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Day in and day out Darcy has been just across the table drumming his fingers in boredom, or just in the next room, his voice rumbling as he jokes with Charles. And every time she enters a room he is in, she can feel his eyes on her. Tracking her. She tries to ignore it in front of the cameras, but at one point she wants to dive in the pool just to cool down from the heat of his gaze. The gardens of Netherfield is the only place she feels she can escape from all the cameras and eyes, and in the middle of them is a little labyrinth grown from hedges just tall enough to conceal a person. She wanders the path to the center where there is a little stone bench for sitting and contemplating.
The memory echoes through her mind. "Maybe next time you can lead." The way he stared appreciatively at her breasts, the way he gently bit her nipple, not too hard but just just enough to say he was in charge then. "Maybe next time you can lead." The way his eyes darkened when he came. She blushes at the mere memory. Fuck.
It has been 5 whole days. She half expected him to come to her again, half hoped (though she will never admit to it in a thousand years), but he hasn't. In fact, he has been in a mood ever since the day after, when the crew substitutes out one of the families in the shoot, the Parker-Mills, due to a medical emergency with one of the members. In their stead, the crew brings in one person, a Mr George Wickham, apparently an acquaintance of Darcy’s, though clearly not a happy one. No doubt they bring him in for dramatic effect after seeing how Darcy’s countenance turns at his arrival. She doesn’t know what is between them though as Mr Wickham is such a delight to talk to. They instantly hit it off when he arrives, his easy manners and agreeable nature a welcome contrast to really most everyone else in the household barring Charles Bingley and her sister Jane. Elizabeth and he find their stride in line with so many topics, such as politics and conservation, even movies and their preferred books- Dickens is a favorite of hers- and perhaps ragging on Darcy a little when he’s not in the room; glaring at her, his lips compressed into a thin white line.
*
“My God, Lizzie, what did you do to your hair?” The entire cast is breakfasting at the long table in the formal dining room, and she is the last to enter. Darcy immediately regrets his outburst as he sees her pleasant expression falter when her mother mutters, “Not this again,” and Lydia laughs her obnoxious little snort. The two cameramen in the room immediately swivel to record her reaction.
With a withering glare, she just says, “It’s Elizabeth.” Her hands had flown up to her hair self-consciously at his exclamation, and again he feels shame at his words, bringing the attention of her mother and sister so harshly.
“Sorry, Elizabeth, it’s just surprising- but nice.” He bites out. There is an awkward pause all around the table before Wickham pipes up.
“I think it’s lovely, very punk rock.” His smile makes Darcy’s hand twitch, wanting desperately to punch his very square jaw. Not that it had satisfied the last time he did.
“Indeed,” adds Charles, always amiable. “It suits you very well.” And in fact, it does. The early morning she had awoken after a restless night with the intense urge to change something. Something drastic. Something to signify a turning point. A turning point to what she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, articulate, but still.
So she had shaved the sides of her head, leaving the top half as long as her shoulders. She had done it before, a few years ago, and loved it, and with the current heat of the summer, she needs something cool and easy to manage with her curls. It accentuates her slender neckline and delicate collarbone, which is exactly where Darcy’s eyes are lingering, but she is pointedly not noticing him.
“With this heat, it’s much more comfortable.” She explains, taking a plate from the side buffet and picking out her breakfast of fruit and a small bowl of granola. She also adds a small helping of poached salmon.
“Oh yes,” adds Jane, patting the empty seat beside her in invitation. But that would also place her next to Darcy, and she just smiles at her sister sweetly and remains standing. “I remember you having this haircut a few years ago and I do like it on you, Lizzie. It matches your personality perfectly.” The playful tease, punctuated with her impish smile, is the harshest criticism her sweet sister can ever come up with and Elizabeth laughs, no insult taken. Her sister is the most sweet-hearted person she will ever meet and Elizabeth will forgive her any slights that may come as she knows they will always be unintended.
“Thank you Janie,” and her cheerful attitude is restored, despite Darcy’s best efforts.
*
Elizabeth seeks out solitude once more and begins her jaunt down the labyrinth when she hears a familiar voice just ahead. Darcy. He appears to be on the phone and his eyes meet hers as she turns the corner. He holds a finger up as he continues his conversation.
“I hear you Georgie, but you can’t just drop out because of something one teacher says. You must take it as a challenge to prove them wrong. You have too much talent to squander.” He pauses, very conscious of Elizabeth standing in front of him, listening even though she looks abashed enough to suggest she isn’t meaning to.
“Okay darling, I will see you then. Remember, keep up the tempo.” And his lips curl in a small smile, clearly in response to whatever is being said by the caller. He disconnects the call and immediately looks uncomfortable at the intimate intrusion, “My little sister, Georgiana, she’s off at boarding school, studying music in Paris.”
“Oh, yeah?” She cocks her head, thinking back and remembers hearing that there had been some drama with Georgiana Darcy years ago but Elizabeth never pays too close attention to celebrity gossip, so she is at a loss of what the nature of the scandal was.
An awkward pause. He stands, swapping his phone from hand to hand. “After our parents… passed, I’ve had to step up with her. It’s… not easy,” his smile falters a moment.
“I didn’t realize, I’m so sorry.” What is happening here? She decidedly does not want to feel any sort of sympathy or kindness towards Darcy but how can she not with that situation. She loves her family dearly, even if sometimes their behavior can bring embarrassment, and the thought of losing her father or Janie especially brings a prickle of tears to her eyes and a flush to her cheeks.
“Oh, I, uh, I didn’t mean…”
She waves him off, “No, sorry, it’s me. I just…” she wants to be alone, having not slept well, and not be here with him. A flash of irritation in her eyes and she squares her shoulders, moving to pass him when he holds up his hand to stop her.
“I–,” and she can smell his cologne, the same he had been wearing when he had entered her room. The same cologne she could still smell on her bed, on her skin. “I am sorry for this morning, Elizabeth.” She nods her head once in acceptance of his apology.
*
Finally Lydia throws a fit to rival all those before. She discovers Charles and Jane in another room, standing far too close and talking far too low for her liking. Everyone is trying to console her but Darcy just rolls his eyes and stalks to his bedroom. He had already spoken to Charles about the inappropriateness of his attentions to Jane, and the ill-advised dalliance, seeing as the show is supposed to be about him and Lydia, even if Charles feels nothing for her.
The cameramen have no interest in following him now as Lydia and Kitty are creating a better scene than he ever could or would. Looking around, they don’t seem that interested in her either. This is the first opening she has had in days. She slips away unnoticed and quickly ascends the steps, not willing to acknowledge the racing of her heart or the increase in her breathing.
She stands before his door, raising her hand to knock when it swings open on its own accord.
"Lizzie," Darcy breathes, eyes wide. Fuck. She really should object again to his use of her nickname, only her closest friends and family are allowed to call her Lizzie, and he is neither. But instead, she gives him her most superior look and pushes past him into his room.
It is surprisingly tidy, not at all what she expected. Living with four sisters, she is used to messy bedrooms: hobby supplies, clothes, makeup, books and papers all lying around. But his room is... not immaculate, but close to it. His phone is streaming music.
Stars and Steel Guitars/ And luscious lips as red as wine/
Broke somebody’s heart/ And I’m afraid that it was mine/
It happened in Monterey/ Without thinking twice/
I left her and threw away the key to paradise/
“Is that Frank Sinatra?” How on-brand of him. He nods his head, unsure what to say, still recovering from the sight of her at his door. His suitcase is stowed under the bed, and a stack of books towers on his nightstand. They aren't trashy airport action novels either, one is Tolstoy, another Dickens, and still another is Perrault in its original French.
"You read?" And she immediately regrets how incredulous she sounds.
"I do know how to read, yes," he answers dryly.
"Of course... sorry." Her heart is pounding, and she rubs her forearm nervously. "I just meant you don't seem like the kind of guy that enjoys reading."
"Don't I?" He cocks his head and waits for a beat. "Why are you here Lizzie?" His lips curl into a sardonic smile. He knows exactly why she was here.
She licks her lips, and his focus suddenly narrows.
"I thought, you know, since last time went as it did, you might want to try again... have a better showing?" She shrugs nonchalantly.
He makes that noise again, a sound in between a groan and a scoff. He moves in close, crowding her up against the wall, his breath on her cheek, his hands leaning on either side of her, giving her no escape.
"Are you telling me that you weren't satisfied with the two orgasms I gave you? If I recall, you thanked me after." Darcy’s tone is soft but incredulous, his body pressing against her, sending a shock of electricity through her. She bites her cheek to stop herself from moaning. She had been extremely satisfied in fact, and hasn't stopped thinking about it.
"I'm saying that you're the one who suggested a next time so here it is." Elizabeth moves against him, provoking him, grinding her cunt against his cock.
He sucks in his breath, his sudden erection almost painful. "I also said that you could lead... so lead." He is still so close he could smell her shampoo, some fruity-flowery scent that is intoxicating.
She arches an eyebrow, looking very haughty indeed. "Fine," she reaches down and takes hold of him.
"Good God, Elizabeth," he grabs her wrist, "have you no finesse? I paid you... a lot of attention before the finale, making sure you were ready. You don't think a man might want the same?" Her eyes grew wide.
"I thought you just wanted to fuck." She is so confused by the differing contradictions of him. His reputation is one of almost sedate businesslike activities. Rarely is he ever caught in the papers in any close-to-compromising actions so Elizabeth could only assume he must deal with his physical needs the same way. Until the other night… she blushes again.
"We clearly have different definitions of the word... and act." He is unable to resist rubbing himself against her hip, needing to feel her softness again, not willing to examine right now just how pleased he is that she is here. His fingers entwine in her hair, cupping her cheek. His mouth is dangerously close to her ear, so he whispers, "Haven't you ever heard the saying 'Anything worth doing is worth doing right'?"
Her face is a picture and he almost laughs. Her furrowed forehead shows her confusion as if she's never thought a man would want foreplay. "I–," but she doesn't know what to say. His attitude is unexpected to say the least. Is he honestly saying something along the lines that he wants… to be seduced? “This is ridiculous, I–”
"Clearly you've only ever slept with philistines. Do you know how much effort goes into being a good lover for a man?"
"What?!" Her fine eyes fly open. Are they really having this conversation?
"Yeah, we have to be attentive, to see what you respond to, and be strong but gentle, and not too consumed with our own pleasure that our partner gets neglected. All you have to do is lie back and enjoy." He smiles, he is thoroughly enjoying this little... lesson, but he knows that the last line is going to start something.
"Excuse me?! Lie back and enjoy? You realize that for centuries–" God he loves the fire in her eyes as she lays into her diatribe regarding female subjugation and historical lack of agency, the way they seem to snap and burn when she is arguing with him. Her cheeks are rosy, flushed with passion, and he delights in seeing that it seems to travel down her slender neck to her cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of her emerald green button-down blouse. She really looks fantastic in green. She really looks fantastic out of green too.
“I’m not talking about centuries, I’m talking about right now. Modern day. I made you almost scream the other day. Do you think you could make me scream? Do you think you could make me moan your name the way you moaned mine?”
“I know I can!”
“Then prove it,” He steps away, arms spread in a welcoming gesture, and oh my God, she feels bereft of his heat. “You want to lead this time, fine, so lead. But do it right.”
Do it right, he says, do it right? Fine, Elizabeth is going to show him just how she can bring him to his fucking knees. She follows him as he backs up to the bed, that little smirk on his face taunting her, challenging her. She hesitates, for a moment unsure how to begin, but then she starts unbuttoning her shirt slowly, and it is her turn to smirk when his eyes narrow on her hands as they slowly reveal the black bra underneath. Number two. And much sexier than the first, with lace and even a little bow right in the center. Like she is a gift for him.
She cozies up to him as she unbuttons the last one, slowly slipping her blouse off shoulder by shoulder, sleeve by sleeve, dropping it to pool at her feet. “Am I doing it right so far?” She asks demurely, looking up at him through her lashes, making sure to pout her lips just a little, licking them softly.
“So far,” he echoes, fully engaged in her performance. He raises his hands to her hips as she steps closer, but she pushes him away, forcing him to sit on the bed, her bra now at eye level. Reaching back, she unhooks the clasp, easing the straps down so that she holds the bra to her breasts, cupping them with her hands. Kneads them. He reaches up and hooks a finger under the underwire, his fingertip grazing the soft underswell of her breast, and she allows him to pull it away, discarding it on top of her blouse. Her hands still cover her breasts though, kneading softly, allowing her nipples to peek through her fingers for just a moment.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and he swallows hard, no trace of that grin he had before. He is all focus now, as she lets loose a small moan.
“Do you want to see them?” He nods. “Too bad,” and she turns around to show him her back. He wants to strongly object, but… he did issue the challenge and decides he has to see where it will go. He is enchanted to find she has a tattoo on her left shoulder blade of Picasso’s Dove of Peace, the fine lines and colorful flowers such an unassuming thing. Her hands fall and hook into her skirt’s waistband, easing it over the swell of her hips, revealing the black thong that matches the bra.
He groans, and shifts in his seat, needing to ease the tightness of his slacks. He runs a knuckle at the crease where her hip and ass meet and she squeaks in surprise, a jolt of electricity at his touch. “Oh, I like that sound.”
She looks at him from over her shoulder, “That tickles, no touching.”
“I want to touch.” He says firmly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She pauses, thinking for a moment, and turns to face him. “Am I leading, or are you?”
Darcy’s eyes set on the soft swell of her naked breasts. Her areolas tighten under his gaze. “I. Want. To. Touch.”
She sighs, a delicate sound like a caress. “Fine,” and before the word is out he is pulling her to him, his hands cupping her ass, his face nuzzling her breasts. “Oh!” Her hands instinctively bury themselves in his hair, holding him to her chest. He nips at her flesh just shy of painful and she squeals in surprise again. He rumbles against her. “Are you laughing?” She tries to push him away and only manages to reveal his face. “You are!”
“God, I just love the sounds you make,” he grins, and she swallows because this smile, this smile is not one she has seen before. It isn’t in the racy Ralph Lauren underwear billboard ads, or in Redbook magazines for Dior cologne, or even in any of his interviews. This smile is… boyishly sweet, unassuming, and fully focused on her. It catches her off guard, and she doesn't know what to do. His eyes glitter with amusement looking at her and slowly, haltingly, she bends her head to meet his lips with hers, his tongue with hers. The kiss alters her axis, and he shifts his legs, forcing her to straddle his thighs, suddenly riding his erection. Her hand slips between them, unzipping him, finding him hard as marble.
She whimpers as Darcy suddenly deepens the kiss, using teeth and tongue, while his fingers wander closer to her drenched cunt. “Take your panties off,” he orders, and she doesn’t hesitate; all thoughts of who is leading flee her mind. He pulls her back to straddle him again and slips two fingers in, their breaths mingling, Elizabeth's eyes closed. She can't look at him right now, can't acknowledge the raw need there, both hers and his. Suddenly this is no longer a simple game of wills.
He curls his fingers, finding her g-spot and stroking it. Her breath comes out in jagged gasps as his thumb glides along her clit at the same time, causing her to squirm from the intensity. How can he know her body better than she does? She bites down on her tongue as his name springs to her lips. No! She won't say it. She shakes her head, trying to clear it somewhat.
"What? Did I hurt you?" She steps back and he releases her, his eyes dark with concern.
"I-- no," her voice trembles, "No," more firmly now. She can feel the moment receding, and she squares her shoulders, taking strength. "Right, I'm leading."
His cocky self-assured smile is back. That smile she knows how to handle. That smile allows the layers of her exposure to fall back into place. That smile she can wipe off his face easy-peasy. I'm leading.
"Take your clothes off, all of them." He complies obediently, his mouth quirking into a little half smile. First his linen shirt he drapes over the nearby chair, then his slacks. Finally his boxers and socks. He sits back down.
His cock twitches proudly under her gaze as she kneels before him, resting her elbows on his thighs. Her face screws up into a little pout.
"God, even your cock is pretty," Darcy wants to laugh again but decides against it. She didn't seem to like when he laughed last time. Instead, he leans back on his hands, patiently waiting for her to lead. Without preamble, she grasps him with both hands, and he bites back on her name.
"Li--"
She pauses, her eyes flash to his face. Her pout transforms to a knowing smile.
"I almost had you..." she strokes her hands slowly up and down, and any capability of speech flees his brain. The sight of her on her knees before him, like some artless ingénue, makes it difficult to think of anything really. Fuck, she has me alright.
Why did he issue this damn challenge? A myriad of reasons why he should just toss her down on the bed and have his way with her crosses his mind but as he looks down upon her, he realizes something. She is enjoying herself. Thoroughly. The little pull at the corner of her mouth, her flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her eye. She isn't just turned on, she is having fun. And it is delightful to see. So he continues to allow her ministrations, even as his breathing grows ragged and his balls tighten.
With a little sigh, she takes as much of him as she can into her soft, wet mouth, and he sees stars as she applies gentle suction, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. His thighs involuntarily quiver and a gasp elicits from his lips. His hands gently come up to gather her curls so that he can see himself disappear between her sweet lips, see her lavish him with all of her attention. His fingers stroked against the velvety softness at the nape of her neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages, “take it,” and she quickens her pace. The smooth bobbing of her head mesmerizes him and he feels the tension build up. She shifts on her knees, causing him to widen his thighs, giving her more access, and then, “Fucking hell Lizzie!” he cried out as she slipped two fingers to massage that tender area past his balls, stroking him as he comes violently hot and salty in her mouth. Her suction continues, milking him dry as he rides out the most intense orgasm he has ever experienced. Little jolts of electricity spark outward down his legs and up his belly, and he pants in shock as she pulls away, wiping her bottom lip daintily with a slender finger. “Fucking hell,” he repeats, panting, his eyes wide and dark and full of wonder at her.
"You don't show me a banquet and then not expect me to taste a little of everything." Fucking hell, indeed. “Does that count as both a scream and a moan?” Her smile is wicked. She turns to gather her clothing but he grasps her hand, pulling her closer to him but feeling her resist.
“We’re not done here,” He tries to pull her to his lap again but again she leans back.
“I am,” and she frees her hand from his. Already he can see something shift in her eyes, a recession of something he cannot name.
“Stay with me,” he requests, confusion furrowing his brow, “please.” But she turns away, and shimmies her skirt back onto her hips.
“They’ll notice soon, if they haven’t already heard you.” but evidently they have not as no footsteps fall near the door.
“How do you do it, Lizzie?”
“What?” She pulls on her blouse, her bra and panties in her hand.
“Give yourself so completely like tonight, and then take it all back?”
She flinches.”It’s Elizabeth,” And she pulls the door closed behind her.