A Lady’s Choice Read online

  She closed the window and left the library as quietly as she could. The hallway was deserted, but the noise from the ballroom was boisterous and she briefly entertained the notion of going back to the party. However, she knew that if she did, she would have to pretend, as she had at supper, that nothing had passed between herself and Mr. Darcy—if there was one thing Elizabeth knew about herself, it was that she was an unaccomplished liar, and the thought of spending any time in Mr. Darcy’s company in front of a crowd of strangers after what they had just shared was nothing that she would ever want to attempt.

  Though she knew that Felicity would have strong words for her in the morning, Elizabeth hoped that Mr. Darcy’s apology for her absence would be enough to appease her friend.

  She climbed the steps that led to her chamber as quickly as she dared and held her breath at the loud click of the latch as she entered the room.

  It felt as though the day had gone on for an eternity, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into the delightful softness of her bed and into a sleep that would help her to forget her confusion.

  She looked out her window onto the garden below and smiled at the light from the ballroom windows that played across the snowy grass.

  Everything would look different in the morning. Perhaps even she would be different in the morning. How could so much have changed in so little time?

  This morning she had been resigned to the fact that Mr. Darcy, and whatever she had been to him, was gone forever—and now, she was more uncertain of her future than ever. But as she undressed and pulled the pins from her hair, Elizabeth did not feel the same sadness that had washed over her in the library. It was as though Mr. Darcy’s kisses and his fervent words had chased it all away.

  As she blew out the candle and crawled beneath her coverlet, Elizabeth dared to hope that her own happiness, as well as Jane’s, might be within her reach.

  * * *

  to be continued…

  * * *

  A Highland Escape

  Mr. Darcy’s Highland Fling ~ Book 3

  Elizabeth Bennet woke from a dreamless sleep as the dawn light filtered dimly into her room. She groaned as she shifted on the feather mattress and realized that every bone and joint in her body ached—especially her shoulder.

  How would she ever explain any of this to Jane? Could she even tell her dear sister anything of what had passed since her arrival in Scotland? Surely, not. Jane would be scandalized by almost every piece of news that she might have shared. It was too late to warn her of Mr. Bingley’s arrival in Hertfordshire, and Elizabeth was almost certain that their party had already arrived at Netherfield Park—any letters she would send would be woefully delayed.

  She sighed heavily and pondered her next course of action, she had promised Felicity that she would stay at Grenleigh for several weeks, but now that Mr. Darcy had arrived, she did not know if that was entirely proper… could she bear seeing him for so much time? And how—how could she be in his company after what had passed between them? A kiss was one thing, but what had happened in the library was another matter entirely.

  A ruinous matter, in fact.

  Elizabeth rubbed her hands over her face and groaned into her palms in frustration. A proper young lady would beg her host’s forgiveness and be off in her carriage toward home before anything more scandalous should happen. But Elizabeth had decided that she was, indeed, not a proper young lady. Mr. Darcy was here, and she should confront him about what he had said, and what it meant for her future.

  Would he extend another proposal? It seemed likely… Elizabeth felt heat creeping up her neck and cheeks as she thought of the pressure of Mr. Darcy’s hands upon her flesh, and the cruel nip of pleasure she had felt when his mouth was upon her breasts.

  “Nonsense. Utter nonsense,” she muttered as she flung back the bedcovers and sat up. The chill air in the room made her gasp and she pulled a robe tightly around her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself to preserve some of the warmth she had left behind her. It would do no good to languish in bed, and the only remedy for sore muscles was movement.

  She set her feet upon the floor and moved about the room on tiptoes until she reached her slippers and rang the bell to summon a maid.

  The house would be quiet for some time, Elizabeth had only vaguely heard the revelers coming up to bed, but she knew that it was very late—or early—she did not expect to see Felicity for some time, either.

  The maid arrived with tea and nodded politely when Elizabeth requested washing water.

  She leaned upon the window ledge and looked out over the gardens of Grenleigh and the fields of heather that spread out beyond the stone walls of the estate. A good morning for a walk, she decided.

  Elizabeth opened the wardrobe and began to search through her clothing for something suitable for the Scottish weather—dreary and surely cold, with a wind that whipped up off the nearby ocean and chilled to the bone—and frowned as she realized that she had nothing that would make any reasonable option for such a morning.

  Unless.

  She reached under a pile of stockings and felt the woollen fabric of the clothing that Felicity had lent her for the hunting party.

  Did she dare to wear gentleman’s clothing again? And without Felicity by her side?

  Elizabeth bit her lip, pulled the trousers from the wardrobe and unfolded them. They were not as badly stained as she had feared, and the fabric already felt warm against her skin. The maid’s quiet knock at the chamber door startled her and Elizabeth shoved the trousers back into the wardrobe behind a gown and tugged her robe tightly around herself as the maid entered with a jug of steaming wash water.

  Elizabeth smiled and thanked her and the maid merely bobbed a small curtsey before she leaned into the hearth and re-stoked the fire. After a few moments, the flames flared back to life and the girl smiled briefly at Elizabeth before she left the room without saying a word.

  Elizabeth closed the door behind the girl and breathed a sigh of relief at the tact of Grenleigh’s servants. Mrs. Hill would have asked unending questions about her reddened cheeks and enquired after her health and Elizabeth would have had no choice but to lie—and she was a terrible liar.

  Elizabeth stripped off her nightdress and washed quickly. She was eager to leave the house before she could be seen, and perhaps she would be lucky enough to return before anyone noticed her absence. Elizabeth shrugged into her robe once more and pinned up her dark curls in preparation to conceal them under the hat she had tucked away.

  With barely concealed excitement, she pulled the gentlemen’s clothing from the wardrobe and laid the items out upon the bed. Wool trousers, waistcoat, jacket, linen shirt… it was all here. The boots were under her bed, still crusted with mud from the forest. Elizabeth smiled as she pulled them out and set them upon the fireplace hearth. It took her less time to navigate the men’s clothing this time around, and Elizabeth felt quite accomplished as she pulled on the jacket and slid the woollen hat down over her hair.

  The looking glass revealed that she, once again, looked like a boy barely come of age, but it would be enough to conceal her identity from a distance. She smiled at her daring reflection and laced up her boots. It was only an hour after dawn, and she would have to hurry to make it out to the fields of heather before she was seen.

  With one last glance in the looking glass to be sure that everything was fitted properly, she slipped out of her chamber and crept down the stairs. Taking the back exit through the kitchens was too much for her to contemplate doing on her own—she had almost been caught the last time she had attempted it. It would have been hard enough to explain that escapade, but this one? Even more difficult.

  The house was quiet save for the murmur of servants as they went about their morning routine. She could hear voices and muffled laughter from the parlor as the maids re-laid the fireplace and cleared away any glasses and evidence of the party the evening before.

  Elizabeth walked quickly through the foyer and
let herself into the conservatory. Its glass doors led out into the gardens, and Elizabeth hoped that it would be deserted at this time of the morning. She snuck into the room and closed the door behind herself as quietly as possible. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that she was correct and crept out into the gardens. She took a deep breath of the chilled air and smiled as her breath hung like fog around her face. Winter would come very quickly here in the north, she thought, it would not be so cold in Hertfordshire just yet, but perhaps they would see snow for Christmas this year.

  The thought of snow at Longbourn for her favorite time of year made her smile and Elizabeth set off at a quick pace toward the wooden gate that would allow her access to the fields beyond Grenleigh’s stone walls.

  She marched through the gate and into the heather boldly, grateful for the boots that protected her feet and ankles from the scratchy grey-green undergrowth and gave her solid footing on the grass that was still slippery with the sparkling morning frost. Elizabeth shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and was once again grateful that she had decided to walk about in disguise. A dress would have snagged on the heather, and her shoes would have slipped in the grass and sent her tumbling into the mud. Impractical and constrictive.

  Elizabeth paused for a moment to turn and look back at the house. She had come quite a distance and she was feeling warmer and more comfortable with each step. She had just resolved to turn toward the shoreline when she heard the thunder of approaching hooves. Panic coursed through her chest as she realized she had nowhere to hide. Running for the house would have been impossible. A gentleman in a deep green jacket and a top hat rode a large chestnut beast with a flowing black mane and tail in her direction.

  “I say!” the gentleman shouted.

  Elizabeth froze in place, unable to turn.

  “I say, you there, boy!” the gentleman called out again. Elizabeth swallowed hard and turned only slightly as the rider approached. “Will you take a message back to the house—”

  Elizabeth recognized the gentleman’s voice in an instant, and she was both relieved and horrified at what it could mean. Of course the only person to find her out of the house dressed so inappropriately was the one gentleman she did not want to see or speak to at that very moment.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  “You have a talent for catching me unawares,” Elizabeth choked out.

  “Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet whyever are you out here—and dressed in such a manner—”

  “I was in need of an early morning walk,” Elizabeth said with a small smile. There was no sense in hiding anymore. Mr. Darcy had seen and known more of her than she would ever had shared with anyone else, it made no sense to keep thoughts guarded around him. “I had no dresses or stockings that would be warm enough against this icy wind.” Elizabeth was breathless with her own daring, and she hoped that he would appreciate it. Shocking as it was to see her in men’s clothing, perhaps it did not bother him as much as she worried.

  He had said that he loved her. If that were true, let him love all of her—if he dared.

  Mr. Darcy swung down from his horse and looped the reins over the animal’s broad neck. His eyes stayed upon her the entire time, and Elizabeth could feel her warm cheeks growing warmer as he stepped close to her. The horse wandered a short distance away and bent its head to crop the soft grass that grew beneath the heather. “Do not worry,” he said softly. “She will not stray far.”

  “A good thing,” Elizabeth said nervously. “I would hate for you to be trapped without your steed.”

  He smiled down at her. “A walk in the heather seems like a fine way to spend an early morning,” he replied. Elizabeth nodded and then her breath caught in her throat as Mr. Darcy’s hand came up to her face and his thumb rubbed gently along her jaw.

  His eyes were dark and glittered with what could only be described as desire as they swept over her face and down her body. “It is hard to tell what is hidden beneath such clothing,” he murmured. “You are keeping so many secrets, Elizabeth.”

  “I keep only what I must,” she whispered in reply. She could not deny the way her body responded to his closeness, and how desperately she wanted to feel his lips upon her skin once more.

  “Shall I give you another secret to keep?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she looked up at him—another secret? Surely—

  She stumbled only a little as she tried to steady herself, but Mr. Darcy stepped close and pulled her into his arms.

  She struggled briefly, enraged at being caught off guard, but overwhelmed by her passion for him—the same passion that flared low in her belly and threatened to set her entire body aflame as his lips met hers. Unable to bear the sensations coursing through her, Elizabeth’s mouth opened under his and allowed his tongue to dart between, and she moaned against his mouth.

  Mr. Darcy’s passion overwhelmed her, and she could feel his hands roving over her body, tugging at the buttons of her waistcoat, and something stirred deep within her. But this was wrong—if they were seen— The house was not far away, and there were several rooms that boasted the heather fields as their view.

  “Mr. Darcy... William! I cannot....” She was breathless from the urgency of his kisses, but this was wrong. So wrong.

  “I cannot deny my feelings for you any longer, Elizabeth,” he said breathlessly. “I find that I am deeply, and irreparably in love with you. I cannot accept your refusal again.” Mr. Darcy’s eyes were dark with desire, and his voice was thick and husky.

  Elizabeth’s breath seemed to freeze in her throat, and her heart pounded hard in her chest. All the promise of their stolen kisses and caresses came flooding back to her and she sighed as Mr. Darcy’s dark head bent and his lips burned a fiery trail along her neck. He pulled open her linen shirt to expose her breasts to the cold morning air, and Elizabeth gasped as his hand molded over her chest and those quick fingers plucked at her swiftly hardening nipples.

  “William... I...”

  she gasped.

  “Say you will be mine, Elizabeth.” The gentleman’s breath was hot against the delicate skin of her throat, and she could feel the pressure of his manhood against her hip. A thick sigh escaped her lips as Darcy’s mouth found her nipple and he suckled her gently, teasing the already aching hardness.

  Between her legs she felt an unfamiliar ache begin to grow and she realized that if he asked her again, she would not be able to deny him.

  “Elizabeth... please...”

  She moaned huskily and gave in to her own desires. She threaded her fingers into his dark hair and pressed his head against her breasts.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Make me yours.”

  With a throaty groan, Mr. Darcy pulled her down to the soft ground and tugged the woollen cap from her head. He laid her gently upon the frosted grass and Elizabeth did not care that it was wet or cold. All she cared about was that he loved her. That he wanted her as a husband wants a wife.

  That she would be his.

  He ground his hardness against her most secret places and Elizabeth felt her breath coming faster. She needed to touch his skin, to feel it under her lips.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and raised her up to place it beneath her before he pulled her jacket from her shoulders and tugged her linen shirt from her trousers. The linen fell open as her fingers fumbled nervously at the buttons of his fine shirt. She pulled it open to reveal the hard planes of his chest. She ran her hands over his exposed flesh and followed her fingers with her mouth and tongue.

  Mr. Darcy groaned and pulled her against him and Elizabeth felt something inside her come undone. She wanted him—to belong to him. Her hands tugged at the waistline of his trousers, and he struggled to assist her, pulling aside the fabric to release his manhood. Elizabeth gasped at the size of it, and reached down tentatively to take it between her hands. She rubbed at it gently as the gentleman groaned like a man possessed.

  As she worked her hands feverishly along his silken lengt
h and pressed her lips to his stomach and chest, she gloried in the way his breath caught in his throat, and the pleasure she was giving him.

  “Enough of this,” he groaned and pushed her back upon the cushion of their clothing. He unbuttoned her trousers deftly and pulled them down her hips and thighs to reveal her creamy flesh and expose her most intimate parts to his hot gaze. Trapped by the clothing and his strong hands, Elizabeth was unable to do anything but gasp as he left her trousers caught around her calves and pushed her knees up against her chest.

  She gasped aloud as his long fingers brushed against her secret wetness, exposed and glistening wet for him, and then slipped over the delicate flesh with singular purpose.

  “Elizabeth...” Darcy’s voice was shuddering and deep, and with a quick motion he moved close and Elizabeth gasped as she felt the hot, thick head of his manhood pressed against her womanly portals. She cried out softly as his length slipped slowly inside her until it was buried to the hilt in her wetness.

  He stretched out beside her in the heather, his manhood sheathed deeply inside her, and he hugged her close to his chest as she shuddered with sensations she had never known, and he waited patiently for her to relax against him as his hardness throbbed within her moist depths.

  As she recovered slowly, he began to move gently and rhythmically within her, and they rocked together, sweetly and sensuously in the winter grass. Her cries were as soft and yielding as her flesh. Mr. Darcy held her gently but firmly, and moved with her as her soft moans became cries of joy, and then surprise and ecstasy as the twisting and tightening sensation inside her built to unbearable heights.

  His breath was ragged against her neck as Elizabeth writhed back to meet his thrusts, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as the speed and depth of his thrusts increased. She clutched at the arm that held her close and her fingernails dug into his flesh. She thrilled at the reward of his own gasps and cries as his own climax neared.