Page 17 of Desired By Mr Darcy
He hissed as his hand tightened, his hips bucking upwards of their own control. He allowed the book to fall from his fingers, his eyes closing as he allowed himself this pleasure. There was no doing anything but; the images had given a shape tosomething he had only imagined. He could only imagine how much better Elizabeth would feel than his own hand.
Oh, what would it be like to have his sweet Elizabeth ride him, a leg either side as she gazed down at him? To bury his face between her thighs, to know her sweet cunt and to worship it as she deserved?
With that thought, he bit back a pained moan as he came, pulling up his shirt desperately as streaks of white spilled across his stomach. He lay on the bed, still fully dressed save for his open breeches crudely revealing his softening manhood. He blinked down at the mess cooling on the soft, hair dappled skin of his stomach.
What had happened to him? He had no intention of ever touching himself in such a way, and yet he could not control himself. Those pictures, the ideas that had taken root in his head…The words he had used in his mind, the desires he held, unlocked in that moment…It was a haze he could barely remember.
His lust was something he would make every endeavour to forget.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth
It had been two days since the dreadful conversation with her mother, and yet her words still rang in Lizzy’s ears.
Wanton. Harlot.
Such terms were an insult she could not believe her mother would bestow upon her. However greatly she was disliked – and she had always been insignificant in her mother’s eyes – she did not believe her mother capable of stooping to such an insult. She had done nothing wrong, save for the briefest of kisses.
Perhaps they had not been so brief, but they had surely not been so passionate as to cause her ruin!
The carriage rattled over the uneven road, the creak of its wheels and the occasional snort of the horses the only sounds to fill the stifling silence. Lizzy kept her gaze fixed out the window, though the countryside whirring past offered little comfort. She felt Jane’s eyes on her, filled with worry, but Lizzy couldn’t bring herself to look back.
Her mother, on the other hand, seemed entirely unbothered. Mrs Bennet sat primly, her hands folded in her lap, the faintest air of smug satisfaction about her. Every so often, she wouldsigh deeply, as if burdened by a great responsibility. Lizzy bit her tongue to keep from snapping at her.
Jane leaned forward at last, her voice gentle but firm.
“Mama, would you not agree that London looks lovely at this time of year? I have heard the parks are particularly beautiful in autumn.”
Mrs Bennet huffed.
“Lovely or not, it is of little consequence. We shall be occupied with preparing your trousseaus. It is imperative you both have the finest of everything. London society is quite different from Hertfordshire, and your behaviour must be as impeccable as your appearances. It will not do to have torn hems, or ruddy cheeks from exercise.”
Lizzy whipped her head up to face her mother, her temper flaring.
“Mama, I will not sit here and listen to you speak of me as though I am not present. Beisdes, what do you know of London society?”
Mrs Bennet gasped, clutching at her bonnet as if Lizzy’s words had physically struck her.
“Elizabeth, how dare you speak to your mother so! After everything I have done for you - ”
“Done for me?” Lizzy interrupted, her voice rising despite her efforts to remain calm. “What you have done, Mama, is insult me in ways no daughter should have to endure. I have behaved no differently than Jane, and yet you treat me as though I have brought scandal upon this family. Have I ever done anything to make you believe me so dishonourable?”
Mrs Bennet’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no words came. Jane, wide-eyed and visibly distressed, reached out to place a hand on Lizzy’s arm.
“Please, Lizzy,” she murmured, “let us not quarrel. We have enough to concern ourselves with.”
But Lizzy was not as talented in forgiveness as her sister. Her mother’s words had cut too deeply, her accusations too cruel to ignore.
“Tell me, Mama,” she pressed, her voice trembling now with emotion. “If you think me so wanton, so unworthy, you must be glad to be rid of me. Surely a husband like Mr Darcy is more than you ever hoped for with such a daughter.”
Mrs Bennet’s face turned crimson.
“Rid of you?” she spluttered. “Rid of you! Elizabeth Bennet, you ungrateful child, do you think I take no pride in your match? Do you think I do not lie awake at night praying you will not ruin everything with your wild ways? You do not understand what is at stake!”
Lizzy’s chest heaved; her throat tight with unshed tears.
“No, Mama, I do not understand. Perhaps you should explain it to me, instead of hurling insults and making me feel as though I have committed some unpardonable sin.”
