Recap: Darcy can't control his thoughts; he spends quality time with her in a library where he thinks they have reached a new kind of understanding; Caroline is kind of nasty; Darcy has an unpleasant encounter with Wickham, and then he is stuck in Aunt Phillips drawing room with an Elizabeth who kind of ignores him and a Mr. Collins who does not ignore Elizabeth.

A/N below.

Much to Darcy's everlasting and longsuffering relief, the rest of his little party finally bid their adieus, kissed hands and cheeks, bowed excessively, and liberated themselves from Mrs. Phillips's drawing room

He simply nodded his head in thanks towards his hostess and strode straight out the entry door.

The rest of them, with all the be-damned merry cheer in the world, made their way along the lane leading towards Longbourn. Not so much of a relief, however, was the little, well not so little, parson and his continuing interests tending where they most certainly did not belong. That devil driver was most firmly attached to his post of accompanying Miss Elizabeth. Thank God the black-garbed oaf had had both hands placed firmly behind his back and not extended to steady her.

It would be unwise to strike a man of the cloth in his current disturbed state… or any state… get a grip, man.

Darcy was in no mood to share her attentions, and if not fearful of placing her in the middle of a tug-war, he would have extended his own arm. He continued, however, focusing hard on the path ahead, willing his own hands to stay in place as they were – it would be better to give Mr. Collins no example by which to go by in being a gentleman.

Though, he thought, if a tug-war over the lady ensued if both were to extend escort, Darcy had no doubt of his victory despite the other man weighing at least two stone greater. His own breadth was more of a firm manner while the parson's girth was more of the flaccid variety.

Not that he would even engage such a man in contest when there was such a lack of evenness in competition. It should be unfair and beneath him as an honorable man.

Wholly unfair.

Keeping his grim, satisfied, cock-sure grin tightly under the lock and key of failing good breeding, Darcy held his steps steady to Elizabeth's right side, his darling Bess hooved along behind. As much as he attempted his focus on the clop, clop, clop of Bess's shoes and the pretty woman next to him, the voice which filled his mind was a voice made to beg bacon. No doubt the parson's canting kept his parishioners long in the pew until their puddings were overdone.

"… most beautiful little gardens, nothing to the grandeur and profusion of her ladyship's, of course! …. potatoes, radishes, and oh, my, the parsnips, the hardy parsnips! …just the kind of perfect household a woman of economy would find so splendid and dear! …dine with her grand ladyship at least once in the week, so fortunate am I! … so, many pretty improvements – the sturdy shelves, the adorning door casements, the large larder! …the benevolence is almost too much to bear, you must understand, dear cousin! …such an obligation to immediately follow her most perfect advice, you must understand…"

Darcy was at his limits of adjectives, flattery, and nonsense.

He pondered if Elizabeth also wished to take her fist to the mouth of this bramble-headed idiot as much as he did. Not that he would. A gentleman contains his violence.

Except in the case of the most extreme aggravations and insults – today there had been a heap of them.

The earlier encounter at the inn pushed his temper ill into a place it had not been three months since at Ramsgate, and having remained silently brewing since the exchange with Wickham, Darcy was losing the battle to contain himself. A minute later, the scale tipped until the gold gave way, and he no longer cared a fig if he was a trifle ungenerous to this insignificant man who would just not go away.

Sharp, nasally chatter had offended his ears, and he could take it no more. Darcy played a trump card in a very uneven game of status and rank as he interrupted the fool mid-sentence. "Tell me… Mr. Collins, was it? Does my aunt, your Lady patroness, the Right Honorable Catherine De Bourgh, allow you to always run away in such conversation as you are now? My God, man… no slight intended… should a walk not be silently enjoyed?"

The sputtering fellow came to a halt as did the woman evenly betwixt them.

Had it been any other morning, shame would have washed him down into the dirt for such poor manners before a lady. Would he ever learn to behave properly before this woman? Fortunately for him and forgiving of her reproofs upon some later reflection while lying in his bed alone, shame had no office – Miss Elizabeth could take him to task just as easily.

"Mr. Darcy!" She sniffed away in disgust… of him! She even deigned to touch the arm of the red-faced fool before she turned ready to unbraid his offenses.

And though her words addressed the most annoying man to have ever walked the lane to Longbourn, Darcy never felt her narrowed eyes leave his own person. Yes, somehow, he alone seemed to now be the object of her ire, and addressing the parson was only a vessel of her chastisements. "Mr. Collins, pray excuse our companion today. We must allow that perhaps his breakfast did not suit him or mayhap he has a thorn in his boot. Mr. Darcy, please feel welcome to remove from our company if needs prevail you to make your way back to Netherfield. If not, we appreciate not being subject to your ill temper any longer."

The fool was still sputtering seemingly immune that Elizabeth's censure had defended him so favorably. "Well… I… I… would never disrespect with tedious conversation… the great Lady Catherine – "

From a short distance ahead on the lane, mercy ensued. "Mr. Collins?"

No, it was not Mercy – Mariam, or Mary was it? Darcy did not recall her actual name but bless her. She had diverted them all by continuing to speak out to their group. "Mr. Collins, I do require your assistance if you would be as kind? I am attempting to remind my youngest sister" – and here she bequeathed a look to said younger sister which made Darcy shudder – "the correct mode of deportment a young lady should emulate, and I believe your excellent knowledge of Fordyce would help my cause, sir."

The stern young lady, who put Darcy in mind of a papist nun, continued her withering looks on the tittering Lydia Bennet who was just now being held by the arm. Oh, yes, Darcy had no difficulty in recollecting the name of that youngest Bennet lady who should still be in a schoolroom. He was sure half of this blasted county must have been subjected to her shrill trills and high-spirited ways so down the path she was to infamy.

By god, if she were his sister… oh, no… not going there… I am admittedly so lost, but yet… With that, he forcefully recalled his resolution to think better of all Elizabeth's family as she clearly held them all in esteem… even the youngest, most scandalous one. Though, surely distant cousins could not be extended the same considerations.

Darcy's attention to those around him was recalled by a tension rapidly ensuing as those his party were no longer speaking. It seemed he was the center of their silent attentions for whatever reason he did not know. The unpleasantly large man even gawked at him, and so Darcy did what he did best in social situations where he was out of his depth. He schooled his face and gave no concern for any awkward silence.

The parson, for whatever reason now looking around for reprieve, complied with graciousness to the lady providing his escape. "Miss Mary, I would be pleased to assist…"

Aha! The plain sister is named Mary. I was correct!

Everyone remained where they stood much for some moments, and further to add to Darcy's chagrin was the twisted face of longing the clergyman cast on Miss Elizabeth as he looked between Miss Mary and the foremost obvious object of his notice. Finally, with a sigh, the detested cousin Collins moved forward bowing to his loss.

Miss Mary now had Mr. Collins firmly in her control though somehow, she lost the chief target for wanting Mr. Collins's educational assistance. Miss Lydia disengaged her keeper, skipping ahead and laughing all the way. Fortunately for Darcy, the middle Bennet sister kept her grasp firm on Mr. Collins and bade him walk with her.

Finally.

Finally, he had his much-desired companion to himself. The Oaf and the Nun were outstripping them by the moment, and no doubt Miss Bennet and Bingley were making calf-eyes at one-another somewhere farther up the path and almost out of sight. The Hoyden was now in a full-out run after the sister called Miss Kitty. This sister, almost as unforgettable as the youngest, fluttered off across the field, bonnet in hand… with curls which surprisingly looked like Elizabeth's. Where was such a young girl off to on her own? Why were these Bennet women allowed to roam wild trespassing field and path in whichever direction struck their fancy? With a seducer like Wickham and no doubt the ungentlemanly urges of an entire quarter of militia, such pretty girls should be kept under some kind of protection… even the plain one, although Darcy acknowledged she was really only plain by comparison. What kind of father would allow such freedoms amongst his daughters? He would never.

On a cool breeze, the decent of his own incongruity was swift, and he felt his judgement of Mr. Bennet replaced by self-loathing, guilt, and more self-loathing. After all, it was his own sister who had nearly eloped with a blackguard. Cast the first stone and all that drivel. His eyes closed slowly in his disgrace as he knew he was a hypocrite if there ever had been one.

Was he not even the beneficiary in Mr. Bennet's seemingly indifferent approach to patriarchal duty? Was it not to his own advantage that Mr. Bennet's two eldest daughters had been allowed to reside at Netherfield unaccompanied? What of his own ungentlemanly urges? God knows in his mind he gave and took pleasure from Elizabeth Bennet in every disgraceful manner imaginable. Her father would be in his right to request bloodshed if he had the slightest inkling.

Darcy was further displeased with himself as he stopped and stood in his own stew. A shite stew of a morning. A shite stew of my own character.

The leaves crunched up ahead of him brought him to his senses. She continued walking ahead, and he stood there foolishly stopped with his horse staring after the hips he just lambasted himself for wishing to hold firm in his grasp.

Provoked with guilt for having no control, the words damned siren fell from his mouth on a breath. This captivating vixen would be his death – was she purposely trying to vex him by not waiting for him? With desperation, he wished to speak with her. Was it not obvious? Now that Mr. Collins was otherwise engaged, had they not just cleared the hurdle of being able speaking confidently in each other's company? Had nothing changed between them?

Mayhap, no.

Surely, she had many questions of his behavior this morning, and he was willing to answer to what he felt he could.

Yet, she had the audacity to ignore him while at her aunt's house and then to leave him standing alone as he was now gathering his thoughts. Contrary creature!

"Miss Elizabeth, please, a moment, madam!" He was not overly loud but saw by the movement of her fetching bonnet that she had heard him. She still did not stop. He pulled Bess along and caught up with her finally feeling at liberty to take her arm to place upon his. The comfort of any part of her person resting upon his was instantly settling to the contention in his head… well, until she flinched away walking ahead. She must have thought the better of it as she stopped upon the lane again – just out of reach – to face him with fury in her voice.

"Sir, I will thank you to let me alone."

Sorry? Her words were like a blow in the gut.

Had they not become friends even two nights previous? Had they not shared some kind of understanding? Had she not allowed him to kiss her bare hand and keep her company most intimately?

"Ah, and again you stay silent and stare, Mr. Darcy. You must forgive me if I cannot place your self-proposed shy nature at the moment, sir. You have been nothing but disdainful and full of temper this morning. I have no idea as the cause, but I do know I have no wish to be the recipient of it." Her words were quiet and cold as she turned her face and stance away to look up the path, unmoving.

No, no, no. She had hardly spoken any words to him in the last two days. This was not what he wished nor what he expected her thoughts to be as he thought they had come to know each other on closer terms. Surely, she knew she could not be the target of his contempt. No, she was the target of every good feeling… even the most wrong of good feelings. She would never be the target of his disdain.

"Please, Miss Elizabeth." He moved a pace forward behind her staring at the ribbons trailing over her should and down her back, his hand extended almost far enough to touch her shoulder.

By Grace alone, she stepped backward refusing to turn 'round to look him in the face, her cadence slow. When she took one step too far, his gloved hand fell down her arm before she could change her mind and retreat.

As the wind blew her scent over him, he closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply, as they stood immobile. Though it was autumn, she smelled like early spring – so fresh and vibrant. When he had his fill, he opened his eyes to look down over the rim of her bonnet thinking it might be the work of a moment to turn her into his arms. His body yearned to do it.

"Come, Sir. Let us not linger." Was it his imagining, or did her voice tremor just as his hand loitered back up to her shoulder?

Releasing her, they managed to finally fall into silent step together on the slightly uneven path. When he dared to test his restraint and look at her fully, she was staring directly back with both brows pinned high on her delicate forehead.

He smiled, just slightly. It took a moment or two, but her mouth slowly reflected the actions of his own – the corners pulling up just a small bit. If her expression looked a little awkward or awed or even maybe pinched, he could excuse it. As wonderful as her presence felt, she too must feel the clumsiness of such wild feelings aroused and in constant anticipation.

He felt the loss of her gaze as her eyes returned back to the path in front of them, but what was lost was again found in an instant as she stumbled on the exposed root of a tree. Catching her elbow and drawing her steady, she was his for a few glorious moments. The curve of her hip enflamed him, the weight burning into him and, perhaps, resting there a little longer than the time required to regain her footing.

Was it the sound of his harsh intake of breath which caused her to tilt her head, just a little up to him? Her bonnet shielded her eyes still, but not her perfect, tart mouth.

"Are you well?"

The lady's expression softened and at last lifted her face fully to his. Her smile, in the flash of time it took her eyes to flutter closed, seemed to relax. The crease between her brows softened. He searched her face, so close it was. There... there was some of the gentleness he knew existed within her.

He could kiss her – tear the bonnet from her head, fling it over the hedge, and kiss her wild. Kiss her closed eyelids, her soft cheeks, her delicate jaw, the place where a soft curl escaped down her neck…

Before his mind could go further in his imaginings, the lady demurred – bonnet much intact, and resumed their walk.

It was a merry dance for a minute or two to the tune of the fieldfare and their high-pitched chacking. He was too enticed to let the lady stray too far, yet each time he tried to pull his arm – and her – closer, she quickened her pace and dragged him along keeping a proper distance.

Distance is good. Yes, very good.

Until he thought it was not.

Ever so gently, he attempted to calm their pace until it was non-existent and the space between them, side-by-side, was swallowed whole. Even on a morning walk with her sisters and cousin scattered about, her proximity was the delight which caused him to inwardly smile even in lieu of all his other jagged feelings of anger and self-pity.

"Surely, madam, you cannot accuse me of an offensive temper just now?"

Despite his best attempt at conversing, she dropped his arm and that space which had so deliciously made itself scant had reappeared to gape open again as they muddled onward.

Perhaps there had been a group of Herefords which had trod on his path earlier because what he had apparently stepped in was a large heap of dung.

With purpose, he ignored the tell-tale signs of her bringing one hand up to her temple and then the other to rub small circles. He pretended to not hear the mutterings under her breath. What did I say? Was it the suggestive tone he could not keep from his voice? Was it that every time she looked up to him, he was one stray thread of patience from claiming her mouth?

She is not the only one who feels the frustration of propriety. It was not as if they could give over to the tension right there on the lane!

He did notice when her small hands balled into tight little fists and her stride grew silently longer refusing him an answer. She was huffing to herself now, and her little agitation became her – it was such a charming sight which stole over his better sense.

The provocations of the morning in Whickham and Collins had mostly melted away – they would be dealt with soon enough. His head was full of her, and he could do not but keep steady eyes trained on her from the side until a covey flushed out from the cover of a hedge somewhere behind them. He had a very intrusive but divine idea of hauling her up, finding the same cover as those noisy little birds, and experiencing the flush of her.

She could take out all her little frustrations on his very willing person as much as she liked until they were both supremely satisfied.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had no idea how his small, self-pleased smile snuck up and soiled his face, nor did she know just how close she was to being foisted over his shoulder like a sack of grain into the woods and field beyond…he could plow that seed until his own was spent in balancing his aggravations… no matter it was not the right season for sowing... the thought of something freshly blooming gripped him and he forced a very gentlemanly attention back to his companion.

Seeing Wickham made him lose his grip on every feeling, but comparisons swiftly chastised him; He would not, could not, be that cad.

Apparently, it was too late. Elizabeth's hands waving in front of his face were close to slapping some decency into him, but they did not. Not even her punitive words could fully dishearten a man too far gone who only heard what he wished and half-heard the rest.

"You, sir, are the single most galling person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Tell me, are you aware of how provoking your silence is? How maddening your stare is? And, yes, your temper still offends – I can no longer hold my tongue. If you are so displeased and taciturn today, I wonder at you escorting me home?"

Though that was somewhat a sting, she did not seem nearly as angry as she had when Caroline Bingley displeased her the day prior. Was this what it was like to have a lover's quarrel? She only disapproved of his temper because she did not fully understand. He would make her understand surely soon but looked for an alternate, more palatable subject first. "Miss Elizabeth… I apologize if I have offended you today, but pleasure of knowing? Which is it? I find your speech at cross-intent. Are you really galled, or do you truly think it a pleasure to know me?" I find it pleasurable to know you, you saucy, little –

"Are you entirely serious, Mr. Darcy? Do not look so perplexed. Indeed, that was wit, sir. Have you have completely lost yours? In truth, I find your company not at all pleasurable at present. I think it should be much more pleasurable to beat you upon your head with a stick." Her tone was lowered to a whisper, but her inflection roared like that of a lioness.

He had misjudged her ill-content.

The way she eyed a fallen branch upon the ground caused more than some startled discomfort on his part, but he already now felt knocked upon his head and his good sense gone as she berated him.

Women were vexing, and this was the precise reason, he reminded himself as he studied the countryside beyond, he had no use for them before entering this infernal backwater. He was not sure what she was playing at being so cross. But as he studied the woods beyond the hedge, he could not help himself to revert back to imagining her kindness; he could not help but imagining her to cease worrying about that stick she referred to and whatever her displeasure was about. Instead, he saw her placing her hand in his and running out of sight, just as two people should who did not have a care except one another. No god-awful relations, no duty, no George Wickham. He wished to banish all further concerns of the morning and life beyond. It was delusional perhaps and most inappropriate considering he was the recipient of Miss Bennet's ill feelings and his own burdens, and this was why he should have never stepped his polished boot into her aunt's drawing room. He should have returned to Netherfield immediately after dealing with Wickham. His draw to Elizabeth had no merit this morning. His head was too muddled, and now he could only think of what could sooth his bothers – her, even in her current attitude, willingly walking off the path with him.

"Lizzy…"

It was the sober-looking Mary who called back for Elizabeth from ahead of them. She clearly did not approve of dawdling.

Elizabeth beguiled him with a look of challenge. "Come, Mr. Darcy, else I shall leave you standing here alone with your precious horse, witless and brooding. My patience is most thoroughly failing."

He dared to reach out his arm in the most proper fashion he could affect at such a time as thinking her bent over the trunk of a tree transferring all his pent-up energies into something much more fulfilling. She could go-on and beat him with a stick if she truly wished, but then he would take his revenge by exacting her pleasure and then his own.

He had to roll his eyes at himself for that ridiculous thought. He must really control himself, and it was not gentlemanly to think of Elizabeth exposing herself in such a place of discovery. No, bent over and clutching the poster of his bed was much better, and it would be more comfortable for her anyhow. He dropped the ribbons to his horse he had absently grabbed knowing Bess would continue to follow, and instead placed his now free hand over hers where it had found its way back to his arm.

Rubbing leather over leather, he indulged himself in his thoughts until he eventually felt himself rubbing his thumb up and down the soft skin under her wrist with an illicit inflection of pressure. Keeping his eyes trained on the path before him, he cautiously drew his wondering hand back to his side. Oh, God, I am a horrible person. Forgive me. I am really no better than Wickham.

At that thought, his involuntary ardent notions cooled to the temperature of the November winds swirling down the path.

Now confirmed as Miss Mary, the headmistress in-the-making was glaring from not less than fifty paces. That one seemed more apt to rap his knuckles than allow even an elder sister to fall completely behind with a gentleman, or in his current case, a degenerate in gentleman's clothing.

Yes, he would think of the sharp sister's disapproval and hold himself in check. How could he hold his righteous anger for such a bounder as Wickham when he was playing a bounder himself, even if only in his head? Though unlike Wickham, Darcy knew himself as honorable, even if only in word and deed.

Darcy stopped his progress and then started again meditating again on just what the honorable escape of his dishonorable thoughts may be. In marriage, is not all permissible?

It was nearly a full two minutes before he became cognizant Elizabeth had herself wrapped her other hand around the arm she held, tapping her fingers and clearly waiting for him to speak.

"Miss Bennet, please forgive me. I am not quite myself just now."

"Oh, well, you had me fooled, Mr. Darcy." The biting wit in her voice did not fall upon deaf ears and keen understanding, but the fact both her hands were still upon his arm gave him courage to continue in the same vein without her entirely pulling away.

"And, what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"It would mean, sir, it was unwise of me to think – after coming to know you better… after… ah-hem… our lesson of billiards, that I would not find you as discourteous and disagreeable as ever. The other night was certainly an anomaly, I suppose. I cannot account for the differences." It was all said in a hushed voice.

His affront was momentary and all but pushed away by knowing not only that they shared a secret of a secret meeting except that there was still some need to oblige his pride and defend himself. He dared an offensive as he knew her volleys would be rather swift and aggressive.

So strangely appealing to argue with this maddening woman.

"And, do you, madam, not make allowances in temper for the effects of one's surroundings, situations, or company? My morning was unexpectedly trying in the worst of ways you could never begin to know. As for yourself, you too seem ill-content and ill-tempered, and yet, I am not calling you out. I comprehend and forgive that between Miss Bingley yesterday in the parish yard and Mr. Collins' inappropriate attentions in your aunt's drawing room, your usually abundant grace may be exhausted with no leavings for me, and I am not so ungenerous as to hold that against you. I dare say I even find you amusing in your peaked state. Can you not extend the same allowance and courtesy?"

She was clearly incredulous. Too offensive. Her hands had dropped away from his arm moments ago and now he watched her retreat farther up the path until after a dozen steps ahead, she turned around and marched directly back to stand before him.

An observation took him – that he would examine several months hence – that it was always two steps forward and then one back with him and Elizabeth Bennet in the beginning.

He felt the heat of her ire and supposed he deserved it for speaking wildly out of turn just now. And, if he were looking at her face instead of dropping his eyes to the buttons of her pelisse as they heaved, he would have found a narrowing of her eyes before they cooled into something more determined.

"Mr. Darcy!" His eyes immediately found hers at her scold. "Would you find me less interesting if I led you to that pond over there and pushed you in the water? Because, if you do not begin to think before you form the words which pour forth from your mouth, then I certainly shall carry my point."

Had she been any other person to threaten him so, he would have either turned away in scorn or thrashed the naysayer. However, her temper was a lure. Hazarding a step closer, he admired that indomitable look he had seen when she refused to dance with him both at Sir Lucas's dinner party and in the drawing room at Netherfield. His eyes fell from her impassioned eyes to her parted lips, and he wondered if he had ever been so close to kissing a woman. Had he truly already imagined doing so a thousand times in the short time he had known her? Certainly, and he took pleasure in imagining so that mouth doing so much more.

In the most basic recess of his mind, where troubles ceased to exist, those lips knew just how to bring about his every invention of ecstasy, every instance of enchantment. The tongue which darted out surely did so not to wet those lips on this dry, windy day but rather to whet his aspirations. That same tongue would know how to coax his every agreement to whatever her desires were. How could she not guess she held so much power in such a small part of her?

"Come, Sir. The pond. I once heard your friend accuse you of standing around in a stupid manner. I can now share the same concern. Perhaps a good dousing will make you recall some semblance of good manners. This is ridiculous."

He brushed off her exaggerated attempt to pull him along. Her words were almost as effective to cool his head. And, as much as he would like to attempt something so enterprising as to kiss her mouthy reproach, retrace he must. "Very well, I will move along and keep quiet as I clearly cannot find the right thing to say this morning, and you may do likewise. I imagine your silence is perhaps more tolerable at any rate on such a pretty walk and less injurious to myself. We do not have to speak at present if you do not wish it."

No, I would be content to not speak at all.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the pretty blush rise upon her neck just over her collar, and he hated himself a little for the oblique turn of his tongue and his daring touch.

Yet instinct would have its way when she bit down on her bottom lips – it was that habit of hers most to drive him mad, and he could hardly stand it. Yet, he caught himself and almost sighed- half at the thought of how they could enjoy the pretty scenery while not talking, and half at the thought that Elizabeth Bennet had turned him into the worst sort of lustful rogue. He looked ahead on the path and took up her hand to lay on his arm. As he pulled his own arm and thus her closer, it was not of his own volition his hands laced over hers.

Yes, honorable he may have to be to save his mortal soul lest he compromise her right there on the very lane.

Close as she was, she did not have to speak very loudly, and his surprised ears heard her voice full of amusement. "My silence is more tolerable? More tolerable than what? Pray, what do I dare take from such a statement? Can I infer I, or rather my conversation, is usually intolerable to you in some way? No, do not answer; though I believe we may be something like friends, you have made me well-aware of your opinion there in the past – not that it affects me one way or another I will have you know." Belying her words, she squeezed his hands – with quite capable of strength for a lady – and in response, their progress halted for the fourteenth time as he looked down unabashedly bewildered as she continued in her impertinent speech. "What I do not understand, Mr. Darcy, is how you continually find yourself in my company. I am surprised that you would be tempted to escort me home?" She then arched her brow stepping away entirely, finally smiling as she had some little personal victory. "But, then again, I am only tolerable, and now you wish for my silence. I do hope you can bear-up the remaining distance to Longbourn as I am not so easily intimidated as you are well aware… although, if you do not think you can manage much longer in my company, you have my permission to ride as vigorously as you dare all the way back to Netherfield, and I shall attempt to not wish you unseated along the way."

What the devil?

There was a bend upon the path which all others in their party had already passed. If they remained where they were, they remained unseen from the others. It was as close to being alone with Elizabeth as he had been since before she left Netherfield. Being so inflamed by at first what he thought was her flirtatious manner only to have his spirits sluiced through what he now though her sauciness, he was wholly confounded. Had she deliberately misunderstood him? Taking up her hand with all the gentleness he could affect, he then abandoned restraint to all but lug from the lane and finally behind a near hedge as he dared earlier in his mind.

With privacy and before she could say a word further, he chanced to capture her by the shoulders. "Only tolerable? You stress the words as if they should mean something? Well-aware of my opinion… as only tolerable? Are you mad, madam? I have not implied anything of the sort. Though you seem to imply we are only something like it, I imagined we are indeed friends, Miss Elizabeth. I understand if you wish to take me to task for my inappropriate behavior this morning – I have not been the epitome of gentlemanly conduct, and I am sorry for events this morning have been in some cases not only unforeseen but overwhelming, but you seem entirely at cross purposes with me and wholly put out."

"And you seem wholly put out with everyone."

She was fully still in his grasp and immediately dropped his hands. He would have gloried at the way she felt beneath his palms if he did not feel he was too forward with accosting her person when he was suddenly unsure if she welcomed him.

"Your pardon." He stepped back.

It was as if she caught his uncertainty and became disconcerted herself. He hoped he looked every bit mortified as he now felt. He was no brute, at least where ladies were concerned.

Sense stole over him – though how long it would remain was indeterminate. "Will you please clarify for me, madam? I have clearly offended you in a very grave manner since you have left Netherfield Sunday last and am at a loss. You have my deepest apologies for my inappropriate thoughts and remarks just now, and if you hold Miss Bingley's insults from yesterday at my feet as well, then I understand. I am sure was too forward in my defense of you which no doubt incited her sharp tongue. I assure you I feel great resentment toward the lady on your behalf. I have even suggested to Bingley it would be wise for his sister to be removed to London."

He saw the blush rise again in Elizabeth's cheeks and could not stop himself. "I greatly admired your strength yesterday in the face of her implied insults. I know she harmed you with her careless words and ridiculous entendre, and I think I quite hate her for it. I do wish I had the right to do more on your behalf."

He held her eyes as he said the last.

And it was several seconds later he saw some confusion clear from her face as she expelled the breath she must have been holding.

"Now, how can I hold onto my umbrage with your behavior this morning when you go and say something like that, Mr. Darcy?"

"I pray you would not, Miss Elizabeth." Prayed so very fervently.

"Do not think I excuse you entirely based merely on your pretty words, Mr. Darcy, but please be assured I do not hold Miss Bingley's conduct in any way at your door. I am most appreciative of your support the day prior." He would swear his second-best hunter that her eyes softened as she spoke. He could not be so delusional. "Well, perhaps I do curse you a little for christening your animal with my namesake, but then again, I must recall you must have named your horse well long before you gained my acquaintance, so you are pardoned for that infraction."

Though her eyes did not hide it and her cheeks could hardly tamp it down, there was a smile under all that rising imperial nature as she spoke, and he tried to hide his own encouragement before he caused any greater folly. Yet, when he saw the full wonder of her open and happy mouth, his veneer surely cracked, and they both fell to light laughter.

The wind whipped up the leaves and carried away the remaining conflict.

"Mr. Darcy, though you are forgiven for the coincidence of your horse sharing my name, as your new friend, it is my duty to take you to task when needed. And, your behavior today was not at all pleasant."

"My behavior? Perhaps except for hiding you behind this copse and some improper speech, my conduct today has been almost blameless." He could not find blame in his interaction with Wickham. But, perhaps my musings have not been blameless – she could not wholly guess at the worst of my transgressions, could she?

Elizabeth blushed again, deeply.

Impossible! She cannot know the inner-workings of my mind.

"Mr. Darcy, may we please return to the path now? It would not do for us to remain here for much longer."

Oh. What a dolt. Her sense of propriety seemed rather a confirmation she knew she was in danger of a potential scoundrel. Straightening up, he offered the courtesy of a bow. If he was going to be a dolt, he was going to be a proper dolt. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth, let us walk out into the lane."

She took his arm at the same time as he formally offered it to her… offered it from a great as distance as any matronly society judge would approve. Yet, so natural were their movements together, ten paces and that same matron would have tsk'd. He tried and failed so quickly, he could only hope to ignore the fact he was entirely defenseless. Every minute with her seemed a fortification lost.

Silence in her presence seemed his heart's most effective tactic against himself, so he spoke. "Miss Elizabeth, what all have I done to cause you offense today? I believe you indicated you should take me to a task. Let not it be for me to deny you anything."

There, quite gallant.

She surprised him by merrily going headlong into a list she apparently had acquired since their meeting on the streets of Meryton earlier in the morning: "Perhaps these wrongs were not all done against me but my relations. I am, I suppose, disappointed in your lack of manners when in my aunt's parlor. Also, your absolute rudeness to Mr. Collins at every turn was exceedingly graceless. My aunt and this cousin of mine are surely and respectively within the bounds of vulgarity and excessively servile, but that does not give you the excuse – as a gentleman mind you – to sit in my aunt's parlor and ignore her hospitality, nor does it excuse your severe speech to my cousin. And your book? You pull out a book to hide behind during a morning's call? It was unbelievable."

Did she think he would not bleed if she kept her voice so sweet?

"By your calculation, my faults today were great. I can only say in my defense that this cousin of yours refused to stop talking. I thought the man might bowl over with his literally suffocating speech. How he manages to take a breath is beyond me. He was also clearly was much too close to your person as polite and forgive me or not, his forwardness had to be checked somehow. If my rudeness gave him pause, then so be it. As for Mrs. Phillips, I truly did not intend any slight. I have told you I am quieter in company than is my wont… however, even that is only true under the best of conditions.

"This morning, however, may have been the worst of conditions. I did not even wish to affect my presence on the company of your aunt's sitting room in the first place, but I could not very well refuse the invitation once I was spied outside her door. I am sure if my very patience had not been tried in the most severe way this morning when I saw Mr. Wickham taking advantage of your acquaintance, I would have put forth more effort to make myself more agreeable to your family. I shall endeavor to do better at her card party."

"While I thank you to at least strive for some politeness to my aunt, I take exception to Mr. Wickham taking advantage to my person. Great exception! How can you insinuate such a thing? I was on an open street in the company of my sisters, and I just had made the man's acquaintance though it is clear yours with him is of much longer duration and not at all pleasant. Your behavior again was most unbearable. There was nothing tawdry or improper in an introduction, and you should not imply so."

Longbourn and the oft turning head of Miss Mary's disapproving looks summoned in the distance, and there was not the time for a long explanation or further intimate conversation. Despite the back and forth, somewhere along the road a degree of propriety was lost and familiarity regained, but it could not remain so for long. He would have to be quick in his explanation. He would warn her – above all the mere presence of a man like Wickham in the presence of a lady he favored should induce caution.

"I do not imply anything improper of accepting an introduction you in no way could know of being a tarnish to your reputation. You are not to blame. But consider, I have known this particular blackguard since I can recall my earliest memory. He is the son of my late father's late steward. He is not an honorable man. And, I would ask you not associate with him, nor your sisters – not that he should be free to impose his acquaintance on you now. But, in the event he chooses to make himself known before he quits the country, you must refuse his company and tell your father or me at once."

"You must not be serious! Who are you to suggest who I should associate with?" She pulled away from him in challenge. "I reserve my judgement for offenses against myself and my family – not offenses and dealings with people I have no concern with. I am sorry for your poor history, but why should I not judge a character for myself? You go too far and have no claim, sir."

No claim? I have every right.

He would tell her so immediately.

"You are very wrong and foolish, madam, to give someone like Mr. Wickham any opportunity of a good character," he practically spat it thinking of his morning at the inn. "I do not go too far in the least, and I do not have the time or want for giving you a full explanation. It could hurt more than myself. However, Mr. Wickham and any who proclaim to be his friend are not to be trusted. Most of the militia quartered here should be held with a great of degree of caution before you go an make happy acquaintance with all of them. Beside this point, you would trust an unworthy stranger but not a friend? Even if we are only something like it, are we not friends?"

"Sir, with all respect, I believe you a gentleman and do trust you. But, your lay a heavy claim against the man, and the whole of the militia for that matter. I strive to be impartial until I have reason otherwise."

His patience was waning. She said she trusted him but clearly, she could not take his word at its value. Very well, he would speak plainly. "It is not just a heavy claim. It is the veritable truth. Mr. Wickham, and men like him, are dishonorable in every sense of the word. This particular man is a rake and a seducer. He is also a gambler and leaves his debts for others to buy up. He will lie, extort, and take advantage of whatever suits his whims. I pray you to use discretion in trusting easy manners. In the case of Mr. Wickham, I should insist further you do me the honor of believing my reports lest you fall at risk. He is not above retaliating against me whether through his own means or by the use of his friends which will no doubt mix in this small society. You should speak with your sisters to discourage seeking out the officers; I am sure most are honorable, but a young lady is not always capable of discerning the truth. Mr. Wickham and his ilk have no qualms against harming gentlewomen… Mr. Wickham himself has done a great harm against my family, and he would not hesitate in doing so again."

Elizabeth stopped their progression and looked at him with wide eyes. She was clearly shocked at his words which he thought she finally grasped were not mere accusations.

"Miss Elizabeth, in the case of Mr. Wickham, I can provide you with all the evidence at a later time. But, I implore you believe me. I have given him a warning this morning, and he will most likely heed it while I still reside here, but he is not to be trusted to stay put. And, it would be just as foolish to trust a large contingent of strange men who have no accountable connections to the people here. Please, for my sake, use prudence as you and your sisters saunter into town and charm every single man in the vicinity. You are just the kind of young woman a dishonorable man might be tempted by."

Her expression went from shocked to sour, but he was too impassioned to understand it.

"How flattering to my vanity. At least a rake should be tempted by me." Her hands were neatly fisted on her hips before she threw them up in disgust.

What was this lady about? "Pardon, but hang your vanity for a moment and allow me to be as forthright as I may possibly be: you are just the kind of woman to tempt a such a man. It may seem vulgar, but experience has taught me to think very differently on matters as this. There is no harm in young women being informed, and you should be aware of those who may have such proclivities against young women like yourself."

"Thank you for pointing out my deficiency, sir."

"Are you to misunderstand me at every turn today?" He now felt the urge to throw up his own hands. "You are not deficient in any way." Except in understanding, perhaps. "Forgive me for saying such a thing, but most men are drawn by a handsome woman. It is only most are gentleman enough to resist or the lady in question is well-guarded against those who are not. As exampled this morning, Mr. Wickham – dishonorable as he is – sought you out among your sisters, and you sidled up by his side without nary a thought in your head to the damage he could have wrought. I cannot stand by as you unknowingly attract a rake at one introduction."

"So, I am the kind of woman who may turn the head of a rake and tempt him into his own sin. Can a man, good or evil, not be responsible for himself? And, why would you even suggest I am the kind of woman who allow herself to be party to what you intimate? A simple introduction does not always precipitate any greater intimacy. Have I proved to be that kind of easy woman in your mind? One who is not cautious in her dealings with gentlemen?" It took a moment, but her eyes went round as the plates on Bingley's supper table.

Oh no. She cannot think I blame any of her behavior.

Before he could clarify, she hastily took a step back and crossed a hand over her chest. "I see."

The others were now at the park entrance and he saw his friend taking his leave of Elizabeth's sisters. Darcy's time with her was almost at an end with hardly a moment for more hushed words, and it was most unfair as he did not wish to part with such great misunderstanding between them. "Miss Elizabeth – "

"You have said enough, sir. I feel this conversation has turned most improper and not at all conducive for goodwill between us. I shall leave you here and send Mr. Bingley to you. Thank you for the accompanying us home and good day, sir. You need not follow inside."

He thought to himself as she walked away how monumentally he had muddled his opportunity alone with her. He also thought if Wickham did not heed the warning to keep to the inn, then he had made her quite the target. It was his duty to warn her in the case the worst could happen, no matter how ill it had just gone for him. He had left his young sister without the defense of basic knowledge of the world, and he would not be so shortsighted again with a woman he dearly cared for.

She turned her head over her shoulder as she pushed on the gate. Her appraisal was as if he was some great quandary, and he could not bear as she looked away from him, clearly unsatisfied.

He stared at her, and when he could not will her to look back, he looked all around - his following horse nor the horizon held any suggestions. But, his legs, immobile just a moment before, knew better what to do and lifted off the ground, involuntary without a thought. "Miss… Elizabeth." He bowed but it was done more to spare a moment and catch his breath.

She again was the one to step away, as he was much too close to her, again and again, looking to the loveliest eyes to ever torment what was once a respectable man. The questions in her expression now near ripped apart whatever it was thrumming along under his waistcoat. Without a proper thought in his head to guide him, he kept his own scrutiny on the bittersweet bliss which was her face as he chased the distance between them that he was determined to hate. "May I call you?"

This time when she took a step back, he understood not to follow but still held her face in his sights. Begging himself to be a gentleman, he did not do what seemed like the most natural thing in reaching out to sooth her questioning brow.

"Sir, I think you rather should call on my father, do you think not?"

The same thought had been rattling in his mind since she walked out of Netherfield's library under the light of the moon, yet the starched linen at his throat wrapped around his neck ever so tightly still. Briefly, he imagined himself strung up at the altar of the church in Meryton. If ever there was anything to remove the wind from a man's sails… How can she make demands of me so even if I have them of myself? Have I truly crossed the boundary of respectability with her? Is this her concern?

How could he not cede? This might be the only way to keep his honor. If she bade him to her father, he would do it. It was not as if it was not inevitable – he practically accepted it.

"Is this what you wish? For me to go directly to your father? Now?" He swallowed, and something welled up inside of him that he could very well be an engaged man by the end of the day. Lord knew if her father knew anything of their relationship or anything of his thoughts, Mr. Bennet would demand an immediate marriage.

Oh, how could he not marry her? Had he not only this morning in a fit of rage threatened a man's very life for just the impropriety of an introduction. How could he allow her to be tied to anyone other than himself?

As frightening as it was, there was much excitement in the idea of gratifying his greatest wishes. They could marry as soon as the banns were called, sooner if he went directly to London. Would it truly be a hardship? He really had no need for more wealth. Her connections were nothing to claim as beneficial, but she held her family in esteem. And, if she esteemed them, then that alone would prove their worthiness enough.

If he capitulated, she would be twisted in his bedclothes and under him in hardly more than a fortnight. They could spend Christmastide at Pemberley. She would be his for every sunset, each sunrise, and all the moments between as he wished it.

The prospect of so much delight flowed through him to constrict his chest. He took in her sweet face, ignoring the uncertainty he saw there – thinking he was moments from clearing it all away – and drew even closer, extending a hand, and delighting in the smell her, of verdant spring which cloaked over him on this tempestuous day. But, just as he almost had a tendril of her hair in his fingertips, she tilted her head and looked away in what appeared to be confusion that was not to abate but still to be taken over a haughty, cold gaze.

"Perhaps there is no need to go to him right this moment, but if you are so insistent about this Mr. Wickham and his ilk, should my father not be consulted? It would not do for his daughters to be endangered without his knowledge. I would consider it a kindness of sorts. My younger sisters still lack the sense most young women should have, and I would not like to see them taken in by someone like the man you describe who only this morning was at liberty to even gain an innocent introduction. I may be able to eventually judge for myself, but the ability of my younger sisters to do so is doubtful."

He blinked a few times. Has he become lost somewhere along the way? Was she not calling on him to do his duty by her? And he could not comprehend her patronizing attitude.

"You wish for me to talk to your father about Mr. Wickham and the officer of the militia?"

Now in lieu of confusion and condescension, he only read exasperation. It gave a certain fire behind her eyes which set him aflame even amid the disorder of his own mind.

"Sir, was that what we have not been discussing the last quarter of an hour? Your grave concern for the reputation of me and my sisters which you think we have no sense to guard enough for ourselves? Reflecting on my own recent behavior with a respectable man," and here her raised brow put the meaning of her previous words into doubt, "a man who could not truly be tempted if I were Helen of Troy herself, I will concede there is merit in a warning, but propriety demands you address it to my father. After all, am I not just a silly female who does not know the difference between a man who seeks to use me and one who might bestow friendship? I am giving up all attempts to find worth in knowing the difference and shall confine where I once saw the need to do so as now utterly useless."

Befuddled and stupefied, he did not dare run after her as she now stamped her feet in a march through the gate and up the garden path so out of his reach.

A/N: I have been sitting on this section for a very long time! I just gave up on it and posted it. This little story started out light and fun, and while there will be some misunderstandings, this almost concludes anything so angsty. I will also say the reasons for the mature rating should be more prevalent in subsequent chapters.

Some things the author would like to you consider...

1. Part of the point is to only infer E's POV. I will not share until the end, but I promise if we could see into her mind, she would think Darcy a strange kind of man who made her feel very hot and cold - she would not have any clue that he was ready to take her off to a little white church. I would be interested to know what readers thought of her POV. I am being deliberately conflicting about it... I think.

2. I know I am the world's slowest poster of new chapters. I can't help it. But, I am not abandoning any story I share on her.

3. I had intended to keep chapters short in this story but I can't but help to overwrite, and I was too lazy to post more than once.

4. Thank you for reading.