Elizabeth sat, stunned by what had just transpired, for several minutes after Mr. Darcy disappeared from her side. Had that really just happened? She looked down at the state of her apparel. Her dress was quite wrinkled and bunched around her knees, and her bodice had two wet spots over her nipples. She could feel escaped strands of hair on the back of her neck. Suddenly snapping out of her passion-induced haze, Elizabeth quickly straightened the pillows on the sofa and darted up the stairs to her chamber. If Mr. and Mrs. Collins should return home to discover her in such a state, she was sure they would have little doubt as to the nature of her activities.

When she saw her disheveled reflection in the glass, she started. She looked a fright, hair flying in every direction and red splotches from her cheeks to her chest. Pulling the hanging pins from her hair and removing her rumpled dress were her most immediate concerns. Once she had readied herself for bed, she climbed in gratefully, hiding her face beneath the counterpane. Her emotions vacillated violently between shame and elation. The thought that in the morning she would have to face Mr. Darcy again brought a renewed flush to her cheeks.

She would have to give him an answer to his proposal. After the shocking liberties she had allowed him, she felt that she had no option but to accept him, and, indeed, she wanted to accept him. She had enjoyed what had transpired, despite the impropriety of the interlude, and thought that being his wife would not be at all unpleasant in that regard. But she just couldn't banish his faults from her mind. What about Jane? Wickham? Darcy's reaction when she had mentioned Wickham puzzled her. What did he mean he had lost enough to Wickham? Was not Wickham the one who had lost a great deal at Mr. Darcy's hands? It did not make any sense, but she knew that, if she were to marry him with a clear conscience, she would have to find a way to convince him to atone for his past sins. At least, she though, with her always around to upbraid him for his thoughtlessness, he would hurt fewer people in the future.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and imagined Mr. Darcy in bed with her, as he had told her to before he left. His arms stealing around her, his warm, hard chest pressed against her back, his lips on her shoulder...Elizabeth shuddered. She turned to face her imaginary lover and kissed him passionately, opening herself up to receive his lovemaking with eagerness and enthusiasm. Elizabeth shivered anew to think that she might be treated to an encore performance of the evening's events the next morning.

As soon as he was a out of sight of the parsonage, Darcy stopped to perfect his appearance. He buttoned up his waistcoat, smiling at the memory of Elizabeth's graceful little fingers undoing the buttons, then stroking over his chest and abdomen with unrestrained appreciation. As he attempted to knot his cravat, he remembered Elizabeth kissing and biting at his neck. Did she leave a mark? To wear the mark of her desire would be the greatest honor he had ever received. He hoped fervently that he would received an ever greater honor from her on the morrow, by gaining her acceptance of his offer.

Darcy was stunned by the passion with which Elizabeth responded to his advances. Stunned, but elated. He had always wondered if her lively nature and adventurous spirit would translate to the marriage bed, and he believed he now had proof that it did to his complete satisfaction. He was put in mind of something she had said to him at Rosings one evening. My courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me. He chuckled to himself. "Yes, if certainly did."

Despite his delight in the interlude, Darcy couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed of his loss of control. Not that he was surprised by it. There had always been a tension in the air whenever Elizabeth had been in the same room with him. He understood the nature of this tension all too well, though Elizabeth seemed to have been frustrated and confused by it. He was sure he had just enlightened her. It had never been his intention to go so far, but he had always tended to forget himself completely in Elizabeth's presence. He took it as further proof that they were meant to be together.

Darcy discovered that he could still smell her essence on his fingers. Such a shock of desire flooded over him, that he nearly ran back to the parsonage to enjoy more of her delights. "Tomorrow morning," he reminded himself. It was terribly wicked of him, but he knew he would not be able to resist further experimentation, should Elizabeth prove willing. If she behaved at all as she had this evening, he was sure he would not be disappointed.

The morning dawned bright and uncharacteristically warm. Elizabeth hurried through her toilet, not wanting to keep Mr. Darcy waiting. She still had doubts about answering his proposal, but couldn't deny that she wanted to be near him again. The thrill of the forbidden had not left her, and she trembled for more of his touch. It was like sneaking sugar from the kitchen or secretly reading the forbidden, naughtier books in her Papa's library, only much more thrilling.

When she saw him step out of the bushes she stopped in her tracks. He looked especially handsome in his dark blue jacket with tan breeches, and, of course, riding boots. He must have noticed her admiration of his form, for he raised an eyebrow and pulled his hat from his head, tossing it into the bushes. He grinned at Elizabeth in a silent challenge.

Never one to back down to a challenge, Elizabeth raised her chin and slowly untied the ribbons of her bonnet, letting it fall to the ground at her feet. Darcy grinned lecherously as her dark hair tumbled haphazardly over her shoulders. Elizabeth swallowed hard when his fingers began working the buttons of his jacket, which soon landed in the dewey grass. He turned and began moving from the path into the woods, untying the nots of his cravat and eyeing Elizabeth as he went.

Elizabeth followed, answering his challenge by unbuttoning her pelisse and laying it across some low shrubs. She removed her gloves and laid them on top of it, then gave him the most defiant look she could muster. Darcy grinned as he draped his cravat over a low-hanging limb. He took a few more steps into the woods, then leaned down to remove one boot, then the other. Elizabeth walked a little ahead of him and sat down on a fallen tree to remove her half-boots. She quickly covered her feet with her dress when she noticed his intense scrutiny of her ankles.

Darcy laughed quietly at her modesty, and pulled off his stockings. Elizabeth blushed hotly as she admired his shapely calves. For several moments she sat frozen, all easily surrendered articles already having found their place on the forrest floor.

"Your move, my lady," Darcy said huskily. His provocative gaze gave Elizabeth the courage she needed to slip her hands under her skirt and remove one stocking. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and let it fall to the ground. Now clad in only thin linen shirt and knee-length breeches, she had never seen him look more attractive. In an uncharacteristically bold move, Elizabeth decided that she would torment him as he was tormenting her. She turned to sit with both her feet on the fallen tree, then slowly lifted her skirts to give him a full view of her stocking-clad leg and the creamy skin of her thigh above her garter.

She smiled at his deep groan. She glanced triumphantly at him out of the corner of her eye, noting how he bit his lips and clenched his fists as she slowly slid her stocking down her leg. After she dropped the stocking she looked at him again and raised an eyebrow.

Darcy groaned again. She was the most enticing sight he had ever seen, and his arousal was now reaching painful proportions.

"Damn it!" he growled as he quickly closed the distance between them. Elizabeth gasped as he used his left hand to swing her legs over the edge of the log, while his right gripped her waist and pulled her hard against his body. His lips crushed hers roughly, and his hands caressed her legs, wrapping them around his waist. They both gasped when his arousal pressed into her hips.

When his mouth moved to her neck, Elizabeth saw an opportunity to provoke him further.

"Does this mean you surrender, Mr. Darcy?"

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. The passion in his took her breath away.

"Never, Miss Elizabeth." With that, he released her, took a step back, and pulled his shirt over his head. Now it was Elizabeth's turn to groan. He was so beautiful, so perfect. She tentatively reached out to trace her fingers from the patch of hair on his chest down the trail of hair that led down his stomach and disappeared into his breaches.

He caught her exploring hand in his and kissed it. "Your turn."

Elizabeth stood and started walking away from him, unbuttoning her dress as she went. When she finally reached the last button, he stepped up behind her and pulled her back against him. He pushed the dress down over her shoulders until it fell to the ground, and she stood in only her chemise and corset. His hands moved over her, down over her hips and then back up to cup her breasts as his mouth moved over her neck and shoulders.

Elizabeth was stunned ,and even a bit indignant, when he suddenly removed his hands from her body. As soon as she heard him pulling at the buttons on his breaches, she froze. She heard them land on the ground near her dress. She stood as still as a statue, unsure what she was to do now.

Darcy grabbed her by her shoulders and spun her to face him. His naked body was magnificent, if not a little intimidating. She had often tried to imagine what his legs looked like under his clothes, but the reality which stood before her was so much more breathtaking than her imaginings. She traced his chest and stomach again with her fingers.

"Well, Elizabeth?"

She knew what he expected of her now, but she hesitated. Her entire body trembled. He stepped closer and hooked his finger into the front of her corset, pulling it as much away from her body as he could and admired her breasts. Elizabeth's hands slid over his smooth back, and they kissed again.

It took several moments for them both to register the sound of a horse approaching from a distance. Elizabeth gasped and pulled away from him, quickly stooping to grab her dress. She ran as fast as she could in her bare feet over the forest floor, collecting her other discarded items as fast as she could manage. She wrapped her pelisse around her shoulders and kept running until she was confident enough in her distance from the horseman to stop and dress fully. She trembled to remember what they had done, and to think of what they almost did. She looked around for Darcy, but he was nowhere to be seen. She had run a fair distance in the direction of the parsonage. She was not surprised she had lost him. He had probably run in the direction of the great house.

Elizabeth looked down at the pile of remaining items on the ground. She was puzzled to see a ball of tan fabric among her stockings, half-boots, bonnet, and gloves. Suddenly, she realized what she had done. In her haste to dress herself, she had grabbed his breeches by mistake! With a mischievous laugh, she finished dressing, then hid the breeches in her pelisse and ran the rest of the remaining distance back to the parsonage.

Back in the woods, Darcy was searching frantically for his breeches. He had quickly collected his clothing, after watching Elizabeth scramble to collect hers and then disappear into the woods. Too painfully aroused to run after her, or away from the approaching horse, he had simply leaned against a tree and waited for the encroacher to pass. It was unlikely that they would deviate from the path, but it was probably just Richard anyway. If it were, he would simply curse his cousin for scaring Elizabeth away. He could just imagine the look of astonishment...and jealousy... on his cousin's face. That would teach him to flirt with my Elizabeth, he thought with a smirk.

When the immanent danger had passed and he had begun to collect his clothes, he had soon realized that his breeches were not among them. It wasn't difficult to conjecture that Elizabeth had somehow ended up in possession of them, whether by accident or cruel design was more difficult to say.

As the minutes crawled by, and Elizabeth was nowhere to be found, Darcy began to worry about what he should do. He could not simply walk the mile or so back to the great house without his breeches. Even if he had the good fortune to make it to the house without being seen, there was no way to make it to his chambers without encountering the servants. It seemed that his only recourse was to wait upon Elizabeth's mercy.

Elizabeth could not control her grin as she finished her mid-day meal with Mr. and Mrs. Collens and Maria. Her revenge was now to be complete. By her estimation, Mr. Darcy had either had to walk back to the great house sans breeches, or Mr. Darcy has been siting in the woods, sans breeches of course, for the past three and a half hours. Oh, yes, her revenge was sweet indeed.

She threw her napkin down upon the table and excused herself to walk out again. Mr. and Mrs. Collens were discussing taking Maria into the village for some shopping, so they did not question Elizabeth on her choice of afternoon pastime. Once in her room, she collected sever pieces of paper, a pen and inkwell, as well as the pilfered breeches, and set out into the woods.

When she reached the spot where he had first joined her on their rather unorthodox walk, she took a few steps into the brush opposite where they had left the path earlier and hid his breeches under some leaves. On her way back to the path she found his discarded hat, which she decided to bring along.

Several yards into the woods, she saw him sitting just as she had imagined. He leaded against a tree wearing only his shirt, his jacket underneath him and his waistcoat over his lap. He turned quickly at her giggle.

He turned back away from her and said, "I believe you have something that belongs to me, Miss Elizabeth."

"Indeed I do, Mr. Darcy" She smiled devilishly and tossed him his hat.

"You know perfectly well that it was not the hat to which I was referring," he replied, and bestowed upon her the most withering scowl he could muster.

"You shall have your breeches back, Sir. But first, you must complete two tasks of my choosing."

"And what is it you would have to do, my dear?"

She thrust half the paper into his hand, as well as the ink and pen. He gave her a puzzled look, and she sat down by his bare feet.

"You will write a letter to Mr. Bingley telling him you where wrong to interfere in his life, apologizing for said interference, and encouraging him to return to Netherfield to court my sister."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then, impressed by her gumption, replied, "Very well. I suppose that is something I should do, regardless."

He opened the inkwell, dipped the pen in it, and began to write. When he was finished he handed the letter to Elizabeth for her approval. She read it, then folded it and tucked it into her bodice.

"Excellent. I shall post this tomorrow."

"Your second demand, my love?"

She handed him the remaining paper.

"Now, you will write to Mr. Wickham, apologizing for your ill treatment of him and offering to make amends."

He was instantly livid.

"Madam, you do not know what you ask! I cannot.."

"Then walk back to the great house as you are." She stood, but he grabbed her ankle and held her fast.

"Very well," he growled as he took up the pen once again. But, instead of writing a letter to Wickham, Darcy wrote out the entire story of his dealings with Wickham from youth, but especially detailing Wickham's attempted elopement with his sister, Georgaina and squandering of his inheritance. When he finally completed his tale, he handed the paper to Elizabeth, then sat back against the tree to watch the play of emotions over her face as she read.

Finally, her hand went up to cover her open mouth, and she breathed, "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"There is nothing for which to be sorry, Miss Elizabeth. You are not the first to be taken in my Wickham's charm. Thank you for believing me."

"I have no reason to doubt your word, Mr. Darcy, " she replied, still dumbfounded by his revelation.

She tucked the paper into her bodice with the other letter. " I promise to burn this as soon as I return to the house."

"Thank you."

Elizabeth felt awful. She had misjudged him terribly. She had been taken in by Wickham's charm, and had not even considered that there might be another side to the story. She felt the last barriers that stood between her heart and the man in front of her crumbling. Slowly, she traced the muscles of his bare legs with her fingers, along his shin and up his thigh. She met his eyes. They were full of emotion, hope and longing. Rising on her knees, she took his face between her hands and kissed him softly.

"I'll be right back," she suddenly said as she jumped up and ran to the spot where she had hidden his breeches. When she returned with them, she held them out to him. He nodded his thanks and pulled them on. Elizabeth made no attempt to avert her eyes.

He picked up his soiled coat and began to dust it off.

"Well, Miss Elizabeth, I believe you owe me."

Elizabeth was confused for a moment, but his eyes raking over her figure soon told his meaning.

"Never fear, Mr. Darcy. You shall receive your compensation," she leaned in to him and whispered in his ear,

"on our wedding night."