Contents

BEFORE MR. DARCY

PREVIEW
AUTHOR'S NOTE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
AFTERWORD
 BEFORE MR. DARCY
I AM HIS: BOOK II
_______________

A STEAMY PRIDE & PREJUDICE VARIATION ROMANCE

BY ALICE QUINN

COPYRIGHT 2020 ALICE QUINN, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

NO PORTION OF THIS WORK MAY BE DUPLICATED OR
DISTRIBUTED WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION.

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL

EVENTS OR PERSONS IS UNINTENTIONAL.

THIS IS A JAFF VARIATION. CHARACTERS, SETTINGS, AND

SITUATIONS FROM JANE AUSTEN’S PRIDE & PREJUDICE FIND A
NEW LIFE HERE, AND FANS OF AUSTEN, OF HER CLASSIC
NOVEL, AND OF MR. FITZWILLIAM DARCY WILL ENJOY
REVISITING THIS WORLD IN A NEW LIGHT.

THIS PARTICULAR RETELLING OF PRIDE & PREJUDICE PLACES

AUSTEN’S CHARACTERS IN NEW AND QUITE STEAMY
ROMANTIC SCENES WHICH SHOULD BE ENJOYED RESPONSIBLY
BY READERS OF A DISCERNING AGE.
 PREVIEW
_______

Elizabeth Bennet has a past.

It isn't the one you know.

In this second installment of the I Am His series, further mysteries of

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's pasts come to light, and further heat blooms
between them as they continue their impulsive affair. Rejoin your favorite
characters for another dive into the world of Jane Austen's regency
England.

This story features characters from the novel Pride & Prejudice in
new and very steamy situations, and should be enjoyed responsibly by
readers of a discerning age.
 AUTHOR’S NOTE
_____________

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a discerning reader in

possession of a Kindle must be in want of a good Pride & Prejudice
variation (or ten). The JAFF genre harbors many treasures, including a
number of excellent novels in their own right. This particular book does not
seek to be a great novel (or even a novel), but is a story told for one
purpose: to give you the pleasure of joining our dear couple, Elizabeth and
Mr. Darcy, in a far steamier romance than Miss Austen saw fit to show us.
That is to say, we will be drawing back the curtains on their private lives
and entertaining a story that might have been, had the social mores perhaps
not restricted either the characters or the author so. This second installment
sees one such encounter. Please be advised that each installment should be
read responsibly by readers of a discerning age.
Finally, thank you, reader, for picking up this title. I do hope you
enjoy it! Let me know what you think by leaving a rating or review, if you
like.

All my love,
Alice
 CHAPTER 1
_________

I sat in the drawing room and waited for a moment to speak. Or more
precisely, a moment to speak privately. Charles had been invited inside,
naturally, and my mother had ushered us to chairs, then proceeded to speak
at us both for the better part of an hour regarding our engagement, and plans
for the ceremony, and the gowns, and whom to invite, and where we would
live, and how we would furnish our home, and of her myriad hopes
regarding grandchildren. It was an utterly exhausting audience.
“Oh,” she was saying, “how very dreadful would it be if you were to
have all girls! Oh! Heavens!”
“Mama!” Lydia said reproachfully in passing, “but you yourself had
all girls!”
For a brief moment some dramatic struggle, comical to behold, took
place on our mother’s face as she wrestled with her very well-justified
concerns about the troubles of having all female children and the various
complications and responsibilities it placed upon parents (our own family
would eventually lose Longbourn, after all, since I had no brother), and her
very evident and habitual desire to placate Lydia by simply agreeing with
everything she said. In the end the latter won out, if mollified somewhat by
the former in tone. “Yes dear, well. Sometimes I suppose it can work out
alright.” She smiled tightly and, finally, blessedly, excused herself,
doubtless with the intention of giving my newly announced fiancee and I
time to further work out some of these details.
There was just one problem.
My very, very cold feet, on account of having just met and fallen head
over heels for the very charming and imminently eligible Fitzwilliam
Darcy. But Charles knew nothing about any of that. He only knew the girl
he had apparently loved for years.
I felt entirely the fool. Since childhood I had encouraged him without
realizing it, mistaking his numerous expressions of affection for platonic
friendship. He had always been so good, after all, so respectful and kind.
When I tried to think it through rationally, he made a great deal of sense to
me as a husband, in hindsight. We already knew we got on well together. I
knew he would treat me well, respect my mind, honor my privacy and my
sense of self. All of that was, I daresay, likely a good deal more than any
woman might expect for find in an eligible beau.
But I had always meant to marry for love, or not at all.
I shook my head, remembering a summer day just the year before, the
daisies full along the creek and the breeze sending ripples through the
strong-scented grass, and how I had felt the heat of Charles’ gaze on me,
but had thought it nothing. Hadn’t even given him the possibility. I simply
couldn’t place him in that category; I could not think of him as a lover, so
why would I ever have thought of him as a husband?
“Elizabeth?”
I turned my gaze from the ground and met his eyes.
“Did you hear me, my love?”
His words felt all wrong. Alien. I was his friend, yes, and I would love
him as a friend until the day I died, but I was not his love. He was not mine.
“Forgive me, Charles,” I said, “I was distracted a moment. What were
you saying?”
He smiled. “You are tired.” Something in the tone of his voice led me
to believe he knew exactly why I might feel so. “Perhaps we should take
some air? Or if you prefer to retire for the afternoon, I could come back
tomorrow. We have so much to discuss! But I would hate to overwhelm you
when I know… well, I know everyone wants your ear.” He was speaking of
my mother, of course. I smiled in turn, knowing I would have her hounding
me as never before likely up until the very day of the wedding. It mattered
not that I was perhaps not her favorite daughter; I was the first Bennet girl
to wed, and that was something indeed.
“I think perhaps I would like that, Charles. Thank you for being so
considerate.”
I was surprised to see him deflate a little. He had seen that I had just
been out walking the grounds before the hour-long sermon through which
we had both just sat. I would have thought him also thoroughly exhausted.
Though perhaps, I realized, he was so excited it did not bother him. The
thought pained me unexpectedly. I should be excited. I should be all a-
twitter planning my wedding. I should be thrilled in every fibre of my being
at the thought of a private walk with my fiancee.
But I was not.
“Well, of course, Elizabeth. Yes.” He rose and bowed. “I will bid you
good day, with all my fondest wishes that you will rest well and be able to
entertain me soon.”
“Of course, Charles.”
I sighed as he left. Of course, even in disappointment he had to be
gracious and considerate. Why couldn’t I love him?
 CHAPTER 2
_________

Fitzwilliam Darcy strode through the archway into the dining room
and took his place behind a chair near his dear friend, Bingley. They would
wait to sit until the ladies joined them.
“Well, Darcy,” Bingley said, “not two days here yet and already we
have triumphed!”
“Have we?”
“Yes, of course!” Bingley’s face was as effusively passionate as ever,
his eyes wide and his voice pitched high with confident enthusiasm. It was
an endearing quality, one that Darcy loved in his friend, though he himself
could never emulate it. His was a more measured character, most of the
time. “Well, certainly you have, wouldn’t you say? I can only hope for
myself.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across Darcy’s lips. That was all Bingley—
turning around his good fortune to celebrate others. “I appreciate the
sentiment, my friend, but I am afraid you could not be more wrong, for my
part. As for yours, we shall see.”
A crease, just a slight wrinkle at the corners of Bingley’s eyes gave
away his falter. “Whatever could you mean?”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. He did not revel in conversations like this,
but he would not freeze his friend out. “She is… spoken for.”
Bingley’s eyes noticeably widened and Darcy, realizing his mistake,
glanced to the side to disguise the rolling of his eyes as he waived a
comforting hand. “Not Jane Bennet. She is taken by no other than you, my
friend, so far as I can tell.”
The tension that had gripped Bingley’s shoulders immediately
disappeared as he exhaled. “Oh. Oh, you think so?”
“Yes.”
Bingley, nodding, took a moment to process this before saying, “But
Darcy, I could have sworn an oath her sister had eyes for you.”
 “I as well,” Darcy muttered. His words were lost beneath the sound of
the ladies entering the room. Caroline Bingley and her traveling companion,
Mrs. Hurst, found their places at the table, and all were seated. The usual
pleasantries were exchanged, and, after everyone reassuring themselves of
the nature of the weather, the grounds, and everyone’s family members,
Bingley’s sister said, “Well, Mr. Darcy. Your mood was rather light after the
dance, but it seems to have turned.”
Darcy sat a moment, unsure of how to respond. Naturally he
understood that Caroline’s comment was meant as a foray into conversation
and that he was expected to answer. Nevertheless part of his mind
counseled him to be obsinate in his silence, as no question had been asked.
He had very little interest in sharing the events of the past forty-eight hours
with her, nor of telling her of his disappointment with the very lovely (but
very unavailable) Elizabeth Bennet.
“I am sorry if I am proving to be poor company,” he said lightly,
hoping to discourage Miss Bingley from probing further.
“Oh no,” she said, “never poor company. I find you quite interesting
regardless of your mood.”
Again the volley returned to him, again without a question, and this
time with an uncomfortable compliment. He sighed inwardly. He knew
Caroline was interested in him, and, on the face of things, he admitted to
himself the match might even make some sense. But he had never felt for
her like that, could not imagine caring for her the way a wife deserved to be
cared for. How was one supposed to find the fires of passion where the cool
embers of civility were all that had ever coalesced? He could scarcely call
her a friend, and knew he would not find himself in her company at all if
she were not the sister of his dearest friend.
He must have been lost in these thoughts a moment too long, for
Bingley, blessedly, interceded, saying, “Perhaps we should all hope to be as
interesting as Darcy. But for myself, I would prefer to be simply happy.”
“Oh?” Caroline raised an eyebrow at her jovial brother. “And are you
not?”
“I am.” He grinned like an idiot and dabbed the corner of his mouth
with a napkin. “Insomuch as hope breeds happiness.”
Mrs. Hurst, who had hitherto been mostly silent, said to Caroline,
“Haven’t you noticed? Your brother has a glow about him. He’s positively
radiant. Why, just look at him.”
 All eyes turned to Bingley, who, under their sudden scrutiny, faltered
slightly, his smile shrinking but not evaporating entirely. Darcy noted that
his friend did indeed look warm. His forehead glistened slightly.
“Are you feeling well, Bingley?” he asked.
“What?” Bingley looked almost affronted. “Me? No. I mean yes! I
mean, Darcy! Come now, man, you know what I am… well, why I am not
quite seeming myself if I am not!”
“Indeed,” agreed Mr. Darcy, taking a drink.
Mrs. Hurst pressed on to Caroline, who had begun to look concerned.
“Puppy love.”
Caroline’s brows shot practically to her hairline. Mr. Darcy very
nearly chuffed, only able to hide his reaction thanks to his cultured
manners. Had she really been so self-involved with her own machinations
she had not noticed her brother’s very obvious infatuation with the eldest
Bennet girl?
The rest of the evening passed predictably if one were familiar with
the cast of characters. Caroline, upon learning the identity of her brother’s
person of interest, alternated between paying him lip-service about her
beauty, and laughing with Mrs. Hurst at their thinly veiled attacks on her
class and status. Mr. Bingley seemed oblivious, or he didn’t care, having
been accustomed and apparently immune for sometime to the occasional
cruelty of his sister. Mr. Darcy watched it all unfold and played his part
when called upon, but his thoughts were elsewhere as the hours passed.
They lingered on a green field, and a long walk, and the very fine eyes of
one Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
 CHAPTER 3
_________

It had been a very long day.

“Lizzie!” The sound of my mother’s voice with all the ring and tinkle
of a bell but none of the pleasant connotations shook me from my thoughts.
“Lizzie, for heaven’s sake, do pay attention! Now then, we were just
discussing the hem.” I looked in the direction in which she was gesturing
and saw a scrap of cloth in her hands.
“Yes, I imagine there should be a hem,” I said absently.
“Elizabeth Bennet, try for once in your life to take this seriously and
listen to your poor ailing mother! Oh! How you are vexing me. Here I am,
and not at the peak of health, mind you, devoting myself wholly, body and
soul, to the wedding preparations of the first of my daughters to be wed,
and what is the thanks I get? I imagine there should be a hem, you say! Ha!
Really, Lizzie. Truly. I am wounded.”
I grimaced. For as much as my mother was a unique creature who
took special care to handle well and a good deal of patience to attend, she
was, nevertheless, my mother, and she was telling the truth in her own
extravagant way. She was trying to help me.
“I am sorry, mother.” I looked again at the fabric and noticed half was
rather plain looking and the other half had a ruffled edge. “I see the
difference. I am not sure, however, without seeing it attached to the rest of
the gown, which I prefer.”
She nodded, satisfied by my engagement. “Yes, yes, I thought just the
same. Why, oh why did we just get swatches and not an entire gown to
study? That father of yours, I swear he means to drive us all to an early
grave with his thrift!”
“I am sure he means well.”
Mother mumbled something else and I was polite enough not to hear
her.
 Every day was interminably long now. It had been less than a week
since that fateful day when Charles had announced our engagement, and it
seemed every waking minute had been full of wedding preparations and
nothing else. None of it felt real. My mind, usually so rational, refused o
accept this sequence of events, even though I had known it would come
from the moment Charles proposed. Stupid. The willful ignorance of the
past. I simply could not have anticipated having met a man like Fitzwilliam
Darcy the day before we were announced.
Now my heart was in utter turmoil.
“Good day Mrs. Bennet. Good day, Lizzie.”
I looked up to see my friend Charlotte Lucas standing in the entryway.
“Oh, how fortunate!” my mother cried. “Charlotte, you must take this
girl and try to put some sense into her. She has tried my nerves all day,
forcing the brunt of all these decisions upon me!”
Charlotte flashed a wry smile in my direction, no doubt indicating her
understanding that nothing would please my mother more than to make all
the decisions regarding anyone’s wedding. Nevertheless if it had been a
taxing day for me, the least I could do was admit it had probably been a
taxing day for my mother as well.
“Yes, Charlotte,” I said, “your arrival is fortuitous. Perhaps you can
help me clear my head before I drive poor mother to frustration.”
“Ohh!” my mother moaned in answer as she rose from her seat to
leave the room.
Charlotte and I left the house to take a stroll on the grounds. A little
air was bound to help. We walked quietly for a time. My friendship with
Charlotte wasn’t the same as with Jane—how could it be? Jane was my
beloved sister—but she knew me well enough. It was a comfortable silence,
one I did not feel pressured to break, but I knew I would be the first to
speak. She would wait, giving me time to sort out my thoughts. She must
have sensed something was amiss. Otherwise we would have been chatting
away idly. Finally, after several minutes, I said, “I cannot marry him.”
Charlotte stopped walking. “What do you mean, Lizzie?”
“I mean I cannot. I do not love him, Charlotte! I will not.”
My friend’s sad eyes peered into me. “It’s a little late, is it not, to
make this decision?”
“Perhaps,” I muttered.
 She then placed her hand on my arm. “Well. I will stand with you. If
you say you cannot marry Charles, then I believe you; you cannot. Only,
this will need to be handled carefully. Your reputation…”
She did not need to finish the sentence. We both understood the
reputation of a young woman was everything; if mine were to be sullied by
this affair, it would mean a lifetime of not only solitude, but social and
economic ruin. No man would see fit to purchase used goods. No man, let
alone a man of as much consequence as Mr. Darcy. I shook my head in
bewilderment that he had ever dared risk his own reputation so blatantly.
Surely now that chance had passed, and even if I were to break off the
engagement, he would not pursue me, a tarnished woman.
This thought did little to shake my growing resolve, however, for even
though it was precisely due to my collision with Darcy I now knew I could
not marry Charles, it was not because I hoped to marry Darcy and make a
life with him. No, I had little hope of that. It was that I had now seen a
glimpse of passion, tasted it, felt the heat of a very real, if fleeting on his
part, love, and I could no longer be content marrying a man for whom I felt
anything less.
All this I knew all in a moment in my heart, and should have meant to
explain rather eloquently, but I was befuddled when my younger sister
Lydia, who, unbeknownst to us had been within earshot, called out, “Lizzie!
Oh LORD! What a laugh on poor Charles! Just wait until he finds out!”
My heart flew into my throat and I felt a chill of panic pass over me as
I whirled around to face her. “Lydia!” I growled, grasping for a way to
make her hold her tongue.
It was too late.
Another figure stood in the sun, far enough off that I didn’t know he
was there till now, but definitely near enough to have heard Lydia’s
impertinent outburst. Lydia, too, turned and saw him. And ran toward him.
Charles.
In his hand he held a single long-stemmed rose. He had come to pay
me a visit, no doubt, and to check on preparations, and further discuss the
date of the wedding and a million other details and things I couldn’t
imagine discussing with him, and my heart broke when I saw him, because
I did love him. He was one of my dearest friends, one I would always love,
and I knew he would never fully forgive me for this.
But I could not marry him.
 CHAPTER 4
_________

Mr. Bingley called on Jane again the day after their dinner, and Mr.
Darcy, naturally, was obliged to join him at Longbourn. It was a bit late in
the day, timed for an afternoon tea before riding back to Netherfield for
dinner. The Bennet house was very quiet. Jane answered the door with a
blush and a courtesy, though she seemed troubled about something. Inside
the house Mr. Darcy did not detect the same level of excitement as on his
last visit. Indeed, the faces of those he passed seemed rather sorrowful. The
entire place felt decidedly tired.
“I wondered,” Bingley said to Jane, “if you would like to join me for
another stroll in the lane? It was so lovely the other day, walking out under
the sun with you, and it is another fine day, as you see. If you would like to,
that is.”
It wasn’t nearly so fine a day. The truth of the matter was it looked
like it could rain at any moment, but Bingley seemed more urgent even than
before in spending time with Miss Bennet today. Perhaps some of the
concern Darcy had given him by mistake had taken root, and he wanted to
be as sure of Jane’s intentions as he was of his own.
“Of course,” Jane replied.
“Ah, and will your lovely sister be joining us?” Bingley asked.
Jane’s face fell ever so slightly. “I believe she would have me send her
most heartfelt apologies, but she is not feeling well today. She is resting.”
Mr. Darcy frowned. “Has she taken ill?” He surprised himself with the
tone of his voice, betraying a certain amount of agitation.
Jane shook her head. “Nothing a day of rest won’t improve, I am sure.
But thank you for your concern, Mr. Darcy.”
Bingley inclined his head. “It is too bad, but I am sure Mr. Darcy
alone with suffice as chaperone. With your permission, m’am?” He directed
the last toward Mrs. Bennet, whose reclining figure could just be made out
in the next room. She seemed to agree by waving a hand in their direction,
and the trio was off.
Mr. Darcy, for however his mood had soured, had no wish of
imposing any unhappiness of his own on the happy couple. He hung back
and let them walk ahead of him, far enough that he could not distinguish
their words, and followed alone, lost in his thoughts.
Could he have married her, even if she had not been engaged?
Of course. Well, the devil take whether or not he could have; the point
was, he would have. Certainly there would have been certain objections. He
could not deny that her family had less standing and was of less
consequence than his own, nor that her mother and some of her sisters had
shown themselves to be of rather silly character. This much was not
desirable in a match, but when it came to Elizabeth Bennet, he cared not; he
would have married her no matter who her family or what their
connections.
No. The problem was simply the engagement.
He had been confused when she had told him. How could she be
spoken for already and have allowed him to connect himself to her so
deeply so quickly? But so foreign to his mind was the thought of doing her
any harm, of bearing her any ill will, that this confusion had not even for an
instant prevented him from doing the right thing and defending her honor.
So it was he had passed off their brief romp in the dirt as a lady tripping and
falling, and he, her chaperone, helping her to right herself. That was all that
had happened, and the Bennets and Elizabeth’s fiancee had believed it.
But Mr. Darcy knew far better. He knew that in that moment when
they had stood together, beating heart against beating heart, his entire world
had ceased to cascade and had coalesced into one immobile, eternal truth.
His every dream and desire, his every experience and longing, all distilled
into this one moment of existence. And when their lips had met… truly, he
thought to himself, he could live the rest of his life a lonely miser and still
die happy now, for that one blissful kiss. It would last.
It would have to, anyway.
He could have no one else but her.
The rumble of thunder, far closer sounding than he would have
expected, roused Darcy back to the present. He looked up and found he had
lost track of his charges. Biting his lips and silently cursing himself, he
looked up at the sky. It had grown far, far darker. A stiff summer breeze
kicked up seeds, telling him a storm was imminent.
Bingley and Jane were probably just on the other side of that slight
rise there, he told himself. To the left. So he corrected course and made
double time, hoping to spot them once he had crested it. But he did not.
Instead he found the fields growing more wild beneath him, until at last a
path cut across and met a little stream. There is crossed in a covered bridge.
All this he took in just as the first big, heavy drops began to spatter the dirt.
He bit his lips together again and began to jog lightly toward the bridge, the
only shelter in sight. Just as he did, he thought he saw a figure moving in
the shadows within.
“Bingley?” he called as he approached. But as he reached the stream
and ducked his head under the bridge—now truly his only recourse, as the
drops had accelerated to a true deluge—he found himself staring at the face
of neither Jane nor Bingley.
“Elizabeth,” he said.
Elizabeth’s lips parted.
 CHAPTER 5
_________

“Elizabeth.”
He said my name and my world stopped.
The rain all around us, the chaos of the last two days, the pain, the
pressure—all of it just ceased to exist. Was this how it felt to be drunk? I
think I was drunk on him. Senseless to everything else. Useless.
I stood silently a moment. I had imagined seeing him again, had been
running scenarios through my mind and had tried to imagine all the things I
could say. I thought it would be so different. I thought we would be in polite
company, and he would be cold and aloof, and days would have passed and
everyone would have learned the news. But I had only just that day broken
off the engagement with Charles. And here was Mr. Darcy, alone, my
captive audience.
I found I had nothing to say.
“You’re wet,” he said, his eyes on my hair. I smiled wryly a moment,
then brushed a stray lock from my face.
Don’t tell him you broke off the engagement. Don’t tell him you
broke off the engagement.
“I broke off the engagement,” I said a little too fast. His eyebrows rose
and I found I could not stop until I had explained. “I never loved him. We
never… I mean I never even… we were friends, you see. For years. When
he asked, I couldn’t find a reason to refuse him. I didn’t know. I hadn’t met
you yet.”
His eyes blazed and he took a step toward me, taking my hands in his
own.
“You are not engaged?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m free as a bird. But it was… well, not exactly
public, but not private. I mean, word will spread.” I expected him to let go
of my hands and bid me good day any moment, but I had to get it out. He
had to understand.
 “You are free?”
“Yes, but… I’m… well, I was engaged. Everyone will know. You see?
I’m not… I’m—”
He stopped me with a kiss, long and passionate, his hand against the
back of my head. The coolness of my wet hair shocked me a bit as he
pressed it to me. When we parted to breath, he said, panting a bit, “You’re
perfect.”
I found the wall of the bridge and seated myself on the railing before
pulling him against me. He answered with a will, pressing his body into
mine, our lips locked together once again. There was a power I felt, a
freedom, something I had never felt before. It wasn’t just my attraction to
this man, or his to me, the heat of passion flaring in a stolen moment like
before. I had changed. I had passed through fire, had been tested, and had
been found perfect. He didn’t care that I’d been engaged.
He just wanted me.
I wrapped my legs around him and felt his manhood pressing against
me. I gasped with pleasure. “Mr. Darcy,” I said, my voice more of a
whimper than I perhaps intended, “These clothes are all wet.”
“Yes,” he said, his own voice grown husky with desire. “Let’s be rid
of them, shall we?”
The next minute or so involved some awkward pulling and a bit of
tearing until finally we stood together beneath the shelter of the bridge, in
relative privacy under its eaves, our naked bodies warm one against the
other. We pressed against each other, our flesh rubbing and finding
purchase, until, grunting, he lifted me again against the wall. I laughed and
wrapped my legs around him. Then I felt him guide himself inside of me,
and I took him, every bit of him, welcoming him behind the veil of
maidenhood and embracing all of him within myself. He gripped my
buttocks and pressed me firmly to the wall. Its rough wood scratched my
back and I gasped. He slowed for a moment, concern etched in his face, but
I shook my head. “Don’t stop,” I panted.
I never wanted him to stop.
My arms draped over his neck, I felt the ripple of muscles beneath my
hands, felt him bend his back to his work. He was as strong as an ox at the
plow. At one point he picked me up entirely, taking me away from the wall,
and we laughed together as we collapsed in a heap on the floor of the
bridge. The sound of a rushing river filled my ears, the little stream having
been engorged by the rain, as he layed me out on my back and began to
thrust inside of me again. Over and over he entered me, his body pressing
against mine and sending thrills of pleasure up my spine each time, until I
could not even hold my legs around him anymore. I lost all control of them,
feeling a wave of pure euphoria washing over me, and I gripped him tightly
in my arms, forcing him to stop while I ground down onto him and waited
for the wave to pass. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me like a
sickle through wheat. I had not imagined pleasure like this was possible! I
had known some few pleasant sensations of womanhood, yes, but this…
this was world-changing.
“Elizabeth… Elizabeth!”
I looked into his eyes and saw his face had grown quite red. He panted
hard at my name, and then, just as I began to descend back to earth from the
heights of my climax, he entered his own. I felt him press even more firmly
against me, even more deeply inside of me, as he released his seed. His
entire body tensed and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment, a look
almost of agony stealing over his face. Then he was done, panting and
gasping by turns, and I held him like a babe in my arms.
It was all so fast, over so quickly. And yet it felt as if everything had
changed forever.
We laid quietly for some time, unashamed in our nakedness. He pulled
himself off of me and laid beside me, and I nestled against him, me head
resting peacefully on his arm. Finally he broke the silence with words I had
not dreamed to hear him speak.
“I wish to marry you.”
I propped myself up on my elbow and searched his eyes, looking for
the jest, or the sadness that would give away his intention of doing no such
thing. But I saw nothing there but tender earnestness.
“Then do so,” I finally said.
Mr. Darcy, my Mr. Darcy smiled and kissed me as if we had known
each other all our lives.
“With your permission, Miss Bennet, I would see you become Mrs.
Darcy.”
“Even though I have a past?”
“Even though you have a past. Who does not?”
“Even though there was almost a man before you?”
“You say almost.”
 “Yes,” I smiled shyly, “Well, he never knew me… not the way you
now do.”
His smile widened. “I’m happy to hear it. Though it would make no
difference to my intentions if he had. I love you, Elizabeth, now and
forever.”
Finally that deep tension released, that deep-seated fear floated away,
and I fully embraced my freedom. I didn’t need Charles or Darcy or
anyone. I was wholly myself. Of course, I wanted Darcy. So I would have
him.
“I love you, Fitz.”

THE END
 AFTERWORD
_________

Thank you for joining me for this steamy story about Elizabeth and
Mr. Darcy! I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did writing it. If you
liked it, please consider leaving a review!

All my love,
Alice