Chapter 5

The low knock was barely audible, but the door was immediately opened to reveal Mr. Darcy. He closed the door and moved towards the bed in a manner that she had never seen in him before. His whole body spoke of apprehension and his movements were almost hesitant. Yet there was an innate dignity to his posture that could not be suppressed.

He was too far removed for her to be able to smell alcohol on him, if it was there, and she hoped desperately that he was sober. He seemed calm, which gave Elizabeth hope that he was not there to castigate her again. His criticism was cutting enough when he was sober, and she could only imagine the flow his drunken vitriol would take.

At that point she was as vexed with herself as with him, at her body's failure, just one of many for which he would have condemned her, since she had come to Netherfield. She was feeling so uncomfortable that she did not think to be surprised at, or question, his change in attitude.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet."

This was said in the middle of the night, as she sat on her bed in her nightgown. She did not deign to respond.

"I hope that you are feeling better."

In truth, she wasn't. Weeks of poor sleep, erratic diet and stress had worn her down. So much so, that her ordinarily healthy body had given out that evening, just for a few moments; she hadn't even gotten a rest out of the experience, as she had woken while she was being carried to her bed and her foot struck the banister. Her shock at feeling a pair of strong male arms wrapped around her put her on edge immediately: such close proximity to a man portended very confusing and alarming things for her of late. But she was sick of it- sick of being on guard and doubting herself, doubting everybody else. She had squeezed her eyes further shut and made the conscious effort to relax; and for the first time in three weeks, she had done just that. She relaxed. She let her mind still and the only thing in the world was the rhythm of her breathing and the lub-dub of her heartbeat. She expanded her awareness to include the man carrying her. She focused on his breathing and his heartbeat, and the steadiness of both made her steady. The situation reminded her of her father carrying her to bed as a child after a long evening playing on his library floor. She began to wonder at this man's identity. He walked through the door to her chamber, placed her gently on the bed and moved away. Elizabeth knew that this was the time to take a peek unobserved and she opened her eyes to see Fosset's broad face looking across the bed to Jane as she thanked and dismissed him. A pang of disappointment had pierced her at seeing that the reassuring heartbeat had belonged to Mr. Bingley's footman. She smothered it immediately.

Elizabeth was caught up in this memory as Mr. Darcy waited for an answer and it was some moments before she thought to reply.

"Yes, much better- I woke almost instantly. I have taken a little broth and I no longer feel faint."

Elizabeth was so sick of the incessant badgering about her health that evening, primarily from her sister, that she could not bring herself to thank him for his enquiry. She had eventually gotten rid of Jane- persuading her to take her rest and promising to sleep herself- and she nearly rolled her eyes when she heard Mr. Darcy's next words.

"But you have not slept."

It was not a question. He did not need to ask her: her eyes were underlined by deep grey circles. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was responsible, if not for their existence, at least for prolonging the agony that had caused them. Seeing her hit the floor with a surprisingly loud thud had opened his eyes to her suffering and his part in it. He may even have insisted on carrying her up to her room, if the footman had not rushed to her first. The apothecary had been called and his diagnosis of fatigue, undernourishment and grief had been a shock to Darcy. He had been aware of her anguish in the moment when she had learned of her father's death, but since then he had very little of it. He hadn't wanted to see it. Ever since he had grasped the influence that Elizabeth had over him- even as she lay passively on the couch allowing him to administer to her like a servant tending his master- he had not wanted to know. He had wanted to expose himself to her influence. His realisation now of just how much she was suffering gave him a different perspective on her conduct. Not only had she been genuine in her request for aid, it occurred to him that his 'aid' may in itself have been disturbing to her, particularly given his criticism of her for coming to him again last night. He had debated whether to never address that issue again, to forget the save her more pain, but she had come to him only twenty four hours before to ask for exactly what he was about to offer her. In the end, he decided that it was not for him to decide. He began tentatively:

"Your mind is still…scattered?"

Scattered…scattered, where did that…? Oh God! He was using her words; the words she had spoken when she had humiliated herself before him last night in his bedroom. Was it only last night?

Darcy could see her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud. She was physically shrinking away from him, back into the upholstered headboard. He panicked and blurted out his next statement, not remembering the speech he had prepared, but managing to communicate the gist of it.

"Miss Bennett, I am here to apologise on three counts for my behaviour of late and I do so now most penitently."

"In the middle of the night, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth was not so cowed that she could pass that one up. He had the good grace to colour at her quip, but soldiered on.

"My words to you and the allegations I made were abhorrent." Elizabeth was feigning disinterest, but her heart stopped at his volte-face and she hung on every word.

"I should never have accused you of artifice. The comment about… the maid, it was beneath me, and such behaviour would undoubtedly be beneath you." He paused here and was clearly expecting her to respond. But what could she say? She did not know that she dared to open her mouth for fear of what might come out. She only knew that it would not be brief and it would not be considered. He took her silence as permission to continue and did so at length.

"I never realised how affected I have been by the culture of dissimulation and deceit that exists in London society, until now. A gentleman in my position must be vigilant against such nefarious schemes, for obvious reasons, but it is not your fault that such behaviour occurs and is common practice in the Ton; I should not have accused you of it. That coupled with our misunderstanding in the garden... I cannot go into details, Miss Bennett. I will merely say that, for very pertinent reasons, I am sensitive about my sister and the protection I afford her. Your remarks, your implications, did not sit well with me."

Was this an apology? He had made one lacklustre concession and then followed it with a backhanded criticism. He seemed to still believe that she would wish to have him, for obvious reasons, and would merely not lower herself to commit the necessary actions to entrap him. He had also apparently not forgiven her for her gibe at him in the gardens.

"As for my behaviour this evening- I was quite drunk. I should not have aired my grievances in such a public arena. If it is any consolation, I do not believe that anyone else at the table was aware of it. I realise now that many of my objections were unfounded."

"That brings me to the final point for which I would like to apologise- my heartless disregard for the distress you were in and my refusal to help you. I can only justify my actions, or lack thereof, by saying that my own discomfort at the time was such that I failed to recognise yours. This led me to attribute motives to you that I had no basis for doing. I can see now the physical manifestation of your distress and acquit you of any manipulation in coming to me last night."

He did not mention his charge of her being a wanton, she noticed. He evidently did not wish to retract that remark. In truth, the idea that she was drawn to him for more than the practical effect of what he could do for her, was not unappealing to him. As long as she did not develop expectations that he was not prepared to meet, the idea was thrilling: there was something rousing about a woman, this woman in particular, yearning for him.

For a variety of reasons, he would no longer deny her whatever succour she would get from him.

"Rather than continue apologising for words that I cannot take back, I would like to make amends now, by… helping you… in any way that I can. I would like to put your mind at ease."

She doubted only for a moment that he intended to give her what she wanted- and she did want it, even now. The way he was studying her face reminded her of that day in the library when, she now realised, he had been judging her susceptibility to the actions he was planning to take. She recalled how she had felt that day, both before and after, especially after, he had done it. She had felt so good, in body and mind afterwards, and that ease had been converted into gratitude and an uncharacteristic benign feeling towards Mr. Darcy. She wanted to get back to that feeling he had created in her. She didn't care that he was arrogant, selfish, that even his apology had focused more on himself, than on her. She wanted to regain that sensation of tranquility.

Elizabeth did not have to say anything. She merely shifted down in the bed to lie flat on the mattress. When he did not immediately move closer, she turned her head to give an unspoken, insolent command to come. Darcy moved to the bed and sat down as if it were made of glass. He swallowed uncomfortably and took a woollen blanket from the end of the bed, which he used to carefully cover her lower half. Elizabeth secretly enjoyed this.

"Could you bend your knees and part your legs. That would be…easiest." God he hated this, hated how detached he sounded, even to himself, but it had to be this way.

She blushed adorably before slowly complying. She was deliberate in her leisureliness, not wanting to appear eager. Little did she know the effect this had on Darcy as he watched her tantalisingly, as if performing, spread her legs and expose her cunt to him, but for the one thin covering that was saving him from madness.

They both knew what was happening this time. They both knew what would come next. But he did not move and neither did she. They just waited. Elizabeth was looking at the ceiling, tensed in anticipation. This impasse would continue indefinitely unless Darcy jolted himself from his inertia and acted, which finally he did; a little too enthusiastically, as it happened, as the finger that he had thrust under the blanket, instead of reaching her clitoris, as he had intended, plunged inside her, just as far as his first knuckle. She clenched reflexively around him with a squeak and they both froze, eyes locked in mutual horror. He lowered his when he recollected himself and only then did he withdraw his finger.

"My apologies. I hope I did not injure you."

"I am well." Please continue, she almost said, but caught herself just in time.

He took a moment to orientate himself and was tempted to pull up the blanket to take a look. He quickly found her pearl, however, and fell into that steady rhythm that had served him so well the last time. Elizabeth was in a very different position than she had been in that first time. Then, she had been shocked, confused and paralysed. Now, she was fully aware of what was going on and her mind was afire with questions and judgements and emotions. That was, until Darcy's exertion began to bear fruit and Elizabeth recognised that memorable feeling of rising heat. She felt unaccountably connected to Darcy, as they had both agreed to do this and were seeing it through together. She already felt more relaxed and the hours of sleep she had missed for the past few weeks tugged on her eyelids. She allowed herself to close her eyes and immediately felt less inhibited, as though he could no longer see her either, when her eyes were closed.

This was much to Darcy's gratification, as it allowed him both to watch her without embarrassment and to see her more expressive reaction to his labours: her hands lay limp at her sides and her knees splayed open even wider. Soon it was clear that she was not going to re-open her eyes, not having done so once since closing them, and he allowed his emotions free rein over his face, as he so very rarely did. The smile that spread over his lips, however, was small, as he was still in anticipation of her release and would not be happy until he had achieved it.

It was clear to him from her increasingly gruff vocalisations and unrestrained responses that she was so moved as to have lost all control and was hardly aware of his presence. He decided to indulge a little of his curiosity about her physical person and the reactions he could incite, and moved his hand lower. He was exceedingly nervous in doing so, as nervous as he had been the first time he had touched her and he watched her face anxiously as he slid his hand down from her bud to find her two lips, which signalled the opening that had beckoned him almost from the earliest moments of their acquaintance.

His interest was a mixture of licentiousness and genuine curiosity, but he made sure that his investigations took the form of caresses that incited continuous soft mewling from Elizabeth. He tickled her pliant outer lips with his fingers and was even bold enough to part them and investigate the soft, moist skin underneath. He played around the entrance to her hole, and found her very receptive indeed to this, but would go no further. After a few minutes of experimentation, however, he decided that nothing brought her more pleasure than his rubbing her clitoris and, realising that she was so relaxed and exhausted as to be almost in a torpor, he decided it was past time to finish. He returned to her clitoris, took hold of her knee and with such vigorous movements that came to involve, not only his finger and wrist, but his whole arm, he was proud to bring her to completion within a minute.

The lady seemed somewhat bewildered by his increased application and the frighteningly powerful throbbing it produced in her groin. Her eyes shot open briefly before the most beautiful scream Darcy had ever heard burst from her and he involuntarily grunted in sympathy. She immediately relaxed every muscle in her body. She was almost unaware of Darcy's presence and freely exhibited her immense pleasure: legs flopped open, eyes closed again, as a satisfied grin widened over her face. Darcy could not glory in his achievement as he listened anxiously to determine whether they had been detected by anyone in the house.

After a moment of silence, he was satisfied at least that no one was suspicious enough to investigate and returned his attention to Elizabeth. She was still releasing quiet, satisfied groans, when Darcy discreetly wiped his hand on the blanket and removed himself from the bed, pulling over the counterpane to gently tuck her in. He thought he heard her thank him, but she was already so close to sleep, that her slack mouth could not be properly understood. He smiled broadly now in unadulterated pleasure at a job well done. Tonight had been about helping her and assuaging his guilt and he had succeeded admirably in both. He would not permit himself to fixate on the control he had given her tonight and its implications for their remaining time at Netherfield. That could wait until the morning. He allowed himself a moment to watch her snuggle deeper into the blankets, her pleasure still playing across her sleeping face, before turning and soundlessly departing for his own room.