Enid Wilson - My Darcy Mutates…

Elizabeth felt her body jerk upward, and a hot current sizzled from her breast to her womanhood. She was on fire as Mr. Darcy continued to worship her twin peaks earnestly. Her fingers tore at his hair and dug at his shoulder.

He raised his head and said, “Elizabeth, trust me.”

When she had returned his gaze and nodded, he lowered his head and kissed her passionately.

She thought she could not feel any hotter but she was soon proved wrong. She did not know how the hem of her gown had become hiked up, but it had. His hand moved between her thighs, and he began stroking her secret lips.

Elizabeth felt stars burst in her head. As he insinuated one finger into her entrance, her whole body trembled. She moaned and twisted as he slid the finger in and out of her secret garden. As part of his continuing kiss, his tongue mimicked the action of his finger, thrusting into her mouth. Then he introduced a second finger, stretching her muscle slightly, in and out, again and again and again while her breath grew shorter and shorter, until she was suddenly tipped off the edge and reached a climax that caused her to cling to him quite desperately, trembling.

At that, Mr. Darcy stopped his ministration and kisses. His cheek touched hers, and he breathed heavily as he waited for her to still. After he had himself under control, he tidied her clothes and embraced her limp body.

“Elizabeth, my love, I really had better go back to my room now,” he said, this time with more conviction.

Elizabeth nodded silently but her eyes were still dark with passion. As he opened the door, she found her strength and flew across the room to clasp him in a tight embrace.

Suddenly, a woman’s scream was heard.

Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth both turned towards the sound, which had come from the stairs. As one, they rushed there. To their horror, Mrs. Hurst lay at the bottom of the stairs, motionless.

More people gathered. A shocked Miss Bingley, Mr. Hurst and their friend, Mr. Willoughby, were all soon gathered at the top of the stairs.

Mr. Darcy was the first to move. He descended the stairs to check on Mrs. Hurst.

“She is alive. Hurst, awaken Bingley and send for the doctor!”

But Mr. Hurst did not move. He seemed frozen. It was Mr. Willoughby who moved, instead, rushing towards the family wing to alert the master of the house.

Mr. Darcy lifted Mrs. Hurst carefully and carried her to her bed chamber, directed by a servant. Elizabeth followed him into the room, with Miss Bingley at their heels.

“You two have killed her!” Miss Bingley suddenly accused.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“This slut is your mistress! Louisa must have discovered it, and so the two of you decided to silence her.”

“What kind of nonsense are you spouting, Miss Bingley?” Mr. Darcy asked icily. “I demand that you apologise to Miss Bennet.”

“I will not! I saw you come out from Miss Eliza’s room. Your clothes are in disarray. Just look at yourselves! Her lips are swollen, and you have marks on your neck. She is your whore!”

“Dear heaven...” Mr. Bennet said from the open doorway. “Lizzy, is this…?”

Mr. Darcy interrupted him. “Mr. Bennet, your daughter has just done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife.”

“Engaged to Mr. Darcy! Ten thousand a year! The fine carriages! The pin money!” Mrs. Bennet squealed and rushed into the room to hug her daughter, and her wildly enthusiastic response effectively prevented her husband from demanding an immediate explanation from the young couple.

But Miss Bingley was another matter. Seeing her sister injured and her hope of becoming the Mistress of Pemberley dashed sent her into a fit. She shrieked, “No! No, I say! How can you possibly marry her! How could you choose her over me! She is nothing! She has no money, no connections, no style and no education!”

Mr. Bingley, who had just hurried in, said sharply, “Caroline, calm yourself and leave this room at once!” He came to the bedside and took Mrs. Hurst’s limp hand in his own.

“Darcy, what happened? Who did this to Louisa?”

But the mystery of Mrs. Hurst’s injury was destined to go unsolved, for the victim never regained consciousness.

Nevertheless, the unfortunate incident did not palpably hinder the ardent courtship and magnificent marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy looked into the mirror and, startled, cried out, “Who are you?”

He turned to look at the man who stood a mere foot from him. How could it be possible? The man looked exactly like him, with just the same tall frame and dark, curly hair.

While he himself wore a black overcoat, matching waistcoat and breeches and a pristine white shirt, the man had everything in reverse. His coat, waistcoat and breeches were alabaster white, while his shirt was black. The other differences were that this stranger had olive skin and a reckless grin.

“I am your rakish soul,” the man replied with a wink, and rubbed his hand over his thigh.

“Rakish soul? I do not believe it. You have the manner of an imposter.”

“Do I not look exactly like you, Good Darcy?”

“My complexion is not so dark.”

“Well, people normally associate rakish behaviour with the shadows. As your blackguard, I take on the darker complexion. But tell me, are not my eyes, nose, mouth and voice exactly like yours?”

Ignoring the question, Darcy said with conviction, “I do not have a rakish soul. I am an honourable man.”

“Ah, but you are wrong. Every human is born evil. Only upbringing and education prevent them from staying evil. Still, I can reassure you, to a point. You were born with only a tiny bit of rakishness, not evil at all. You are mostly a good man, truth by told.”

“You are a fake!” Darcy accused, but thoughts rose to assail him. Am I turning mad? I am about to attend the Meryton Assembly. Should I instead stay in and send for a doctor for myself?

“Do not be alarmed, Good Darcy. I appear here and now for a good reason.”

“Why?”

“To show you how to court a lady.” Rakish Darcy grinned. “And I shall be with you for a while. You may call me Rake Darcy.”

“I do not intend to court any lady, and certainly not here in Hertfordshire. And you cannot make fun of my surname in this manner.”

“Ah, but you cannot fight fate. I am part of you. Darcy is as much my surname as yours.”

“Nonsense! I am devoted to caring for Georgiana until she has recovered from her heartache. Move aside,” Darcy command. “And do not follow me.”

“No one can see me, except you. And Georgiana needs a woman’s hand. It will do her good when you find her a nice sister.”

“You sounded like a match-making mama. Go away, charlatan!” With that, Darcy stalked out of the room. But when he glanced back, he saw his olive skin twin was following him, although Mr. Bingley, Mr. Hurst and the servants did not seem to notice the imposter.

Am I truly mad? he wondered.

“I say, Mr. Darcy, do you think we will be quite safe among the savages?” The angular voice of Miss Bingley woke him from his thought.

Darcy did not reply. He simply bowed to her. But his rakish soul walked near her, then pulled and clipped a long feather from her head. Her head jerked to the side and she cried out in pain. She did not seem to see Rake Darcy either. Darcy’s mouth gaped open. He wanted to laugh but, as a true gentleman, he stifled the urge.

Bowing to Miss Bingley quickly again, he pulled her brother aside.

“Bingley, can we go in separate carriages?”

Bingley glanced at his sister, who was stomping her feet and swearing to herself, trying to tidy the unruly feathers. With a sigh, he nodded and asked Mr. Darcy to go ahead with his carriage, while he and the Hursts waited for Caroline. Miss Bingley tried to protest, but she was muffled by Rake Darcy.

Mr. Darcy turned a blind eye and settled into the carriage with trepidation. Has my mind truly turned mad?

“No, you are not mad. And Orange Lady’s feathers are ugly!” Rake Darcy commented, appearing abruptly in front of him after the carriage had been on its way for several minutes.

Darcy’s heart raced at the shock, but he folded his arms and said angrily, “She is my best friend’s sister. You should not play tricks upon her.”

“Bah! She is a bad influence! You will become a snobbish jerk if you continue to associate with her.”

“No one can influence me. I am the master of my own self.”

“Master, my ass! Once I have observed your behaviour tonight, I shall know how to label you.”

Rake Darcy looked out of the window, exclaiming at the lovely scenery, the bright moon and the fresh air. He seemed as excited as a five-year-old boy on his first picnic.

Mr. Darcy gritted his teeth, refusing to talk to Rake. I do not behave like this. He has no dignity or manners.

When the carriage pulled up in front of the Assembly, Darcy panicked. He should have waited for Bingley. He did not know anyone else who would be attending, and he did not want to go into the hall alone. People would surely size him up, attempting to assess his wealth.

“Come on! We’ll find lively music and merry ladies inside.” Rake Darcy tugged him out of the carriage and pushed the reluctant Mr. Darcy, causing him to stagger forward.

The Assembly abruptly fell silent. Darcy halted in his tracks, flustered. He had never before stumbled into a gathering in such an inelegant manner.