Chapter 6

Elizabeth stood outside a room which she had never been into before. Even as she had followed Mr. Darcy's directions to the end of the corridor on the second floor, she did not know if she wanted to go through with this. It was not one of the public rooms and she presumed was little used. It would have to be for Darcy to choose it as their meeting place.

Its location was one of the few things he had told her on finding her walking in the garden that morning and she had been too self-conscious to question him. He had seemed in surprisingly good humour and it had made him less awkward in his address than usual, though not more verbose. He had made perfunctory inquiries into her health before suggesting that she meet him in said room at half past eleven that morning, if she wished to make an ongoing arrangement of their activities of the night before. His reasons for the timing of their meeting were that the rest of the household would be occupied directly after breakfast and that it would be less perilous than entering each other's rooms at night. She took the risk he alluded to, to be that of getting caught by someone else in the house, and did not think to consider that Darcy's restrained behaviour might be in jeopardy if she turned up once more in his bedroom, meagrely clad.

Of course, Elizabeth thought, it would be easy for him to meet her at that time: Bingley would be attending to estate business straight after breakfast and Hurst would be unlikely to make an appearance this morning, or require company if he did. She had had a little more trouble. Caroline Bingley had been playing the hostess, holding court once more in the morning room. She had not been at all happy with the events of the night before. Though she had not fully understood what had taken place between Darcy and Elizabeth during the game, she was almost certain that something had. As for her brother and Jane Bennet, the state of affairs there was glaringly obvious. It would have to be dealt with and she supposed that it would be left to her to do it. All of this was making her peevish and she did not even try to temper her irritation with the Bennet sisters. When the time had come when she should be departing, Elizabeth had not felt that she could leave her sister in that atmosphere.

Mrs. Hurst, she noticed, had mellowed since her frosty reception yesterday, and, although not affable by any means, was not actively seeking to belittle or disrespect either Bennet sister today. When Miss Bingley eventually announced her intention to leave the room to conduct her daily interrogation of the housekeeper, Elizabeth felt it would now be safe to leave Jane in Mrs. Hurst's company and, pleading fatigue, told the ladies that she would spend some time in her room. Miss Bingley, who had delighted in telling Elizabeth how ill she looked all morning, sent her off with an enthusiasm that was only barely appropriate. Now Elizabeth was late, by nearly twenty minutes, which only added to her concerns about their meeting.

Suffice it to say that Darcy was not pleased. He had arrived early for their rendezvous, putting off Bingley's request for him to meet with his steward; he was a busy man, the master of Pemberley, with many responsibilities, even when away from home, but he had made an appointment and kept it. If he could do this, he did not see why Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn village could not. The longer he waited, the more it spoiled the buoyant mood he had been in since last night.

He had slept easier than at any time since Elizabeth had come to stay at Netherfield. When she had turned up at breakfast, he had been happy to see her colour returned after their productive encounter of the night before (which had also had the benefit of taking his mind off of their less than pleasant previous interactions). After making his excuses at a twenty past eleven sharp, he had sauntered to the corner room where he would meet Elizabeth.

Its size and location would suggest that it had been a private sitting room and with large windows in the two corner walls it would have been bright, were it not for their greying nets and heavy curtains. In fact, the room was being used for storage and was full of a variety of mismatched pieces of furniture, most of which seemed to have come from the public rooms of the house. Their style was more ornate than the current fashion, and Darcy could easily imagine that they had not met with Miss Bingley's standards, hence their relinquishment to this room. Several tables, including a large dining table, were stacked on top of each other, legs jutting up into the air, and numerous sets of dining chairs and other seats were scattered around the room. There were also two couches, one of which was without its legs, the other was missing its cushions and only the hard wooden frame remained.

Darcy was reminded of the purpose of his visit here and that he needed to prepare the room for Elizabeth. Where would he put her? He took the only free path through the furniture into the centre of the room and left to the fireplace in the interior wall. It was empty and he would not be able to light it without drawing attention to his presence here. A little nook had been created around it, free of furniture except for a large high backed wing chair- which was perfectly functional, except for a rip in the upholstery- and a matching low footstool. The rest of the room was covered in dust and obviously unused, yet this area had a homely and comfortable air and it seemed that someone else, probably one of the servants, had had a similar idea to Darcy of commandeering the room for their own use. One could not recline on the chair, but it would have to do for Darcy's purpose and he spent a few moments considering how best to pose Elizabeth in it. He was agreeably engaged in this way for a few minutes- solving this erotic conundrum- before he noticed that she should have arrived by now. Checking his fob watch, he saw that she was more than five minutes late.

Arriving at the door fifteen minutes later again, a flustered Elizabeth knocked before she realised what she was doing. Not sure of the etiquette of secret rendezvous, she thought better of waiting for a reply and walked straight in. She would have liked to exude confidence in her entrance, but would have settled for composure as she stepped gingerly into the room and made sure to shut the door behind her. This was not enough for Darcy, it seemed, and he brusquely urged her to lock it. Her pulse raced as she did so before turning back to face him. He stood almost a room's length away from her, yet his presence was overpowering and now there was no way out. The room was a peculiar one, filled with odds and ends of furniture as it was, not to mention its unusual dimensions. It was not a small room, but the ornate ceiling was so high- the room was almost taller than it was wide- that it felt claustrophobic. Darcy stood near the fireplace pouting back at her and she was struck by how ridiculous he looked: primly dressed, watch in hand, surrounded by discarded sofas.

"You are late, Miss Bennet."

That statement set the tone for their engagement. Elizabeth had been so exhausted the night before that she had only a vague memory of it, apart from her coming undone, before collapsing with exhaustion. She did, however, recall his softened manner towards her and she had hoped that he would continue in this vein- a hope that had survived his polite, if not excessively friendly overture to her this morning. Realising now that he was still the same old Darcy spoiled her mood and she looked away from him thinking that she would love to be able to leave now.

He was looking at her expectantly and when she made a vague apology, he beckoned her towards his fireside nook. She looked about the room as she walked, taking in its clutter and even recognised a number of the pieces from her few visits to Netherfield before the previous occupants had left it. When she saw that Darcy was indicating to the wing backed chair, her eyebrows rose in surprise. Though enormous, it was made for one, and she would not be able to lie down on it: she did not see how this would work. For a horrifying moment she thought he wanted her to sit on his lap, before he clarified:

"Please, take a seat."

Still unsure, but relieved, Elizabeth took a seat in the chair, but Darcy did not immediately follow her in sitting. He was lost in thought looking down on her. Her self-consciousness was endearing to him and she looked very small in that big chair. His irritation melted and he gave her a tight smile before arranging his coat tails and sitting on the edge of the low stool. Due to the disparity in their seat heights, she was slightly higher than him. Elizabeth felt that they had never been in closer proximity, which she knew was ridiculous, considering what had passed between them, and since they weren't even touching. The informality of their position was somehow intimate, though, and she could not look him in the eye when she asked, "How should I… in this chair?" Darcy was immediately ready with an answer.

"Could you put a leg over each arm of the chair?"

She contemplated his suggestion and found that the seat of the chair was long enough that she could slouch down, rather inelegantly, and raise her legs enough to hang them over the arms while still keeping her seat. In doing so, however, she had to splay her legs wide open to the extent that she could not properly pull down her dress to cover her legs and she could feel her vagina winking open and shut as she moved, its lips pulled apart to reveal, she was sure, what lay inside, should anyone care to look. After some fussing with her skirts, she had to be satisfied with covering only her most private parts and leaving her legs visible.

Darcy had turned away to give her some privacy as she had arranged herself. When he turned back, her bare leg was the first thing that caught his attention, as he had never seen it before. His eyes followed the shapely line of her calf up to her inner thigh and down to the point of its termination, obscured by a tangle of muslin. At the sight of her spread wide before him, as she had been in only his filthiest dreams, he hoped that he was successful in hiding his agitation with a cough.

His next intake of breath brought a scent to his nose, sweeter than any he'd ever experienced. Her musky odour surrounded him and he suddenly understood why his stallion would throw his head and curl his upper lip at the scent of a mare. It was the type of reaction he wanted to allow himself. He longed for the liberty to somehow exhibit his fervent desire, even if he could not act on it in the only way that would sate him- by mounting Elizabeth right here. His enthusiasm was tempered with frustration and he was painfully aware of the bulge in his trousers as he calmed himself and asked her if she was ready to begin.

He was looking directly at her and she felt that she had to do the same when she answered that she was indeed ready. He reached down- confident now in his decision to continue with this course of action- and, without hesitation, located her clitoris with his thumb. He maintained eye contact as he placed his hand on her lower stomach, relishing the feel of her pubic hair. Darcy's dark gaze was affecting Elizabeth as much as his thumb and she knew that she was already soaking wet. She was mortified to hear the slurp of her juices on his thumb as it slid over her and she turned her head away.

Darcy was happy to see the effect he had on her: her pretty blushes were the only consolation he had in not achieving his own fulfilment. He also knew that the benefit Elizabeth derived from their meetings- as much as he would like to believe it was all down to his personal effect on her- was in large part due to the diversion it provided her from her worries. He decided to make a perverse game out of increasing her distraction: he would try to elicit the strongest reactions he could from her before this was over. With this in mind, he casually reached out and lifted her skirts, his eyes firmly fixed on her cleft. His hand on her stomach did not block his view and her sprawled pose laid everything open to him. He caught a glimpse of heaven before she gasped and pulled her skirt back down crying, "Do you mind!"

His only response was to raise an eyebrow, smirking vexingly, and slowly move his thumb down to trace her outer lips. She knew what this was- he was defying her to reject him, to tell him to remove his hands from her person, but she also knew that she could not do that, not until she had gotten what she needed. She huffed out a breath, tortured by the sensation of his touch, and allowed herself to close her eyes and rest her head on the chair back. She was outraged at him for what he had done. Had he been trying to take liberties (she doubted it, given his lack of one discernible human urge), or merely trying to discompose her with a spur of the moment prank? She was aware that his seeing her sex was not the same as a random gentleman hiking up her skirts in the middle of the drawing room- that a sort of confidence that had developed between them meant that this step by him was one too far, rather than the horrifying leap it would be for any other man. This insight in itself disturbed her as she did not want to share anything with him; have any familiarity between them.

Darcy, thinking her merely disconcerted by his forwardness, was still feeling quite pleased with himself. He had succeeded in distracting her and had proved once again that she wanted this, that he had as much power over her as she did him. Not to mention her wonderful moist aperture, that vision of loveliness that he had glimpsed, which would be the last thing he would see before sleep that night. He decided to continue his experimentation of the night before: he knew where he wanted go and after spending some time further exploring her folds, he, with deliberate leisureliness, thrust his middle finger into her hole as far as it would go. Her resounding grunt was a mixture of satisfaction, frustration and discomfort. Darcy began to move his finger in a beckoning motion inside her. It took some time for him to find the optimum combination of finger placement, movement and speed, but he knew he had hit on an efficacious technique when Elizabeth breathily murmured, "There!"

She gasped at her own wantonness, catching Darcy's eye. His steady gaze in return was not condemnatory, but amused and she was both reassured and furious. When he continued to move his strong, gentle finger as she had requested and added his thumb to her nub, she defiantly held eye contact. It wasn't easy as she was already feeling the effect of his methods and he knew it. His gloating smirk issued another challenge: 'I am going to make you come undone. Resist this if you dare.' The problem was that she did not want to resist. Whatever other exceptionally disagreeable traits he possessed, he was good at this. She had never before experienced the serenity she had at his hands and she would not forgo it just to spite him. She decided she would defy him in another way- she would give herself over so completely to the experience that he would be discomposed.

Her eyes glued to his, she gave in to her impulses as he continued to work on her- every groan and twitch that she felt compelled to make at his touch was realised- as her rising ardour signalled to both of them that she was close to the end. He was both captivated and terrified. How could he respond, without launching himself at her? As it happened, there was no time for him to think of a response, as she was moaning deeply with an almost pained look on her face, his astounded gaze driving her on. Her fingernails dug in to the arms of the chair, pulling her away from its back, and her body was rigid with rising expectation as she panted and murmured unintelligible oaths. She held Darcy's gaze resolutely, as difficult as it was for her to do so in her uncomfortable state. When that wave finally overtook her and she was submerged in it, she came hard with a cry voiced right in Darcy's face. Collapsing back, she finally broke eye contact satisfied that she had made her point and turned her head to enjoy the after effects, without allowing Darcy to ruin it for her.

Darcy felt drained but exhilarated from the experience and he extracted his finger with a squelch. He noticed that her juices had coated most of his hand. Elizabeth's skirt had ridden up quite a lot, but Darcy tried not to look: for some reason he knew it would not be right to do so, now that the encounter was over. He did not immediately leave the room, but removed himself to the fireplace, looking into it. This was pointless, as it was empty, but for Elizabeth's comfort, and to allow his own passions to cool, he continued to look away. He knew she was ready for him to turn around when she began to rustle her skirts as she fixed them, her feet once again lowered to the floor. He caught her eye and held out his hand to help her to her feet. She begrudgingly took it but removed her hand from his the moment she was standing. As she checked her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace, Darcy looked on, enjoying the intimacy their assignation was providing. When she caught him staring at her, he attempted to hide his embarrassment and, after an awkward moment, strode forward to open the door. He checked that they could safely leave and ushered her through it without a word said by either. They walked away in different directions, but both knew that they would be meeting here again.