A/N: If you didn't notice my second author's note in the first chapter, then I wanted to let you know that this is not a new chapter. It's the same story but I decided to split it into two because of the length.
Chapter 2
The following morning was a testament on maintaining one's sensibilities in lieu after perpetrating indecorous thoughts and conducts a mere hour before sitting down for breakfast.
It was truly paramount when the inspiration of such vexations was next to one.
Darcy had no one else to blame but himself. He loathed such weakness, especially when he held himself to a much higher standard than most men in his situation. If anything, this prove he was as culpable as any other male. Therefore, he was not to be trifled with or exchange pleasantries when he was striving to keep his composure in check. It was proving, rather, to be difficult each passing second. Even the simple act of inhaling was a dilemma he never thought could exist.
"Are you unwell Darcy?" Bingley asked good-naturedly. Of course, there was absolutely no reason Bingley could have known the torment going through Darcy's head. It was not his oldest friend's fault, yet Darcy could not hold back his retort, which he regretted immediately at his tone.
"I am quite well," he answered, the emphasis clipped and brusque. Bingley flinched but he quickly covered it up with a charming smile to inquiry after Miss Bennet to Miss Elizabeth.
Relieved the attention was removed from his person; Darcy knew he could have responded a bit more civilly since the question was meant as concern. However, his focus was purely selfish and it took every ounce of his restraint to remain in his seat lest he should embarrass himself. Although, it was a challenge when he was given the great pleasure of listening to Miss Elizabeth speak so favorably about her sister. Furthermore, it was a herculean effort knowing that beneath the conservative muslin dress was a fighter with a very agreeable physique. Last night's viewing only increased his ardor and the fervent beating of his heart…
Knowing sleep was not going to occur, Darcy had to alleviate his mounting passions or else he was certain he would truly perish. The only form of relief that would quell these feelings was to pick up his katana and engage his own training. It would not be the first time that he would participate in late night trainings, but for the sake of his sanity, he must fight.
He threw on his undershirt and breeches, and quickly laced up his boots before picking up his sword. Feeling the grip within his hands, Darcy mentally steadied himself as his sensei taught him. He always felt in control with his katana and here he would regain his control once more.
He decided on a different garden to practice. If he wanted to purge any thoughts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then he would have to go somewhere she had not passed. The tall hedges provided enough cover not to draw attention and there he began the basic of poses and cutting movements: up and down, right to left, diagonally, and reverse. Then he applied the advance footwork with each swivel and sweep, maintaining a firm grip upon the handle before he moved to quicker and faster slices.
This was the only type of dance that Darcy felt comfortable in performing. There was no audience, no simpering ladies with their predatory gazes. Here was where Darcy could be himself without judgment or money hungry social climbers garnering for his affections.
It was also a place where he could forget the horrible memories of the past.
Exorcising his demons was a habitual routine but it was his burden to carry. Now, those demons were intertwining with that of the alluring siren with her fine dark eyes and light and pleasing figure. Blocking out the image of Miss Elizabeth should have been easy; alas, all his years spent with the great masters in Kyoto were falling apart and Darcy was starting to lose himself.
It seemed no matter how hard he tried to resist her; Miss Elizabeth would find her way back into his mind and into his blood.
Severing the statue's head did provide momentarily catharsis. And he was beginning to feel the lure of fatigue settling in. Perhaps he might have some peace after all.
Yet, it was only a reprieve for a few hours before his mind (on its accord) conjured Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They were fighting side by side at the Meryton assembly—her sisters, Bingley, the other guests were conveniently absent—and it was his katana and her Chinese butterfly knives that massacred the zombies.
When the last zombie fell, he turned to see her blue satin dress covered in blood. Her countenance was glowing from the vigorous battle, those dark eyes burning, her bun falling apart, but that smile… The delectable curl of her luscious lips, revealing the front of her teeth, displayed her pleasure at such a victory.
His own appearance, he knew, harbored similar dishevelment but he cared not about that. No… All he could look at was the Amazon before him, her blades drenched in the blood of dozen unmentionables, and her impassioned gaze that spoke volumes as she surveyed his person.
Darcy dropped his katana and lunged.
Elizabeth, anticipating, dropped her weapons as their mouths met in a dueling entanglement of tongues and harsh bites. There was no tenderness, just the growing desire to conquer and feel. Her nails slid around the back of his head, scraping as she tugged on the ends of his hair, causing him to growl in approval as he pushed her up against the wall.
Her right leg curled around his hip as his hand joined to lift it higher, pressing urgently against her core, Darcy moaned at the touch of her silken skin above her tights and garter. His lips descended upon her throat, nipping and licking, her excitement fueling his with every gasp and hiss spilling from her swollen and ravished mouth. When he reached the top of her breasts, Elizabeth practically sung her praises as he feasted upon her soft flesh. There was not a single inch he hadn't touched, and as he dipped his tongue at the crevice, he greedily wanted more.
She was bucking against him as he tore into the bodice, exposing what his hungry eyes wanted, and quickly latched upon the quivering bud…
It was ill-timing that his misfortune alerted him to an unbearable pain in his loins that Darcy woke to discover what his dreams brought. He shivered uncontrollably as his mind recalled his dream Elizabeth writhing and panting his name that he possessed no sense for what followed.
It hadn't taken long for him to achieve the pinnacle of his body's demand. Even in the post haze of the intense release, Darcy could still feel the longing for her and feared there would be no end to this spell.
Mortification and shame came immediately afterwards.
He hadn't lost control of himself like that since he was in his pre-teens, and for a grown man to behave in a prepubescent way was disconcerting. At least he had the foresight to use his handkerchief to cover his plight so to spare himself the humiliation of the chambermaid discovering his activity when changing his sheets.
Presently, his overwrought libido was becoming too much of a distraction as he attempted to divert himself with anything in his sight. The temptation to drift back to Miss Elizabeth lingered and the teasing scent of her perfume—jasmine with a hint of vanilla—was overriding his better judgment as he shifted imperceptibly in the poor hope that it would add some distance between them.
Meanwhile, unaware of Mr. Darcy's distress, Elizabeth was in a conundrum herself. While hers wasn't as strenuous as his, it was perplexing nevertheless. She could not understand the feelings that arose when watching Mr. Darcy with his katana last night. Despite his state of dress or rather lack thereof, it was the masterful way of handling such a weapon that left her reeling. Indeed, her maiden sensibilities should have been more shocked at seeing a man barely dressed, but as it were, she flushed at the memory of his swerving arms and the swift strokes of the curved blade.
Elizabeth could only rationalized that as a warrior, herself, she appreciated his skill and that her feelings were nothing more than admiration and possibly envy. She could imagine the kind of power and thrill it might have in yielding something like his katana and longed for a go. However, she did not forget that it was Mr. Darcy who owned such a breathtaking work of art. She would rather face a room full of zombies than ask the disagreeable man for a demonstration. No doubt he would look down at her with his imperious nose and offer some unenlightening comment that her secondary accomplishments could not withstand the technique to use a samurai's sword.
No… She much preferred her butterfly knives for their lightness and flexibility.
Contented that she had solved her quandary in regards to Mr. Darcy and his katana, Elizabeth went to breakfast with a clear conscience. Yet, her bravado wavered (just a smidgen) when she realized who she was to be seated next to.
Preparing her countenance, she lifted her chin as she coolly walked past Mr. Darcy and sat down when the footman pulled her chair out. She was determined not to let him ruin her good mood or the delicious trays of sustenance as she helped herself to a slice of ham, eggs, and toast smeared with peach marmalade. As she proceeded to bite and chew her bread, Elizabeth observed how taut Mr. Darcy was and how he avoided looking at her directly. His greeting had been gruff when she was announced unlike the cheery response of Mr. Bingley. Even Mr. Hurst was cordial in his indifference. Mr. Darcy was clearly in a foul mood and she surmised it must be because of her. He probably was bearing a grudge the other night for injuring his pride.
Let him suffer, she thought. He will not get the best of me!
Over the course of the meal, his disposition did not change as he spoke in monosyllabic words. Then when Mr. Bingley inquired after his welfare, his reply was so rude! Elizabeth was appalled at Mr. Darcy's treatment towards his friend that she held her fork and knife so tight that she was half-tempted to drive it through his hand! Even if he happened to be unwell, there was no need for his abruptness.
"Miss Bennet, may I inquiry after your sister?" Mr. Bingley asked, redirecting the focus away from his ill-mannered friend.
Swallowing her eggs, Elizabeth nodded. "Jane is doing well as can be expected. She has some color back to her complexion and she does not suffer a high fever. I trust her constitution will be back to normal. She is a strong one, my sister, and I daresay she will have a laugh at how a meager cold brought her unabashedly down."
"Yes I did notice her strength. I mean, she is resilient for facing those zombies." Mr. Bingley colored at his slip and Elizabeth found it promising that his regard for Jane had not changed the night before.
Good, she thought. At least his relations and Mr. Darcy cannot persuade him. Even if her training was seen as subordinate to theirs… His heart is touched and that's all that matters.
Elizabeth knew this news would be most pleasing to Jane.
"I agree. Jane and her Shaolin staff are very well-matched. I confess I do not possess her artful way of wielding it. It requires too much patience to know how much force to use in order to disable one's opponent or deliver a deadly blow. Even in that, one must know where to direct such a strike and Jane has bested all of us in that regard."
"Does she have some compassion for the undead? Is that why she chooses a weapon that is meant to disarm?" Caroline rebuked.
Elizabeth frowned. "Well, in some way, we should. They were once human and our friends, family, and neighbors. It is a pity what fate befell them and Jane respects the idea that once a zombie is disposed that his or her soul is restored to Heaven. It cannot be helped that the innocent were forsaken on Earth but at least they will be embraced spiritually."
"A demmed zombie is demmed," Mr. Hurst replied obtusely. "God punishes those with the infliction and that's that."
"I have to concur with Miss Bennet. She is right that the zombies were people that we could have known. Good or bad… no one deserves to be condemned for eternity. Their suffering is enough here and I rather like the idea of their souls being returned to Heaven. There is hope to that thinking and we should hold onto that," Mr. Bingley contended.
Mr. Hurst snorted derisively and went back to his morning wine. Caroline and Mrs. Hurst exchanged looks and shared an audible snicker. At least Mr. Bingley seemed to be vexed at their responses.
Only the discomfited gentleman on her left had not deemed a reply. Elizabeth presumed it would be a matter of time for Mr. Darcy to formulate an opinion, which she was certain he had one if his past prejudice was an indicator. Oddly, he did not voice his thoughts but was rather intently concentrating on the table-piece.
"What say you Mr. Darcy?" Caroline finally ventured; her intention clearly to get him to speak. Elizabeth felt his silence was unobjectionable but now that Miss Bingley entreated him… The room will have to bear his point of view.
Turning her face fully at him, Elizabeth waited with a grim poise at what would undoubtedly be shortsighted.
His umber eyes fixed on her, their expression an all-consuming acuteness that involuntarily had her breath quicken. It had been a brief glance but Elizabeth felt her heart aflutter in an inexplicable way. Then, with a jolting clearing of his throat, Mr. Darcy proceeded.
"While I can understand Miss Bennet and Bingley's opinion on the subject, I do not acknowledge if such a declaration is viable," his raspy voice stated methodically in its inflection. "Dead is dead. As for the undead, I can retain that the persons we once knew are already gone. All that remains is the former shell of their being—a body roaming aimlessly until it is returned to its proper place."
"Is that all they are to you?" Elizabeth demurred. "A walking body?"
"Indeed that is what I said," he passively reiterated. "Nevertheless, merely saying that zombies are a body might be grossly understating the predicament. They are forces of destruction and will stop at nothing to obtain what they want from the living—our brains. That and to spread their plague."
Her brow knitted. "Do you not think it possible, sir, for if a zombie was a former friend that they might not wish such malevolent designs? They did not ask for this existence so is redemption not an option for the lost?"
"The problem is, Miss Bennet, that if a zombie perchance to be a former friend, then it is wise not to fall for sure a trap," Mr. Darcy said carefully. "Once they have succumbed, then there is nothing left of them but to feed. Our former loved ones have already left this world and the kindness you can bestow is a swift cut of their heads."
"Well, it may be kindness, but I have a different matter of opinion," Elizabeth countered. "For I had an intelligible conversation with one and she certainly was not desirous of my brain. In fact, I am quite certain she was trying to warn me of the attack on Meryton but she never had the chance to finish her discourse."
Mr. Darcy's mouth bobbed like a fish, his countenance filled with consternation as a faint trace of pink stole across his cheeks. His usual stoic demeanor had slipped to reveal some capacity for emotion, but as cursory as it was, he maintained his features with a slight raise of his dark brow.
"Be as it may, the risk was not worth taking. It was dangerous and incredibly foolhardy to think a zombie has the ability to be anything more than a mindless harbinger. No Miss Bennet. We must accept that the disease that brought us these abominations has taken the shape of our loved ones, and regardless of how powerless we might feel, they will never be what they once were. We kill them so we can live to fight another day and pray that someone else will be as merciful towards us if we should fall."
Elizabeth detected a slight falter in his resonance but there was no mistaking the blatant disapprobation he felt about her actions. Despite what the good Colonel had to say, Elizabeth knew she wasn't in any danger with Mrs. Featherstone. Any apprehension dissipated when she seemed aghast about her appearance. That signified that there was cognizance present, and not the mindless state of being with an ordinary zombie. Besides, if Mrs. Featherstone was a threat… she would have attacked Elizabeth the very instant she came upon her. Her reluctance should have revealed another motivation that would require some investigation before blowing off her head.
As it were, Elizabeth was very of the mind to enact some violence upon his person. His condescending attitude was making her temper flare up and she was trying to decide if the butter knife would do the trick in slicing his nose or maybe the tip of his tongue since he was so fond of censuring her.
Darcy, on the other hand, had just discovered another predicament of the egregious sort. He was already struggling to conceal his regard for Miss Elizabeth, but her constant avowals towards zombies in their strong opposition were very… titillating. He found the sudden rise in color upon her cheeks, the darkening hues of her cinnamon brown eyes, the slight parting of her rosy lips, the tiny tremoring of her nostrils all invigorating. It only enhanced her features in a favorable light that Darcy found his interest stirring and his blood running hot. His cravat stifled him and his mouth was rather dry, and yet he was enjoying this tête-à-tête. He surmised that Miss Elizabeth must have felt the same for her fine eyes were alit with fervor unlike any other.
The other guests observed the friction between them, and it did not seem like it could end well for either party.
"I suppose the only way to resolve this matter is to have a zombie among us," Bingley jested, breaking through the tension light-heartedly. "Of course, I know I shall not like to be a volunteer. It might as well be a mystery for now."
That seemed to disrupt the unpleasantness in the air.
Elizabeth looked away, partially in remorse for almost creating a scene in front of the man who she wanted her sister to look as a suitable wife. If she did not watch herself carefully, then his family might convince him that Jane wouldn't be the right match. However, his friend was making it so difficult for her to keep her composure!
Darcy took note of her abrupt change in mood and perceived it as her sensibilities reminding her of the improper inference one might make. He did not wish to make her feel embarrass or have the gossiping sisters find fodder in this. He must be practical and assure Miss Elizabeth that her reputation was not at risk for any hint of indecorum. Furthermore, he believed it was best for him to leave the room so he could attend to his senses.
The scraping of the chair against the floor seized the room's attention as Mr. Darcy stood.
"I fear I have some business that requires my immediate attention. Excuse me."
He gave a perfunctory bow before turning on his heels to make his exit. The room was silent until Caroline offered a lamenting:
"Poor Mr. Darcy. He never takes a rest from all his responsibilities. What heavy burdens he must carry for England!"
xxXXxx
The rest of the day passed uneventfully.
Elizabeth kept her vigil over Jane in between taking breaks to relieve some steam (and at Jane's encouragement). She decided to stick to the less arduous physicality of her training since she still felt somewhat tense after the verbal exchange from breakfast. This was the part of her training that Elizabeth despised doing for there was little action and one that required too much patience and silence. It was necessary for her to get in touch with her qi to restore her mind and body. However, Elizabeth found this to be a great source of comfort in dealing with her continuous wish to harm Mr. Darcy's person.
The Qi Gong demanded deep breathing and the mind to be in a meditative state, free from the busy and bustle, to find serenity as the energies from the Earth and the person balance each other.
To begin, Elizabeth sat cross-legged on a bench with her palms facing up on top of her knees. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing—inhale, exhale—until her mind felt calm. Planting her feet on the ground, she rose from her seat and placed her hands firmly on her abdomen. Slowly, she lifted her arms by her shoulders and pulled them back so her face was towards the sky, and then folded her arms with her elbows touching as she bowed at the waist. She repeated the movement several times before extending her chin with her hands on her knees and drawing back in as she lifted her chin up. Like a wave, her body undulated as it continued to become warm and loose.
Elizabeth performed some basic arm and hand movements, rotating her wrists, as she fluidly moved her arms in a circular motion. She moved into the "embrace of the tiger," which she rolled her arms inward with her hands shaping a mountain as she pushed out and then circled her arms so her palms were facing each other and floated them out and back in again before repeating the steps.
She was already feeling her tensions melting away as she became one with the wind. Elizabeth felt lighter, at ease, that she almost forgot why she had been so wound up in the first place.
"Miss Bennet."
Drat. Opening her eyes, Elizabeth cocked her head to find Mr. Darcy invading her sanctuary and disrupting her meditation. In an instant, her mood soured and if she hadn't been in such a relaxed state… she would have given him a swift kick in the chest. Alas, there was no other provocation that she could justify (other than annoyance) so she was resigned to civility as she dropped into a curtsey.
"Mr. Darcy," she greeted reservedly.
When she drew herself up, Elizabeth was once more struck by his handsomeness. It was such a pity God had granted such refinement to one so undeserving, but there was something to be said about his skills in the deadly arts that made him bearable.
Under her scrutiny, Darcy clasped his hands behind his back so his fidgeting would not be exposed.
"What fine weather we are having," he said after a moment of silence.
"Yes," she agreed, although she doubted he came this way to find her and talk about the weather. "Forgive me but is all well with my sister?"
"Your sister…?" Seeing how her face suddenly transformed into trepidation, he realized his faux pas. He knew she spent majority of the morning and part of the afternoon keeping watch over Miss Bennet that for him to come to her in such a fashion and interrupting her meditation… Evidently, she might assume something was amiss. "She is well, I am sure," he added hastily.
She was overcome with succor that Jane had not fallen into further danger. She would never forgive herself if something terrible happened to Jane and she had not been there to prevent it.
Satisfied he was able to put her back at ease, Darcy commented, "I see you were doing Qi Gong."
"I was," she stated, somewhat surprised he recognized what it was.
"Yes… Have you ever tried Tai Chi?"
"No I haven't."
"Ah."
He continued to stand there without elaborating and Elizabeth was not sure what to make with this new subject he brought up. Was he trying to make her feel inadequate that her meditation was subpar?
Then without further ado, Mr. Darcy mumbled a good day and bowed before taking his leave. She had never seen a person flee so quickly once an interaction had begun that Elizabeth wasn't certain what to make of this development.
Frowning, Elizabeth wondered why he would bring up Tai Chi until she remembered it was an advanced style of meditation in the Shaolin Temple. The masters offered lessons but Elizabeth hadn't bothered since she was loathed to learn another way to meditate. How in the world Mr. Darcy could have known about it, Elizabeth was uncertain. As far as she knew, Qi Gong and Tai Chi were practiced in China. The Japanese students learned Zen and it was slightly similar to the qi.
Shaking her head, Elizabeth deduced this exchange was part of Mr. Darcy's singular personality. At least he had proven himself wise to remove himself from a warrior's line of vision so not to further perturb her.
xxXXxx
The affair at dinner was subdued. Elizabeth was exceedingly grateful she was not to be seated next to Mr. Darcy nor was he across from her. Instead, they were seated at opposite ends of the table. However, she could not help the niggling sensation she was being watched. Her eyes kept flickering in the direction of each table guest, but she could not seem to catch the culprit. At one point, she dared to look over at Mr. Darcy and he seemed engrossed with his soup as Miss Bingley prattled on about some fad in London. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was resigned to the idea that the sudden paranoia might be contributed to the distance spent away from Longbourne. While she had often admired Netherfield's architecture, she was lately feeling claustrophobic within its beauteous walls.
The soup was removed for the platter of mutton, stuffed Cornish hens, beef cheek and stout pie, and various tarts and cold jellies. After spending the better part of the day with Jane, meditating, and fasting, the sight and smells of the delicious rich foods had Elizabeth's stomach rumbling. She was determined to sample each and every dish when she was once more experiencing the strange sense of being scrutinized.
With her guard on alert, Elizabeth surveyed the room but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The footmen and servants tended to their duties and responsibilities without a look at the table. So why did she have this queer inclination that her being was on display? If Elizabeth had to think about it, she recognized that this has been going on lately since she arrived at Netherfield. Now and then she would get this inkling that she was being watched, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to catch the offender.
Well, she thought. I must play this at the miscreant's game.
Giving the impression that she was demure and oblivious, Elizabeth kept to her meal and spoke when she was directly involved in the conversation. Fortunately, she did not have to speak much as Mr. Hurst was more inclined to engorge himself with the sweets and port; his wife, Louisa, was conversing with her sister and both women did not seem obliged to include Elizabeth unless it was necessary (much to her relief); Mr. Bingley was his lively self and all pleasant smiles and charming words; and Mr. Darcy was in his usual dour spirits. However, there was something about his behavior that instantly captured her attention and she committed it to memory.
For on his plate was a rather small helping of the savory pie. Perhaps his appetite was not agreeable, yet he would angle himself so he could scoop another small spoonful. This went on a few times but Mr. Darcy had not touched the pie already on his plate. Rather the amount seemed to grow! When it became apparent he had not touched it, Mr. Darcy would take his fork to push it around and even swallow some bites before he would reach for more.
At that precise moment, Elizabeth was startled with a troubling thought. The pie was within her eyesight and could it mean…?
Keeping her eyes lowered, Elizabeth peered through her lashes in the direction of the pie. She felt she was being ridiculous at such a wild notion. Mr. Darcy?! What an idea! Before she could retract her thoughts, Elizabeth witnessed as Mr. Darcy reached for the pie and his keen eyes sought her immediately. She slowly counted to five for how long he maintained his inspection and then he was back to his original disposition as he murmured something to Mr. Bingley.
Ten minutes later, she viewed him repeating his encore of the meat pie and he added a couple extra seconds to his cognizance. She bit her tongue to keep her poise and not to draw suspicion or give a hint that she was aware of his unwelcoming looks. Elizabeth could only surmise he must be trying to detect some kind of fault to her otherwise "tolerable" countenance or he was purposefully trying to intimidate her in some introspective torture. If he thought he could make her cower, then he will be duly disappointment!
The courses were taken away and Mr. Bingley suggested a quick brandy in the study before retiring to the drawing room for refreshments and tea. The men took their leave as the ladies headed towards the appointed room for some passable task. Elizabeth excused herself to see Jane before the men accompanied them. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst didn't seem to mind as she went towards the stairs to Jane's room. When the two ladies were gone, Elizabeth tip-toed down the stairs and began to head in the direction she had seen Mr. Bingley and company take.
She was of the mind to confront Mr. Darcy for his impertinence and if he wanted to find a fault in her so badly then he should challenge her to a spar! Elizabeth was positive she could put that debate to rest and show him a thing or two if his pride would let him. Certainly a challenge upon his manhood would allow her the opportunity to cut him down in a figurative sense, of course. Although, if given the chance to cause some damage to his person, Elizabeth would seize it as her rightful act of revenge since he slighted her so grievously.
With the door to the study ahead of her, clarity began to filter and Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. If she were to jump Mr. Darcy, then she would be doing so at the risk in front of his peers; not to mention, she would disgrace Jane in front of her Mr. Bingley. As much as the warrior in her demanded retribution, she knew it could not come at the cost of her beloved sister's happiness.
Loathed to relinquish her mission, Elizabeth knew it had to be for the best.
"Another time Mr. Darcy," she whispered to the closed door. "Then you will be at my mercy."
xxXXxx
Unbeknownst to the peril that would have befallen him, Mr. Darcy was anxiously waiting the moment for the gentlemen to join the ladies for entertainment before retiring for bed. Not that he didn't like Bingley's company, but his friend was quite besotted with a certain lady above them that he would talk nonstop about her and whether or not she is coping or in want of comfort.
"I do know her sister insisted she is getting better, but I did perchance walk by Miss Bennet's room and I declared she was still ill. Such a brave angel! She was all smiles and assurances that all was well. I have never seen someone so obliging when they are convalescence!"
"Be careful, Bingley," Darcy warned. "It could very well be a trap to ensnare your affections."
"What a design! I daresay there is not a scheming bone in Miss Bennet's body."
Mr. Hurst supplied a boisterous belch and that effectively ended the discussion. It was time for them to join the ladies. As they walked down the corridor, Darcy happened to get a whiff of Miss Elizabeth's perfume and inwardly shuddered at the pleasant aroma. He knew it was unlikely for her to be in this part of the house but his preoccupation with her had conjured a very believable scent and he hoped he would not have to leave earlier if his base desires could not be contained.
The women were already underway in some type of employment: Mrs. Hurst was playing the pianoforte, Caroline was embroidering, and Miss Elizabeth was reading. At their announcement, Miss Bingley immediately went to Mr. Darcy's side while Mrs. Hurst continued her merrily playing. Elizabeth could not hold back an amused smile at the misery that overcame Mr. Darcy's façade. It was quite apparent that Miss Bingley set her cap towards him and her attentions were not at all reciprocated.
Maybe vengeance is better off with watching Mr. Darcy suffer under Miss Bingley's affections. She had to cough to cover her chuckle but continued her reading in the pretense to continue enjoying the show that was presented in front of her. Jane will most definitely wish to hear this!
Mr. Darcy eventually removed himself from Caroline and moved to sit so he might have the pleasure of observing Miss Elizabeth for the evening. Picking up a book, he opened to a random page and began the task of submitting himself in the story; whereas, Caroline not ready to admit defeat, decided to walk around the room to draw Mr. Darcy's attention. Vexingly, he did not look up but she did notice the direction he faced was towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Elizabeth hadn't expected Caroline to materialize in front of her, but appear she did with a strange request: "Miss Eliza, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. It is quite refreshing."
"Well, I—" Elizabeth started but her decision was made for her as Miss Bingley took her arm, forcing her to rise, and tucking her arm through hers so they could walk side by side. The ruse worked as Mr. Darcy closed his book and was now gazing upon the two unattached women.
"Will you not join us Mr. Darcy?" Caroline asked in her insipid tone.
"That will defeat the purpose," he replied curtly.
"What do you mean, sir? I insist to know what you mean!"
"Why… your figures might appear to their advantage while walking and I best admire them from my vantage."
"How shocking!" Caroline cried. "How shall we punish him?"
"I can think of a few," Elizabeth answered with her eyes shining in mirth. "Although, I fear they might meet with disapproval with everyone in the room. The best course of action would be to tease him or laugh at him."
Caroline balked. "Laugh at Mr. Darcy? I daresay that is impossible. He is a man without fault."
"Oh?" This piqued Elizabeth's interest for her opinion on the subject was very firm. "A man without fault?"
Her inquisitive eyes were locked fully on his and Darcy was beside himself on how to account for his reaction. As alluring and beguiling as they were, he felt the strings in his pounding heart pull harder. "That is not possible for anyone. I have faults enough but I would rather my skills as a warrior to have the highest regard among my acquaintances."
"Ah yes," Elizabeth replied, her tone mocking. "Your exploits are infamous sir. Over a thousand zombies, am I correct?"
He confirmed his count was double now. "I have heard about your skills as well Miss Bennet. You and your sisters have slaughtered many a zombie."
"We have. Regardless of the fact that Hertfordshire has been somewhat quiet with the unmentionables (apart from recent sightings), we have destroyed whatever has crossed our paths. As you can see, despite the lack of a Kyoto master, we have managed. One does not have to be terribly rich to afford the talents needed to stop zombies. Then again, I suppose some might see it as a form of vanity and pride to boast about their training and kills. It makes them feel they are invaluable to mankind."
There was no allusion as to whom she was referring to, and while Caroline was quick to jump to Mr. Darcy's defense, he was much swifter in his reply.
"Vanity is indeed a weakness. But pride… whether it is a real superiority of mind or offers protection to those who cannot protect themselves, pride will always be under regulation. I have faults enough, Miss Bennet. I hope they are not a misunderstanding as you seem inclined to believe. Although I do believe that every disposition does have a tendency for evil, my good opinion once lost is lost forever. Considering the times we live in, we must always be prepared for the worst in people. It allows a warrior like ourselves to make the tough decisions when those of a weaker constitution cannot."
Elizabeth could not believe the gall Mr. Darcy had to insinuate that he and she were similar. Regardless to the truth of his words, she refused to acknowledge that they shared something in common. To do so would invite the possibility of an understanding and Elizabeth adamantly refused a trespass of that sort. Besides, she knew in his eyes she was beneath him so why in the world would he even say such a thing unless he was trying to bait her for potential mockery? It would fit his character since he had the propensity to hate everyone in his sight and point out their flaws without discrimination. Furthermore, he was relentless in his constant staring of her countenance that the dishonor he had exhibited demanded she enact some kind of justice.
Her hands fisted in the folds of her dress. Oh, the many ways she could disembowel that arrogant man! Master Liu was very detailed in the deadly arts and Elizabeth knew every vulnerable orifice and how to prolong one's agony. She could have his intestines and other vital organs spilled across the floor in mere seconds. However, it would be quite rude to do so in front of one's host and to force his servants to clean up a bloody and gory mess.
Think of Jane! She told herself. Releasing the fabric of her gown, she smoothed out the creases and picked out some imaginary lint. "I fear that is a grievous failing indeed to have your opinion lost forever. I see I cannot laugh at it. Tis a shame since merriment is needed in these dark and desolate times. As for the 'tough decisions' you say, sir, I do not see them as such. It is survival and nothing more. My sisters and I know what we must do and if one of us should be stricken… Then we will not hesitate to do our duty. For I have slain those of my acquaintance and the evil I've seen has been because of the plague."
A mercurial gaze overtook his features, hardening him as if recollecting something distasteful. "Then you have not been acquainted with the world as I have been," he murmured bitterly.
"I suppose that is where our differences lay, Mr. Darcy. You and I are nothing alike despite our lethal abilities."
"So it seems," he said tersely.
"Well," Caroline interrupted, releasing Elizabeth's arm from her embrace. "Enough of this dreary talk! Louisa, shall we play a duet?"
Elizabeth did not break her eye contact from Mr. Darcy (nor did he) as Caroline joined her sister at the pianoforte and they commenced with a ditty to lift the spirits. The silent exchange spoke to each differently until Mr. Darcy was the first to look away. He could not expect Miss Elizabeth to understand his perspective unless he divulged his unhappy tale concerning his younger sister and one vile Mr. Wickham. As it were, he kept his secret to himself as well as another more powerful one that haunted him to this very day. Miss Elizabeth might think he congratulates himself on all his zombie kills, but there was only one in particular that he did not feel any joy or relief in committing. Not even his best friend Bingley knew the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded his dear father's death.
Yes… the world was a cruel one. It was harsh as it was brutal and he prayed Miss Elizabeth should never know such rancor or be forced in a predicament where she would have no choice but to destroy her loved ones.
Elizabeth was astonished that Mr. Darcy looked away. He did not seem the sort of man to back down from a challenge and she filed away this new detail. What could have possibly happened for him to have a negative outlook on everything? It was a peculiar thought to enter her mind, and one she instantly felt the danger in pursuing. Admiring his skill was one thing, but to have compassion when he was purposely disagreeable was another. She had vowed to never have a kind word about Mr. Darcy and she was still keen on continuing that promise.
The rest of the evening was spent in relative tranquility.
xxXXxx
The clock struck twelve.
As the previous night before, Elizabeth could not find sleep. Thoughts of Mr. Darcy continued to creep up on her and she believed it was her failure to uphold her Warrior Code in all things honorable. While part of her insisted she could claim victory over the last word and the staring contest, the warrior in her knew it was not enough.
Mr. Darcy did her a disservice from the moment they first met. Her initial attraction waned once she got to know his character and even during the time spent in Netherfield did little to convince her otherwise. Her brain was emphatic on that resolution, but her heart tried to whisper its reservations. Elizabeth would not hear of it. She couldn't. She mustn't.
There was only one thing left to do. She had to reclaim what dignity she had and make it known to him that he was treading dangerous waters if he wished to remain alive. Insult the warrior, expect the consequences.
Slipping on her robe, Elizabeth had the good fortune to look out her window to find that Mr. Darcy was once again in the garden performing his nightly ritual. Her lips curved in satisfaction. This was the perfect moment to strike and without anyone to witness.
She stole away from her room, her slippers barely making a noise.
xxXXxx
Darcy gave a good whack to a shrubbery with his katana. He knew he was better than to allow some woman get the best of him, and yet Miss Elizabeth knew how to push him to his limits. Her insolence alone would have been enough to disregard any further attachment or emotion on his behalf. If she had been any other woman, then his infatuation would have ended. However, he found himself captivated than ever!
"Damn her!" he scowled, cutting several branches and scattering the green leaves all over. As soon as the oath was uttered, Darcy instantly regretted such foul language. It was not Miss Elizabeth's fault, but his own. It was he who could not control his impulses and it was he who continued to seek her out against his better judgment. And it was he who could not find refuge in his room when the intense desire to continue the same activity as that morning persisted. Not to mention how he almost exposed his interest that afternoon when he chanced upon her in the midst of her meditation.
Even now he could picture the undulations of her body and the very agreeable manner she expressed herself once he took his leave. For he hid and watched her stretch and wanting so very much to be at her side and teach her some other forms in relaxation.
His voyeurism was incomprehensible. It was not befitting a gentleman or a warrior in the King's name. Darcy hastily escaped before he made more of a fool out of himself. But his rationality could not help him and he found himself even more attuned with Miss Elizabeth than he cared for. He would have injured himself quite deplorably if anyone was wiser to his actions during dinner. Even the distance that was set between them could not prevent Darcy from seeking her out and his brazenness would have scandalized everyone present.
He was fortunate his embarrassing behavior went unnoticed. He dared not think what could have arisen if Bingley or his sisters would have gotten wind of his attentiveness. Surely, defending Miss Elizabeth's honor under his roof would have put Bingley in an awkward position. In addition, his sisters would have discovered more slanderous and outrageous things to say in regard to Miss Elizabeth.
No…
He would have to keep himself in check. It was imperative that he dissolved any connection or knowledge of Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps he should take his leave to London sooner rather than later. As much as he longed to return to Pemberley, he feared that going to his estate would only serve to inflate his wishes that Miss Elizabeth could be mistress. As it were, he had already envisioned her situated in the vast rooms, including the music room and his private dojo.
Indeed, Miss Elizabeth will have to be purged from his existence if he ever wanted to have peace in his home.
Dropping his sword, Darcy rubbed his face in the hopes that it would somehow cleanse the torment that was currently residing in him. So absorbed in his anguish, his senses did not pick up the threat that lurked until he felt the sharp tip of a knife against his throat.
His hands lowered and to his astonishment was the tormentor that immersed him daily.
She was a vision of reckoning to behold—an angel of death with her halo of loose curls, the blazing fires of righteousness in her tumultuous eyes, and the baleful expression that would make any man fall on his knees for mercy.
But Darcy was unlike most men. He did not give into despair or fear of meeting his maker.
If Elizabeth was here with her knife held perilously close to his jugular, then she was here for good reason. He met her scorn with an unflappable expression and waited for her to make the next move.
"Mr. Darcy," she said smoothly.
"Miss Bennet," he returned.
The traditional greeting of civility in this rather odd placement was not missed upon them, but neither commented on the ludicrous setting. Making a jest was not the wisest of ideas in the present moment. And neither was in the mood to make light of it when one had the other captive.
It was also most unfortunate that Mr. Darcy should have taken noticed of Elizabeth's attire.
Her white nightgown was almost sheer in the moonlight, casting a silhouette of her limber legs; her robe became loose most ill-timely, exposing to his sight, the swelling rise of her bosom and the lovely curvature of her collarbone. Not even the dainty lace frills across her décolletage could prevent the hunger from emerging on his visage, his dark eyes almost black and his panting barely audible.
The transformation from the imperturbable to blatant lust (or in Elizabeth's innocent mind… repugnance) did not deter her if he thought he could subdue her with his patent looks. She was the one who had been disparaged, not he. However, there was something else in his countenance that rendered her incapable of speech and it was then she discovered she was looking upon a beast that was starved of something that only she possessed.
Agitation did not cross her mind. Elizabeth did not feel fear… not for a zombie, and clearly not for this man. Yet, a new and unexplained feeling washed over her—the same exact feeling she felt when she saw him the first night here when he was dressed as he was and his katana had been in his hands. In the beginning, she dismissed it quickly but now… Now, she could feel her body on its own volition welcoming the feeling and her knees quivering as a heat began to spread in her belly and throughout every inch of her that Mr. Darcy laid eyes on.
The hand that held the knife trembled but Elizabeth kept a steady grip as she swallowed thickly, her heart racing with every beat. So loud was the drumming in her veins, she wondered if he could hear the thunderous roar, making her practically blush as a delicate shade of pink covered her chest. Her pert tongue dared to sweep over her dry lips that she felt rather than hear the rumbling in his throat.
"Sir, I charge you for making a terrible error in addressing me," her voice eerily composed considering the rampant emotions raging within her. "It must be dealt with since you have been designed in belittling me with your abhorrence and disdain. Your actions at dinner were unacceptable and I demand you pay for the insult."
She knew not who was the first to engage, but before she could draw blood, her lips were superseded with his, her knife forgotten somewhere in the grass as she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close as he devoured her with a fervid tenacity that surprisingly mirrored her own. His masculinity filled her senses and the powerful grip of his fingers in her hair as they stroked and pulled her head, taking control and guiding her with every ardent caress. It was the compelling urge to breath that had Elizabeth gasping, throwing her head back in respite from the violent thralls that ensnared her so judiciously; she hardly had time to fill her lungs when she was drawn back into the stormy passions of Mr. Darcy, his tongue sweeping inside her—curling, thrusting—that the only cause was for her to retaliate as well.
An impassioned growl reverberated between them, the source unknown for they were both overcome with the rising emotions that threaten to take them to new heights. They each wanted to dominate for their personalities demanded that they should. Thus, Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest and forcibly shoved him against the closest hedgerow, taking the lead in their passionate endeavors.
Darcy could only acquiesce when Elizabeth's nails scorched through his shirt, leaving a burning trail in their wake, her tongue eagerly dueling with his as her other hand pressed hotly against the bare skin on the back of his neck. He shivered when her mouth dragged across his lower jaw, her breathless moans making his physiology respond as he seized her hips and pulled her closer to the part of him that strained to feel her. His reward was her startled inhale as her eyes widened with bewilderment.
Her shock wore off quickly and was replaced with a zealous kiss that swallowed his pleasure; his body exalting with the same equal fervor as hers. There was no timidity to his Elizabeth—Lizzy—as she wantonly rubbed against him, eliciting the primal part in him that recognized his mate. For indeed they were cut from the same cloth, the same sword that drove them to perfect their skills in battle. The instant he saw her fight he was irrevocably gone. There was no denying that now. She was his as he was hers.
Darcy tugged on her robe, revealing the strap of her nightgown on her pale shoulder. Impatiently, he removed the offending article so he could latch his mouth on her skin, marking her with his ardor as he nibbled and licked his way up her sinuous neck, reveling that he was making her quake and groan with his touch.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, no longer able to keep them open while she was assailed with sensations that were too pleasurable with his ministrations. When the strings at her neckline gave way, she nearly fell backwards when his hand reached in to massage her breast. There was little time to register as his mouth followed next, and Elizabeth forgot herself as bliss overwhelmed her.
"Lizzy…" he sighed, his guttural voice vibrating on her naked flesh.
"Darcy…" His name a petition for something she couldn't give voice to as she felt herself climbing higher and higher—
"My, what a lovely home you have here Mr. Bingley!"
Elizabeth's eyes flew opened as she sat up in the chair she had fallen asleep on for the second time. Breathing hard, she turned to look over at Jane who did not stir at the sound of their mother's voice.
Setting a shaky hand upon her cheek, she tried to reign in her palpitating heart over the disturbing dream she had conjured about Mr. Darcy. Kissing him?! Being ravished by him!? Mr. Darcy, the man she held in contempt and often contemplated violence towards?! That Mr. Darcy!?
She could not understand the meaning of such vividness, yet explicit it was and even now she was experiencing a longing she had never felt. There was no way she could have wanted to kiss him, to feel him, to know him so intimately when his very existence was punishing to those who knew him. How could she account for such shameless yearnings?
She flung the blanket off her shoulders and hurried towards the bowl and pitcher of water. Splashing the cool water on her very warm face, Elizabeth still could not get the image of him feasting on her breast, the branding of his hand on her person. It was wrong! So very wrong when she despised him with every fiber of her being! And to be so immodest in her costume and licentious! Where could have this come from?
She remembered thinking about confronting him when she espied him under her window. In fact, she was almost out the door when something told her to give up this venture. She had faced Jane and decided it was better to leave it unsaid and to remain at her sister's side. After all, if Jane were to marry Mr. Bingley, then she would only have to put up with Mr. Darcy on those momentous occasions and never socialize with him beyond what was required. She knew she would not call on him like he would never call on her. There was comfort to that and she was able to find some solace in that if he ever tried to insult her again… She would punish him after her sister's wedding.
However, her dream told a different story and she did not like the implications. Mr. Darcy was not a man she could ever entertain as a husband. Perhaps, there was something she hadn't taken into consideration? But even inviting the possibility was a route she didn't want to take, let alone pursue.
Taking a towel and rubbing her face raw, Elizabeth could hear her mother and her younger sisters echoing below. She worried what impropriety might be breached when there was no one to check her family.
She donned her dress and laced up her shoes. There was no time to put up her hair and allowed it to be as she woke. It was time she and Jane went home and her dream made up her mind that it was imperative. There was no telling what manner of nightly trouble could come afoul if she remained under the same roof as Mr. Darcy.
Once she had Jane secured in the carriage, she made haste to collect her trunk. Elizabeth tossed her belongings in and quickly shut the hatch. She lifted the handles with ease and began to make her way down the hall.
It was at that point that she should come across than none other than Mr. Darcy himself.
He stared at her as she did him; her face quite warm for how frantic she pictured him not moments ago. No words were expressed as it was evident from the trunk in her hands that she intended to leave straight away. For the reason for the hurry, he could not fathom but he thought the color upon her cheeks made her remarkably more handsome.
He stepped aside to let her pass.
Elizabeth did not look back. Even when the carriage rode away from Netherfield, she refused to look behind to see if Mr. Darcy was there.
The End