Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (3 page)

It was with this innately selfish pursuit that she found herself sneaking away from the assembly. In truth, it was not difficult to do, for she had much practice at slipping away undetected in such crowded places, and the thrill of getting away with her aim was just as exciting as the reason for the deception. Mr. Daniels would be eagerly waiting, for nearly half-an-hour, excited to the point of explosion. Oh, how she did enjoy making him wait!

She had been looking forward to this meeting for nearly a week, for there had been little time to slip away from the constant watchfulness of Kitty, who when lacked distractions of her own would follow Lydia wherever she went. Love Kitty as she did, there were some secrets she did not allow even that sister to know. For, if she understood anything, she understood that what she was about would be frowned upon, and whereas she did not worry about the lectures of society except where they would make it necessary to take her from the societal pleasures she now enjoyed.

Knowing just where Mr. Daniels waited for her, she quickened her pace. The sound of music became a faint backdrop to the dark night. She hurried around the building, her heartbeat quickening with her steps. Already her body was moist with desire. As she turned the corner to a section of the building encased with shadows, she grinned. Mr. Daniels was excited indeed, for he had already taken the liberty of unfastening his pants. His hand fisted his arousal, pumping until he saw her approach. His hand stopped.

“There you are. I worried you could not get away this time.”

The husky passion in his tone caused her to shiver. “Did you have any trouble?”

“I was stopped by your wife,” she lied, for she generally avoided that unpleasant woman. For a moment her lover looked worried, until she laughed gaily. “She does not suspect a thing, I assure you. We both have reason to keep our arrangement quiet. You for your in-laws’ money and me for my reputation.”

As she said the last words, she leaned down to lift her skirts, showing him her lack of undergarments. She never wore such things under her dresses, for it excited her to go without. His breathing deepened visibly and he reached to pull her against his body. His hands fumbled, giving away his excitement.

“I would leave her to run away with you, my darling,” he whispered. “You have but to say the word. You know my marriage was arranged. My wife does not let me touch her, and I am sure she has lovers of her own. I see how she looks at the stable hand. We could be off to France. There I would marry you, for you are well past the age of consent. My passion for you has ruined you for other men. I have taken your innocence, I —”

Lydia quieted him with a kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as he had taught her to do. She would not consider running away with him, for he was not anything she wanted in a husband. He was not the handsomest of men, nor the most charming. What made him suited to her pleasure was his situation — an ill-tempered wife from a well-off family. He would keep their secret and give her whatever she wished.

Daniels pressed her into the building and tugged up her skirts. The urgency of the moment filled them. She could not stay away from the ball for too long or someone might notice. There was no waiting. He brought himself to her, thrusting his turgid shaft to take claim once more. The pressure felt good and she gasped. He pumped his hips, impaling her; kissing her neck as if he would devour her with his body.

“Do not stop until I am finished this time,” she ordered in breathless pants, “or else I will make you finish the job with your mouth and then your wife shall taste me on you when you kiss her goodnight.”

Her naughty words made him thrust faster. Lydia gasped, greedily taking what she wanted from him. The tension built with each rock of their bodies. The hard wall pressed into her back and snagged bits of her hair. In that moment, it did not matter. Release was within her grasp. Suddenly, she came, climaxing with a great jerk of her body. Mr. Daniels, sensing the glorious moment, instantly withdrew himself to spill his seed against her inner thigh. As he lowered her down, she gave a soft laugh.

“I must get back.”

“Can you not stay a moment longer?” he pleaded.

Lydia smiled, laughing lightly as she ignored his entreaty. “Did you bring me the present you promised?”

“I could not manage it.”

Suddenly, Lydia’s pleasure was dampened. No gift? And after what she had done for him! She straightened her skirts and artfully tugged at her hair to right it. “I did not want to have to tell you this, but I cannot see you again. It is not right.” Then, mumbling something about his wife and propriety, she quickly left him before he could protest. Within moment, she was back amongst the dancers, taking Kitty’s arm as if she had never left. No one suspected her, and the one person who could ruin her left soon after under the guise of being too under the weather to stay. That man’s wife hardly missed him.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighborhood, and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partners, which was pretty much all that they had yet learned to care for at a ball. They returned in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he was regardless of time, and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the events of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife’s views on the stranger would be disappointed, but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,” she said, as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked, and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful. He actually danced with her twice and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her, but he did not admire her at all — indeed, nobody can, you know. He seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger —”

“If he had had any compassion for
me
,” her husband broke in impatiently, “he would not have danced half so much. For God’s sake, say no more of his partners. Oh, that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance so I would not have to hear of all his partners.”

“My dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I daresay the lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown —”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting
his
fancy. He is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here and there, fancying himself so very great. I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs for I quite detest the man.”

W
HEN JANE AND ELIZABETH WERE ALONE in their shared bedroom, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him.

“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she. She danced around the room, twirling in her long nightgown till it billowed about her legs. “Sensible, good-humored, lively, and I never saw such happy manners — so much ease, with such perfect good breeding.”

Elizabeth sat on the bed, pleased to see her sister so happy. “He is also handsome, which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.”

Jane sighed, and all the excitement she felt shone from her sparkling eyes. “I was very flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”

“No? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take
you
by surprise and
me
never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”

Jane grabbed her sister by the hands, and leaned close. “Dear Lizzy.”

“Oh, you are a great deal too apt to like people in general.”

Elizabeth pressed her forehead to Jane’s. Their words became a whisper. “You never see a fault in anybody. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life.”

“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone, but I always speak what I think.”

“I know you do, and it is that which makes the wonder.” Elizabeth fell back onto the bed, kicking her feet lightly as they dangled over the edge. “With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others. Affectation of candor is common enough — one meets it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design, to take the good of everybody’s character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad, belongs to you alone. And so you like his sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.”

“Certainly not — at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother to keep his house, and I am mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbor in her.”

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced, for Mr. Bingley’s sisters’ behavior at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general. With more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a judgment too unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve them.

Mr. Bingley’s sisters were in fact very fine ladies, not deficient in good humor when they were pleased, nor in the power of making themselves agreeable when they chose it. Though proud and conceited, they were rather handsome. They had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank, and were therefore in every respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England, a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brother’s fortune and their own had been acquired by trade.

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. Likewise, Mr. Bingley intended it; however, as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to those who best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.

His sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own. Though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his table — nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it and into it for half-an-hour, before deciding he was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had the greatest advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offense.

The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or prettier girls in his life, and everybody had been most kind and attentive to him. There had been no formality, no stiffness, and he had soon felt acquainted with all the room. As to Miss Bennet, Bingley could not conceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, claimed he had seen a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too much.

Mrs. Hurst and her sister agreed, but still admired and liked her, and pronounced her to one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized by such commendation to think of her as he chose.

What Darcy refused to comment on during the carriage ride home was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Though he could think of no reason as to why she should enter his thoughts, he found her there for much of the ride. When pressed about his mood, he was content to let the others think him generally dissatisfied, and Bingley being accustomed to his friend’s quiet temperament readily carried on the conversation without him.

Only when he was alone, unable to sleep, did Darcy allow the improbability of Miss Elizabeth to enter his thoughts. The very ridiculousness of her mother and the impropriety shown by her sisters made courting her out of the question, had he even been inclined toward courtship. But, to consider her as a lover? He had taken them before, but never a woman from the country, never one without experience, never one with her eyes. Gentlemen never lacked for female company while in London. Servants and prostitutes were always willing to do the job, should he have an inclination, though it had been many long years since he had walked the grounds near Covent Garden. Women like Elizabeth Bennet were raised to be wives, not mistresses. Darcy could not find fault with it. Wives needed to be virtuous, whereas mistresses did not. He accepted this order of things. Yet, when the woman had looked upon him, he felt her gaze trying to see into his very thoughts, and he was torn between the impertinence of her daring and the bravery that she should try to see within his soul.

“Nonsense,” said he to the subtle hint of his reflection in the glass. It occurred to him that perhaps he had consumed too much port upon returning to Netherfield Park. How else could he explain the fanciful path his thoughts now wandered?

Candlelight flickered on the wall, the subtle dance of the flame pulling his eyes from the window where he stared at the dislodged cravat over the linen of his shirt. His discarded jacket lay over the back of a chair, his boots forgotten on the floor. Darcy curled his toes against the carpet, all too aware of his arousal, even more aware of how long it had been since he had taken care of the more private needs of his body. Duty and responsibility had borne down hard upon him in recent months, taking precedence over passion.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered as if coming to a decision. He thought of her dark eyes under the sweep of long lashes. It was a fantasy he would never admit to, not out loud and barely to himself. He undressed; and crossed to the large, empty bed; and climbed naked beneath the covers. Awareness filled his senses with the soft mold of the mattress along his backside, the softer caress of the covers along his front, the warmth of liquor in his veins, the feel of his hand creeping down his stomach to the stiff arousal awaiting his fingers. Again he wondered why such a woman should tempt him to this level of madness. It was a well-quoted fact that those young ladies meant to be the wives of gentlemen lacked the passions of mistresses.

Even so, Darcy took himself in hand, stroking to thoughts of the dark eyes of a young lady who had been slighted by other men. As it often happens, the momentary pleasure of the flesh overtook reason and logic. He tightened his fist; and dug in his heels; and worked his hips; and gasped for a breath he could not catch. He imagined Elizabeth above him in such a way that could never happen, turning her into a temptress of little breeding and hungry appetites, and in doing so removed her from the real world of propriety and manners into an acceptable realm of pleasure and playthings.

Darcy met with gratifying release. His body stiffened, his muscles quivered and tightened beneath the flesh, and his seed spilled forth unto his stomach. And as the haze of sleep overtook his suddenly relaxed mind, one word whispered through his unaware thoughts, “Elizabeth.”