A/N Some of you guessed right. Those who didn't please don't be upset!
I'm adding a warning here. The Mr Collins in this story is not a sensible or nice man. He's a stupid, weak man whose morals are not as high as they should be, and who thinks more highly of himself than he should.
This chapter includes a sexual assault and rape - the rape itself is not detailed, although the build up is, and it gets you into the mindset of why he does what he does. I've written the next chapter so that you can skip this if you like, and not really miss anything desperately important, so feel free to wait for the next chapter if you wish to avoid this one. There'll be a brief catch-up at the start of the next with any points you need to know before reading on.
20th November
Closing the door carefully, he crept over to the bed. Steady, deep breathing was the only sound - she was obviously deeply asleep. He paused, momentarily uncertain of his next step. He contemplated the person in the bed. She was beautiful and would be his wife. His possession to do with as he would.
Despite the warmth gathering in his nether regions at the thought of Jane in their marital bed, gooseflesh rising on his legs reminded him that the room was chilly and he was inadequately dressed in his borrowed nightshirt. He lifted the covers and gently slipped into the bed. It would be warmer and more comfortable for their discussion that way. It would also be more convincing for the lady, when it came to her acceptance of his proposal. Maybe there would even be a kiss to seal their betrothal.
He reached out tentatively to determine the location of the other occupant of the bed and his fingertips determined her back was facing him. He ran a hand lightly from her waist down, over the rise of her hip. She felt so soft and curvaceous. He inhaled. Ah, roses. He inched closer and gently grasped her shoulder, turning her toward him and onto her back. She did not wake and her breathing remained unchanged. Initially disappointed she had not yet woken so that he could make his proposal, her closeness caused his excitement to grow, and disappointment to fade. Should they be discovered now, it would be enough to force their marriage. He would not even need to ask for her acceptance.
Mr Collins was no innocent. His father had first introduced him to his regular brothel as a birthday gift, at the tender age of ten and five. Despite his initial nervousness, he soon became a regular and eager attendee there. They were not a well-off family so, as cash was often low, he and his father would be forced to share one or other of the cheaper courtesans - it did not matter much which woman they had, she was simply an already well-used vessel to purge themselves into.
Once he'd reached his majority, his father had frequently encouraged his son to bring home a wife. 'Make her a pretty one, for both our sakes,' he'd said, over and over, a lascivious look in his eyes. Young Master Collins had not done so and until his father was no longer an influence in his life he would not. He had no desire to share the woman he eventually took to wife, as he had the courtesans. He certainly had no desire to raise a half-brother.
However, once he had taken the first steps on the road to ordination, he felt obliged to cease the immoral visits.
It had been some three years since his last coupling and, despite regular self-relief, he was feeling the deprivation. Hence, he was sorely tempted by the warm armful beside him.
He hesitated, arguing against his better, but weaker, self before mentally shrugging. She was to be his wife. He would insist on a short engagement and she would, without a doubt, quickly agree to whatever he suggested after this night.
Moving his upper body over hers, he cupped her cheek with one hand, then dropped his head to capture her lips. Maybe this would wake his sleeping beauty. As his lips touched hers his excitement grew, chiselling away at any rational or logical thought. It had been far too long since he last had a woman, and his primal urges took control.
Her lips slightly parted which fed his excitement, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. One hand crept down to cup and then gently squeeze her left breast, pleased that it felt larger than appearance had earlier suggested when it was bound by her undergarments. And so soft… He circled a thumb over the nipple, covered only by the thinnest cloth, and it hardened to a peak under his cold hand. She shifted slightly beneath him and his arousal became almost painful. Unthinkingly, he crossed his leg across hers and rutted against her hip, losing himself in the sensation, while plunging his tongue deeper into her mouth. She moaned. Oh, she obviously wanted him… the minx.
The sensation of her moving weakly beneath him exciting him further. Lifted and tilting his head, he nibbled her earlobe before returning to her lips, murmuring, 'I know. I want you too, my love,' between wet kisses.
She turned her face away from his mouth and murmured something unintelligible before weakly calling out for her sister. 'Lizzy…'
'Hush, my dear. We don't want to spoil our fun now, do we?' he muttered in her ear.
She stiffened and then called again for her sister, suddenly flailing arms hitting his face and trying, weakly but ultimately in vain, to push him away. Mildly alarmed but even more aroused at her resistance, he rested his weight on her torso, pinning her down while fumbling to capture her wrists, then he held both between one hand and pulled them firmly above her head as she whimpered and sobbed. She was not strong and was easily subdued.
She inhaled deeply, once more. 'Liz-!' she cried before he muffled her voice with his mouth.
The silly girl. Why was she upset? She'd been moaning with pleasure beneath him until now. There was no need for her to be missish now.
His rigid arousal, throbbing almost painfully and trapped between their bodies, was stimulated as she writhed, exciting him beyond reason.
'By any means necessary,' Lady Catherine had said. Lady Catherine was also firmly of the opinion that a woman should subjugate herself completely to her husband. It seemed his cousin needed an early lesson in wifely obedience. Beyond reason now, he decided that the lesson would begin right away. What better time?
20th November
Elizabeth woke suddenly from a deep sleep, thinking she'd heard a voice call her name. A familiar voice that, half-asleep she couldn't quite place. She rose, lit a candle, drew on her robe and went barefoot out into the corridor. Her sister's door opened at the same time, apparently roused by the same sound and they hesitated, waiting in the corridor together, to hear if the sound was repeated. When they heard more cries, Elizabeth, realising which room they were coming from, dashed to the door and threw it open, looking over to where her other sister had been sleeping. Her candle faintly illuminated a moving shape on a shaking bed, but she had trouble comprehending what she was seeing - the shape was too large to be a single person.
Elizabeth was horrified when a male voice groaned and called out, 'Oh, God! Oh God!' as hysterical, feminine sobs and cries filled the room. She strode further into the room, demanding, 'What is the meaning of this?'
The male voice cried out something incomprehensible, the shape jerked once or twice more, then stilled and slumped down. Gasps sounded over the now muffled female cries. It was some seconds before the mass separated into two figures, the topmost one rolling to face her. It bore a sickening, glassy-eyed expression in the light from her candle, and was a face she recognised. It was Mr Collins. The wild sobbing increased in volume as he had moved and was a sound she was very familiar with after fifteen years. Mr Collins and… Lydia?
Elizabeth was left speechless, trying to understand what was occurring and Mr Collins chose to fill the silence.
'Ah, Cousin Elizabeth, despite your unexpected intrusion, I will forgive you and must ask for your congratulations!' he began, a broad smile on his face. 'You find here the happiest of men, my dearest Jane and I were just celebrating - albeit in a rather… um… anticipatory… fashion and, which I should probably have mentioned sooner, one unfitting for the delicate eyes of a maiden such as yourself, for which I must apologise - our forthcoming bethro…' His eyes moved over her shoulder and his face paled, his expression changing to one of confusion, his rather convoluted speech dying on his lips.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to see that Jane had entered after her. Her face was white in her candlelight, eyes wide and her hand was clasped to her mouth. Releasing a small sob, she turned her face away, and Elizabeth hurried over to the bedside, glaring furiously at her cousin. 'If you have harmed my sister…' she spat.
Movement in the doorway announced the presence of another. The expressionless, and rather casually dressed, Mr Darcy. How long he had been there, Elizabeth could not say. Long enough, no doubt.
'Mr Collins,' said he, moving further into the room. 'I cannot imagine that you have a good explanation for being in Miss Lydia's bed. I must confess I am shocked that a man of your calling would be so. Has her health so deteriorated, that last rites, or confession, were deemed necessary?'
'I… I… Miss Lydia?'
As Mr Darcy's words sank in, an expression of fear passed rapidly over his face, followed by beads of sweat. Mr Collins dabbed at his forehead with the bedsheet and briefly glanced down at his still sobbing bed-mate, now wrapped in her older sister's arms, face hidden. His eyes narrowed. 'But surely… this is my cousin Jane's room. I have selected her as my future mate and we are to be married…'
'Get out!' spat Elizabeth. 'Can you not see my sister is ill. How dare you take advantage of her like this.'
Mr Darcy strode over to the bed, towering over the now profusely sweating man in the nightshirt. 'Come with me, Mr Collins. You need to dress and then you will explain yourself to the Master of the house.'
Mr Collins threw back the covers and Elizabeth shuddered and turned her eyes away as the lack of covering over his nether regions became obvious. He consciously tugged the nightshirt down while struggling to leave the bed, then scuttled toward the door. He attempted a detour toward Jane, who studiously remained facing the wall, but Mr Darcy grasped the back of his collar and steered him away. 'I think not, Mr Collins.'
As he pushed Mr Collins from the room, Mr Darcy paused and said, 'Ladies, I will ensure he is dressed and then we will be in Mr Bingley's study. Once you have settled your sister I hope that you will join us there.'