Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth.The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it not otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen; but I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, who are really accomplished,” he told Bingley.

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.” God love her, she rose to the challenge, and for a moment, Darcy was alive again.

“Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.” Take that Elizabeth—respond again so I might hear your voice and experience the sparkle of your eyes .

“Oh, certainly,” Caroline interrupted. “A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

Darcy watched as Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes. He agreed: Caroline was insufferable, but his Elizabeth was a different story. “All this she must possess,” he taunted, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.” Darcy knew Caroline never read a book unless forced to do so; however, Elizabeth sat on the sofa with one in her hand. He suspected that with Mr. Bennet’s reputation for extensive reading his daughter would follow suit. Besides, as well as Elizabeth battled verbally with him, he knew instinctively that she devoured books.

“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any,” she dared to question his opinion.

“Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility

“I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity and taste and application and elegance as you describe, united.”

You! He wanted to scream.You are that woman! But before they could continue, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and the conversation died a slow death under their protests. Darcy, energized by the exchange, wanted more, but he realized the grave danger being in Elizabeth’s presence created. Luckily, or unluckily, Elizabeth soon afterward left the room.

For Darcy, the knowledge that she was in the same house and only a few doors away tormented him throughout the day, so at bedtime, unable to put that last exchange from his mind, he made his way to Netherfield’s library. “Possibly,” he muttered to himself, “something decent to read will distract me.” He chose a book on military history and took up residence in one of the wing chairs before the hearth. Having read a couple of chapters, he had nearly nodded off when he heard a noise on the stairs. Put on alert, he sat perfectly still, praying it was not Caroline Bingley.

Midnight—and still unable to sleep after her nearly heated conversation with Mr. Darcy—Elizabeth paced the room. She checked on Jane, but her sister rested soundly. All day long she had thought of him, even though she saw him only during dinner. Images of where he might be in the house kept her awake. She would give anything for a way to unwind.“Why not?” she said aloud.

Reaching for her wrapper, Elizabeth pulled it over her muslin gown. “At this time of night, who else could be awake?” She lit a candle and eased her way out the door.The carpeting muffled the sound of her footsteps, but she heard the squish of each step on the marble stairs.

A dim light came from the library as she approached the door. Assuming it to be only the fire burning down slowly, she entered without thinking; but seeing a movement near the hearth, Elizabeth

“Mr. Darcy!” she gasped.

Turning towards the sound of her voice, he felt a pull in his groin, a strange sense of lust and longing. Maybe it was because his heart thudded to a complete stop when his eyes beheld her. Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room, barefoot and in her night shift and dressing gown. His dreams of her did not come close to her exquisite beauty. His heart clenched with the recognition of how much he wanted her. She was everything—pure intelligence—pure control—pure loveliness. “Miss—Miss Elizabeth,” he stammered,“I did not expect company at such an hour.”

Elizabeth let her gaze wander over him. He wore tight breeches and a loosely fitted shirt open at the neck. Standing so tall and erect, she thought him one of the most handsome men she ever met. “I beg your pardon, Sir. I could not sleep. Netherfield has a reputation for possessing an exceptional library. I came in search of a book.” Then with a touch of mischief she added, “Improve my accomplishments and all.”

Darcy muffled a chuckle and gestured towards the shelves. “I am sure you may find something of interest here.” He knew he should excuse himself, but he could not leave her. His gaze slid over her once again.“May I help you find a book to your liking? It seems that since I came to Netherfield, I have spent an inordinate number of hours in here.”

Elizabeth smiled uneasily; she should not be found in her night-clothes in the middle of the evening spending time with a man.Yet if she really wanted to learn more of Mr. Darcy, what better way than a private conversation? “I am a voracious reader: politics, military history, science—”

“What? No romance?” his voice held a playful quality she was beginning to recognize.

“Mrs. Ratcliffe is entertaining, but my favorite is Fanny Burney’s Cecilia. In poetry, William Cowper reigns supreme.” She walked towards the shelves, pretending to peruse the offerings,

He thoroughly enjoyed watching her walk away—the slight sway of her hips.A wave of lust washed over him as Darcy laughed quietly.“No Lord Byron, Miss Elizabeth?”

She turned with a blush, a redness rising across her chest and neck. “I suppose that men, ” she charged, “prefer such decadent reading, Mr. Darcy, but I assure you, I do not!”

“Then you have read Lord Byron?” he countered.

For a moment, she started to deny his assertion, but then Elizabeth laughed at herself. “I am my father’s child. I read when and what I should not.”

Darcy walked to where she stood. “Mr. Bennet has the reputation for being quite the bookworm.With your quick wit and love of twisting the King’s English, I should have known.You played me fair in our verbal duels.” He reached for a book on one of the upper shelves and handed it down to her. “You might enjoy this one, Miss Elizabeth.”

She stood looking up into a face with which she was beginning to become more comfortable. In silence, he held her laughing green eyes with his. Her eyes sparked with passion and some indecipherable emotion. “You deserve my reproofs, Mr. Darcy,” she asserted.

Darcy’s smile spread across his face. “I have been taken to task before, Miss Elizabeth, but I cannot say I ever enjoyed it quite as much.” Unconsciously, nearly trancelike, as in his dream, he reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Elizabeth did not flinch, just continued to stare deeply, seemingly into his soul. She tilted her face towards his palm. Darcy was on the brink—a precipice—a stepping-off point, and he was helpless to stop it. “It is a scandalous proposition, but would you consider keeping me company for awhile? I will freshen the fire to make the room more comfortable.”

“I would enjoy that very much, Mr. Darcy.” She swallowed hard, trying to force the desire, as well as the nervousness, away.