This scene should be read at the end of Chapter 18. The Bennet family and Mr. Collins attend the ball at Netherfield. Elizabeth is eager to dance with Wickham, but soon after their arrival finds that he is not there. She attributes this unfortunate occurrence to Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth is further discouraged to find that Mr. Collins intends to occupy her attention for the whole evening. It worries her that he has singled her out among her sisters and is paying special attention to her. The entire night turns into a disaster. Almost every member of her family manages to embarrass themselves by acting foolishly. Fortunately Mr. Bingley is so enchanted with Jane that he does not notice. However, Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley observed it all. Especially when Mrs. Bennet overtly boasts that she believes Mr. Bingley will soon propose to Jane. Elizabeth, distracted by her irritation at Mr. Collins accidently agrees to dance with Mr. Darcy. She unleashes all her anger on him and accuses him of ruining Mr. Wickham's fortunes. Darcy is so upset that Wickham has influenced her, that he lashes out at her.

Darcy entered the breakfast parlor the morning after the Netherfield ball to find Miss Bingley seated alone. Normally he would have avoided being alone in her presence, seeing as she missed no opportunity to recommend herself to him. However, that morning he had a particular wish to speak with her in private.

"Good morning Mr. Darcy. Did you see Charles off?" Caroline asked.

"Yes, I've only just returned from the stables," he responded as he took a place across the table from her.

They began the meal in silence. Darcy waited impatiently until the servants had left the room. Then without preamble, he remarked upon the unpleasant subject that had troubled him since the previous night.

"I wonder if perhaps you had the pleasure of overhearing Mrs. Bennet's conversation with Lady Lucas last night?"

"Unfortunately, I did. It was impossible to avoid hearing her. That woman thinks very highly of herself and her daughters," she said disapprovingly. "Do hurry Mr. Darcy, it seems you now have some competition for Miss Elizabeth's affections. 'Two daughters soon to be married!' I think I heard her say. As if any mother could possibly approve such a man. He is nothing to boast of."

Her comment took Darcy completely by surprise. His concern was diverted from Bingley to Miss Elizabeth. What competition? Wickham perhaps? He wondered what Caroline had learned, but he dared not ask. To do so would only encourage her teasing further. Fortunately she was eager to continue her tirade.

"What think you of him Mr. Darcy? The audacity of the man, taking the liberty of addressing you in that familiar way, without an introduction. As if the trifling matter of his acquaintance with your aunt would be of any interest to you? Impertinence, it seems is a family trait."

Darcy comprehended it was of Mr. Collins that she spoke. He was relieved by half that it was not Wickham. Although the prospect troubled him greatly, he refused to comment any further about Elizabeth.

"I was referring to Mrs. Bennet's insinuations regarding her eldest daughter. Do you think Charles will offer for Miss Bennet?"

Caroline paused a moment, her mouth set in a firm line.

"I fear he may," she said gravely, "I've never seen him so besotted, it is unaccountable."

"And what do you think of her?"

"I admit she is pretty, but she is not the sort I would want for Charles." Her nose crinkled up in disgust, "Her family is intolerable."

Darcy knew she had high aspirations. She desired a favorable match for Bingley. One that would elevate their consequence, and influence society in general to overlook the fact that their father had gained his fortune by trade.

"Charles has always been so fond of dear Georgiana, I had hoped-"

Catching her meaning, Darcy interrupted her immediately, "Georgiana is not out," he said sharply, in a tone that would brook no argument.

The woman was mad if she thought he would use Georgiana so ill as to offer her as an alternate for Bingley's affection. He'd never detected a hint of interest on either side that would suggest a preference of that sort. Georgiana was only sixteen, and not yet herself, after the debacle at Ramsgate. Darcy would do all in his power to prevent Caroline from influencing her for her own schemes.

"Well," continued Caroline, nonchalantly steering the conversation away from that track, "we must separate them."

"What do you propose?"

"Let us quit Netherfield directly and follow Charles to London before he returns. Upon our arrival, we shall send out our cards immediately and accept every offered invitation. When we are not paying calls, or dining out, or at the theater, you shall take him to your club. We must keep him engaged so that he has no time to think of anything else. London is so diverting, he will soon forget her, I'm sure, he is so often in love."

The idea had merit, and it would serve his own purpose as well. It would distance him from another of the Bennet ladies.

"Fine, I will ride out immediately. You and the Hurst's may follow as soon as you can in the carriage."

Darcy made some hurried arrangements and was able to mount his horse a few hours later. He would not be half a day behind Bingley, and would reach London before nightfall. As he came upon the main road and settled into a steady pace, he reflected on all that had occurred in Heartfordshire. The woman who had captured his heart unawares, and who could never be his, would be separated from him forever. He must set aside his strange obsession for her. Nothing proved this more poignantly than what he had learned from Caroline that morning. He supposed that had she not already, she would soon receive an offer from Mr. Collins. He recalled the man's behavior at the ball. Indeed, he had remained irritatingly close to Elizabeth, and peculiarly attentive to her throughout the evening. Darcy had intended to indulge his curiosity by requesting the honor of a dance. When he had finally spied her in the crowd, he saw that she was already engaged by her cousin. Darcy had watched her flush with mortification and misery as Collins stumbled through the set.

She'd accepted Darcy's request for the following set, but as a partner he'd fared even worse than Collins in pleasing her. Darcy attributed her initial silence to the annoyance her cousin had caused her, but she promptly corrected his assumption. She broke out vehemently into an unfavorable assessment of his character. Wickham, it seemed, had given her his account of their falling out. They parted at the conclusion of the dance, both incensed with the other. But Darcy soon forgave her, directing his ire to the man who had poisoned her good opinion against him. Had she known the full truth of the matter, she would never have defended Wickham's conduct. But what did that matter now? She would soon be the wife of another.

The obsequious toad, he would never suit her. The poor girl. Her family's situation meant that she would have no choice but to accept Collins. Darcy could not help but laugh regrettably at the irony; though their circumstances were markedly different, they were both destined for the same fate, marriage to a disagreeable cousin.

It struck him then, that as wife to his aunt's parson Darcy would be sure to see her again whenever he visited Rosings Park. And when he did next see her, he supposed he would find her greatly altered. The charm and vivacity of her nature, which he so greatly admired, would be disdainful to her husband and his patroness. Lady Catherine would take Elizabeth's bold character for obstinance. He lamented that he would be forced to witness her unhappiness. She would belong to that vile man, the very thought of it made his skin crawl. How unjust that such a treasure would be wasted on one who could never please her.

He envisioned chancing upon her undertaking one of her solitary walks in the lanes surrounding the vicarage house. He was intimately familiar with all of it's covert paths and clearings, having spent many a pleasant summer afternoon tramping through the grounds that surrounded Rosings during his boyhood with his cousin Richard. It would take little effort to divert her to a secluded place. He would console her in ways her husband would no doubt be incapable of. Together they would find solace in each others embrace, and a measure of the gratification neither would gain from the marriage bed.

Darcy's salacious musings soon drove him to extremity. He found it quite uncomfortable to remain in the saddle while his member was afflicted with arousal. He dismounted and paced the ground, breathing deeply, attempting to clear his deranged thoughts. Yet his efforts were futile, his sinful illusions rendered him incapable of calm. He secured his horse and moved into the greenery that edged the road. When he was confident that he was out of sight he abandoned himself to his base desires. He leaned against a sturdy tree, loosed his breeches, and took his cock in hand. In his mind he pictured Elizabeth laid out upon a soft woolen blanket in the clearing that would be their secret meeting place. The gentle spring breeze teased her exposed flesh as his tongue left a trail of moisture over the peak of each breast. Her luxurious chestnut curls shone in the sunlight, framing her face, and setting a striking contrast with her fair complexion. Slowly he kissed and licked a path down her body, careful to leave no telling marks upon her that would betray their infidelity. Gently spreading her legs, he settled his shoulders between them. He leisurely kissed along the softness inside her thighs. He inhaled the wild perfume of the blossoms that surrounded them as their fragrances mingled with her heady scent. He heard her pleading cries testifying her impatience. He treasured every stolen moment he had with her, he kissed the swollen lips of her sex. He slid his tongue between them, sampling the forbidden tase of her slick arousal. He circled her entrance, teasing her, leaving her needy and aching. She moaned when he gave her just a bit more by pressing his tongue inside her. She writhed against his face, arching up, seeking more from his wicked tongue. He obliged, stroking through her slit to find the bud at its apex. His voice was deep and soothing as he called to her, reassuring her with praises and promises of the pleasure he would bestow.

"Does he kiss you here, like this?" he prodded, "do you moan for him?"

"No," she gasped.

"Can he make you come?"

"No…"

"I want you to come for me, Lizzy, I need to tase your sweet pleasure."

She moaned and quivered under him, her breath short and frantic as he tormented her. He ground the flat of his tongue against her bud. He teased his fingers between her dewy lips, then thrust them inside her.

"Oh God, Fitzwilliam…" she cried as her pleasure peaked and her body convulsed.

"Yes," he groaned, lapping her sweet nectar from her sex as her thighs quivered.

He moved over her, covering her body with his. He possessed her mouth as he pushed his rigid member into her. She moaned as he filled her, treating her with long sensuously slow strokes. He filled his palms with her breasts and suckled her nipple, biting gently on the hardened, sensitive peak. She arched and pleaded urgently for him to take her faster. But he paced himself, wanting to prolong the exquisite sensations of their joining as long as he possibly could.

She needed more, her pleas ignored, she baited him with temptations he could not resist.

"He is nothing compared to you," she began to rave. "He comes to my bed in the night and uses me without regard. He performs his husbandly duty as formally as he performs his sermons. When he is at me I close my mind to him and think only of you. I imagine your hands upon me, pleasing me in all the ways he never can. I am his by name, but my heart is yours alone Fitzwilliam."

Her confession brought him to the brink, his ardor waxing inexorably closer to the edge of control. Thrusting harder, with increasing urgency, he forced himself deep within her. She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, crying out as her pleasure crested a second time. He struggled to contain himself, pulling hurriedly away in the last moments, but she would not allow it. She wrapped her legs about him and pulled him into her as his seed began to spill from him.

"Lizzy, no…" he gasped. He was at her mercy, prostrated by the force of his climax.

"I want you, Fitzwilliam, I want it to be you who makes me with child, not him."

Darcy wavered, weak kneed and lightheaded, standing alone amongst the trees. Disturbed by the depths of his lecherous desires and disgusted by his actions. He had devolved into a heathen, pleasuring himself on the roadside, indulging in fantasies of cuckolding his rival. His behavior was decidedly below the standards which he hitherto had set for himself. He returned to the road, eager to continue his journey. As he rode on, he wondered what remedy he should seek. He was unsure which would serve him more effectively, the consolation of the church, or the services of a whore.

As always comments and corrections are welcome and appreciated.