"Mary, dear. Have you not seen your sister?" Mr Bennet asked to his plainest daughter, who had been sitting alone in her usual manner, watching the merriment of the couples dancing in the hall.

"Aye, papa. She's dancing, as usual," she answered nonchalantly.

"With whom is she dancing?" was his further inquiry.

"An officer, of course. Who else could call Kitty's attention?" Mary explained. Had he ever seen Kitty rest her eyes on anything but a red coat?

"I do not mean Kitty. I mean Lizzy. Have you seen her?"

Mary frowned in a puzzled gesture. "Nay, sir. I saw her dancing with a tall gentleman a few moments ago, but then she seems to have disappeared."

"Indeed. Pray, will you assist me in seeking her? There is something of consequence I must discuss with her."

"Aye, papa. Where do you think she can be?"

"I have no idea, Mary. Pray do not apprise anyone we are in her quest, will you? Least of all your mama. Just look for her."

"Is anything wrong, papa?"

"I hope not, dear. I hope not."

Mary discerned a stern look of concern in her father's eyes. What could Lizzy be at to have affected her father in that manner? What could he positively have to discuss with Lizzy in the middle of Twelfth Night ball? Her sister Lizzy would be the last on her list of possible cause of anxiety to her parents. Yet the sudden sadness in her father's countenance was telling her that something was amiss.

Mary paced the ball room, her head tilted, surveying the crowd with concealed alertness. The mask she was wearing was definitely not useful for the enterprise because it blocked her vision. Nay, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. It was unfortunate she could not apprise anyone else of her quest, for she could have raised some help to seek for Elizabeth. She went over the refreshment table, the ball floor, the French parlour and still no trace of her.

Just when she was about to ramble the corridor to further her quest, she was approached by a nice young gentleman, not outstandingly good looking yet not dreadful to behold. At least the part of his face the mask did not conceal was not.

"I am sorry to importune you. I have noticed you are looking for someone. May I be of assistance?"

"I thank you, I ..." Such was her surprise at the manner of his address that Mary had not time to think for a proper answer with which to dismiss him. It was too evident that she was looking for someone. Reflecting upon the offer of assistance she considered it would be most desirable to accept it, due to the fact that the gentleman was a complete stranger, therefore possibly unaffected as to what was taking her to be in quest of her sister.

"You must excuse my rudeness, ma'am. Edward Forester at your service."

"Mary Bennet, sir."

"Well then, Miss Mary. How can I be of service?"

"I am looking for my sister, sir."

"I see. May I be so bold as to ask to be apprised of her appearance?"

"She is very much like me, sir. She is wearing a white dress but her hair is prettier done."

"I doubt that, ma'am."

"Pardon?"

"I say I doubt a lady in this ballroom has her hair prettier done than yours. Such modesty in hairdos is rarely found these days among young ladies. I must confess modesty is one characteristic I particularly appreciate in a lady."

"I thank you sir. I fear I am undeserving of your praise."

"Your words are saying exactly the opposite, ma'am. Your virtue is on display not only in the manner of your adornment but also in the manner of your addresses."

"Sir, I ...You must excuse me, I ...have to ..."

"Oh, of course. I have forgotten. Your sister, is she very young?"

"She is my elder, sir. She is wearing a silk mask with golden rims. "Well then. Let us go for her, shall we?"

"I must speak to you. Would you afford me the last moments of the evening before the ball finishes?" Darcy whispered to Elizabeth's ear. He was standing at her back, his groins in alertness, his gaze caressing her pert bottom, his body gently leaning against the frame of the window. As he spoke the words he came dangerously closer to her from behind.

"Oh,"

"How would you like a short turn outside?" he whispered ever so invitingly while his hand brushed the sensitive skin of her arm under the concealment of her dress.

"It must be freezing outside," she said turning around her flushed face, in the processcoming perilously close to his profile.

"I believe the gardeners had cleared the snow in the path towards the orangery. We can always find shelter there." His spicy breath tickled on the back of her neck.

"Would it be appropriate for us to go there, sir?" she teased him lowering her face.

"Hardly."

"Oh."

"Should I take that as a refusal to my invitation?" he said, looking up at her with inquisitive eyes.

"Not at all. Yet, I find the whole endeavour a little unusual."

"If you do not trust me, Miss Bennet, we can always ramble in one of the corridors." He protested. "Let us only peek through the window, instead. Of course, that would hardly make up for the stroll outside. I am sure there is going to be a full moon tonight."

"Indeed! In that case I can hardly refuse. I would never suspend any pleasures of yours. Only let it be for the shortest while. Let me get my shawl."

He smiled broadly at her recollection of his own speech. "Of course. I would never pardon myself if you caught your death in the cold due to my own fancy for a walk in a winter night."

Several other guests had had the same idea, the shadowy gardens offering convenient shelter for those couples who, unaware of the cold weather, wished to carry the spirit of the Twelfth Night to its maximum expression. It was a beautiful night and the stars twinkled joyfully while a magnificent moon spied on them.

"Oh, what a glorious night!" she said whilst staring at the starry sky.

"Indeed, I do not recollect any one more beautiful." He was looking intently at her while saying this.

"Mr Darcy, you will force me to abandon your company if you insist upon this tone of conversation," she retorted playfully.

"Do you object to my agreement of the beauty of the night?"

"You know very well what I mean, sir." she said reproachfully.

"Very well. And what do you propose we should talk about?"

"Sir, I assumed it was you who wanted to speak to me. Have you forgotten?"

"You have dismissed my favourite topic," he said in frank admission.

She could not help smile at this. Understanding his trick, she endeavoured to find a safer topic. "What about Miss Darcy? How is she faring?"

"Georgiana is very well, I thank you. She is much recovered, though I think she will find it very difficult to overcome her shyness. I had expected you ... I mean ... she would have profited tremendously from your lively companionship." Elizabeth did not know what to make of this statement. She wondered whether Mr Darcy would remember what he was saying the next day. He had been clearly sending her the same message the whole evening: He still loved her and regretted not being married to her. Yet, there was nothing they could do about it. It was pointless to further an intimacy they would not be able to take to its end. Even so, she loathed hurting his feelings any further. She had done that enough in the past and now she had her own odyssey with the strange impulse that shamelessly pulled her to him which she was not able to fight.

"I would love to write to her if you think it can be of any help," said she.

"I would be most obliged if you could do so."

"It will be my pleasure. I am confident we could further our acquaintance in the future. I shall visit her next time she and I coincide in London."

"I am certain she will love that."

"Then I shall. Next winter," they continued their promenade in silence for a few moments, neither of them feeling uncomfortable. Darcy, trying desperately to ensure a meeting in the future, attempted to extract her plans for the winter.

"So you do not think you will be in London sometime this winter?"

"I do not think so. I plan to remain in Longbourn until ... is that a shooting star?"

"I am sorry, I did not see it!" he lifted his head heavenwards.

"But it was!"

"Then you should make a wish." A meek smile drew in her girlish features and, closing her eyes, she paused for a moment, as if in deep concentration. He regarded her in bewildered delight, forcing himself to refrain from the wild impulse to kiss her whilst he had the opportunity. She muttered her wish, and Darcy almost drowned in her lips. Upon opening her eyes, she was confronted with his tender look and his breath smelling strongly of brandy. Elizabeth quivered lightly.

"What did you wish for?" he asked her while his vision clung to her bosom.

"That I cannot tell you, lest my wish not come true." Was he looking at my breasts?

"I believe I can guess what you wished for," he said mischievously raising his eyes to her lips.

"Are you a reader of the mind?" What is he meaning with this? Is he trying to kiss me?

"I am not. Yet I believe I have come to know you well enough to see through you betimes."

"Well then. What do you suppose I wished for?"

"I refuse to endanger the fulfilment of your wish."

"In other words, you have no idea," she said while containing her laughter.

He halted and stared at her, his serious regard piercing her heart.

"In other words, I dare not say what you have just prevailed upon me to avoid saying."

They had come to a small turn where the sight of the house was concealed by means of some wilderness. There was no one around, and Darcy took both her hands in his.

"Your hands are cold." He boldly put them inside his coat, her hands resting on the warmth of his body. For an instant she lingered thusly, immensely enjoying the bliss of the moment. Seconds later she recovered composure.

"We should return to the house," she said, blushing profusely.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hands and turned around to head for the house.

"So I hope you meant it when you said you would correspond with Georgiana."

"You can count upon it, sir."

"I am happy to hear that."

"It will be my pleasure to correspond with her. She is a charming young lady."

Their rambling took them, somehow unconsciously, to the path heading towards the orangery. He halted in front of the entrance and looked intently into her eyes. Losing all sense of decorum, he opened the door and placed his hand on the small of her back, lightly pushing, encouraging her to step into the shelter.

He had taken her by surprise, or she would have resisted such forwardness. Yet, when she felt his hand upon the small of her back, an irresistible sensation took hold of her. Her body simply refused to hear her mind's desperate warnings to avoid such a meeting. Upon entering the quarters, the pungent scent of the flowers in the enclosure filled their nostrils, making Elizabeth slightly dizzy. Or was it his presence? Darcy stopped and looked her in the eye in a decidedly shameless manner.

"Miss Bennet, you must allow me to make a confession to you."

"What is it, sir?"

"My wish."

"Your wish?"

"Yes, my Christmas wish. To be able to see myself reflected in your eyes, just once in my life. I have nothing to lose now that I have lost you for ever."

He removed his mask. Taking her cold hands to his lips, he kissed her frozen fingers.

"May I?" he gestured his desire to unmask her. Ever so slowly, he removed the silky cloth that camouflaged her features. Elizabeth was caught up in some illusory state that prevented her from reacting like a proper lady. Her eyes locked with his and her waist was quickly wound around by his pouncing arms.

So much for gentlemanly behaviour.

"Sir, you are married," she reminded him stupidly, yet lack of conviction caused her voice to falter and the inviting demeanour of her body told him she momentarily did not mind said circumstance in the least.

"Please, Miss Bennet. I am humbly at your feet. It is only for this one time you must allow me to hold you. I promise I shall not importune you any further." Darcy's heart-beat was dangerously rising until he was certain Elizabeth would be aware of its thuds. He was holding her in his arms and she was not rejecting him, still he was unsure what to do with her.

"Sir, I am already in your arms."

"Indeed you are. I grant you I would never do anything to harm you," he assured her. "Yet I cannot help the urge to kiss you," he confessed while lowering his head in an endeavour to comply with his wish.

"Mr Darcy, I cannot allow you to kiss me, as you well know," she said with the least attempt to free herself from his embrace.

"Then I shall seek your permission no longer." With that he dipped into her mouth and, crushing her lips, he devoured them. Pushing ravenously, he strove to accommodate his aching pride on the hardness under her navel. In such pursuit, she ended up with her back against a wall, legs slightly parted and toes in the air. He kissed her and at the same time he breathed a muffled confession.

"I love you, Elizabeth. I love you."

His hip moved rhythmically against her, pinning her to the wall. His hands had abandoned her waist and were travelling the depth of her curves, bestowing the most delicious vibrations to her young anatomy.

On hearing him avowing his pent-up feelings, Elizabeth absolutely abandoned herself to his passion, responding to his caresses in the most wanton manner ever imagined. Twelfth Night had unleashed the sensuality that was necessary for her to acknowledge her own hunger for his touch. She longed for more and, though quite unaware why she did so, she instinctively pushed even harder against the bulk she felt betwixt her legs. She sighed and even moaned and let her own hands ramble over his chest until they rested on his broad shoulders.

Panting for breath, he attempted to penetrate into her mouth with his tongue until she parted her own lips and allowed its entrance. He inspected every corner of her mouth, measuring his own spicy flavour for her to taste. He tasted her, too. Both his manhood and his tongue seemed to be employed in the same occupation ¾to enter her. Only, the first was prevented from its endeavour by the massive protection of her gowns and the concealing effect of his trousers. He furthered his ministrations until, in an uproar, both of them moaned and sighed and trembled all at the same time.

Mary and Mr Forester had inspected every corner of the ball room, when Mr Bennet approached them from behind.

"Mary?" her father called out.

"Papa. May I introduce you to Mr Forester? Mr Forester, this is pa ... my father, Mr Bennet."

The young man bowed to the older man who was introduced to him, his air grave and stately, his manners very formal.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir."

Mr Bennet looked up at the tall man uncomprehendingly. It was the first time in his life that he had seen his daughter, shall we say his exceedingly boring and plain daughter, Mary in the company of a gentleman. Mr Forester was, as already stated, a tall, heavy-looking man of five-and-twenty, with pleasant eyes and a grave voice. A most conscientious and polite sort of person, well disposed to make new acquaintances but rather pompous in his style, which reminded Mr Bennet of Mr Collins.

"Papa, Mr Forester is ..."

"Yes, yes," her father interrupted her. "You must excuse us, sir. May I have a word with you, Mary?"

He took his daughter by the elbow and directed her towards a secluded corner.

"I am afraid your sister is not in the ballroom, Mary. I fear she is somewhere in the garden," He whispered, sounding rather disturbed by the possibility.

"In the garden? But it is freezing outside."

"Indeed it is. But for some reason unbeknown to us, Mary, some people find cold an insufficient excuse to keep them indoors. Your sister seems to be one of them. It must be so for we have checked everywhere except the garden."

"Do you fear she might catch a cold, papa? But so shall I if I go in her quest in such cold weather!"

"It is not cold I dread she might catch, but fire, my dear."

"Fire, papa? I fail to comprehend your meaning."

"It is of no consequence, my dear. Just go and find her."

"Do you wish me to go and inspect the surrounding gardens, papa?"

"Aye, do, do. I will ask your sister Jane if, by any chance, Elizabeth is indisposed in one of the upstairs rooms. Do you think your new friend could be persuaded into a stroll outside?"

"I think he might."

"Well then. Tell your friend you wish to have some fresh air. Something is telling me he would be delighted to oblige you. Let us go, now." He began to walk towards his daughter Jane, when he stopped and, stepping back, he whispered to Mary's sole hearing once more. "And Mary. I trust in your absolute secrecy."

Mr Bennet was right. Mr Forester was too happy to oblige Mary with a stroll outside.

"Are we still in quest of your sister?" he inquired in a hushed manner.

"As a matter of fact we are. Though there is nothing to fear. 'Tis only that my father wished to have a word with her and could not wait till later. Perchance she felt suddenly indisposed and asked my sister Jane to lie a bit in one bedchamber upstairs. My father is checking on that."

"So, your eldest sister is Mrs Bingley, I gather. Then, we are related in a way."

"Are we? How so, sir?"

"I take it you are acquainted with Mr Hurst. He is Mr Bingley's brother-in-law."

"Only a little bit."

"That gentleman is my mother's brother."

"Oh, I see. He is your uncle. So I imagine in a way we are related."

Mr Forester and Mary soon forgot the reason that had taken them to walk in the cold weather, so engrossed they had become in their conversation. Soon, Mary found the crook of his arm a source of warmth for her freezing hands. While they rambled about the garden, Mr Forester endeavoured to ask Mary's permission to call on her in the following days. Mary was happy to accept.

Ever so slowly Mr Darcy relinquished his grip on Elizabeth's body and kissed her softly behind her ears and her neck. Her feet reached solid ground, and he placed his strong arms around her waist.

"My love, my sweet love. Elizabeth, I love you so dearly," he breathed tenderly.

Her generous bosom was heaving wildly, and in rising and falling at breathing it afforded an enticing sight, tempting Darcy to succumb to its charms. It was like an open flower full of pollen to a bee. He could no longer resist the call of his predatory instincts and he plunged into the fantastic adventure of her cleavage.

So enchanted, so excited was he by the sweetness of the moment, so much the delicate perfume of her skin had got into his senses that he forgot about the grave perils of such an inducement. In the cold room her pert nipples were easily guessed under the silk of her dress, and it took a slight movement of his fingers to reveal the hardened orbs into his full view. Time, propriety, decency, all these were shamelessly cast aside while he was holding her in his arms like so. She was all that his heart had ever desired.

He was all that her heart had ever dreamt. Kissing ravenously, gently sucking, licking the soft skin of her breasts took Darcy to the point of no return. Elizabeth arched her body in a compleat surrender, throwing her head back to allow him a more comfortable access to her bosom.

He was thus most agreeably engaged, when a sudden movement of his arm dropped a vase which fell on the floor with a violent crack, startling the lovers for an instant. That was enough to break the spell.

She immediately covered her naked bosom while he fought to regain composure. The embarrassment of the moment was too much for Elizabeth. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she would allow a man to go so far. Least of all a married man. When she looked up at him, she could not repress the tears welling in her eyes. Softly, she began to cry.

"My love, please do not cry. I cannot endure it. Please, Elizabeth. I love you. Please!"

In her inability to contain her sobbing, Elizabeth tried to hide from him. Turning around, she put both her hands over her face and cried bitterly.

"Why?" she said softly. "Why did you do this to me?"

"Elizabeth, I love you. I am sorry. I was only ..."

"If you loved me, you would have never done this! You are not my husband no matter how much I should wish you were! "

"Elizabeth! You could have been my wife. You ... You rejected me!"

"Indeed, sir. It was I who refused to be your wife. Yet you came back to me."

"Yes, I did. You know perfectly well why I did. I came back because I loved you then as much as I love you now."

"If that is so, then why, may I ask, did you not tell me of your love before you married? What made you so shy of me when you first called, and afterwards dined at Longbourn? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me? You made me love you, only to leave me thusly."

"Elizabeth, you would not even look at me, how was I to know? You were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner." "A man who had felt less might."

She did not answer that, but stared intently, painfully into his sad eyes. She understood the truth of his words and could only feel hurt and mournful at her stupidity.

"What did you come down to Netherfield now?" she inquired, rather mystified, though she knew the answer only too well.

"My real purpose was to see you," he confessed, "and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. I understand of the iniquity of my musing, and ultimately made up my mind to abandon such an idea and merely endeavour to see you, to catch a short glimpse of you at a safe distance. Still, when I caught sight of you, I compleatly lost myself. I am sorry if I caused you pain. I still love you, with all my heart. You know I wished to marry you."

"You married your cousin," she stated coldly. She was just about to add: And now I am to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam, but words failed her and she spared him the pain.

"You ..." he did not know what to say. She was right. He had come back, wooed her, but gave up in fear thinking she was not responding to his attentions. Defeated, he took a step back, lowering his head in silent acquiescence.

In the end he gained composure and tried to explain. "I was unsure, terrified that you would say no again. I guess my pride would not tolerate your rejection a second time. I chose to suffer from your absence rather than acknowledge you did not love me. I made a terrible mistake."

"Indeed, sir. A most unfortunate mistake," she said bitterly.

"Elizabeth. You love me?"

"Sir, I cannot afford to love you. You are a married man and I am not ready to add to the shame my family has already been subjected to by the unrestrained behaviour of one of my sisters. No, sir, I cannot afford to love you."

"I did not ask if you could afford to love me. I would never risk your honour in a shameful relationship. I know we have little choice but to part and live our lives best as we can. Yet knowing that you loved me would make it tolerable at least."

"Mr Darcy, I see no good in answering your question."

"Then you do not deny you love me?"

She was silent for a while, looking studiously. "No, sir, I do not deny it."

Mr Darcy had never been more confused in his life. Evidently, his brain was swimming in a pool of alcohol, and it was getting increasingly difficult to follow the thread of the conversation. Still, his own voice sounded convincingly sober to his ears, though discerning reality from dreams was a daunting exertion. He believed he had heard Miss Bennet say something of great importance, yet he needed confirmation.

"You do not deny it," he repeated, seeming doubtful.

"You must understand this does not change our situation," she explained demurely.

"You love me," he concluded in amazement.

"Please, sir. Allow me remind you that we must regain composure. I cannot permit you any further intimacy with me. I...ayyy!"

"You love me!" he pulled her to him and whirled her around in dire happiness.

"Mr Darcy! Put me down!" she protested, struggling in an endeavour to make him lower her.

"Elizabeth. You have made me the happiest of men," he finally said while restoring her to the ground.

"Mr Darcy, you do not know what you are saying." Elizabeth brushed her lap nervously, trying to undo the serious wrinkles in her skirt.

"Probably not," he admitted lightly. He reckoned he was too much in his cups to be able to consider the seriousness of his actions. Still, he continued with his admission. "Yet the mere notion that you hold me in your regard, Miss Bennet, that alone shall pronounce me a happy man." He pulled her even closer to him and kissed her fully on the lips, this time without passion. A sweet, tender kiss of love.

Truth be told, Elizabeth was melting in his arms. She simply seemed to belong there, in his melting embrace. Much as she had resolved to put a stop to his endearments, she had not the ability to find the strength to bridle either her or his emotions.

"Pray, Mr Darcy, I beg you. This is not correct," she implored demurely. Breathing with difficulty, her whole body trembling, Elizabeth struggled with her inner passionate self.

"Release me. Please, sir." she said unconvincingly.

While absorbed in a delightful trance, Darcy concentrated on placing feathered kisses on her cheeks; his lips temptingly brushed the corners of her mouth. He entangled his fingers in her curls, playing dreamily with them, as he continued administering delicious kisses on her neck.

"You love me," he whispered to himself, still mystified. Darcy's breath came in short gasps and words began to stumble with his tongue, drowsy in his amorous ardour. "My love. My sweet Elizabeth." Elizabeth pushed him lightly placing her hands on his chest.

"I am sorry. I feel I must be ashamed of my behaviour."

Darcy looked shocked. "I cannot feel ashamed of mine."

"Mr Darcy, you must let me go. Please. Someone might see us, sir. What will become of me then?"

He immediately released her. She was absolutely correct. Inebriation notwithstanding, Darcy could still appreciate they were not wearing their masks any longer. Although it was pretty dark in the orangery, the light from the full moon promised to reveal their identities to any passer-by.

"I am awfully sorry, ma'am ... Elizabeth ... Miss Bennet. These months have been intolerable to me. I came here with the mere prospect of contemplating you at a safe distance. But you see what has happened. The moment I saw you, I compleatly lost myself."

"Sir I ... I fear I must go."

"Eliz ... Miss Bennet. Please stay. You must allow me to beg your forgiveness. I feel I have become the man I used to abhor. Yet you must know my feelings. The agony of your absence can only be compared with the torment of your tantalising presence. Neither am I ready to face." He had lost his dark gaze now and was looking at her intensely with puppy eyes, begging insistently for the bliss of the moment to continue at least a short moment longer. His demeanour was tearing Elizabeth's heart.

"Mr Darcy, you must understand this conversation is not taking us anywhere. There is nothing we can do to remedy the situation."

"I am well aware of that," he sighed profoundly. "Still, dearest Miss Bennet, I believe I owe you. You must know, surely you must know of the depth of my affections for you. I confess I meet you in my dreams every night. This is not the first time I have kissed you." His dark eyes came back to her visage, and Elizabeth felt he was undressing her shamelessly with them. "I make you mine every night. You never leave my bedchamber at night." Yet again with a pitiful voice he wailed: "And in the morning when you are gone, I found you in every corner of the gardens we have been together when you visited me in Pemberley."

"Oh sir, stop. Please, for my sanity, stop!"

"Elizabeth, I beg you. Say ... say you love me. I must hear the words from your lips. I beg you." His voice pleaded, and his eyes urged her. "I shall never lay a finger on you again. But please, tell me that you love me." He took one step back to show her that he had said that in earnest.

"No! You do not understand! This is intolerable. How can you expect me to live with this!" She managed to dodge him and headed for the door, tears trickling down her cheeks, sobbing bitterly.

Darcy darted towards her and grabbed her elbow, deterring her from exiting.

"Please! Let me go!"

"Miss Bennet!" there was urgency in his voice, and he let go of her. "Pray, do not misunderstand me. I do not mean to detain you. You can go if you wish. 'Tis only it is not prudent for you to go out unless you are wearing your mask." His voice was calm and soothing. He handed her said piece of cloth and his handkerchief. She looked at both items in confusion. Taking the handkerchief, Elizabeth wiped her tears, breathing deeply in and out, endeavouring to relax.

Darcy watched her mournfully, shifting from one foot to the other in a nervous gesture. When she was finished and her sobbing had subdued, he resumed his speech.

"Before we go out, however, let us part on good terms. We have friends in common and surely will see a lot of each other in the incoming years. We must ..."

"We must refrain from seeing each other, sir," she interrupted hastily. "It will not do. I shall endeavour to keep myself as far from you as possible."

Darcy fixed his eyes on hers apprehensively. "That will be unsupportable. I must see you. For my sanity. I beg you, I shall depend on at least hearing from you often, Eliza," he implored.

"Mr Darcy. You have just said you would not endeavour to make a mistress of me, yet you are planning to see me in the near future ... Oh Lord! What you must think of me!"

"Ma'am! I am not planning such a thing. You are the only woman I have ever loved. I shall never love any other. I would never offer a relationship of that kind to you, my love. I am here to protect you from any harm or pain. You must understand I wanted to marry you. To make a mistress of you is unthinkable."

Elizabeth lowered her visage and stared intently at the hem of her dress. Darcy leaned his gaze in search of her eyes. He locked his hands at his back to refrain from touching her again.

Darcy took a deep breath before he continued talking. "Miss Bennet, I only wish to see your face from time to time, to be apprised of your whereabouts, to have a notion of your welfare. 'Tis all I ask."

"Sir, it will be our ruin." Goodness, if only you knew... After what had transpired between them, to think merely of being compelled to face both Darcy and Fitzwilliam together was paralyzing. No, she must make him see reason. They must not see each other again, especially after her nuptials.

"Pray, Miss Bennet, I beg you."

"No, I beg you! Promise you will not seek my company again. Promise you will refrain from talking to me! You must promise me you will not come to me any more!"

"I cannot promise that!" he cried out. The mere prospect of being deprived of any intelligence of her was unsupportable. "Do you not understand what you are asking from me? You can just as well ask me to promise not to breathe any more, not to taste water to calm my thirst! You are dearer to me than my own my life. Without you I can no longer live."

"Mr Darcy, you have said enough! I must beg you to stop addressing me in this manner. You must see reason!"

Even in his drowsiness, Darcy realised he was losing ground. He decided a change of strategies was mandatory.

"Very well. I am at your mercy. What do you propose?"

Elizabeth tilted her head in surprise. At long last he was being reasonable. She clasped her hands in a nervous tic and bit her lower lip while pondering what to say.

"We must avoid each other as much as possible," she almost spat out.

"I understand. Shall I detach myself from Mr and Mrs Bingley, too?" he asked with a patronising smirk.

"Yes. No!"

"Please, Miss Bennet. Make up your mind," He said, his arrogant smile flickering knowingly at the corner of his mouth. He knew he had cornered her.

Yet, Elizabeth's mind was racing, and finally an idea flashed into her thoughts. "You must avoid calling on them here," she stated triumphantly. "Perchance you can visit them in London?"

He looked at her doubtfully. "That is certainly viable. I must refrain from calling on Bingley at Netherfield but I am allowed to see him in London. I shall miss the hunting expeditions, though."

"Unless I am in London myself. Then you may visit Mr Bingley here."

"I see. And how do you propose that I be informed of your whereabouts?" he asked speculatively.

Elizabeth remained thoughtful for awhile. Then her face brightened up as an idea came upon her. "I shall correspond with Miss Darcy!" she said enthusiastically, grinning broadly at her interlocutor.

The line of a thin, approving smile drew on Darcy's lips. "Then, that is settled. You shall let me know through my sister."

With a triumphant air, she took her mask and tried to put it back.

"Allow me." Timidly, Elizabeth turned slowly around and Darcy delicately did the laces of her masquerade, avoiding all contact with her skin. Nonetheless, he seized the opportunity to fill his lungs with her intoxicating scent.

"There. Let me put on mine now and we may go." He quickly slipped his head into his mask and was ready to leave the shelter of the orangery.

As they stepped outside a cold breeze seized their bodies and they shook with cold. Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm and she placed her small hand in its crook. Scarcely had they walked three steps back to the house when Elizabeth discerned the figure of her sister Mary walking with a gentleman, coming straight into their direction. Quick as a wink, she wheeled around, and, taking a much surprised Darcy by the hand, she turned back into the shelter of the orangery once more.

"Elizabeth! What ..."

"Hush! 'Tis my sister! She is heading in our direction."

"Your sister? You mean Jane?"

"No. 'Tis Mary," she whispered.

"What ever is Miss Mary doing rambling alone in the garden?"

"She is not alone. She is with a gentleman," she explained.

Darcy sent a quizzical look towards Elizabeth. She held his eyes for a second when she burst out laughing, which she immediately attempted to hold back.

"This is too much. I should have suspected you Bennet girls are all the same."

"What do you mean, sir?" she exclaimed piercing him with her eyes.

"Absolutely irresistible. Even Miss Mary Bennet has her charms."

Elizabeth was too concerned with her sister's proximity to be able to pay attention to Darcy's flattery.

"Gracious Lord. They are coming this way!" she gasped.

Darcy peeked through a small crack in the door. The couple were absorbed in conversation, and he suspected they would not see them even if they were to walk directly into them. Still, the situation was perfect, for he fancied holding Miss Bennet in his arms a little more, and the whole affair of hiding from Miss Mary afforded him the ideal opportunity to do so.

"So it seems. They are coming directly to the orangery."

"What shall we do?"

"I do not know. Are you acquainted with the gentleman?"

"Nay. 'Tis the first time I have seen Mary with a gentleman other than my father or Mr Collins."

"There is always a first time for everything. I imagine the gentleman might be entertaining the idea of stepping into this place."

"I doubt my sister will consent to such a scheme. Mary would never allow a man to ..." She immediately realised she was indirectly recognising she had permitted Mr Darcy to seduce her.

"You were saying?"

"Mary will never permit a man to ..."

"Seduce her? Why not? Is your sister not human? Miss Eliza Bennet! You are being a little hypocritical, do you not think so?"

"Why I ... I am certain she ... Aye, sir. Perhaps I am. A little."

"I shall assume Miss Mary is as honourable a person as any of us. Well, perchance a little more. Still, she is a human being, prone to weaknesses just like you and me, Miss Bennet. There is a great probability that they might enter this place in search of some ... solitude. In that case we shall have to ... hmm pretend?"

"Pretend?"

"Indeed. We could hold each other, so in case your sister and her beau happened to chuse to enter the orangery, they will simply leave when they see it is already occupied."

"My sister will recognise me."

"Indeed she will not. I will endeavour to prevent her from seeing you." Ever so slowly he began to encircle her with his arms. "'Tis devilishly dark in here. We will look to them just as another of the various pair of lovers around. And Miss Bennet. May I remind you, you were in my arms for no reason at all a moment before. Now here is a good reason."

Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed his arms to hold her again. His face he began to rub against her neck.

Bless Miss Mary.

"Sir, is this necessary?"

"Hush! They are very close now. Your sister might recognise your voice."

Darcy took every opportunity to indulge himself in the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath he captured once again with his lips. She could not protest, and a few moments later they were lost in the sweetness of their embrace. Not a word was uttered, the silence of the orangery broken by the humming voices of Mr Forester and Mary coming from outside, and the involuntary sighing and moaning coming from Elizabeth. They continued in that manner for as long as it took the intruding couple to abandon the area. To his luck, they remained there for quite some time.

When the voices of Mr Forester and Miss Mary finally faded away in clear indication of their exiting the premises, Elizabeth, endeavouring to catch her breath, said in a whisper. "Mr Darcy."

No answer.

"Mr Darcy."

"Hmm?"

"Mr Darcy, sir. My sister has left."

"She has?"

"You can release me now, sir."

"Must I?"

"Indeed you must, sir. The pretence is over."

"I am not pretending, Miss Bennet. I am quite enjoying myself, I assure you." He held her tighter still and began to bestow wet tantalising kisses on the corner of her mouth.

"Mr Darcy, you promised, remember?"

"I did, did I not?" he breathed into her ear. "Still, you must indulge me in one little wish."

"Sir, you have already spent your wish."

"But you have not. I know for what you wished upon the star a moment ago."

"How very presumptuous of you, sir! To believe I should waste a wish on your lips!"

Unmasking his face, he nuzzled it against her neck. "Who said anything about my lips?"

She stared at him deeply embarrassed and thereupon tried to disentangle from his arms. "Ah, ah, ah, Miss Bennet. Your own tongue has betrayed you." He, then, half seriously half teasingly, in his most seductive voice, challenged her to forget herself in the pleasure of the night. "Come, Eliza," he breathed to her ear, "I beg you. Indulge yourself. Allow me the privilege of making your wish come true. I am all yours this one night. And it will be only tonight. This crazy, blessed Twelfth Night."

Temptation cropped up deep inside her soul as she imagined a whole night in his arms in the concealment of the greenhouse. She quickly forgot all the promises of self deprivation they had just vowed. Now it was her time to unmask both her face and soul. As she removed the white silk covering her visage for a second time, she could not help an indulgent smile from tracing across her lips. He was absolutely right. That had been a crazy, yet beautiful night. Regardless of the impropriety of his urgent plea, Elizabeth made up her mind to oblige him, and thereupon locking her arms around his neck, surrendered to him in an ardent, hungry embrace that could have lasted the rest of the night.

Masks were the first items of clothing to be discarded.

His cravat followed, naturally, to afford the lady direct access to the sensible skin that said cloth covered so zealously.

Her shawl, soon, became obsolete, too, for her cleavage he was determined to seduce and in such endeavour, the decorated piece of cloth slipped from her shoulders unnoticibly, as the low cut of her dress gave way to his invasive hands once again.

Thereupon, the sweet scent of the orangery enveloped the lovers in blissful lovemaking, while a distinctive scent emanated from the warmth of their bodies. Hands touching, feeling; devouring mouths, licking and sucking unrelentingly, till their lips became swollen from the intercourse. Lost in unfulfilled desire, striving, at the same time, not to forget themselves compleatly, yet finding the whole endeavour extremely difficult and aware that dawn would eventually separate them perhaps for ever. Such was the befuddlement of emotions of both Elizabeth and Darcy as they continued to indulge themselves with the luxuriating flavours of their forbidden courtship.

Indeed, they could never satiate their hunger for each other, not against the harden edge of a wooden table, for he had cornered her against said piece of furniture, and she ended up sitting uncomfortably astride on it, his groin throbbing angrily, perfectly adjusted to the junction her thighs offered. Eventually, it was plain to him that his manhood would need a release that was not to have, at least not in the manner of Darcy's musing, so the night should come to an end. Uninviting as it was to part with his young lover, Darcy struggled fiercely with his desires, unwilling to call it a day. But it would not do. Much as it pained him to let go of her beautiful prisoner, he could not avoid the natural consequences unleashing such emotions entailed. With his cravat dangling unevenly from his neck¾ evidentiary witness of Elizabeth's ardent kissing¾ bloodshot eyes full of passion and a hoarse voice that could scare the devil, Mr Darcy finally decided he could take no more. After all he was only human. When, finally, he disentangled himself from her, his mien in compleat disarray, he found it necessary to take a good time in order to recover his wit. Still, in vain did he endeavour to compose his appearance, such was the appalling state that his attire had got into.

An unembarrassed, though a bit disoriented Elizabeth, her décolletage in a sad state, endeavoured to robe her bosom after the riot Mr Darcy's perusal had caused. Shivering lightly, she immediately regretted the abrupt conclusion her meeting with Darcy had come to, for no sooner had she unlocked her arms from his neck, than she missed his warmth, and the enticing feeling his arousal effectively bestowed on her thighs; so much so, that once he had given up his awkward intent to tie the knot of his cravat, she sought the comfort of his closeness once more.

Not a word.

Reluctantly, the enamoured pair exited the orangery, to find that most of the couples they had found scattered around when having the stroll, had all gone inside. At a slow pace, like old friends enjoying a starry night, they made their way towards the house. Ever so often, they cast a dreamy glance at each other, sighing and smiling timidly. Upon reaching the house, Darcy let go of her hand, and standing facing her, caressed her swollen lips, a longing look in his eyes. Then, with a courteous bow, bid her good night.

"Good night, Mr Darcy," she said with a broad smile.

"Miss Bennet. I shall see you later tonight."

"Pardon?"

"In my dreams. I told you before. You never leave my bedchamber in the night. Good night my sweet love." Elizabeth froze at this manner of parting. She could think of no answer. Mr Darcy then whirled around and with rather staggered steps, disappeared among the guests.

Phillips examined the sleeping form of the unequivocally drunken gentleman ungracefully sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in the kitchen, and shook his head in obvious repulsion. How the Master of Pemberley had ended up in the sad state of so deep an inebriation was not difficult to guess, however hard it was to believe, judging for his demeanour long before the ball had started. The manservant, used to Mr Hurst's inveterate drinking habits, wondered if all Mr Bingley's close relations would eventually take up the disgusting custom.

With a snap of his fingers, Phillips summoned yet another servant and called for Mr Darcy's personal valet, who was, at that time, placidly sleeping in a comfortable armchair in the dressing room. The three men found it rather difficult an exertion to carry Mr Darcy's unhelpful dead bulk upstairs, yet it was achieved through a happy combination of intelligent strategy and strained effort. They carried Mr Darcy to a chair on which, although very uncomfortably, the transportation of the gentleman was carried out. Up in the great man's bedchamber yet the most repulsive job awaited them: that of disrobing the gentleman from his much abused clothes. Naturally, Mr Darcy had no idea of such manoeuvres, for the degree of his intoxication deprived him of every intelligence presently around him.

On disrobing his master, Darcy's personal valet noticed quite unfamiliar blotches on his pants. His neck, however, presented the most striking evidence of Mr Darcy's last night's exertions. He immediately recognised the nature of both the appalling state of his trousers and the smooching trails on the skin of his neck. This was strange to say the least, since Mrs Darcy was nowhere to be found in the area. Still, the loyal man endeavoured to keep his master from deeper embarrassment than the fact that he had been found lying unconscious at the top of the stairs. However, in seeing the state of affairs an obvious return to spirits abuse, add to this unprecedented adulterous behaviour in a member of the Darcy family¾ the manservant thought that, perchance, he should do something about it. He discarded the notion of talking to the Master of Netherfield. The man was an idiot, not to mention the fact that his intoxication was barely inferior to Mr Darcy's. Remembering Colonel Fitzwilliam's concern about his cousin, the poor man was tempted to ask Phillips to send a message to Matlock. But then he thought better of it, lest his master get angry when he came around.

So, in silent complaisance, the very discreet servant endeavoured to conceal his findings from the members of the permanent staff of Netherfield Park, and proceeded to clean his unconscious master as best as he could, before slipping him into his nightshift and his bed.

In the silence of his home in Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam found the peace of mind he had been searching for. For a good day he remained in his bedchamber, under the warmth of the covers, just as he used to do when he was a child. Scenes both of his youth with Darcy and their adventurous deals roamed his mind. Having recently acquired the wisdom from his young fiancée's philosophy, he lingered only on those which gave him pleasure: Darcy in his first riding breeches falling from his horse and into the lake at Pemberley, and the consequent round of laughter the episode had caused; the first and last time he had taken him to carouse in London, Darcy's first dealings with ladies (a complete failure), the first ball and the first dance.

Come to think of it, he had always been the one to witness the momentous in his cousin's life. It was only natural, of course. After Lady Anne's early passing away, Fitzwilliam's mother had taken to her nephew and niece with a devotion unbeknown to her family. The Fitzwilliams had always been scarce in their shows of affection, yet the Earl's wife was not a Fitzwilliam in blood but in name only. So, Darcy and Georgie became commonplace in the summer seasons in Matlock, and Richard, scarcely three years his cousin's senior, became Darcy's playmate.

But life seemed to have smiled on Darcy much more than on him. Darcy was to become heir of his father's possessions, namely an immense estate and fortune. He would lead the life of a gentleman in London and that of a happy wealthy country squire when at Pemberley. The only cloud over his future had been his impending marriage to his sickly cousin, Anne De Bourgh. Darcy could have refused to oblige his family's wishes, yet he had accepted his portion with an uncharacteristically tame disposition.

To his chagrin, Fitzwilliam had just realised that the source of his cousin's readiness to his sad matrimony with Anne had been nothing better than resignation. Resignation that had been born in the certainty that love had skipped his path, when Elizabeth Bennet had rejected his hand in matrimony. The part Fitzwilliam had taken in her rejection was too grand for him to pass unnoticed. Now it was hanging over his head like a huge Damocles' sword.

His cousin was in a terrible condition. He would have wagered his horse Darcy's taking to drinking was nothing to worry about until the scene he had witnessed before Christmas. Had he had the power to undo his past actions, he would have happily gone back to their short visit to Kent a year before and abandoned his mischievous scheme to steal the lady's heart from Darcy.

His thoughts now turned to her. Elizabeth was now a complete riddle for him. She had not seen it necessary for him to be apprised of Darcy's proposal to her. That was strange to say the least. She should have known the importance such pursuit would have in his own relationship with Darcy. The reason for her silence, he could not surmise, yet his intuition told him that most probably she would talk about it to no one, to spare Darcy the embarrassment. Though, evidently, she had enlightened her father, her reasons to confide in him were compleatly just and understandable.

On reflection upon the old man's words on the occasion of their conversation over the engagement, he recalled his talking about Elizabeth having suffered from a broken heart. Taking into account the brief period betwixt Darcy's proposal and his, there was no doubt that her suffering stemmed from the first one. There were scarcely any probabilities that Elizabeth had been involved in a third amorous affair in such a short period. He inferred, therefore, that he had sadly interfered between what could have been two people deeply in love.

What puzzled him were Elizabeth's feelings for himself. Mr Bennet had pronounced her incapable of deceit. Perchance she had not meant to deceive him, but was deceived herself. It was veritably possible that she had imagined herself in love with him after his flattering and flirting upon their meeting in London. But what would happen in the face of an encounter with Darcy? Would the old flame bear sparks?

He rang for his manservant and asked for a tray to be served in his bedchamber. There was nobody else in the house, and he felt inclined to doze a little more in bed. He was beginning to relax, when his manservant presented him with the post. A letter addressed to him had arrived from the military quarters. Notwithstanding he knew the content well enough, still the answer to it was yet to be weighed, so he hesitated to read it. Upon opening it, confirmation to his suspicions did not delay. He was being summoned to serve on the continent, his regiment leaving London the first week of February. A fortnight before he would have not doubted to reject his commission. Yet so many things had changed since his departure from London, he was now unsure what path to take.

Of his feelings he was certain, though. He loved Elizabeth dearly. He did not expect her to love him as much in return. He would be content to have her in his bed; sure as he was he would be able to satisfy her womanly needs. As long as he could have her sex and her respect, the Colonel would not aspire to more. Yet the phantom of her relationship with Darcy was too grand for him to pass over. The certainty of a breach between his cousin and himself, should he choose to further his relation with Elizabeth, was now a terrible obstacle, the colonel surmised, too elevated to surmount.

He fixed his eyes on the letter. Perchance that was the answer to his problem. He could leave everything behind. It would be the perfect excuse to put a stop to his betrothal without exposing Elizabeth to shame. He could not face her with the truth! He could very well tell her that he could neither avoid his responsibilities to the Crown nor subject her to the pains of waiting for a man sent to war. He knew his life was not to be endangered, yet Elizabeth did not need to know.

He closed his eyes, covered them with one hand and pressed his brow in a painful gesture. As he imagined his life without Elizabeth, he felt a lump in his throat. All he had ever wished for in a woman was in the soft touch of her white skin, the exuberance of her bosom, the wit of her mind. He loved her and, as far as he was concerned, she loved him well enough.

Mary Bennet was certainly not clever. Still, she had a docile, grateful disposition, totally free of conceit, great inclination for spiritual matters and moral issues, particularly fond of reading the Book of Prayers and sermons. She was not the kind of girl, however, who would wake up earlier than the rest, and go on a ramble outside before breakfast. But today, this was exactly what Mary Bennet did. She had never gone beyond the shrubbery on her own device unless, of course, she had been compelled to accompany one of her sisters. Today, she had ventured alone for a walk in the woods.

Scarcely had she taken the path thither, when, quite unexpectedly she met Mr Forester, on his way to Longbourn. He was on foot, and he looked very much satisfied in finding her there. His appearance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man without a mask, but his person had no other advantage. Still, Mary had such happiness in seeing him, such a flutter of spirits, that she found it very difficult to look composed while addressing him.

"I dare say, Miss Mary, I am very lucky to find you up and about so early in the morning. Is it your custom to walk in the garden before morning prayers?"

"Aye, sir. I found the exertion most invigorating."

"So do I, Miss Mary. So do I. Is it not a happy coincidence?"

"Indeed, it is, sir. Most happy."

"May I join you in your morning stroll?"

"You may, sir," she quickly added, " would you like to come home for breakfast afterwards? Unless, of course, that you are wanted at Netherfield Park."

"I doubt it, dear madam. Netherfield Park is bound to remain quite a solitary place for the rest of the morning. Do you not think it ungentlemanly of me to abuse of your family's hospitality by coming upon you at such early hour?"

"No, indeed, sir. Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I am quite pleased you have come."

"Thank you."

"Not at all, sir."

Mr Bennet woke up to find his mind still engaged in last night's affairs. Amazed at his own capacity to see through her, he berated himself for not having been able to prevent her from falling into Mr Darcy's claws. Deep inside, he felt he had done his duty in that respect. Had he not talked to the man personally? Still, he was much concerned that a matter of such serious connotations had his own favourite daughter as the main character, and was extremely angry at his own indolence in the face of so obvious an endeavour. What was he thinking when he left Mr Darcy unattended? His own follies had endangered Elizabeth's respectability.

Still, he reckoned not one guest had missed either Elizabeth or Mr Darcy, except himself, such was the state of inebriation that pervaded the majority of the assembly. Perchance there was a possibility that not everything had been lost.

But, what in the name of God was Elizabeth thinking to have agreed to spend the whole night in the company of a married man? To have disappeared in the middle of the night and forget all sense of propriety and decorum? Mr Bennet could hardly comprehend it. The sense of shame that his daughter Lydia's elopement and consequent marriage to the most undeserving gentleman for miles around was still too fresh in his mind. Still, Elizabeth could not be considered guilty of the charge until he had clear, factual evidence of a bad action. For, as long as it concerned him, Elizabeth had merely been out of sight for a long period, which coincidentally matched the very same period Mr Darcy had also been out of sight, thus arousing consistent suspicious of their being together.

Doing what?

In truth, he would rather not think of it.

Elizabeth Bennet woke up in her room in Longbourn, her eyes red from crying. She touched her lips, and she noticed she could still feel the warmth of Mr Darcy's ardent kissing. The scent of his spicy breath was all over the skin of her neck, her face, and her lips. She had spent half the night crying, she did not know exactly what for.

Truth be told, her amorous meeting with Mr Darcy in the orangery proved to have been the most exhilarating experience that she had ever had. Quite enlightening, she must say. Had she known the Pandora's box he was opening when administering his caresses, she would have never entered the place. How would she bear to live with the torture of what had been denied to her? Or would she have entered more readily? For his touch had been delicious, his kisses exceedingly arousing, his breath intoxicating. Her emotions for him, she found beyond comparison. She tossed and turned in bed unwilling to get up. Mr Darcy was still her sister's guest at Netherfield, and she would not risk seeing him again, so she decided she would plead a headache and would remain enclosed in her room for the rest of the day. There was so much to ponder.

There was no doubt now she was deeply in love with Mr Darcy. She could not deny that. He was exceedingly handsome. So tall, and sensual. And he loved her, so he had professed. The problem was that he was a married man and absolutely out of reach.

It was time for her to turn her thoughts to her fiancée, Richard Fitzwilliam. She loved him, too. He was bewitchingly handsome, gentlemanly mannered, loving, caring and above all, single. He had professed his endless love and promised to marry her as soon as he could. The problem was that Richard was cousin to Darcy.

But did she really love them both? Was it possible to love two men at the same time?

Being so young and inexperienced, Elizabeth wondered how she would ever know the difference. Which way should she go? She knew she must make up her mind. Mr Darcy had made it very clear to her that he did not expect nor did he want, to enter into an adulterous relationship with her. She was relieved he did not, for she would have never agreed to such a scheme, would she? No, of course she would not. The only way they would end up together was on his becoming a widower. Hardly likely considering their luck! If she chose that path, then she should resign herself to spinsterhood and loneliness.

On the other hand, she evaluated her role as Mr Darcy's cousin, should she resolved herself to marry Fitzwilliam. How would they ever face each other as such after the overwhelming passion unleashed on Twelfth Night? Certainly it would be unthinkable to confess the orangery affair to her betrothed. It would all end up in a duel. So she would begin her connubial life with a lie and a rather adulterous encounter with a relative.

It would not do.

She rose from bed and wrapped herself in a heavy woollen quilt. Thusly warmed, she stood in front of the mirror and watched her own reflection with curious eyes. What was it that Mr Darcy saw in her that had awakened such passionate feelings? Was not Jane more beautiful than her? Yet she had quietly entered marriage without so much noise. She shifted a little and arranged the cloth to wrap her feet. The movement she made with her arms somehow liberated Mr Darcy's masculine scent that still lingered on the back of her hand. On reaching her nostrils, said aroma sent shivers down her spine, causing her whole body to tremble. Instantly, the recollection of his hands all over her assaulted her mind.

She felt wet betwixt her legs and a purring feeling ran through her body. Resting both her hands on her shoulders, she moaned in ecstasy. Oh Mr Darcy. What have you done to me?

Fitzwilliam Darcy woke up in his bedchamber at Netherfield, and he immediately regretted opening his eyes. A splitting headache announced to him that his morning would be a very difficult one. He tried to remember how he came to be in his nightshift and in his bed, but his memory escaped him. Feeling uneasy, he tried to sit up in bed but the pain on his forehead was simply too much for him to bear. He sank his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

He knew something important had occurred the night before, but as much as he tried to elicit the information from his subconscious, recollections of the previous night came back in pieces. Judging from his aroused pride, Darcy reckoned a lady must have been involved. He made an inward resolution to avoid spirited beverages from then on. The idea of having fallen into a dissolute way of life worried him exceedingly.

He opened one eye and peered around. He was not in his bedchamber. Yet the surroundings were familiar.

Netherfield ! Twelfth Night!

The sudden recollection made him smile. He was with friends. He had come here for the purpose of seeing Miss Bennet at least from a distance.

Miss Bennet!

A sudden fear assaulted him. Had he been dreaming again? It would not be the first time he had awoken with a rock betwixt his legs after dreaming of Miss Bennet. Yet today he felt different. An exhilarating sense of achievement invaded his whole self. He could taste a distinctive flavour in his mouth. Was it possible that he had really kissed her, held her, made her his? A lump the size of his fist stuck in his throat. His pulse began to race. Forgetting his painful situation, he rose to his feet and almost fell to the floor.

The throbbing migraine compelled him to keep motionless and for a moment he resorted to remaining perfectly still where his feet had landed him. Tentatively, he began to drag first one foot forward, then the other, until he reached the window. He managed to open a pane and peek his head out for a while. A freezing breeze washed his face. Regrettably, said breeze was dragging the odours of the kitchen, and Darcy almost puked as they reached his nose. On realising the lateness of the hour, he took a deep breath and head first pulled his battered soul towards the bedside. Reaching out for the bell-pull, he rang for his manservant.

"My bath," were the only words he could utter. It was enough to send the man in frantic motion for the preparation of the hot bath.

Once the bath was ready, Darcy stepped into the water. He was just about to sit in the slipper tub, when a delicate scent of roses emanating from his own skin forayed his nose. Quick as a fish, he stepped back and out of the tub. It had not been a dream! He had held her close enough for her perfume to have instilled itself into the pores of his skin. He tentatively touched his neck. Yes. She had been there. Where else? Unless ... No, no, no. That was unthinkable. Miss Bennet was incapable of wrongdoing. Still, he had to admit he had also thought himself incapable of ... Good God! What have I done?

The unsettling emotion of having enjoyed a woman's favour for the first time, quickly invaded his body and soul. He felt both an overwhelming and unknown satisfaction. Tentatively, his hand still covering the skin of his neck, Darcy approached the mirror, drenched in mist. With a trembling hand, he wiped the glass clear to see his own reflection. As he inspected the exposed skin of his neck, a self-satisfied grin blossomed on his face. Could she have done this? Images assaulted his senses, but recollections of his last night's exertions simply escaped his mind. Everything came to him in confusing pictures. Still, such recollections could only have one effect on him.

Contrary to all expectations, he panicked. All the blood drained from his face as a dreadful thought assaulted him.

"Heaven forbid," he said aloud.

"Is there anything wrong, sir?" the voice of his manservant made him jump.

"No, no. Leave me." He bade the man out with an urgent wave of his hand. Then he slowly sank into the warmth of his bath, carefully leaving the skin of his neck out of the water's reach.

Fitzwilliam Darcy arrived at his house in Kent on the third day after what he chose to consider his bizarre dream about Elizabeth Bennet. The suspicion that his musing might have been a real fact of life had been carefully weighed, at times discarded, then again accepted as a wonderful truth, since a distinctive scent of roses had stubbornly adhered to the coat he had worn for the Twelfth Night ball. Finally, after all had been said and done, he dismissed the idea as compleatly preposterous. In lieu, he preferred to think of the whole affair as a dream, the red marks on his neck blamed on some southern bug bite, lest he have to answer to the rather unsettling notion of having taken too much licence over Miss Bennet's innocence.

After spending a couple of days at Rosings Park, suffering the company of his wife and aunt, Darcy followed his plans and left for London together with Georgiana to spend the rest of the winter season there. He would have to talk to his aunt, Lady Matlock, to start preparations for Georgiana's coming out ball. The girl was very excited about the prospect and longed to arrive in Town to begin shopping for her gown and laces.

Darcy made a mental map of his many duties in Town. Calling on Lady Matlock and the Earl at their house in London was of greatest importance. Then it was his solicitor, the fencing club, and, of course, his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

However little Darcy comprehended why, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was uppermost in his reflections. He tortured himself with the thought that it might have been Elizabeth's task to accompany his sister to the main shops, instead of Mrs Annesley, had she not refused his hand. To both his chagrin and delight, the image of Miss Bennet's face became his constant partner, penetrating into his soul, the intoxicating scent of rose water in her hair, in her bosom, returning unpredictably to his senses (his knowing the scent emanating from her cleavage he did not dwell on, for fear he would arrive at the conclusion that his nose had been there). All that would assault each of his waking hours.

In attending to the preparation of the ball room in his town house for Georgiana's coming out, he more than once lost himself in the idea of enjoying that special night with Elizabeth as his wife. He imagined a whole night dancing with her, singling her out as his rightful dance partner, even waltzing with her till they felt dizzy with the exertion. Somehow, he had the sensation he had recently done that, as fading pictures of hazy recollections timidly insinuated themselves into his mind. His musing soon took them even further to the master's bedchamber where, after all the guests had gone home, he made love to her the whole night through. He could even hear her softly purring at his touch as his hands roamed the enticing path of her skin.

Had these meditations overcome him before their encounter in the orangery, had he not felt after that meeting an unknown, even incomprehensible feeling of contentedness, he would have most probably sunk into deep depression and in all likelihood ended up with his hands on the decanter, drowned in brandy to forget his frustration.

Yet, this time he felt jubilant, cheerful and, above all, hopeful.

He could not tell why.

Before calling on his relatives regarding the preparations of the ball, Darcy sent a card to Fitzwilliam house, and requested to see Colonel Fitzwilliam in private at Darcy house. He wished to have a word with him. In truth, Darcy found in his cousin, the only confidante to whom disclose his fears of having transgressed the line of propriety with Miss Bennet. Little did he realize the great danger his friendship with his cousin would be exposed to in such a disclosure.

While waiting for Fitzwilliam, Darcy endeavoured to talk with Georgiana. Surely his sister would require all his attention thinking of the menu for the dinner and the creation of the invitations for the guests, though Lady Matlock's assistance would certainly be more important there. They had scarcely begun to discuss the main course when a footman announced the arrival of the colonel. As ever, his cousin wore a smile on his face, as well as a jubilant expression in his eyes. Georgina's face lit up and Darcy's demeanour was more than welcoming.

"So how did the ball go?" Fitzwilliam inquired when they were left alone.

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm?" Fitzwilliam echoed. "Indeed. Too much brandy," he muttered in comprehension.

"I suppose I might have abused a little," Darcy admitted lightly.

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "A little, huh? What are your recollections of your actions so far?"

Sighing soundly, Darcy readied himself for his avowal. "I confess I have no recollections of either my actions or of any other person's around me. I compleatly fail to remember even having been there at the ball. Though, I am almost certain I did see a certain person, for she left an exquisite trail upon my senses."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's alertness rose.

"Whom do you mean?" he asked with evident apprehension.

"I mean her."

"Darcy, I do not wish to discuss Miss Bennet. Pray change the subject."

"Change it? That is certainly easier said than done! Fitzwilliam, she is in my system, in my heart, in my soul, all over me. I somehow know I saw her and yet, I was so drunk I remember but her scent ... which by the way is stubbornly adhered to my coat."

"Your coat?"

Truth be told, he had meant his neck, but he found such a disclosure far too intimate.

"Utterly so. I refuse to have it cleaned."

"Pray, tell me. How did Miss Bennet's scent suddenly adhere to your clothes?"

"I do not know. I wish I did. I supposed I might have danced with her. But I suspect something more happened."

"I am sorry. I fail to comprehend your meaning. What else could have happened?"

Darcy remained silent, his muteness quickly enraging the colonel to the point of no return.

"I believe I asked you a question," he said impatiently.

Darcy pondered the possibility of disclosing his fears to his cousin. Much as he should need someone to hear his love sorrows, the idea of exposing even the slightest doubt of Miss Bennet's respectability was simply preposterous.

"Of course, nothing happened. It is merely that her presence, so close to me, has released such a befuddlement of emotions, I know not fantasy from reality. I had this dream of her. If only you knew, Fitzwilliam. It is driving me mad."

"You must put a stop to this, Darcy," Fitzwilliam ordered more than said. "It is dangerous to play with fire. You may burn yourself and harm those around you in the intent."

"What do you propose that I do?

"You must avoid Miss Bennet."

The words Fitzwilliam said rang a bell into his ears. "What? What did you say?"

"I said you must endeavour to avoid Miss Bennet."

"I know."

A change of subject was mandatory, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam continued talking amiably of Fitzwilliam's commission in France. He expressed his regrets in failing to appear at Georgiana's ball, yet he explained that he was resolved to stay in the continent at most for a year. Darcy told him, in exchange, of his plans for the ball. He would go back to Kent and bring his wife and aunt to London to attend it. Such was his trust in Fitzwilliam, that Darcy even told him he wished Anne's indisposition would prevent her from obliging. Fitzwilliam then pointed out that the gossip upon her absence would be unsupportable in the long run.

Georgiana was the happiest of girls. Her upcoming ball had given her a lot to think about and many an exciting thing to prepare. But the prospect of her ball was nothing in comparison with the joy she felt on meeting the Colonel again. After their meeting in Pemberley and their brief season in Kent, Georgiana had come to feel an acute dependency on her cousin. She saw in him the protection of a father but also the alluring figure of a handsome man. She had previously counted on her brother in reference to protection, but the rather unsettling demeanour William had displayed of late had compelled the young girl's mind to seek said protection in her cousin. She admired him exceedingly well and cherished every moment she spent in his presence.

Upon their meeting in Darcy house and after his conversation with Darcy was over, Fitzwilliam took the girl for a walk in the park. They sat on the same bench he had first been with Elizabeth a few weeks ago. There were no swans now and the water of the pond had turned into a skating round. They watched children play on the frozen surface of the pond and were having a terrific time laughing at the many little falls some of them were having. Fitzwilliam then turned a little serious as he addressed her this time.

"Georgie, I have something to tell you."

"I am all ears, cousin."

"I am leaving for the continent in a few weeks."

"The continent?"

"Yes. I have accepted a commission in France."

"But then you will not be in London for my coming out?"

"I am afraid I shall not. I am sorry, Sprout. I would miss your coming out for nothing, but unfortunately my responsibilities to his Majesty cannot be overlooked."

"And what about your responsibilities as my guardian?" she responded vehemently.

The Colonel had expected resistance but not direct confrontation from his young cousin.

"Sprout, 'Tis beyond my power. You still have your brother."

"Fitz. I dare say my brother has not been of much assistance of late, rather the opposite. And, pray, do not call me Sprout. I have already grown up," she said in earnest, her pouting revealing, in fact, quite the opposite.

"Indeed you have, Miss Darcy. And as such you must understand a lot more is expected from a young lady than from a girl. Growing up comes with maturity. I dare say you are mature enough to face certain facts of life, are you not, cousin?"

Her eyes welled with tears as she heard him speak like this. Still, he was absolutely correct. She was not behaving like what she claimed to be. Fighting her tears, she apologised to her cousin.

"I am sorry, Richard. 'Tis only that I shall miss you so!" she wished they were in the house so that she could sink her face into his lapels as she had frequently done when feeling down.

"I know, Sprout. I shall miss you, too." He handed her a handkerchief and assisted her in sweeping the moisture from her cheeks.

"How long are you staying there ?" she managed to say between sobs.

"Not long. I shall be back sooner than you might begin to miss me."

"I hope so."

Georgiana's battle with tears, unfortunately for the girl, was soon a compleat defeat for her. Ever so softly, gentle sobbing turned into disconsolate weeping and Fitzwilliam's heart melted in the face of so much sorrow.

"Come, come Sprout. Why are you crying now?"

"I have been so selfish, Richard! Here you are, telling me you are leaving for France. You are going to put yourself in danger for sure. And I am solely worried that you are not going to be at my ball!" she cried openly now, and the Colonel was obliged to hold her hands. "I wanted you to stand up with me for my first dance. I had wished for that for so long! And now you are leaving. Perchance you will never come back!"

"Georgie! What can I say? I thank you. I have always thought you wanted to dance your first with Darce!" Her crying was cut short.

"So you are staying?" she attempted hopefully.

"No. But I am honoured that you should have thought of me. You must not worry. We shall dance a thousand reels when I am back. What is more. I promise we shall hold a ball and dance a waltz at my return."

"A waltz! Oh, Richard, how can you tease me so!"

"I am not teasing you, Sprout! I shall come back, and we shall do as I told you."

He had not realised how their bodies had shifted position. Truth be told, he had been too concerned with Georgie's pouting and sobbing to make out they had come closer than was proper outdoors. To a witness's eye, they looked like a pair of lovers telling endearments to each other. He was holding her hands and as she rested her head on his shoulder, she renewed a round of sobbing, his wet coat to bear witness of her sadness. Ever so slowly, she regained composure. As Georgiana lifted her head, their eyes locked. She had stopped crying, and her profile was dangerously close to his. The Colonel froze as he noticed the loving gaze in the girl's eyes. He could feel his face blushing, and his heart skipped a beat. Good heavens! What is the meaning of this? He immediately released her hands and, clearing his throat, he put some distance between them.

"Let us go home, shall we?" he said.

On their stroll back to the house, they barely talked, such was his embarrassment. Georgiana endeavoured to make some conversation, but the Colonel's mind was still reeling with the shock his young cousin's enamoured demeanour had given him. He pondered what could have inspired those tender feelings in the girl. Surely he had not fostered them. Nay. It was a truth generally acknowledged that a young lady in the presence of a marriageable man should eventually set her cap at him. But Georgiana was not a young lady looking for a husband. Or was she? And she could by no means consider him as a potential suitor. Or could she?

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be a sort which Richard Fitzwilliam particularly admired. She was tall, plump, had a pert bosom and a round bottom, light fair hair, with a fine bloom in her countenance, blue eyes, regular features and a look of great sweetness; he found her remarkably clever, and although she was not a keen conversationalist, she was not unwilling to talk, at least, not to him. But of course, encouragement should be always given.

Still, those soft blue eyes and natural graces should not be wasted on him. Lord, he could be her father! Or could he not? Still, to merely think of Georgiana as anything other than his little sister was impossible to conceive.

As he left her in the company of her brother, the Colonel felt enormous relief wash his soul, and instantly made up his mind not to find himself in her company again without a proper chaperone.

Darcy was sitting at his desk, working at some deeds and documents, when Fitzwilliam noticed the fruit displayed on a plate in front of him.

"Oranges? I thought they were hard to find at this time of the year."

"They are. Mrs Bates knows this man at the market, though." he said without raising his gaze from the paper he was reading. "He brings them from an orangery in the south." That said, Darcy raised his eyes from the document and stared at the plate of fruit.

Fitzwilliam noticed something amiss. "What?"

He shook his head as if trying to remove some troubling thoughts from his mind. "'Tis nothing. I had the feeling I already ... Have you ever felt as if you have already said or done something before in another life ?"

"You mean vague recollections of carousing while drunk? Aye, countless times. What? What have you just remembered?

"Nothing. 'Tis nothing," and he went on reading.

"I am leaving, Darce. I must away and fix some business before embarking for France. I shall be back in a fortnight."

Darcy was used to Fitzwilliam's unsettled way of life. He never stayed too long in a place. Darcy shrugged and muttered-

"Fare well, Fitzwilliam."

"May I take one?" he asked while grabbing one orange.

"Oh, yes, of course. Help yourself."

"Goodbye." _____________________________________________________________________

When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Longbourn, he found an upset fiancée. Elizabeth's mind had decidedly wore herself out thinking and pondering.

But in the end she had made up her mind to put Mr Darcy's memory behind. She must move on. And her fiancée was there again to help her in her purpose. Soon, she would be his wife. The proud wife of the second son of an Earl.

Yet, she could not help feeling upset and uneasy.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennet." announced Hill.

The Colonel bowed ceremoniously at the ladies in the drawing room.

"Good day, Miss Bennet."

"Good day, sir." she replied. "May I introduce you to my mother? Mama, this is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, from Matlock. Mama, I came to make the Colonel's acquaintance while visiting my cousin in Kent. The Colonel is Lady Catherine De Bourgh's nephew. Colonel, my mother."

"Mrs Bennet, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, sir. Please, make yourself at home."

"Colonel, this is my sister Mary and my sister Catherine."

The Colonel bowed twice towards the two ladies, but kept silent as to salutation. There was a strange look upon his face, and Lizzy immediately noticed.

"What is it that brings you to this part of the country, Colonel. Business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure, ma'am."

"I hope you have had a pleasant journey?" said Elizabeth demurely.

"Yes, ma'am. I thank you. I could not have had a nicer one with better prospect than calling on such pleasant company at the end of it."

"Oh! How well you speak, sir!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Pray tell me. Are you planning to stay long in Hertfordshire?"

"No, ma'am. Not for long. "

"And you are staying. . .?"

"At the inn in Meryton."

"Then you should accept an invitation to stay with us, Colonel. I cannot let a nephew of Lady Catherine's endure the pains of staying at an inn without proper service. The guest room could be prepared in a wink of time. Let me just talk with Mr Bennet."

"That will not be necessary, ma'am. I assure you I shall be quite comfortable at the inn."

"Nay, I am sure Mr Bennet will be delighted."

"Mama, the Colonel might not feel inclined to stay at Longbourn."

"Nonsense! How can you say so? My dear Lizzy, do support me. Go and find your father. He is to be persuaded to allow us the pleasure of lodging the Colonel. No, no. You had better stay here and keep him company. I shall go myself."

"Your mother is an excellent matchmaker," he said grinning broadly when Mrs Bennet had exited the room.

"Indeed, Richard. I am glad you approve on this ability of hers. Not many a gentleman would feel comfortable with this side of mama."

"Not many, I gather, are to be the principal beneficiary of her exertions." He leaned over and in a daring fashion whispered softly into her ear, "Since I am to be that one, it will be my pleasure to be under the same roof with you, my love."

Mrs Bennet came back in no time at all. "There now. Everything has been arranged!"

"Well, I declare you are a delightful Mistress of Longbourn, ma'am. Nothing will give me more pleasure than accepting your kind offer. Now if you will excuse me, I shall thank Mr Bennet for his kindness, personally. Where can I find him?"

"He is in the library, Colonel. Lizzy, take the Colonel to your father."

The Colonel looked askance at his fiancée. "Lizzy, huh?" he said playfully. She looked ahead smiling gaily and then halted at the entrance of the library. Thereafter, opening the door with a confident gesture, she entered her father's sanctuary, leaving Fitzwilliam behind.

"Papa, Colonel Fitzwilliam wishes to speak to you." "Show him in, my dear. And close the door when you leave." She swiftly stepped aside to let the gentleman in and exited the room without further words.

"Good day, sir."

"Good day, young man. I was beginning to think you have changed your mind."

"Indeed, you do me injustice, sir. I sent a note to Mr Gardiner in which I explained the reasons for my absence from London."

"Yes, yes. I was apprised of your motives. Indeed it speaks very well of you, to be so attentive to your family. Is that Mr Darcy you are related to?"

"I am, sir."

Mr Bennet frowned.

The Colonel immediately noticed his interlocutor's uneasiness. Hence he offered, "May I speak frankly, sir?"

"Please, Colonel. I have no objection to hear you."

"Very well. I gather you are well aware of the affection that once existed between my cousin and Miss Bennet."

"Indeed, I am. I see you are, too."

"I must confess I have recently learned that my cousin, Mr Darcy had made a marriage proposal to Miss Bennet, and that his hand was rejected."

"This circumstance must give you great grief, I assume." "You assume correctly, sir. Till lately I have had no idea of the direction of my cousin's affection, since he is not a man who will easily reveal his emotions. Had I known this in advance, I am afraid we would not be having this conversation nor the prior one we had."

"Do I take that you are retracting to the commitment you have entered into with my daughter? Does she know of this?"

"Indeed, I am not, sir. Much as I respect my cousin, my own affections for your daughter would not allow me to do such a thing. Not at this point in our understanding. I have already given my word in matrimony to her. My word is something I never underestimate ."

"I suppose, then, nothing remains to be said." "However, there are two issues that require our attention, sir. The first one is related to your saying that Miss Bennet had suffered from heartbreak. I would very much appreciate if you were more precise in your statement, sir."

Mr Bennet cleared his throat and sank, defeated, into his tall chair behind his desk.

"And what exactly is it that you want me to disclose?"

"What or rather who was the cause of that pain."

"I am afraid I am not entitled to give in what has been confided to me. You must inquire that from Elizabeth herself. I cannot betray her confidence."

"I understand that, sir. I shall put it another way. Allow me to suggest that the person in question was a member of my family?"

"You would not be wrong, sir."

"I thank you. Now, the second issue in question is my commission on the continent. You have expressed your uneasiness at my leaving my wife in danger of becoming a widow sooner than expected. I must confess that after close deliberation I have come to agree with your position. You were absolutely right there, sir. However, I have tried to break my engagement with my regiment, but unfortunately, everything came to naught. I am leaving for France during the first weeks of February and expect to remain in my duty for as long as a year. What is it that you suggest?"

"What says my daughter?"

"I have not told her about it yet. I confess I wanted you to be apprised of the news before making any decision."

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Colonel. In a case such as this, I would suggest you talk about it with the person more directly affected. Then you can come and we shall discuss the possibilities together."

"I thank you, sir."

To the delighted eyes of Mrs Bennet, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth took a turn in the garden of Longbourn, chaperoned by a reluctant Kitty, who, proving herself either very unwise or rather bored, whichever explanation sounds more plausible, lingered substantially behind.

Colonel Fitzwilliam did magic to Elizabeth's spirits, so amiable and entertaining he could be. She soon, again, forgot about her worries, and not a thought did she direct towards Mr Darcy, until, to her chagrin, Richard chose to talk about him.

"I find from my cousin that you actually enjoyed yourself at the ball at Netherfield," said he, divested of chagrin or suspicion.

She replied in the affirmative, her face pale, her whole body trembling slightly.

"I almost envy him, you know. He said he had the pleasure to stand up with you for a reel or two."

"Yes, he did," she said biting her lips.

"I must confess I was surprised to see Darcy willing to attend a ball. But then I suppose he missed his friends from Netherfield. Pray, tell me. How did you persuade him into dancing with you?"

"I do not recollect that I did such thing, sir."

"I see. A willing dancer, too. If I did not know the depths of your affection, I believe I would be jealous."

She kept silent.

"Did you see much of him during the ball? I thought I understood from him that you did."

"Yes, he was my partner for most of the night. He did not know any other lady besides my sisters and I found myself compelled to accept his companionship. My sisters are far too young to keep him good company, and Jane was too busy to afford it. After all, he is to be my cousin, is he not?" Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him, but he soon afterwards said¾

"Undoubtedly. Did you notice anything unusual about him?"

"He was exceedingly jubilant and much in his cups," she said with a smile at the recollection. He noticed her smile and could not help the impulse to ask her, thus.

"Did you like him?" "

Pardon?" her countenance blushing furiously.

"My cousin. Did you enjoy his company?"

"I did," she said frankly.

"Did you enjoy his company much better than mine?" Lord, I am beginning to sound stupid!

"Sir, what do you mean?"

"I mean what you have heard. Did you enjoy his company more than you enjoy mine?" he insisted in earnest.

"Sir, I am your fiancée. I enjoy your company much better than anyone else's." Goodness, that was a lie! She had enjoyed Mr Darcy's company much better than anyone else's. And his kisses, and his touch, and his ... Why was he talking about his cousin? She wanted to forget about him, and here was Richard reminding her of him. This would not do.

"Are you positive, Eliza?"

"I am, sir. I love you." That was not a lie. She sincerely thought she loved him. After all she could not afford to love Darcy.

Such disclosure could not pass unnoticed to Fitzwilliam. He halted and, grabbing her by her waist, pulled her behind a tree, and kissed her lips tenderly.

"How much?" he then asked.

"Very much, sir." she answered, her lips almost on his.

"That is not enough," he breathed with a frown and a pout. He could be so childish.

"Not enough?"

"Nay. You should have said that you love me more than you can bear."

"I love you more than I can bear, sir." she said grinning. Sweet, Richard. He could make her smile so easily.

"But you still enjoyed dancing with my cousin."

"I did," she smiled sheepishly. She now knew he was not entirely teasing her.

"And you also enjoyed his company."

"Indeed. I confess I have not always enjoyed it, sir. I dare say he has uncommonly improved within these six months I have not seen him." She blatantly teased him, playing with the truth in a shameful manner. "Marriage evidently becomes him."

"I would not be so sure, Miss Bennet." he said seriously. "I must warn you my cousin has not been his usual self and I would not mind if you avoided being too ... friendly with him."

"How so?"

"I do not wish to discuss my cousin's demeanour with you, my love. Let us change the subject. Hmm, where is Miss Kitty?"

Elizabeth looked around. Kitty was nowhere to be found. "She must have turned to go to Lucas Lodge to visit Maria," she concluded.

Goodness! Silly Kitty! She left me alone with Richard!

"A very wise chaperone," he said turning to hold her in his arms.

Elizabeth looked around in desperate search for her stupid sister. Can she not do anything right? Thoughtless, thoughtless, Kitty!

Richard, then, did the unthinkable. He cupped her breasts with his hands and, pinning her to the tree, began a seduction worthy of George Wickham. Jealousy had a fierce grip on his heart, and he desperately wished to make sure she belonged to him. Elizabeth gasped in surprise and meant to protest. Mr Darcy's touch was still burning on her skin, his kissing lingering on her lips. She was confused and a bit scared, and at the same time, she reckoned Richard was a desirable man. Indeed, quite so.

What to do? Surely Richard, somehow, being her betrothed, had a right to claim certain degree of intimacy with her. A bit hesitantly at first, Elizabeth, little by little surrendered to his seduction, and to the sweetness of his lips.

"Richard, someone might see us!" she finally said, tired of struggling with his hands.

"Hmm?"

"Someone might see us."

"Indeed. Come." Taking a fierce hold of her hand, he took her deeper into the wilderness along the road.

"There," he said triumphantly. "None can see us here."

"I did not mean this, sir."

"What ? Are you afraid of me?"

"No, I am not."

"Do you love me?" he said playfully, lightly pressing the tip of her nose with his.

"I do."

"So do I," he breathed, "Let us not lose precious time, then. Allow me to show you the depth of my feelings for you. Come, let me show you." He closed his eyes as he kissed her passionately while pressing himself against her.

Oh Lord. What is this? I must stop him!

Yet, she did not, she dared not. She merely allowed him the liberties he evidently desired so badly.

It was the first time he had touched her so, and she very soon discovered his touch was as enticing as Mr Darcy's. The situation was in itself unsettling. Much as she reckoned Mr Darcy must have tasted of brandy, she still missed the latter's spicy flavour, and his(kiss)... and ...(kiss) hmm ... what was she thinking? Ah yes ... Mr Darcy...(kiss) hmmmm.

Richard was definitely different. While Darcy had been clumsy and unrelenting, perchance almost beastly (but, she still had enjoyed every bit of it, even more so than Richard's gentle manners), her fiancée, accomplished the same with such gentlemanly airs, that she barely realized he was kissing her bosom! Goodness, how did he get there?And yet, he was. Deliciously so.

So different.

Richard Fitzwilliam was inviting, like the recurrent lapping of the sea on the shore.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was like rough waves, perilously breaking on the cliffs, eroding their resistance with each blow.

Richard's kissing, meantime, gentle as it was, became incredibly arousing, and she felt she was about to explode when he, ever so generously, began to rub her most intimate regions with his hand.

Oh Lord! What is he doing?

Elizabeth felt a now familiar wetness betwixt her thighs.

He breathed a confession and a promise into her ear. "You know not how much I need you, Eliza. Yet, I can give you but a little example of what awaits for us in our wedding bed." He then replaced his hand with the bulk in his groin, and helped her reach her satisfaction until she wanted no more.

In this manner, Fitzwilliam took to showing his fiancée the depths of his affection during their everyday strolls. Truth be told, Elizabeth found his attentions more and more palatable, and many a time she had been in danger of losing all composure. Yet Fitzwilliam, unlike his cousin, was a very experienced man, and knew his own "limitations" perfectly well, and not once lost his wit.

In one of their rambles, however, just as Elizabeth was eagerly awaiting his attentions, Fitzwilliam, looking very serious and grave, thus addressed her.

"I must have a word with you, my love. I am afraid it is not something easy for me to disclose."

"Yes?" she said, a bit disappointed.

"You must remember I told you I was thinking of quitting my position in my regiment. Unfortunately, this cannot be done. I have received and accepted an urgent commission that will take me to the continent for a brief period beginning in three weeks."

Elizabeth looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "I see," she almost muttered to herself.

"You do not sound surprised."

"I am to be the wife of a soldier," she sighed. "I am not surprised he would find duty more important than pleasure."

"You are unbelievable, Elizabeth. I would have expected at least as much resistance as my cousin Georgiana displayed! But no. Your comprehension of my situation astonishes me!"

"You wish I had cried and pouted and been mad at you?"

"No, no. I am merely stating that your reaction to my news only persuades me of the goodness of our union. We see things quite from the same perspective. I see we are exceedingly well matched."

"I must confess I am not at all happy with your decision, Richard. Do not misunderstand me."

"Neither am I, my dear. Yet it cannot be helped."

"How long did you say you are staying?"

"Six months. Perhaps a year."

"Is it only that?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I believe you are hiding something from me." "Well, the truth is we are at war. You must not concern yourself for I am not to fight. I shall be confined to training soldiers. But a war is a war, and we are hired men. So I cannot assure you that the year cannot be extended any further."

"How so?"

"I do not know."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam. You are telling me we are not to be married after all?"

"I am telling you that circumstances dictate that our marriage should be postponed until my return. Our engagement should not be exposed to the world until that time."

"Is that what you have said to my father the other day?"

"No. I merely told him I have accepted a commission. He suggested that I should tell you all about it, and then we should talk to him again."

"I am confused, Richard. Do you expect me to accept this or should I argue with you about your decisions?"

"I do not understand."

"You seem to have everything under control. So you go to fight your little war, and I remain here hoping that no sword will slash you in two, or a cannon blow you in pieces, meantime embroidering my wedding dress in the manner of Penelope? Sir, you must be jesting."

"You are telling me you are not going to wait for me?"

"Indeed, I am not sir. We must marry now."

"Elizabeth! My love. It will not do. Your father will not have it. I will not have it!"

"I shall talk to my father, Richard."

"It is unfair. I cannot have you do this for me."

"Pray, Richard. What is it that you suggest?"

"Our engagement will be concealed for a while until I return. Then we get married. However, if, by any chance, something happens to me, and I am not back by a year , then you are to consider our engagement broken, in which case you are free to do as you wish."

"What do you mean?"

"Elizabeth. I told you I do not expect to fight. But ...who knows. I might not return in good health. I could not put you under the obligation to be the wife of a cripple."

"When you come back I would marry you regardless of your health, sir."

"But I would not. However, in the event that I should fail to come back within a year, when I do come back, if you are not wedded to someone else yet, and I am on my own two legs, then I assure you I shall renew my addresses and you shall decide."

"So it is decided?"

"I am afraid it is the best we can do."

"Oh, Richard!"

"Please, Elizabeth. I can endure Georgiana's crying. But not yours."

"I am sorry. I am grieved. And frightened. What will become of you?"

"My love. There is no need for us to be so concerned for the future. 'Tis not written yet. Perchance the war will be over in two months and I shall return safe and sound for our wedding in the spring."

"Yes. You are in the right. Let us hope this stupid game you soldiers play finishes sooner than expected."

"I agree my love. Meantime I am resolved to make the most of our time together. I can think of many pleasurable activities before parting to the war. Now, Lizzy. Do you think that tree over there offers a good concealment from the house?

To keep their understanding from Elizabeth's family was as difficult for Fitzwilliam as to keep his own hands off her. She was an alluring vision and with every one of his ministrations she had become more and more responsive. There was hardly any secluded corner in the garden in which they had not been kissing, and while Richard had been all hands and endearments, Elizabeth had been all moans and sighs.

It was a miracle they had not been discovered red-handed. For many a time they had been left quite on their own by their careless chaperone. On such opportunities, Richard had been able to bestow upon his fiancée the most daring shows of affection, which Elizabeth, much to her own amazement, thoroughly enjoyed. She only wished that they were less openly shewed while in the company of others, and once or twice did venture to suggest the propriety of self command whilst her sister was around, supposedly acting the chaperone (In truth, Kitty was always too distracted daydreaming to be able to notice anything that would be expected from an enamoured gentleman). Thus warned, Richard endeavoured to behave while in Kitty's presence.

Richard's second week at Longbourn, however, was coincident with extended rainy weather. Hence, his "courtship" was relegated to Longbourn House, and the company of sisters, parents, and servants, all of whom were unlikely to turn a blind eye to their shows of affection as willingly as Kitty. This was a considerable vexation for Richard, as the day of his departure was approaching unrelentingly. Being housebound had not been in his plans. So, in order to ensure a higher level of intimacy, the ardent soldier dared to slip into Elizabeth's sleeping quarters at a very late hour.

The house was asleep, and not a sound could be heard from the bedrooms. Richard was not certain which Elizabeth's room was, so he sneaked about the halls and barely rapped quickly at the door he thought might contain the treasure of his musing. He immediately hid himself behind a massive piece of furniture, stalking in a cat-like position, waiting for the results of his daring guess. One might imagine where most of his charm lay ... He could be excitingly childish and exceedingly unpredictable.

At the sight of an intrigued Elizabeth poking her head out of her bedroom, Richard came out of his hiding place, and without hesitation, jumped, rather than stepped into the room, closing the door behind them, his very much flabbergasted fiancée fiercely grasped by the waist. The expression Elizabeth bore upon her face when he finally looked at her was not particularly inviting.

"Richard, what ..?"

"Do not be afraid, my love. I merely could not sleep thinking of you. We have not had a single minute alone for the last ..."

"Three days," she finished, "I know."

"Would you rather I take my leave?"

At this she was silent. Would she rather he leave her or not? Could she trust his chivalrous demeanour? Was she afraid he would take further liberties? Would she like him to take them?

He sensed her discomfort but was not in the mood to forget his primary goal. So, making a face that would have melted Georgiana's heart, he admitted almost with a pout:

"I see. It appears you would."

"No, no," she said, although still hesitating: "S ... stay."

This might have surprised him, or might have not. The truth was he had expected more resistance to his stratagem. Now that he saw himself alone with her in a bedroom, he wondered what she might be expecting from him. He had not planned, not even dreamt, when following the call of the fever of his blood, to take her virginity. For Elizabeth was an innocent.

Regardless of the ultimate outcome of the meeting, Richard decided he would make up his mind during the process. Hence, without further intermission, he kissed her decidedly on the lips, and commenced to explore her body, now offered to him without the concealment of corset and petticoat.

Little did he imagine the surprising behaviour of his fiancée. When he had pursued her company in the solitude of a bedchamber, Richard had had the naïve idea that, though a very ardent girl, he would face a blushing and reticent partner. Never, in his wildest dreams would have he imagined Elizabeth a willing one. Maidens, he knew, not accustomed to receiving a gentleman's attention, would certainly be shy and detached, demurring and modest ... A virgin would always find being in a bedchamber with a man a scary prospect. He had not counted on Elizabeth's prior education in his cousin's arms.

For Mr Darcy had broken almost all barriers when given his opportunity in the orangery. Elizabeth had learned a lesson. A beautiful one. No one could either complain or take offence of her ability to learn. For she had been subjected to all sort of arousing experiences, both in the arms of her true love, the illustrious though irremediably married Mr Darcy, and her fiancé, the very handsome Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Who could blame her for her reaction? After all, she was only human!

Unaware of the blazing ardour behind Elizabeth's innocent demeanour, Richard Fitzwilliam soon took a more daring step. He most shamelessly caressed her bottom, and kissed her cleavage in the way. To his astonishment, Elizabeth did not fight him back as she had done before. No. She seemed to be enjoying his attentions, oblivious to his ungentlemanly behaviour.

Though such compleat submission to his charms coming from a gentleman's daughter should have been suspicious enough, Richard chose not to dwell on it. Human beings do not usually see what they do not wish to. Seeing she was quite comfortable with their progress, Richard began to fight the barrier of her gown. Especially her décolletage, which little by little, gave way to his fingers and allowed him to hold a perfect round breast in one of his hands. His lips, ever so lightly, administering soft kisses, satiated his hunger from the delicious fruit of its nipple, and at the same time, though unbeknown to him, opened the lid to the most blazing sensuality.

The moment Richard's hands slid into her gown and touched the bare skin of her thighs, Elizabeth's quivering sighs revealed her emotions, which were decidedly not virginal. She immediately put into practice what she had learnt in the arms of Mr Darcy, and in a fearless manner, dived into the inviting flavours of the exposed skin of his neck, bestowing upon it the most arousing kisses, which soon became wet and sensual as she accompanied them with light caresses on his chest. Of course, she had no idea of the extent of her power over this man's resistance while doing this.

Her hands began fumbling with his cravat as she divested him of the interfering garment, just as Mr Darcy had done himself. How could she have ever imagined she would get away with this unharmed? In her naïvety she knew not she was playing with fire, and about to burn herself.

Richard stopped and looked into her eyes inquiringly. What does she mean disrobing me? What is she expecting from me? Should I bed her? A disturbing thought began to trickle into Richard's mind. Has she done this before? Why is she so willing to let me take such liberties? Hey, maybe she's not so innocent! He roamed her face with his intent gaze while, as if she were consenting to his musing, she closed her eyes and smiled gently.

However surprised Richard was by this forwardness, he was in no position to feel offended. Quite the contrary. Undoubtedly a bit puzzled, he responded to her wantonness with all the expertise a decade of sensual affairs had afforded him. Albeit slowly, Richard directed her towards the ample bed, where, once he finally reached his goal of thrusting both of them onto the plump mattress, he diligently employed his hands in administering rather arousing caresses. In doing so, Richard awoke every inch in Elizabeth's skin, now with his hands, now with his lips, ever so daring with the velvet of his tongue. Finally, when he had distinguished his partner was about to achieve her pleasure, her virginal portal was subjected to a thorough but gentle inspection to be found in admirable conditions, ready for an intrusive army.

At this she gasped in surprise. She had felt his fingers directed to her most intimate corners before, but never had her flesh been divested of clothes. The feeling was exquisite, though, liberating sensual moans that had been churning, till then, in her throat. Thus, spurring him on.

In all her candour, Elizabeth had forgotten the necessary iniquity such liberation of desires entailed. Compleatly oblivious to it, she closed her eyes and relaxed under his weight, her knees folded, legs parted, offering him sweet terms of surrender. Most innocently, she expected her fiancée to act in the same manner Darcy had acted. Chivalry notwithstanding, after the unexpected foreplay, Richard was beginning to feel that his attentions would necessarily lead them into muddier waters.

"My love?" he asked her, breathless and dizzy. "Do you comprehend what you are doing to me?"

She said nothing. In truth she had no idea what she was doing. She knew they were not behaving well and that her father would kill them both were they caught in such situation. Still, the implications of the exertion (that she was on the verge of losing her maidenhood) escaped her.

Conversely, Richard's feet were firmly on the ground. Ever so slowly, he undid the lace that was containing the magic of her bosom, and for the first time beheld the soft orbs in full view, nipples tense and pert with excitement. He knew that should he linger a bit more, he would have to go to London in the morning for a special licence. But she was lying there, half naked, under his weight, flushed and panting, ready, for his seed to be planted in her garden.

Therefore, the only obstacle for consummation was Richard's own costume, for he was fully dressed (he had only rid himself of his coat when he had sought her room, while she, most generously, had done away with his cravat). That, and his own sense of honour. For much as his wife-to-be was a very ardent lover, he still adhered to the belief that she was an innocent.

Notwithstanding the present situation he found very much to his liking, the fact that, this time, she was not fully dressed and pinned to a tree, but naked to her waist and lying abed with him, made the endeavour to refrain himself from further intimacy a daunting exertion. Truth be told, the feverish frenzy of their lovemaking had instilled a growing conviction in Fitzwilliam that if he wished to leave his fiancée virgus intactus he would have to flee the room sooner than he would have wished to.

But flee he could not. On he went, kissing the pert nipples with his experienced lips, gently taking her to pleasures only dreamt of or barely tasted, his hands roaming her quivering skin.

Unfortunately, much as Fitzwilliam tried to restrain his sensual impulses, his own body betrayed him. Albeit absolutely irresistible, she was tempting waters from which he could take no more without proper release.

Elizabeth's behaviour was also that of an unmistakably desirous heart. Therefore, great was her surprise when Richard, tilting his head, though, in truth talking to himself, almost cried out.

"Enough!"

This was said in such a commanding tone, that she immediately stiffened, then lay still. His quitting their embrace alerted her of something amiss, so dramatic his change of mood was, hence she asked timidly, like a submitting soldier:

"Is...is anything wrong?" She looked at him, her chest heaving irregularly.

"Yes. No!" he dropped his head on the pillow in frustration. "Nothing is wrong. But, we must stop. I mean, I must stop."

Then, he rolled away, sat up and stroked his hair; his passion, albeit slowly, subduing.

Elizabeth, meantime, collected herself and, fumbling with the laces of her gown as she covered her exposed chest, sat up on the bed, while raising one brow in an inquisitive gesture.

Peeking at her from his chosen corner, he endeavoured to explain the brusque course of action he had taken. "I fear I might have overestimated my self-restraint. Had we... had I...not removed myself from you, I ... would have forgotten myself, compleatly."

At this, she looked at him in sudden realisation. Horrific, it might well be called, for she had always imagined a gentleman could always keep his own wits about him at all times.(One might guess where such idiotic notion came from. Suffice is to say that Elizabeth dwelled too close to some of the stupidest maids that had ever lived, and one of them being her own mother). A frightful realisation, too, for she immediately remembered the intimacy she had reached with Mr Darcy, and she shuddered at the recollection in her remorse.

Richard noticed her uneasiness, and turning to her, he reached out to touch her face, then followed the line of her lips with his fingertips and whispered, "Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. I will never do anything that could harm you. We shall wait until our wedding night. But for now, this young lady must rest from her fiancé."

He, then, kissed her chastely on her forehead and rising to his feet, he reached the door. "Good night, my love," he said and quitted the room.

It was a difficult night. Frustrating ardent encounters would only add to Elizabeth's confusion. Images of both Richard and Darcy haunted her in the night, and she woke up in distress and dissatisfaction, feeling overwhelmingly guilty of deceit and unbridled lust.

But then again in the morning, the minute she saw Richard, his dazzling smile made her forget all the violence of her culpability. He would jest with every attempt she made to speak seriously and simply rejected her bad humour.

Richard exerted such influence on her that she had eyes for no one else, and not once did her mind return to the troubling memory of Mr Darcy and her guilt.

Her family also loved him. Everything Fitzwilliam did was right. Everything he said was intelligent. He and Kitty always played cards together, and laughed heartily when they did so. Whenever invitations were issued the Colonel was included. On these occasions, however, he would have to wheel his attentions to the rest of the girls, for he loved dancing, and when that was the amusing of the evening, had he been able to, he would have partnered only Elizabeth half the time.

Such conduct in front of so many, made them, of course, the object of both the family's and friends' attention, and more than one neighbour would assume them to be engaged although nothing of the sort had been announced.

Mrs Bennet, on her part, entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left no inclination for checking this excessive display of theirs. To her it was but the natural consequence of strong affection in a young and passionate man. Her daughter's future was secured.

"I am sure Lizzy will be married to the Colonel very soon," Mrs Bennet told her husband one day.

"This will probably be the case," he replied. "Yet he is to be gone to the Peninsula much sooner."

"Upon my word, I am not acquainted with such a plan. You must be mistaken, Mr Bennet. If Colonel Fitzwilliam were to leave the country at such short notice, he would have told Lizzy."

"He told me," was his blatant reply.

"Did he, did he, Mr Bennet? Oh, this is very unfortunate, indeed! To the Peninsula? To Wellesley? What if something happens to him?"

"He is nothing to us yet, you know, Mrs Bennet?"

"Nothing? He is indeed something. Are you not aware he is engaged to Lizzy?"

"You are mistaken, my dear. I have not known him to be engaged to our daughter, and I am to be apprised of the event, in case such an event ever happens, before they could be called betrothed."

"But indeed, I know they are. I am sure they will be married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair."

"Take care, Frances. It may be only the hair of some great grand aunt of his."

"But indeed, Edward, it is Lizzy's. I am sure it is, for I saw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you went into your library, I left them alone purposely in the breakfast parlour. They were whispering and talking together as close as could be. He seemed begging her for something, and presently he took up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all tumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of white paper, and put it into his pocket."

"Be that the case I shall have to have a word with the gentleman."

"Oh, no, for Heaven's sake, Mr Bennet. You will ruin it all. No, you must let them be. Surely, he will come to you before he departs and ask for Lizzy's hand. You will see."

"Well then," answered he. "If he is killed at war, then we shall have the consolation that Lizzy was almost wedded to the son of an Earl."

Much as he hated to part with Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam reflected on the advantages of his decision. For one, he would be allowing time for Darcy's heart to heal and at the same time become used to the idea that he was married to Anne. The Colonel's own fears that Elizabeth's love belonged to his cousin had been, to his own estimation, incorrect, as the testimony of her amorous responsiveness proved. For, if Elizabeth still felt for Darcy, she had been devilishly good at hiding it.

The morning of their farewell they spent almost entirely on their favourite path, secluded from both the prying eyes of romantic Kitty, and expectant mama. They held each other tight, and kissed, and promised each other an outrageous number of things. When she had cried her eyes out and he had succeeded in filling his memory with her beloved features, they returned to the house where they breakfasted with the family. After Elizabeth had expressed her wishes to call on her sister, who had just arrived back from London, Fitzwilliam bid goodbye to Mrs and Mr Bennet. He thanked his hostess and host for their hospitality, explained his duty with Wellesley in the Peninsula and promised to call on them first thing next year after his commission was over. He, then, offered to accompany Elizabeth for a while, before taking the road to London.

It was on the way from Longbourn to Netherfield, that the parting took place. Saying adieu to her was the most difficult thing Fitzwilliam had ever done. He was convinced that their love was the strongest of all, yet he parted with the unpleasant feeling he was leaving her for good. They held each other for as long as their arms could maintain the embrace. She was leaning against a tree, and he was pinning her to it possessively with all his weight. While his lips rested, now on her forehead, now on her lips and his hands caressed the exposed skin of her arms, the rest of his body was gently making love to her, his hip pressing her forcefully a