impatiently. The cool of the air was welcoming and he continued to breathe deeply of its comfort.

As he paced, the cold stone beneath his bare feet served as a further reminder of the physical world to which he was bound. A world in which he was a fool to believe he was at liberty to marry just anyone no matter the consequence. It was a ridiculous dream indeed that led him in even beginning to think otherwise, particularly when it allowed him to imagine he could wed a woman who behaved like a common Cyprian.

No dream will change the unsuitability of an imprudent match, he reminded himself. The thought that made him stop in alarm. When had he started thinking of Elizabeth as any kind of match let alone an unsuitable one? No, he thought, No! I will not allow a dream to dictate my path! Attraction meant nothing. He could not let it. I will not be swayed from this!

Most difficult to reconcile was the distinct difference in this dream from any of the others. Not only did he know it was Elizabeth he dreamed of but all the details stayed with him this time as well. If his previous notion of the disturbing level of clarity and vibrancy of the dreams had been troubling, it was nothing to what he'd just awoken from. He could still taste her skin, recall the exact dusky pink hue of her nipple and the texture of it in his mouth, the exquisitely perfect confines of her womanhood. All of it seemed exactly designed to drive him mad with desire.

Vivid could no longer stand as an accurate descriptor for the world he entered at night. His every sense was imprinted with the undeniably tangible experience of making love to a woman. Every touch, every breath was there in his memory as though he had actually lived it. Had he the vocabulary, his mind would have leapt to ideas of past lives or parallel universes in its effort to grasp, to understand what was happening to him. As it was, he could only surmise that the depth of the connection his mind concocted was borne of the loneliness he had tried so long to ignore.

The chill worked its way up his legs, leaving the soles of his feet numbed. He wished its reach could encompass his body, mind and heart. He needed soothing salve for the rest of him or perhaps a numbing agent for his imagination and libido. His blood continued to hum with an unaccountable awareness. The woman he dreamed of was within the same house, on the same floor with only a few doors separating them. And she was none the wiser to his predicament.

Nor should she be, for God's sake.

The night air rapidly cooled his already damp skin and soon he was shivering, though the hot tangle of frustration never abated. He leaned against the railing, pressing his palms against the wide stone ledge. With unseeing eyes, he stared into the still black night as inexplicable fear continued to ebb with his anger. In its place, confused exhaustion took hold with an intensity he'd never before known. He lusted for her; that much was clear and he was rather disgusted with himself for it. Nothing could convince him of this so well as the irrefutable knowledge that the cold, rough stone beneath his hands and feet felt every bit as real to him as had the tactile warmth of her skin. The faint spice tingeing the autumn air was just as pungent and familiar to his nose as the scent of she that he called Lizzie.

Where had he heard Lizzie, for that matter? It suits her. Wasn't that what her mother shouted? The traitorous voice wanted to know.

It hardly matters if it suits her or where you heard it. She is Miss Elizabeth Bennet to you and nothing else.

He shoved away from the railing viciously, conscious of the inherent madness in arguing with oneself. Again, in a different age, he would have worried over the possibility of multiple personalities or hearing voices in one's head. It certainly seemed as if two different people rattled about his skull, one of them evidently all too prepared to encourage the situation. The other at least provided the voice of reason and sanity.

He would simply have to choose to heed the latter and ignore the former. And, of course, consult a physician as soon as may be.

How to proceed, though?

Attraction, of course, must not be allowed to flower into something stronger. How could he but acknowledge it existed? Denial was pointless and would only lead to further madness. At least now he acknowledged it, he could set it aside along with that damned treacherous voice. He would pay neither any mind.

Strangely, a sense of sadness pervaded him then. Was he to pretend he felt nothing? It was the wiser course, no matter that his loneliness would continue unabated. The real problem, however, lay in his dismal skill at performance. He knew it to be so and did not attempt to seek a remedy. It was a luxury of his station to be tolerated even in places where he was considered unpleasant. After all, it was fool indeed who would choose to insult the very wealthy no matter how disagreeable the man.

Quite simply, he had no reason to act as though he was suddenly concerned with others' impression of him.

As he trudged back inside (for his teeth had begun to chatter ferociously) an even more distasteful possibility occurred to him. Logic dictated that the foundation of his attraction was the dreams. Perhaps that really was the *only* reason he felt so inordinately drawn to her—because he associated her with such intimate visions. If that was the case, he worried it indicated a weakness of mind he had not before owned. Of course, it remained to be seen if this dream would be the only one that left in its wake such lucidity of mind.

Really, his acquaintance with the real Elizabeth was quite trifling and there was certainly not much else to draw him to her. He could think of several ladies of Quality whose beauty was greater. Their manners, too, were polished to a high shine while Elizabeth was practically a hoyden. She was uncommonly enamored of being out of doors, for starters. Rarely did she wear the appropriate bonnet and gloves most ladies donned against the chill. Why, she had even appeared to he and Miss Bingley with her hair effectively let down, for goodness' sake! Aside from all this, she was certainly far too pert and opinionated for her own good.

He steadfastly ignored the voice that reminded him that despite their beauty those same London ladies brought to mind more hair than wit among them.

Elizabeth has plenty of both.

Had not Caroline told them just last night that Jane shared with her they had an uncle in trade who resided in Cheapside, of all places? She was particularly eager to relate that Miss Bennet revealed the family estate Longbourn was entailed upon a male cousin. With so little to recommend her and her sisters as matches, Elizabeth would quickly learn to regret her lively ways.

No wonder the Bennets are so eager for Jane and Bingley to take to each other. They must be relying on her to raise their fortunes since she is not only the eldest but also in possession of the most beauty and sense of propriety.

Back to the matter at hand, he paced the floor next to the bed, rubbing warmth back into his hands and arms. If Elizabeth's only hold on him hinged solely on the dreams, it ought to be easy enough to dispel. He would turn any weakness on his part into strength and utilize the opportunity to inure himself to her presence. And if successful, he would no longer be susceptible to the failings of lustfulness. Even better, the dreams might end as well. At last.

And so it was with cautious hope that Darcy decided once again to head to the stables for a calming ride. As it was barely dawn, he dressed without aide and walked the silent halls quickly, trying not to imagine who lay behind certain doors. Bingley mentioned Elizabeth insisted upon sharing her sister's rooms incase she needed something or worsened during the night.

He nipped briefly into the larder and took two apples, one each for himself and Admiral, for apples were the horse's favorite. The first fingers of dawn light had just begun to grip the sky as he exited the kitchens. The glow of moist air brightened as he walked, picking his way carefully over the stone-dotted ground. The door to the stable was still closed; it's occupants ostensibly still abed.

He heaved the large door open upon its slider, making note to mention it needed greasing. As he stepped inside, he was surprised to see one of the young grooms standing in front of Admiral's stall. The boy was leaning against the door with a dazed expression and Darcy wondered irritably if the boy had slept in the stall for warmth. He knew street urchins in London tended to do so and were regularly rousted from the mews of a morning in winter.

"You there… Edmund, is it?" He inquired, wondering how the boy had missed his entrance. The boy jumped in surprise, springing away from the stall door to make an awkward bow. The boy looked to be only slightly over ten years and was dressed roughly. Darcy made another mental note to tell Bingley he would have to have a livery designed for the stables if he intended to stay at Netherfield long term.

"Yessir," the boy bobbled again, with a hand on his cap. "Edmund, sir, at your service, sir." As an afterthought, the boy tightened his fingers on the cap and took it from his head, holding it in front of his body like a small shield. Darcy sighed. It seemed servants other than his own were always waiting for him to get angry or mete out punishment.

"I wish to ride, Edmund," he ordered in a softer voice. "Saddle Admiral for me… please." The nicety came belatedly, but the boy relaxed some nonetheless.

"Oh… certainly, sir," he said with relief. "May I say, Admiral's the best 'orse I ever met, sir. Near everyone says so." He spied the apples in Darcy's hand. "He's like to get spoilt with people admirin 'im."

Darcy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why, just now someone else come to give 'im a treat." Edmund's voice was muffled as he darted into the tack room for Darcy's saddle.

"Why wasn't I made aware of this?" Darcy snapped. "Someone's been visiting my horse?" He regretted his anger quickly when the boy returned with the look of fright back in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," he stuttered, this time holding the saddle in front of himself. "I would 'ave told you but today was only the second time she come."

"Who came, Edmund?"

"A lady from the 'ouse, sir," he mumbled, his accent becoming more pronounced. "The pretty one wiv dark 'air what's 'ere for her sick sister. I 'eard a noise from my cot, sir, and come down from the 'ayloft to check the 'orses. Miss Lizzie she said to call her, and gave Admiral two lumps of sugar, said it would be our secret. She just left, sir. Said she was out for a walk, she was." He pointed to the far end of the barn were the other large sliding door was open slightly.

"She… came once before?" Darcy asked, staring in the direction he indicated. Edmund blinked at the change in his demeanor, for Darcy was unaware of neither the warmth that entered his voice at the question nor the softening of his eyes.

"Yessir. She come last night too. Found 'er right in the stall with Admiral, talkin to 'im like a ol' friend. She didn't give 'im nothin then but said 'e was the most beautiful 'orse she ever seen. I asked if she was lookin to ride but she said she don't much remember how to. 'Asn't since she were a little girl."

Darcy continued to look toward the far door and Edmund continued to look at him. The groom had never seen the man's face so open and unguarded; Darcy's mouth fell open slightly as he pondered the direction the lady had taken and his eyebrows quirked slightly in thought. He looked years younger than only moments before, and the boy experienced the strange idea that the man before him could easily have been someone other than one of the wealthiest men in England. In a flash, his expression closed and Darcy cleared his throat, making Edmund jump again. Darcy frowned down at the apple in his hand as if he forgot how it came to be there.

"I'll have Admiral ready in a jot, sir."

"Yes… thank you, Edmund." The boy hesitated, then turned to shoulder the stall door open, shaking his head at the vagaries of the rich. He'd worked for some very eccentric people in his short life, but Mr. Bingley's friend was one of most taciturn. He was typically polite in his address but not particularly friendly except with Admiral. Edmund saw and appreciated the way the man treated the horse, but with people he had wide varieties of temper. Why should it confound him that someone else liked his horse? If anything, he ought to be pleased by the compliment.

It was nothing to the shock he'd gotten at finding a lady in Admiral's stall, though. Most of them sniffed and wrinkled their noses at the ever-present smell of hay and manure and spent as little time as possible in the stables. Any dirt at all caused them to squeal like stuck pigs and rail at him for not keeping the place clean enough. Just after their arrival, in fact, Mr. Bingley's sister had chastised him for touching the seat of her saddle with dirty hands, complaining that she would get her dress soiled when she rode.

Most people in general, whether ladies or gentlemen, never looked at him directly in any case, except to order him around or tell him something he did was wrong. But Miss Lizzie seemed different. She had looked him in the face and spoken to him kindly. She made him feel like he wasn't just a groom in a stable but someone to be trusted. She had asked his name and even told him to call her by her own. He almost felt bad for telling the frighteningly sober Mr. Darcy her secret since she'd been so nice to him, but figured the owner had a right to know what went on with his horse. He'd been taught to never keep such things from those who paid his wages. Technically Mr. Bingley paid him, but everyone knew Mr. Bingley listened to Mr. Darcy a great deal, so it wouldn't do to cross either one.

Besides, he thought Miss Lizzie had been mostly teasing when she said not to tell. Admiral was certainly taken with her, leaning into her hand when she rubbed his nose and scratched his neck. To Edmund, this was as good a gage as any for the measure of a person. Horses could usually tell the good sort of people from the bad, especially horses as smart as Admiral.

He supposed that meant Admiral's master was also a good sort of person, for the horse clearly liked him very much. After all, the man only made Edmund very nervous when he was around; he was never truly mean to him. It wasn't Mr. Darcy's fault Edmund was more comfortable among animals than people. Edmund's own father, the head groom, told him as much nearly everyday.

Edmund hoped he would never act so strangely over a girl. He wondered, too, if Mr. Bingley's friend knew what was very obvious to Edmund after that morning.

Mr. Darcy was falling in love with pretty Miss Lizzie Bennet.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Late the next morning, Darcy had not long been at breakfast with Bingley and his sister when Mr. Myles entered, looking ever so slightly less staid than usual. The three of them looked up as he scuffed to a stop between the pillars.

"A Mrs. Bennet, a Miss Bennet, a Miss Bennet and… a Miss Bennet, sir," he pronounced with care, pausing to make sure all Bennets were accounted for.

"Oh for heaven's sake, are we to receive every Bennet in the country?" Caroline said in ill temper. She glared pointedly at her brother, who quirked his head.

"Perhaps I forgot to mention, um," he floundered a bit under her glare, "Miss Bennet's family are coming to collect her today?"

"Yes," Caroline snapped in a brittle tone. "I dare say it quite slipped your mind, Charles."

"Miss Elizabeth told me yesterday Miss Bennet is well enough to return home," Charles continued, showing the first hint of his disappointment. "She sent a note yesterday afternoon. Her mother replied that they would come in the family carriage to escort her back to Longbourn. They are rather earlier than I thought and I did not realize she would bring all the rest of her daughters, though she was insistent upon coming in person…" He trailed off with alarm as Caroline's look of aggravation grew. She set her buttering knife down with a clatter.

"Of course she was," she said dangerously. Her eyes slid to Darcy, who kept his attention trained on the table at the news. Bingley shrugged and pushed back from the table, immediately consumed with nerves at the idea of entertaining his favorite's family on such short notice.

"Give us a moment, Myles, then show them into the east sitting room, I think." The steward hesitated. "Yes, the east sitting room," Bingley said with more conviction, straightening his frock coat again.

"Very good, sir," Mr. Myles nodded and turned, taking a deliberate breath of fortitude before opening the door to face the gaggle of females once more.

Darcy knew only relief that Elizabeth would soon be away from the house and that much farther removed from his presence. It was likely that Bingley's continued interest in her sister would cause them to meet again regardless. The additional stress of anticipating his every interaction with her wore heavily on his sensibilities. He felt sure she was unaware of his conflicted feelings but could not bring himself to mourn the loss nearly as much as his friend.

He hadn't seen much of her since the previous morning when he rode past her while returning to Netherfield from his ride.

He approached at her back from some distance away, taking note of her bowed head. Her hair was still plaited in a single braid down her back and she again wore the dark overcoat from her arrival. She walked slowly with a halting gait that at first gave him concern that she was somehow injured. As he drew closer, however, he saw a book in her hand that was surely the cause of her wandering steps. Her other hand was at her mouth where she chewed a thumbnail absentmindedly as she read.

Having assured himself of her welfare, he spurred Admiral to a canter. From the edge of his vision, he saw her start and pull her hand from her lips guiltily as he passed as though worried he would witness her habit and judge it a failing on her part. Though he did not look back, he could swear he felt her eyes follow him clear back to the stable.

Heaven forgive him if pride didn't cause him to sit a bit straighter in the saddle as a result. He cursed his own conceit soundly when he almost checked to see if she had watched him take Admiral over a low jump before leading him to the mounting block.

The better part of the day found him ensconced determinedly in the library where he hoped to be safe from any intrusion. There were matters enough from Pemberley to occupy the majority of his attention. As it was, he understood Bingley had already shown Elizabeth the room and though she had professed her delight in detail at its bounty, refused his offer of a book or two for entertainment during her stay. She claimed her own book brought from home provided all the diversion she needed. Therefore, Darcy felt free to assume she would have little cause to visit the library again.

Damned if he did not have to ignore the slightest bit of disappointment that she did not, however.

She appeared at supper and attended closely to her sister when they both joined the party for a short time afterward. He had made a point to not look at her more than the flow of conversation demanded and kept his own counsel as much as possible. When the rest of the house retired, he even stayed up later than usual practicing billiards, hoping to be tired enough to avoid dreaming at all, if possible.

Darcy came back to himself to find Bingley looking at him expectantly.

"Shall we?" He tugged the end of his sleeves fretfully. It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to ask if his presence was really necessary. Instead, he took one last sip of tea, suppressed yet another sigh and rose to follow Bingley and his sister to the east sitting room.

The room was a mirror of the drawing room on the opposite side of the hall. It also had couches facing each other but rather than a desk, a third long fainting couch sat parallel to the windows. It was on this couch Caroline positioned herself carefully. Her dress reflected the latest in London fashion and as such, she arranged the skirts with a few practiced twitches to make them fall just so. Darcy resisted an urge to roll his eyes and moved to stand next to Bingley behind her. The latter anxiously attempted to smooth down his unruly hair before signaling the servant to open the doors.

Elizabeth entered first with a look of conscientious serenity about her. Only her hands twisting in front of her revealed any apprehension about the impending meeting. She dropped a hasty curtsey and sat on the couch to Darcy's right. Though she wore the same dress she'd arrived in, it had by now been laundered clean of any offending mud and pressed to perfection.

Peculiar heat suffused his mid-section as he once again noticed the tiny lace scallops dotting the neckline.

At that moment, a cacophony came to his ears that served only to reinforce his decision to ignore such feelings. Just beyond their view of the threshold, a great chorus of hissing sounds filled the hallway as though a nest of vipers had been stirred. This time he did roll his eyes, for despite the silence such an action usually engendered, one female voice continued to titter uncontrollably. A conspicuous ruddiness stole into Elizabeth's cheeks.

En masse, the remaining Bennet ladies entered the room and sat sighingly on the couch opposite Elizabeth. The mother and two daughters beside her were dressed in what appeared to be their Sunday best in bright spring colors. They three looked nearly overcome with excited admiration. The daughter bringing up the rear, conversely, was dressed in nearly unrelieved darkness and wore a bored expression. Before Bingley could open his mouth, Mrs. Bennet began to speak.

"What an excellent room you have, sir," she gushed, stroking the arm of the couch. "Such expensive furnishings. Oh, I do hope you intend to stay here, Mr. Bingley?" Her eyebrows raised in entreaty. Darcy imagined Mrs. Bennet internally adding up pounds as she surveyed the room's décor.

"Absolutely," Bingley complied charmingly. "I find the country very diverting. Don't you agree, Darcy?" He blinked at this unexpected application for his opinion.

"I find it perfectly adequate even if the society is a little less varied than in Town," he said without much thought.

"Less varied? Not at all," Mrs. Bennet replied with some indignation. "We dine with four and twenty families of all shapes and sizes." The daughter closest to her giggled uncontrollably again. "Sir William Lucas, for example, is a very agreeable man, and is a good deal less self-important than some people half his rank." Darcy's eyes narrowed in a scowl at this. He swore the blush staining Elizabeth's face deepened but could not bring himself to worry for her discomfort.

"Mr. Bingley," one of her other sisters began, "is it true you've promised to hold a ball here at Netherfield?"

"A ball? Um—" Charles hesitated. Darcy felt sure he hadn't said anything of the kind.

"It would be an excellent way to make new friends. You could invite the militia," she continued. "They're excellent company."

"Oh, do hold a ball!" The girl next to Mrs. Bennet could no longer contain herself and bounced in her seat. Darcy grimly surmised she was definitely the source of the majority of the earlier giggling.

"Kitty." Elizabeth drew her attention and gave a minute shake of her head. The silent admonishment gave Darcy pause as his gaze lingered on her. It ought to have been Mrs. Bennet reining in her daughter, not Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet, however, missed the exchange and did nothing to discourage the idea of Bingley's compliance. He suspected it was a position Elizabeth found herself in with frequency.

"When your sister is recovered, you shall name the day," Charles indulged with a smile. The two youngest nearly jumped from their seats in excitement at the news.

"I think a ball is a perfectly irrational way to make new acquaintance," the third sister put in suddenly. Her sisters stared daggers as she continued and even her mother looked round in surprise. "It would be better if conversation instead of dancing were the order of the day."

"Indeed, much more rational but a rather less like a ball," Caroline pointed out, her face tightening. The unrestrained silliness of their talk had apparently surpassed the height of Caroline's tolerance level. It might have also been attributed to being volunteered by her brother to host a ball she had to wish to give.

"Thank you, Mary," Elizabeth said after a short pause. Now, rather than embarassed, she looked amused that her sisters had managed to dislodge Caroline's usually unruffled countenance.

Another clumsy silence was about to stretch too long when a soft knock sounded at the door. A maid entered timidly and bowed to the assembled.

"If you please, sir, Miss Bennet is almost ready to come down."

"Miss Elizabeth, allow me to assist you in collecting your things." Caroline rose gracefully and gave her a tiny smile. Her brother looked at her in surprise at her failure to offer their guests refreshment of any kind before their return trip. Instead, she made it clear she wanted them gone as soon as possible.

"Ah… Mrs. Bennet, shall I escort you all to your carriage?" Bingley offered with a bow. Darcy grimaced slightly as Mrs. Bennet blushed like a maid and the two youngest began again to giggle. The third rolled her eyes at their folly.

In the space of a minute, Darcy was alone in the room with servants, guests and household having scattered completely. He let out a breath he was unaware of holding. The Bennet women left him feeling thoroughly exhausted.

Much to his chagrin, propriety dictated his presence at the farewell, though he considered disappearing to his rooms. He amused himself in thinking of taking such drastic action if only to save Mrs. Bennet from further perceived injury at the hands of his self-importance, rather than saving himself from being subjected to further ridiculousness.

Instead, he made his way slowly down to the gravel drive where the Bennet family carriage awaited, ruing his rigorous attention to matters of obligation and propriety.

Aside from a general dislike of him, the reason for Mrs. Bennet's cut was clear. Obviously, Elizabeth would have told her family of his slight against her at the assembly, thus sealing his fate as an unpleasant, haughty man. No matter, he thought. I refuse to go so low as to be completely without manners.

Later, he would wish he had stolen away.

At length, he heard the noisy approach of Bingley and the ladies before they descended the stairs and braced himself. Mrs. Bennet exclaimed loudly she was certain a tapestry they passed was the largest and most opulent she had ever seen; the girls' incessant laugher nearly drowned out her words.

Darcy gritted his teeth.

As expected, not one of them gave more than the obligatory acknowledgement to him but smiled and bobbed to Bingley as he handed them one by one into the carriage though Darcy also stood to the side, just as ready to assist.

"What a fine, imposing place it is to be sure, is it not, my dears? There's no house to equal it in the county," he heard Mrs. Bennet tell them. He looked up to see Jane Bennet approaching them, looking rested if a bit pale. She nodded to him politely.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Bingley, I don't know how to thank you," she said in earnest.

"You're welcome anytime you feel the least bit poorly," Charles said with a grin, offering his hand for her support.

Darcy tried not to tense up as Caroline approached with Elizabeth. "Thank you for your stimulating company. It has been most instructive," the latter said diplomatically. He wondered if Caroline realized she was being teased to her face.

"Not at all, the pleasure is all mine," she replied without feeling. The two curtsied and Elizabeth continued on.

"Mr. Darcy," she said quickly with a look of distaste.

"Miss Elizabeth." He gave a cursory nod, feeling no little irritation when she, too, turned and supplied a warm smile for Bingley.

Perhaps it was that irritation that took hold of him then. Perhaps vestiges of the dream were to blame. Perhaps he wanted to unsettle her in the same way he himself had been unsettled since setting eyes on her. Perhaps it was the influence of the fine weather. Whatever the reason, Darcy's body at that moment seemed not entirely under his control. Rather, it seemed to undertake an experiment the likes of which could not have been planned more perfectly to demonstrate the true level of his danger.

Before he could prevent it, he took Elizabeth's ungloved hand as she entered the carriage. From a place far removed, he noted she looked down in surprise to find her hand in his. The second their skin met, his insides turned over. A tremor traveled up his arm, his breath stopped, and his heart throbbed. A deep well of yearning yawned wide and tempting.

Without conscious intent, the touch took on the qualities of a caress more than disinterested assist as his thumb grazed over her knuckles. He did not let go until the last moment. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he turned to go back inside. In that moment, he saw her utter confusion at his action.

His hand felt hot like he held it too close to the fire, which he would later suppose was all too accurate. Though he kept his arms down to his sides, he stretched still tingling fingers as he walked and did not stop until he reached his rooms. If anyone tried to speak to him during that time, he was deaf to the sound.

After closing the doors, he stared grimly at the offending appendage as though another digit had sprung up from nothing. He touched it with his other hand and walked to the window to examine it in better lighting. Externally, at least, it felt quite normal if not cool to the touch from being outside. Internally, though, it still tingled with heat at every point that came in contact with Elizabeth. Dismayed, he shook it slightly and rubbed the fingertips together.

What possessed him to touch her, especially when she wore no gloves? The soft promise of her skin would no doubt haunt him. How long would he pay the price of dream filled nights for this transgression? And worse yet, why in God's name did he want so badly to touch her again?