“The first thing Mr. Darcy shall ask of you, will be to present yourself for his very personal, very intimate inspection,” the solicitor said, giving Elizabeth the gimlet eye. A personal, intimate inspection? Lizzy felt her heart fluttering in her throat. Whatever… whatever could that mean, precisely?
“I see you are dressed as I had requested,” Mr. Darcy said as his eyes swept low over her person, admiring the curves of her figure under the soft, diaphanous fabric that made up her gown. Elizabeth felt her cheeks going pink under his acute examination of her person, and wondered, perhaps, if this was the personal, intimate inspection that the solicitor had hinted at when they had first met to go over the contract’s stipulations.
“Yes, Master Darcy,” Elizabeth murmured, keeping her eyes cast low even as she tried to sneak glances at him through her lashes. Mr. Darcy smiled at her use of his title.
“I have a correction, if you will, mostly, I believe I would prefer that you call me Sir, although Master Darcy is quite eloquent on your tongue… I am also partial to Sir, if you would be so kind, my pet,” he spoke as he pressed two fingers underneath her chin, lifting her jaw so she looked at him straight in the eyes. “Would you be able to oblige me in such a manner, Pet?”
“Yes M-Sir,” she caught herself and quickly corrected the honorific as he wished to be called by. Mr. Darcy smiled at that.
“Excellent,” he said, “then let us continue with my little inspection, shall we?” He leaned in close and pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss on her cheek. The pink in her cheeks deepened to a red which she was most aware of as her skin burnt with the flush of it.
“As you wish, Sir,” she said, her breaths coming in short, silent gasps as she struggled to contain her apprehension. Mr. Darcy looked at her and seemed to read her completely, but that did not stop him as he urged her into the middle of his room, onto a soft, plush bit of carpeting.
“I think I shall have you out of those slippers,” he said as he nodded down to her feet which were shod in delicate white kid leather, stenciled over with a sky-blue motif and finished with two darker blue ribbons. They had to be most expensive, as the kid leather hugged her feet so comfortably she despaired ever having to return to the sturdier, and more hard-wearing boots that she had sported at Longbourn.
Before she could slip her feet from her shoes herself, Mr. Darcy had gotten down onto his knees, of all things, and was slowly edging her petticoats up her legs.
“Mr-“ she started, then stopped herself immediately, feeling scandalized. “Sir!”
“Yes, Pet?” he asked, looking up at her with a smug expression on his face, as if he had expected her to voice protest to his actions. His hand rested on one foot, his thumb just touching the edge where her stockings peeped out of the slipper.
“I… nothing,” she amended her earlier complaint abruptly. If he wished to remove her slippers himself, then perhaps she had best no argue with him. His smug expression turned into a full, distractingly attractive smirk, and he bent once more to his task.
“For a moment I was under the impression that you might think to be the one giving orders, Pet,” he said gently as he eased one foot, then the other out of her slippers. His hand cast around one ankle, stroking the muscle as he slid it up her calf. She shivered at such intimate caresses… she had never in her life been touched in such a manner, and she was horrified to find herself… rather enjoying it. She warred with the emotion, ignoring it as best she could. At least, she ignored until his hand wrapped around her knee and tugged at the stockings she wore.
Elizabeth let out a soft whimper of surprise, a rush of heat flashing through her body as he pulled her stockings down her legs. His hands were warm on her bare skin, she was shocked to find. He caressed and stroked at the pale flesh of her legs for several moments.
“Part your knees for me, my sweet one,” he murmured, “and hold your skirts up so that I might see you.”
Surely he could not mean… her cheeks flushed with shame as she did as he requested, her fingers fisting in the fabric of her skirts. The cool air of the room brushed over her knees, then her thighs, even protected as they were by her pantalettes.
“Higher,” he urged her, nodding to her skirts. She noted that his voice was rough, as if he were struggling to control the timbre of it. She pulled her skirts ever higher, completely showing him her pantalettes where they were tied to her waist.
She felt a familiar tug, and she had to contain her whimper of astonishment as her pantalettes fell away.
It was then the true meaning of personal and intimate inspection came to her. Mr. Darcy made a low noise, part growl, part sigh, and his hands slid up her thighs. She tried not to tremble, and instead closed her eyes so she would not have to see the top of his head as he looked at her most delicate, most intimate areas of womanhood.
“I had not bothered to have the solicitor confirm that you were intact,” Mr. Darcy said in a frank manner that gave her no other hint as to what he meant other than her maidenhead. “I did not think such a thing was necessary to send you to a physician for such an examination… as well, the thought of another man looking upon you in such a way truly inspires the most fearsome rage to beat within my chest…” Mr. Darcy trailed off and stroked her thighs again before slipping his fingers up between her legs to the secret place where they met.
“So I shall ensure that you are, as I hoped, intact, whole, perfect, untouched… except for by me,” the dark tone of his voice made her shiver. What could he possibly… mean by his comments? Surely he did not intend to truly check to see if she was-
His fingers stroked along the soft skin of her mound and she let out a rush of air that had bubbled up from her chest. It was then she truly realized his full intentions.
He muttered under his breath, and she had to glance away from the top of his head as she ached to hold her thighs open for him.
“Sir, please…” she finally said after some minutes had passed, with him continuing to do nothing but stroke her with gentle, idle fingers. The rough pad of his thumb pressed inward, parting her ever just so slightly, and she choked on her breath. “Sir!”
“What is it, my Elizabeth,” he asked her, the possessive way he said her name not lost on her at all. She gulped another lungful of air and then looked down at him. He had a thoroughly amused smile on his face as he sat back on his haunches.
“I… I mean to say… I… if I could, please, Sir, if I could just sit…” she squirmed from one foot to the other as she spoke, her knees trembling. It was not so much that she was in danger of falling or her legs giving out from under her, but more that she wished to postpone the inevitable of him touching her in such an intimate, personal fashion. He truly wished to see if she were as she claimed: pure, and a virgin? Good Lord, she could not even fathom such an examination or that he would carry it out. Perhaps in the grand houses, husbands did inspect their young and fragile wives on the night of the wedding, but she was not so high in society to think that such a circumstance would ever befall her.
“But where are my manners,” Mr. Darcy said smoothly, getting to his feet and helping her let down her skirts. She trembled as he led her to a well-padded, velvet upholstered chaise. He eased her down onto it, and smiled when she rested her shoulders against the sloping back.
“Is that quite a bit better then, my Pet?” he asked her gently. Her breathing was slowing some, but she felt the nervous twitch of her muscles under her skirts refusing to abate.
“Yes, Sir,” she lied to him, and he sat on the edge of the chaise, watching her carefully.
“Then I shall continue on with your inspection,” he said after a critical scan of her face. “Now that you are in your comfort, I trust I can expect no more of such outbursts or interruptions?” He raised one eyebrow and she felt herself blush. When she did not answer, he merely smirked and went back to her skirts, pulling them up until they had pooled in her lap. Then he parted her thighs, and ran one index finger along the length of her.
“I am a great admirer of the female form, and yet for all my travels I have never quite seen a beauty as great as you, Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, but his words were lost to the rush of noise in her ears as his finger slipped between her delicate folds, eliciting a feeling from within her that she had never experienced before.
She could not contain the gasp that escaped her lips, and she brought her hand up to clap across her lower face to try and stem the next one as he petted at her again. His touches were so careful, and yet exacting, as he continued to pull small bursts of pleasure from her. Pleasure? Had she ever known such a feeling could be wrought from that area of her body? Surely, she had enjoyed when her sisters had plaited her hair, or the comfort of curling against Jane in bed when they had both been young and the winter nights so long and cold…
But this was something altogether different from the platonic pleasures of her youth. This, this touch, this passion, that Mr. Darcy was bringing forth from her with just one finger, stroking idly between her thighs, was so new to her that she sat there in shock, her feet propped up on the soft velvet, her thighs opened to the cold air of the room.
She stared at him in blatant surprise, her fingers pressing her lips together to try to stop her sighs from gusting out from her mouth. It was a fruitless effort, and he smiled each time she whimpered along with the motion of his hand.
“Shhh, now, that is not so bad is it? I do not think you are quite aware of the wonders that your body can perform… the miracles of pleasure that you will experience at my hands…” he chuckled quietly to himself, as if it were a joke only he would get, and she felt her cheeks blushing hard again. Then he withdrew his hand, and it was with shame she realized her hips lifted from the chaise to chase his touch. Oh, hateful body! It betrayed her and blossomed with heaving pleasure the likes she had never known.
“Sir…” she said as he caught her hips easily in one hand, his palm slipping around to cup her bottom easily. She felt so tiny in his calm, strong grip.
“Hush,” he ordered her, and then he bent so he might be eye-level with her intimates, setting a fresh rush of blood to her cheeks and to other parts of her body. She felt the peaks of her breasts tingling as they tightened in the bodice of her dress, and the dull throb between her legs.
With two fingers he slipped them between her folds, and then split them, parting her for his frank perusal.
“Sir!” she said, anxiously, and then looked away. He slapped his hand against the inside of her thigh, and she immediately silenced, knowing that he wished her to be quiet while he performed his inspection.
Her whole face was aflame, and she squirmed until he parted her again. It was then she realized that her thigh was wet, and when she looked down she could see the faint glistening outline of his two fingers from where he had struck her…
“It is just proof of your sensitivity,” he commented, and she whimpered when she realized he had caught her looking. He smirked. “You are already damp with the dew of your arousal, my sweetness.”
She did not quite understand what he meant by it, but given his smug countenance, he was fairly certain that he was the cause of said supposed arousal, and he was very, entirely pleased with himself over it.
“I…” she started to speak and then fell silent as she felt an odd little pressure, his hand gently pressing… pressing… she could feel her body resisting his intrusion, a small spark of pain making her whimper, and he sighed, pulling his hand away.
“As I thought. Pure, perfect, intact.” He placed a delicate, affectionate little kiss on the top of one of her knees and then pushed her legs back together, letting her skirts down. She blinked at him wetly, moisture from unshed tears in her eyes, and a look of disappointment crossed his face. “I have hurt you,” he said, sitting up abruptly.
“N-no,” she stammered, because yes, while there had been some pain, it was the other thing that gave her trouble…. The feeling of yearning that had grown within her as he petted, stroked, and pushed on her flesh. She felt a hungry sort of yawning inside her body, a need for something, a hunger the likes she had never experienced in the past, and she could do nothing but wring her hands slowly in her lap and give him the most piteous look indeed.
“Pet,” he said gently, cupping her face with the hand he had awoken new feelings in her with. There was an odd, musky-honey scent on his skin, something that reminded her entirely of woman and not at all of man. Was that her scent on his hands, the mark of her arousal and her need so clear and laid bare? Her cheeks flushed. “Pet, my dear Elizabeth, lay back,” he said in a soothing voice. “Let me take car of you, and your needs, ever so completely.”
She shivered, laid back against the chaise, and closed her eyes.