Daily News

Chapter One

Monday the 16th
Today I went for coffee at $tarbucks. I don't really know why I do this to myself, espresso is the devil. I'm either jittery or sick after I drink it. But the smell lures me in every time. Damn my non-existent will power. On a good note, this is the third morning in a row that I've seen His Royal Hotness at the newspaper stand on my block. He goes for The Wall Street Journal, I stole a good look this time. He still hasn't looked at me, or up for that matter. I'm wearing the Manolo pumps tomorrow. Give him something more interesting than year old gum and stock reports to look at.

Monday, May 16th

One good thing about this god-forsaken hole, they sell the Journal at the corner newspaper stand, though I have to trudge half a block to get there at great personal peril. If I were to sum up Bingley's taste in real estate in one word it would be an ugly one with no view and even less class. I still can't believe he dragged me along. Damn my inability to say no. Nonetheless, I have the Journal and Boeing is up three and a half. And there was the girl at the stand. She's almost cute. First decent girl I've seen in a week. Bad taste in reading materials, though- no paper, just some gossip rag. Nothing like a shallow mind to put me right off.

______________________________________________


“I am so sorry!”

Of course she was sorry. They were always sorry. Oh, please forgive me for spilling my scalding hot coffee on you. Here, let me wipe that up, and oh my, is that your multi-million dollar wallet or are you just happy to see me.

“Its alright,” William Darcy muttered under his breath as he set the girl aright without really looking. It was the fact that she didn't stay aright, but wobbled unsteadily that drew his full attention. As he watched her face morph from friendly appreciation to snarky disdain, he realized that he, himself, was scowling.

“Oh, did my breaking a heel inconvenience you terribly? I do apologize again. Shall I bow before you to make it official?” she snapped while gaining her balance.

“No, actually. It was the second degree burns I just received on my chest that did it,” he replied, not missing a beat.

“Oh, man. I'm sorry. Here, let me fix that,” she said as she sought an open space to set down her coffee and tried to dig through her handbag at the same time.

“Its fine, really,” William grumbled as he pulled a few crisp bills from his pocket and moved away from her to pay for his paper. Just as he had expected.
“But it must be expensive. The tie, I mean. Here, I insist,” she said firmly as she grabbed his arm to stop him.

This drew William up short. He knew the game, and she was probably an expert. By the quick feel of his arm she would be able to tell the price of his suit to the penny. A demure dip of the eyes would appraise his Italian leather shoes, and with a subtle inward swoop to whisper in his ear she would catch a healthy whiff of the cost of his cologne. His jaw clenched in anticipation.

“Take it. And if the dry-cleaner can't get it out, I'll buy you a new one, and the shirt,too. I see a spot there,” she said, pointing to his chest.

William would have looked where she was directing if the money she held out before him hadn't kept him so riveted. This woman was seriously holding out a fist-full of dollars. To him. Unreal.

“Hello? I don't have all day. Take it,” she grabbed for his hand and tried to push the money into it. William snatched it back as if bitten.

“I don't need your money,” was all he could think to say.

“Of course you don't, Bill Gates. But when I make a mess I clean it up. Now, look, take the money. I have to hobble home and change these shoes, and I'm already late for work.”

“Then go, please. I really don't need your money and I'm sure it wouldn't be enough anyway.” It wasn't what he had meant to say or how he had meant to say it, and he regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“You know what, buddy. Forget it. These shoes aren't cheap, either. Manolo Blahnik! Broken! You are some kind of bad luck, let me tell you. My favorite lucky shoes, demolished within seconds of running into you. I swear, people these days…” she barked at him before spinning on her one good heel and limping away as fast as she could manage. She only got as far as the curb, where she began waving down a cab. One by one, yellow and black bullets whizzed past her without a single flash of a brakelight. It was obvious she was getting more flustered by the second.

William hesitated, torn between helping her and walking away from this disaster forever. Walk, his mind screamed at him. Walk now!

His sharp whistle made her jerk in surprise, but he ignored it as well as her startled glare. With a commanding wave of his hand, William got the attention of a passing cab.

“I don't need your help,” she snapped defensively.

“Of course you don't, Gloria Steinem. Get in the cab. I owe you an apology.”

Against her better judgment, and definitely against the anger she felt compelled to hold against this stranger forever, she got in the cab.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked as they settled in the back of his car. William gave a questioning look to his new companion, as she was the one calling the shots on this trip. Her mouth opened in automatic response, but she pulled herself up short and seemed to think for a moment. She took a quick glance at the slim watch on her wrist, then, with an anxious look said “270 Park Avenue, please.”

The address struck a familiar chord with William, but he couldn't remember why. He sat quietly for several minutes, trying to sort it out until her voice broke his train of thought.

“You said something about an apology.”

“Yes, well. Your shoe, that's unfortunate,” he said flatly. His main goal had been to help get her a cab without damaging her pride any further. Now that he had succeeded, he wasn't sure what to do with her.

William watched her eyes narrow, and she inhaled a concentrated breath that he was almost certain would come back out in the form of a world-class berating. He braced himself.

“Far more unfortunate than you know,” was her only reply. Once again, she had done the unexpected. And because of it, William found himself drawn deeper into a situation that he would normally have walked away from without another thought.

“William Darcy,” he offered his hand in truce as well as introduction.

“Elizabeth Bennet,” she responded, taking it hesitantly.

He held her hand for too long, he knew it was true. William was in big business, he pressed the flesh on a daily basis. And with the string of social obligations that came with his standing in society, he had dated more than his share of women. There was no possible way he could count the number of hands that had been in the exact spot that hers now occupied. But this felt different and he held on a little longer than was polite, trying to decide if the sensation was good or bad.

“I will need that back, please,” Elizabeth quipped shortly, finally pulling from his grip. “And don't think that I'm so easily swayed by a handsome face and firm handshake. You insulted me when I was trying to make nice, and you have yet to produce the promised apology.”

William gave her half of a smile, his eyes crinkling slightly as his cheek dimpled with amusement. They were locked together for the duration of this trip, and he was determined to draw some familiar response out of her, to prove to himself she was just like every other woman he had ever met. Why not, he thought, he would never see her again.

“How did I insult you?” his voice was as smooth and dark as chocolate.

The effect was not the one he had hoped for.

“Are you for real?” she asked in astonishment. “Or is your short term memory shot. I distinctly remember the words `wouldn't be enough anyway' passing from those lips. When someone offers to make amends for an honest mistake, its generally good form to at least respond to said offer with a little graciousness. Or did they not teach you that at Pretty Boy school?”

This ruffled his feathers, to say the least. He knew that he had been wrong to say that, but Pretty Boy school, indeed.

“I hardly think I need etiquette lessons from someone who gets their world news from the pages of a gossip rag,” he threw back caustically.

“Oh, that's rich! Judgmental much? Can't give a girl the time of day, but you can sure keep track of what she's doing wrong. I'll have you know that I buy that magazine for… oh no!” a look of horror passed over her features as her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her sudden swing in focus threw him completely off balance.

“What's the matter?” he asked, confused.

“I didn't get it. I'm late, I didn't get the magazine and my shoes are ruined. I don't think this day could possibly get worse,” she sighed as she closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers across her forehead in irritation.

Before William could speak again, the cab pulled up before the JP Morgan Chase building. Realization struck him full force as the familiar address Elizabeth had given the cabbie became the very building the he himself had been destined for later that morning. He had thought they had been taking her home to change her shoes, and he could not fathom what business this unusual woman could possibly have at one of America's leading financial institutions when she was already late for work. Unless she was someone's secretary?

Elizabeth reached into her handbag, took out some of the bills she had so recently waved before William's face, and shoved them at the cab driver. William made to protest, after all the cab had been his doing and he would not stick a lady with the bill even if she did irritate the hell out of him. But there was no time to pursue the issue. Elizabeth had popped out of the cab and was hobbling toward the steel and glass monolith before he could draw breath to speak.

Slowly, William exited the cab. He smoothed his coat, straightened his tie and squared his shoulders before following in the footsteps of one seriously mind-blowing woman.

Chapter Two


May 17th

Worst day of my life. Period.

May 17th

I have officially decided that saucy women are my favorite flavor. Especially brunettes with ridiculous taste in shoes.


“Oh, Lizzy. You are in serious trouble. Where have you been? Mr. Lucas is furious, and he had to send Denny to take your place. I hope you have a good excuse.”

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head as the stream of babble flowed from her sister Jane's mouth into her ear at supersonic speed. She wasn't surprised by Jane's stressed monologue. In the five years they had worked together at JP Morgan Chase, Jane had always been the Queen of Affability and Harmony. Elizabeth was sure her poor sister was about to blow a gasket with worry over keeping her tardy behind out of trouble. But it was not to be, for as the two women strode hastily from the elevators, around the corner and into the main office area, they were halted by their red faced boss.

“Bennet! Do you know what time it is?” Mr. William Lucas growled, his eyes glaring out at them from under a large shelf of bushy grey brows.

“Yes, Mr. Lucas. I'm sorry.” Elizabeth's words had all the semblance of a proper apology but her bearing and expression told him loud and clear that if he didn't like it he could bite her. Jane sensed the tension in the room go up to 11, and she demurely dipped her eyes and hurried away to her desk. Tittering and whispering could be heard behind the maze of cubicles.

“It is 9:45. Opening bell is 9:30. Explain to me how you earned me money this morning, Bennet, when an intern has been down on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange for the last fifteen minutes in your place. And while you are at it, explain to me why I should keep you on when you probably cost us millions already.”

“Because I'm the best,” Elizabeth smiled at him cockily.

“Fat lot of good that does me when you are here and not on the floor,” he huffed.

“And you know damn well that I would never have been late if it had not been an emergency. So why don't you go in and take your heart pill before you fall over, and I will make this all right,” she continued saucily before giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. She knew she had him, because he could never stay angry for long. Elizabeth was indeed his best broker, and her work ethic was phenomenal.

Mr. Lucas huffed once more for posterity, and turned back toward his office, momentarily appeased. But mid-stride memory struck and he spun back and paced back to Elizabeth, coming to whisper in her ear.

“I'll let it all go if you brought my paper today, Elizabeth,” he raised his ample brows in anticipation of some good news.

And here Elizabeth truly felt remorse. She had no gossip rag to hand him. She had brought him one every morning for the past year, shoved discretely between the pages of the daily news. It was his guilty pleasure, and one he did not want to make common knowledge, because through the pages of those inane gossip magazines William Lucas could follow the jet-setting life of his long lost paramour. Outside of the attentions of his only daughter/secretary, Charlotte, he was a lonely widower. And it made Elizabeth sad to have deprived him of his little daily happiness.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Lucas. That is part of the whole major calamity this morning has become. I will send out for one immediately,” she offered.

“No, no. Its alright…” he started.

“Miss Bennet,” a deep, rich voice broke into their conversation. It might have been considered a sexy voice, as was attested to by the sudden appearance of several female faces above the cubicle walls. But to Elizabeth, this voice was the kiss of death. Her stomach knotted, and she pondered moving off to her own cubicle as though she hadn't heard him. Mr. Lucas made this entirely impossible for her, though.

“Mr. Darcy! So wonderful to see you. Are you here visiting Mr. Bingley? It is wonderful to have him about. We truly hope to keep him on. What do you think of our fine offices? They are nothing to those in London, I'm sure, but we do try,” Mr. Lucas gushed, leaving Elizabeth to wonder why the evil Darcy had followed her here and even more so why Mr. Lucas would be kissing his well tailored back-side. There was nothing for it, she was forced to turn and confront her nemesis.

“Ah, yes, well. I've brought you this,” Darcy spoke hesitantly, ignoring, for the most part, Mr. Lucas' gushing tribute to brown-nosery and handing Elizabeth a magazine, folded in such a way that the front cover was invisible to the meddlesome eye.

Elizabeth was at a loss for words, for she immediately recognized the bundle of paper for what it was. The gossip rag she had promised her lovelorn boss.

“Thank you,” she finally managed after a very uncomfortable pause.

“You're welcome. I know you said it wasn't for you personally, but truly, you shouldn't read such filth. It kills brain cells,” he quipped, uncomfortable and ready to escape now that he had delivered his package.

“Well, Mr. Darcy- and please don't take this the wrong way- my reading habits are my own business. I do thank you for the gift, and apologize for the horror it must have caused you to be seen purchasing `such filth'. But as it is your fault that I am late for opening bell on the floor of the Exchange, I will take this as your promised apology,” she tossed back, hand firmly planted upon hip. This guy was really too much.

“The Exchange?” he asked, momentarily thrown off balance. She was a broker?

“Yes, the New York Stock Exchange, where I buy and sell stocks with the big boys,” she tossed at him.

“Well, okay then. I guess I should be going, and leave you to it,” he muttered, uncomfortable again. And with no further word he turned and left.

Mr. Lucas stepped up beside Elizabeth and gently slid the magazine from her hand.

“Well, dear, if he is the reason you are late, you are more than forgiven. Excellent choice by the way, excellent choice indeed!” Mr. Lucas beamed at her and gave her a quick hug before turning happily back to his office.

“What? NO! Its not like that. He just…” she protested to the retreating back of her boss, but was met with only a snappy wave of his hand as he continued on. Seconds later she was surrounded by a bevy of giggling office girls, her sister and best friend, the afore-mentioned Charlotte Lucas, included in the group.

“Lizzy! He's dreamy. How could you keep him secret.”

“Oh, Lizzy. Where did you pick him up? And where can I find one just like him?”

The questions buzzed around her head until she was forced to cover her ears to keep her sanity.

“Its not like that, I swear! Please, curb the hormones, ladies,” she shouted above the noise.

“Come on, Lizzy,” Charlotte asked as the group of women finally calmed itself, “when a man the likes of that comes to see you and is bearing gifts- well, you can't blame us for wanting to know more.”

“I met him at the new stand on my block. Oh, I thought he was gorgeous at first. I even wore `the shoes'. But, ladies, let me sum it up for you with a visual.” Elizabeth leaned down and slipped her feet from the much abused Manolos and held them up for her friends to see the damage. A collective gasp of horror went up amongst the group.

“No! I was going to borrow those tonight,” Jane choked.

“How could you break them?” Charlotte scolded, devastated by this horrendous act of treachery.

“Me?” Elizabeth snapped. “I didn't do it. He did, his very presence cursed them. And could you all be more selfish? Think of me. I'm never getting laid again. That man has some seriously bad ju-ju!”

As one the women turned their eyes to the spot that the bad luck boy had so recently occupied.

Still moving stuff over...

Chapter 2 part two (new stuff)



“Morning, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth looked up from the memorial service for her dearly departed shoes at the sound of yet another male voice. This one, as well as the three other men who had just joined the ring of mourning women, she was happy to see.

“Good morning, Mark,” she replied.

“What's the water cooler topic for today, ladies?” another named Matt asked.

“Lizzy broke the lucky shoes,” Charlotte sighed heavily.

“Oh, no! Grave news indeed,” Luke chimed in.

“What are `the lucky shoes'” John whispered to Luke.

“Legend has it that those shoes have special powers to ensnare men,” Luke responded.

“I don`t get it,“ John said, looking doubtfully at the damaged footwear that were now cradled softly in Jane's hands.

“Lizzy got a date with Steven Tyler once in those shoes.” Charlotte said mournfully.

“It wasn't a date, really. More like a backstage pass,” Elizabeth tried to clarify.

“I doubt it was the shoes,” Matt whispered to Mark.

“So, Jane borrowed them the next weekend and got a date with Daniel in accounting,” Charlotte continued.

Jane blushed as everyone's eyes turned to her. “I thought he was cute.”

“Several of us have borrowed them whenever we happen to have our eye on a certain man, and they had yet to fail. Until today,” Charlotte concluded.

John looked at his male companions in confusion.

“They are the Blessed Shoes of +10 Dating,” Mark offered helpfully.

“Oh!” John exclaimed, finally getting it.

With a vast wealth of empathy, Luke said “Lizzy, all set for the gig this weekend?”

“Yes, everything is ready. I'll meet you all at the club two hours before show time,” she confirmed.

“Alright then, ladies. We will leave you to it,” Matt said as the men headed back to their cubicles.

Knowing they had to get back to work themselves, the ladies disbanded and headed back to their own desks with heavy hearts.

Jane paused next to her sister for a moment once they were alone.

“You know, Lizzy, there might be a more positive meaning behind this.”

“And what might that be,” Elizabeth raised a brow at her eternally optimistic sister.

“The shoes might have broken because you don't need them anymore,” Jane said softly, looking at her sister intently.

“Oh? And why might that be? Do you see a convent in my future?” Elizabeth laughed.

“No. Something far more simple. He might be `the one'.” And with that Jane strode back to her cubicle leaving her sister to remove her jaw from the floor alone.

Chapter 3

May 18th

Rock heals all wounds. The boys play The Shed tonight, and I cannot wait. Biggest gig we've had yet.

May 18th
A full day ahead looking over my investment prospectus with Charles. It is Friday and I am not sure what he has in mind for the evening. Whatever it is, I hope it is quiet.


Close of business passed unnoticed as Darcy, with the help of his life long friend and newly hired financial advisor, Charles Bingley, poured over his stock portfolio. Having established a sizable interest in the London market, Darcy was keen on taking a bite out of the Big Apple. And as Bingley had just secured a prime position at J.P. Morgan Chase, he was well suited to help Darcy do just that. Together they sorted out a firm course of action, but it wasn't until after seven that they felt they had enough finalized to walk away for the evening.

The route from Bingley's well appointed new digs to the impressive bank of elevators led them directly past the work area of one Elizabeth Bennet, saucy brunette. Darcy cast a glance of remembrance in that general direction, just in time to see the knock-out blonde from yesterday morning's fiasco. From the low whistle next to him, Darcy could tell he wasn't the only one who had seen her.

“Good Lord, how did I miss that?” Bingley muttered half to himself.

“Mr. Darcy. Nice to see you again. I thought I was the last to leave this evening,” Jane said politely while glancing casually at his companion.

“I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier,” Darcy replied, taking her extended hand- ever the gentleman.

“Jane Bennet,” she responded. “Elizabeth's sister,” she added in answer to the question that sprang up in Darcy's look.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jane. This is Charles Bingley.”

Jane offered Bingley her hand, which he took gladly. Darcy would have been hard pressed to get a word in edge-wise after that point, which suited him just fine.

“Jane, have you eaten? We were just on our way to find somewhere to eat,” Bingley asked, her hand still firmly ensconced in his own and neither making a move to rectify the situation.

“Why, no, I haven't yet. I was going to grab a quick bite on the way home,” she answered demurely.

“Well, then join us. Or, better yet, let us join you. I'm sure you know the best places to go, and well… I'm new around here.” Bingley gave her the `awe-shucks grin`, complete with batted eyes and self-effacing chuckle. She was hooked, instantly.

“If its no trouble,” Jane looked to Darcy for confirmation that her added presence would not be a nuisance. He nodded affably and opened his mouth to answer.

“Trouble? Never!” Charles cut in, tucking her hand away into the crook of his arm. They fell into comfortable step together, with Darcy picking up the rear. He shook his head in amusement. No one could withstand the Bingley charm.

Dinner was a quaint affair in a casual bistro on a quiet block not far from the office. Bingley seemed to enjoy himself immensely, and though Darcy found Jane to be nothing short of sweet, he couldn't find anything about her that he hadn't seen in any other `sweet' girl Bingley had chatted up. So, with a serial-dater for a best friend, and having found himself an unexpected third wheel on more than one occasion, one could imagine Darcy's irritation at what happened next.

“You know, Jane, this has been fun. We should do this again, very soon,” Bingley hinted warmly.

“I would love that. Maybe we could… Oh my! I'm late,” she cried abruptly, having noted the time on her wristwatch just as she had dipped her eyes demurely at Bingley's words.

“Seems to be genetic,” Darcy muttered into his glass of wine.

“Its been lovely, and I do hope to do this again, soon,” Jane said hastily as she rose and grabbed her coat and purse.

Bingley was on his feet in a flash, taking her coat from her and holding it out for her to slip into.

“Here,” he said firmly as he threw several large bills onto the table, “we'll take you were you need to go.”

“Bingley!” Darcy barked, not keen on being roped into another leg of this misadventure.

“Its alright,” Jane cut in. “I can manage.”

“Its late, and I insist.”
“Bingley,” Darcy reiterated, with severity.

“Your friend wants to go home, Charles. But thank you so much for the offer.”

“My friend is a stick in the mud. Which way are you headed?” Bingley said jovially, leaning into her ear conspiratorially.

“A few blocks to the left. I have a concert to be at,” she answered.

“Concert? Really?” Bingley asked, his interest piqued. With a whistle and a wave he hailed a cab.

“Bingley, I'm going back to the apartment. You two have a lovely evening. Jane, it was a pleasure,” Darcy interjected brusquely as he stepped away from the group to hail a cab of his own. He knew the look in Bingley's eye, and he was in no mood for an extended evening of playing wing man.

“Caroline is home alone this evening. I'm sure she will enjoy some quality time, just the two of you,” Bingley called out to him. With something very akin to a growl, Darcy turned and trudged back. Playing second fiddle would always be more preferable than an evening with Medusa. Damn Bingley's inability to go on a first date alone. Chicken.

“A concert sounds like fun, Jane. Is it too late to get tickets? Who is playing?” Darcy said blandly.

“Well, it's a local band. I'm not sure if it will be your thing, really. Kind of loud,” she said hesitantly.

“The louder the better,” Bingley laughed as he pushed Darcy unceremoniously toward the cab. Then helping Jane in and settling next to her, he leaned over to whisper in her ear once again. “The evening has flown by, Jane, and I'm not ready for it to end. Would you be offended if we tag along just a little bit more?”

“Of course not,” she said softly, averting her eyes as a delicate blush tinged her cheek.

“Wonderful,” Darcy muttered.

The cab pulled up shortly before the well-lit exterior of a night club sporting the name The Shed on an old fashioned marquee. Apparently The Shed was proud to present The Apostles of Rock as this evenings entertainment. Darcy couldn't decided what thrilled him more, the promise of blown ear drums or the interminable wait that the endless line of bodies queued outside the doors ensured. Jane grabbed both men by an arm and hauled them past the waiting throng and hulking bouncers with nothing more than a wink and a smile. The doors opened for her without a single hitch.

Jane's route circumvented the more public areas of the club, and the trio soon found themselves in what appeared to be a backstage area. Neither man had time to think, before they were approached by a whirling dervish covered in a large black rubber apron and gloves and sporting this seasons hottest style in goggles beneath a Von Dutch trucker hat.

“Jane, about damn time. Matt is ready, Luke has everything in place but the wig. But Mark and John are hopeless. Will you please help John with his make-up? Charlotte is trying to get Mark together. Oh! Hello.” Elizabeth pulled herself up short as she noted the tall blonde man next to her sister.

“Sure, Lizzy. Oh, this is Charles Bingley. We met at the office. He's friends with Mr. Darcy. You remember Mr…” Jane trailed off as she saw that she had lost her audience to urgent business. She looked apologetically at Bingley, who told her not to worry as he knew things were hectic.

Darcy noted, however, what had pulled Elizabeth away so rudely, and the sight of it made him want to turn tail and run. A man, encased in metal, adorned with spikes, face kabuki white with greasepaint and streaked with red and black markings which was strangely at odds with his clean cut blond hair, stood before Elizabeth the Mad Scientist. Stretching up higher than her thinly heeled boots should have allowed, she arranged a false mohawk of jet black hair upon his normal Wally Cleaver do. Once she was satisfied with his new coiffure, she reached behind a monstrous stack of sub-bass woofers and brought out a bass guitar bearing a striking resemblance to a battle axe. Upon its silver surface were scrawled the words “Hammer of Valhalla” in blood red paint. Giving the man two thumbs up Elizabeth pushed him out toward the curtained stage, where he was soon followed by three other men in similar attire. This was not going to be a concert, it was going to torture. Literally.

“Sorry about that. Last minute adjustments. This is Lizzy's band. She's been managing them for four years,” Jane explained as she rejoined the men. “We could go out front and watch if you like. But I suggest we stay here. Things get kind of rowdy out there.”

“Back here is fine,” Bingley had to raise his voice as the band began to tune their instruments. A loud roar and the rhythmic shouts of “Rock, Rock, Rock” could be heard from the other side of the closed curtain. Darcy shifted nervously on his feet. His eyes strayed again toward Elizabeth, and he saw that she was now before some strange, square machine with a nozzled hose held firmly in both hands. After a few more moments, the man who appeared to be the lead singer nodded to Elizabeth, who in turn nodded toward Charlotte, who used her whole body to pull on the stubborn chords of the curtains. Jerkily they pulled apart, revealing the freak show that was the Apostles of Rock to their rowdy and adoring fans.

A deafening roar went up amongst the crowd as Luke pulled his microphone toward his lips and sneered. In the absolute worst impression of a British national Darcy had ever had the misfortune to hear, he yelled “Ahh you ready to rawck?” The response was a 10 on the Richter scale.

“Wow,” Bingley shouted to Jane. “They must be great.”

“No,” Jane laughed. “They are wretched. Worst band in the history of man.”

“Really? This place is packed. How is that possible?” Bingley asked incredulously.

“I'm not sure. Its scary really, almost like a cult. William Hung wishes he had this kind of popularity,” Jane yelled over the discordant strains of the Apostles' opening number. The screams of several women could be heard over Luke's plaintive wailing, and Darcy was sure he saw a bra sail over the drummer's head.

Torture had been the correct descriptive for this evening, Darcy concluded. It was almost comical in its wretchedness. The only upshot to the whole glass-half-empty scenario was that he could admire Elizabeth without the benefit of her acerbic wit. She was very animated as she watched her band, armed with her odd weapon and bedecked in her HASMAT gear. She was quite cute, actually.

Elizabeth was unaware of anything but the band, until they started their fourth number “Bath of Blood”. She nodded her head for an eight-count, then reached down and flipped a switch on the machine. Aiming the hose she had been holding so dearly, she sprayed a fine mist of red dyed corn syrup at the men on stage, solidifying the whole freak show image.

Once she had established a good rhythm, Elizabeth turned her head to give her sister a “Are we rockin' or what?“ look. It was then she noticed Jane had not brought one man with her, but two. Her face fell as she recognized the second man.

And then the machine broke.

The fine mist of red became a gushing current of sticky red ooze. The hose jerked spasmodically in Elizabeth's hands, coating the band in crimson streams. Matt was the first to fall. Loosing his footing he slid head long into Luke, who performed a near flawless double axle before falling backward over Matt's prone form. His momentum slowed but not stopped by his fall, Luke toppled Mark over backward into the drum kit mid-chord. It was the purest note he had ever played.

With nothing left to drum, John flipped his sticks up into the air and caught them with a flourish. “Thank you!” he yelled as Charlotte pulled the curtains closed as fast as their rickety workings would allow.

Chaos had not left the backstage area untouched. Elizabeth yelled for someone to unplug the machine while she struggled to maintain a slippery grip on the squirming hose. Jane had rushed to the aid of the band members who were currently dog-piled stage right, and Charles was hot on her heels. Charlotte was struggling with the curtain, leaving Darcy to save the day. Which he did with much aplomb, following the power cord to its outlet and pulling it out in one swift motion. Feeling pretty good about things, glad to have been of assistance, and gladder yet to have escaped contact with the sticky ooze, Darcy approached Elizabeth with all the confidence of the truly naïve.

His first sign should have been the snapping off of the gloves, he definitely should have gotten it with the furious chucking of the goggles. But that he hadn't caught on when she barely missed his head with the flying Von Dutch trucker hat was pure self-delusion. Elizabeth was pissed and he was her target.

“In the name of all things holy, will you get your cursed being away from me before you end my life!” She yelled as she tore off the black rubber apron.

Her hair, now freed from the hat, bounced about her shoulders even as her eyes danced with anger. She had said something, but he couldn't hear due to the g-force spin his stomach was taking. Aphrodite-full blown and furious. Her gauzy, filmy shirt caught and clung and bore cleavage while the denim of her jeans hugged her sweetly from the hips down. Mad as hell she stamped her foot… and down she went.

Her foot going right out from underneath her, losing purchase in the slimy fake blood, Elizabeth found herself flat on her tush before she knew what hit her. That was the limit, and all she could do at that point was laugh.

“Here, let me help you,” Darcy was right there, offering his hand. Elizabeth grabbed on and allowed him to help pull her up, but gravity said no and brought her back down with another slip and slide of her precarious heels. She couldn't help but laugh again, because the pretty boy came down with her.

From his precarious perch atop her shapely body, Darcy laughed as well. And for a brief moment the world stopped.

“Well, some help you are,” she quipped.

“Are you always so graceful, Miss Bennet, or is it your ridiculous taste in shoes ,” he tossed back.

“Ridiculous! These are Jimmy Choos,” she gasped, much offended by his lack of fashion sense. Ridiculous indeed.

“Well, I think he will be wanting them back, then. You are obviously complete rubbish in them,” he smiled at how easy it was to get her dander up.

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow, catching on to his game. The corner of her mouth twitched up in recognition of a kindred wit. He was quick, she had to give him that.

The proximity, the adrenaline, the complete abandon he felt right at that moment- a sensation so wholly unfamiliar to him- those were the elements upon which he would later cast the blame. For with such beauty before him, or under him as the case may be, how could he not be tempted.

In one hot blooded impulsive act he kissed her.

Part 2

In the deepest, darkest part of her subconscious, Elizabeth knew she should slap him. Or maybe even give him the knee. At the very least push him off. But a girl who had only recently expected to never date again would be a fool to pass up a kiss this good. After all, he owed her- again- and she felt quite content taking this as partial payment. So, she did what any good girl would do when faced with such a situation, she slipped him some tongue.

Much could have been made of this particular opportunity by both parties involved, had not the reality of the situation around them kicked in. Sticky red ooze was soaking most uncomfortably through Elizabeth's clothes, and the sounds from the stage had finally begun to penetrate their hormonal bubble. Pulling away, Elizabeth cocked a saucy eyebrow and smiled.

“Why, Mr. Darcy, and here I thought you were a gentleman,” she quipped in her most unaffected voice. She'd be damned if she was going to let him know that the earth had moved. With her luck around him, it was probably a legitimate earthquake anyway.

Before he could respond, he found himself hauled up bodily by Bingley and one of the stage hands.

“Darcy, are you okay? You guys must have gone down hard in this muck. Lets get you out of this before that suit is completely ruined,” Bingley prattled as Darcy regained his footing. Looking down at himself he saw the suit was a lost cause, and the shoes as well. His next thought came too late, as he watched Luke and Matt pull Elizabeth back to her feet. She, too, took a moment to lament the state of her attire before she was pulled away by Jane and the rest of the band. With worried faces they huddled together, every once in awhile casting a frightened glance at commotion coming from the other side of the curtain.

“Lets go, Darcy. Jane says we had better jump ship before the angry mob out there becomes active,” Bingley pulled on his friend's sleeve.

“What about the women. Surely we should stay and help,” Darcy worried.

“The manager is sending an escort of bouncers for them, but we won't be so lucky. Its now or never.”

And with that, the men exited the scene- stage left.

The next few days progressed with virtually no interaction between Darcy and Elizabeth. Their paths didn't cross, they didn't meet socially, nor did they find time to tongue wrestle in a kiddie pool of fake blood. For Bingley and Jane, on the other hand, it was quite the opposite.

Things were progressing between the couple at an alarming rate, so much so that Bingley was either hard to find after work hours, or Jane was a permanent fixture at the evening meals. Caroline had not found Miss Jane Bennet as interesting as her older brother obviously did, which was an added benefit for Darcy as her shifted focus left him with rare unmolested free time. The down side of this new found romance was the lack of progress he and Bingley were making on his portfolio.

On Friday, one week after the “Bath of Blood” incident, Darcy put his foot down. He needed a few hours of Bingley's uninterrupted time, and by God he'd have it.

“You are a slave driver, Darcy,” Bingley groused as they left his office. It was just past nine, and any chances of calling Jane for a late dinner where right out the window.

“Yes, well there will be no more late nights. We are finished, and I for one feel good about that. Now you can spend your evenings as you like, and I can make plans to go back to London,” Darcy smiled as he gave Bingley a friendly thump on the back.

“I wish you would stay longer. There is much fun to be had here, now that you have some time to relax,” Bingley offered encouragingly.

“Fun is relative, Bingley. I've had enough fun here to last a life time. I need to go back home.”

Bingley's response was cut short by the ring of his cell phone. Darcy cringed as it became quickly apparent that Bingley's sister was the caller, and by the whipped puppy look in his friend's eyes he knew that she was taking her brother to task.

“Bingley,” he interrupted, “you go ahead. I've left something in the office. I'll catch another cab.”

Shaking his head furiously, Bingley tried to catch Darcy's attention but to no avail. With a wink and a chuckle he backtracked to Bingley's office where he planned to sit idly just long enough for Charles to catch a cab home. Turn about was fair play, and besides, the poor boy had Caroline's lovely voice to keep him company on the ride home.

As he strode down the hall, a faint light and the soft sounds of a radio up ahead drew his attention. He followed the music until it led him to the office of William Lucas. But peering through the door he saw that the person behind the desk was certainly no man named Lucas.

Elizabeth had some last minute figures to settle for her boss. Working late didn't bother her, really. It saved her from having to go home to an empty apartment, and she got more done in the still and quiet of the after hours workplace. After a trying morning on the stock exchange floor, she embraced the solitude. Around nine she put the finishing touches on her work and felt the call to stretch her cramped muscles. It was then that the sultry sounds of the desk radio caught her attention.

As if moving to some internal choreography, Elizabeth removed the pencil that had been holding her hair in a bun away from her face and shook her curls free. She reached over and turned up the radio just as Joe Cocker implored her to take off her coat real slow over the jazzy punch of a tenor sax. Not wanting to disappoint the man, she slid her suit jacket from her shoulders with a sassy shake and popped open a few shirt buttons for good measure. She then slipped her shoes off as Mr. Cocker commanded, and grabbing the spare chapeau Mr. Lucas always left upon his desk, she set it on her head and tugged it down over an eye. Letting the music wash away the stress of the day, she moved in time to the sexy beat.

Darcy watched from the shadows of the darkened office area, against any proper upbringing his mother had tried to instill in him, God rest her soul. His mouth became a desert as he enjoyed the privilege of watching a woman completely at ease with herself dance as if she were alone in the world. And as he watched, his imagination took over, inserting himself into the scene as a very hands on participant. Her hair running through his fingers, her hips skimming softly against his, her lips open and inviting. She was wreaking havoc on his willpower.

The song pulsed on as Elizabeth danced with abandon. Darcy felt himself step forward, then forward again until finally the song ended and the spell was broken for both of them. Embarrassed, though unnoticed, he turned hastily away and retreated back toward the exit.

He had thought he would have time to catch a cab before Elizabeth emerged from the building, but five minutes of anxious waving had gotten him nothing. The soft click of heels upon the pavement behind him announced her presence, which felt as heavy to him as the lingering humidity of the night air.


*song ref is Joe Cocker “You Can Leave Your Hat On”

Part three

“Hello, stranger. You are here awfully late,” Elizabeth commented.

This was their first meeting since the kiss, add that to the intimate show Darcy had just witnessed and it was all he could do to keep his composure. Cornered, he bit the bullet and turned to face her. “Hello, Elizabeth. It seems I'm not the only one.”

“Yes, well, last minute project,” she said noncommittally.

“I see,” was the best he could come up with. “It feels like rain. Would you like for me to hail a cab for you?” he added and then flinched.

“No, thank you,” Elizabeth replied, suddenly cognizant of all the horrible things that could go wrong in an automobile driven by a middle-aged, balding taxi driver hopped up on No-Doz. Getting in a cab with or hired by the king of all jinxes would assure she would find out first hand.

“Have you eaten?” Darcy persisted against the screaming of his left brain.

“No.”

“Neither have I, and it is late but I'm sure there is somewhere that will serve something palatable at this hour. Would you like to join me?” His right eye gave a small twitch.

As if on cue, fat droplets descended from the sky. Darcy turned again to hail a cab, hoping to get them out of the rain before they were drenched.

Peering up into the rain Elizabeth replied, “I don't think so.”

Darcy wasn't listening, for he expected a positive response- he always received a positive response in these situations- so he carried on with job of catching a cab. At his wit's end and just short of jumping in front of a zooming yellow arrow of death, an older model cab with a broken lamp and a missing side mirror pulled to a halt before them. Quickly, Darcy opened the door and reached out to usher Elizabeth in.

“Nooooo,” she said, punctuating it with a firm step backward.

“Its raining, Elizabeth, get in!”

“Nooooo,” she repeated, certainty setting in…

“For heaven's sake, why not?” he growled, frustration level rising…

“That is a death trap, just look at it. You go ahead. I'm sure I'll read all about your little ride in print tomorrow,” she scoffed.

“You are being ridiculous. And you will be soaked through in a moment. Just get in, where we can discuss this in relative warmth,” he argued.

“I tell you what, you get in, I'll walk this way. Its been a pleasure- good night,” she ended, turning on her heel as she turned up the collar of her coat.

Darcy grabbed her arm to stop her and spun her around into him and catching her about the waist to keep her in place.

“Elizabeth, get in the car before you catch your death of cold.”

She didn't want to get in the car, he wasn't the boss of her. Who did he think he was, telling her what to do? She began to feel all the stubbornness of her inner two year old build up like a dam behind her bottom lip, forcing her to do something she hadn't done in some time- pout.

Darcy raised an eyebrow just as a plump raindrop landed on her neck and made its icy way down her back. It was then that Elizabeth decided that smart, sophisticated women of the world have to give in a little sometimes. She slipped from his grip and slid into the cab.

“Where to?” the husky voice of the Rastafarian cab driver flowed into the back seat like a fine cloud of ganja.

“What is open this late?” Darcy asked Elizabeth as the cab pulled away from the curb with a lurch.

“For what?” she asked.

“Dinner,” he smiled.

“I agreed to a cab ride home, not dinner Mr. Darcy.”

His brow creased. “I distinctly remember asking you to dinner.”

“And my reply was `I don't think so'.” She smiled back at him primly and leaned forward on the creaking seat to give the driver an address.

“You said you haven't eaten,” he persisted.

“Correct, and you said the same,” she replied.

His frown deepened. “You must be hungry.”

“I am,” she admitted, though a timely growl of her stomach would have given away her lie if she had tried it.

“Then what is the problem?”

“I don't know the Heimlich maneuver,” she quipped. So far the cab ride had been uneventful, but throwing dinner into the mix was surely just asking for something heinous to happen.

“Pardon me?”

“Forget it. I have a nice ham sandwich waiting for me in my refrigerator.”

“You can't be serious. I'll take you wherever you would like to go, just name the place.”

“Here's perfect,” she answered as the cab pulled up before her apartment building. She looked at him expectantly and he returned her gaze with confusion.

“I would rather not have to climb over you to get out,” she hinted heavily.

“Surely you don't…”

“Yes.”

“But it would be no problem to…”

“No.”

“Well, could you just…”

“Third and Vine has a lovely hamburger joint open at this hour. They should be able to whip you something up.”

Darcy clenched his jaw as he slipped from the cab to let her out. Infuriating woman! He had never been turned down before, much less in such a brusque manner.

“Its not that I don't appreciate the offer. I just don't trust the response time of 911 at this hour. And you aren't exactly a breath of fresh karma,” she said as she stepped out of the cab.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, suddenly feeling very defensive.

“Oh, come on. You have to admit that anytime I am remotely near you something breaks,” she laughed.

“So, that is what you think? I'm some form of bad luck for you?” he was incredulous.

“Do you blame me?”

Darcy reflected a moment on their short but infamous acquaintance. He mentally conceded she had some small point. But that she had taken it and run, he had no doubt. There was only one thing for it.

“Then you must let me make it up to you; start over fresh and prove to you otherwise,” he rocked back on his heels and gave her a challenging look.

“You are incredibly persistent,” she stated.

“And you are unbelievably stubborn,” he replied.

“I'll think about it.”

“You do that.”

Elizabeth nodded at him thoughtfully then turned toward her apartment.

Darcy would later blame it on the rain, or low blood sugar. Either way, the second kiss was just as unexpected as the first, and for once Elizabeth was caught completely off guard.

Leaving her stunned on the sidewalk, he climbed back into the cab and sped off into the night.

Chapter 5

May 22

Wow, the sneak attack. I didn't think Mr. Uptight had it in him. I really wish I knew what he wants from me, with all this kissing. Not that I mind the kissing, he's quite good at it. But what can he and I possibly have in common? I mean, this guy is killing me. He is the walking definition of snobby, and he's seen pretty up close and personal what I'm about. He can't be seriously interested. I swear, if this guy is just looking for a shag I am totally going to… think about it.

May 22

Need to make reservations at 21 Club. Need to get fit info for Christian Louboutin, something black with straps, probably. Need to decide: Les Miserable in London or Jersey Boys on Broadway? London would be good, then we could take a side trip to Pemberley. That would be best, maybe we should just do that. Need to call Mrs. Reynolds, and Josh about the jet.





“I've extended my trip. Hope you don't mind,” Darcy tossed at Bingley as he entered his friend's spacious yet minimalist living room, cup of joe firmly in hand. Caroline smiled behind her demitasse of Gevalia. The Armani God was staying on a little longer… how divine.

“Really? Wonderful! Are you up for sight-seeing then? Jane will be here in a minute, and there is a little open-air market that she's been going on about. We though we'd take it in. Care to join us?” Bingley prattled, surprised by his friend's change of heart but glad all the same.

Caroline studied her Adonis for signs of cracking. A man of his caliber did not go traipsing about in open-aired markets like a common plebeian.

“No, thank you. I'll leave that special treat to the both of you,” Darcy answered as he took up the weekend edition of the Journal. Caroline smiled to herself once again. If there was one thing she could count on, it was the fact that William Darcy was nothing if not grade-A, untainted upper crust. Exactly what she expected in a future husband.

“Too bad, then,” Bingley replied. “It sounds charming. I do hope that you will get some fun in before you jet back to London.”

Darcy's gaze drifted off into middle space as his mind turned over the many versions of fun he would like to engage in on the way to London. Sadly, the doorbell rang, bursting his bubble.

Bingley jumped from the sofa with a speed only found in cheetahs and young men in the rut. Moments later he came back with Jane in tow, and a subtle shade of mauve smudged in the left corner of his bottom lip.

“Hello, Caroline, William,” Jane said sweetly as she entered the room on Bingley's arm.

Caroline smiled and rose from her chair, muttering something about Dior and dry cleaners as she left the room. William lowered his paper and gave Jane a nod of greeting.

Bingley offered Jane a cup of coffee, which she kindly accepted, then departed to the kitchen to fetch her a cup. Once he left the room, Jane sauntered nonchalantly over to Darcy and held out her hand.

“Here,” she said under her breath as she slid a small rectangular booklet with a yellow post-it attached to its front into his front shirt pocket. Darcy smiled and removed it quickly, flipping the booklet open to see a miniature Elizabeth Bennet smiling back at him. Closing the cover, he noted the post-it and the information written on it. Nodding with satisfaction, he looked up at Jane.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“Anytime,” she replied and returned to her place upon the sleek, sterile sofa.

“No sisterly words of warning for me? No “Hurt her and I'll hunt you down” threats?” he quipped.

“Are you kidding?” Jane laughed. “No, wait. I do have one. William Darcy, be careful around my sister. She bites.”

Coloring slightly, Darcy muttered under his breath, “I'm counting on it.”

Bingley returned from the kitchen with Jane's coffee. Darcy had no wish to sit watch the lovebirds coo over one another, so he politely excused himself to his room. Once safely behind closed doors, he pulled out his cell phone.

“Hello, Christian. It's William Darcy. I am well, and you? Wonderful. Listen, I need a favor. I need a pair of size 7 in something black. What do you suggest? Really? You will call ahead, then, and I can just pick them up there? Perfect, thank you. Yes, she is- quite.”

Elizabeth Bennet had never been so nervous about a first date in her life. She still couldn't believe that she had agreed to go out with the pretty boy, though for the life of her she couldn't come up with a good reason not to. So a couple of nasty things had happened when he was around, so what. She was not one to hold a grudge forever. And after all, he was damned cute- among other things. But, even so, there was just something about him that made her insides scream. Now, whether that scream was orgasmic or incensed she had yet to put a finger on.

At two p.m. exactly came the expected knock upon her door. Elizabeth had been ready for over an hour, shocked at her own punctuality and not a little curious at the strange hour he had requested they meet. Jumping up from the sofa, she hurried to the door, pulling herself up short to get a grip before opening it.

“Hello, Mr. Darcy,” she smiled, happy her voice sounded much more controlled than she felt. He stood before her, hands behind his back, head slightly dipped, dressed to kill in a sleek pair of wool trousers and dark dinner jacket, his crisp shirt tie-less and slightly unbuttoned.

“William,” he corrected as he stepped forward, bringing a large rectangular box from behind his back. It was black and tied up with a dark red bow. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat. Gorgeous men just didn't go around giving her swanky gifts everyday. She felt a little giddy, and a lot seduced.

“William,” she tossed back smartly as she stepped backward into the apartment, gently taking the proffered box. “Thank you. You shouldn't have,” she said with all politeness.

“Well, actually, I should have. After all, you said I owed you.”

Elizabeth tossed him a questioning look as she took the present over to the sofa and set it upon the coffee table. Sitting down, she motioned for him to join her.

Darcy watched as she slid the ribbon from the box and removed the lid. He smiled as she gasped and pulled a stunning pair of black, strappy shoes from the box. He couldn't have been happier as she gasped again at the sight of the red soles. Kicking off her current shoes, she reverently slipped her feet into her first ever pair of Louboutins. On a cloud, she walked across the room in them, testing their fit. Nothing less than perfect.

“What do you think?” she asked, her eyes alight with joy as she spun carefully- the soft skirt of her black dress twirling about her.

“Perfect,” he smiled. She liked them. Contentment settled into his breast.

“I can't accept them, you know,” she said wistfully.

“Why ever not?”

“Because I know what these are worth, and they are far more expensive than the pair that broke. But I do thank you for the chance to have tried them on,” she answered, slipping the shoes off with as much reverence as she had while putting them on.

“Elizabeth, I had those set aside especially for you. No one else will have them, so if you don't want them they are going straight into the rubbish bin.”

She gave him the “Yeah, right,” eyebrow.

“I am not joking,” he continued, deadpan.

Elizabeth looked again at the condemned shoes. Well, if it meant saving a life.

Slipping them back on, she leaned down and kissed him softly. “Thank you.”

Darcy coughed slightly and smiled at her again. “We better go,” he said, “ we've a plane to catch.”

“Plane?” Elizabeth stepped back, suddenly confused.

“Yes, plane,” he answered as he rose from the sofa and straightened his jacket.

Elizabeth was taken aback, and a small part of her wanted to demand an answer, but over the years she had learned that being sassy 24/7 got her where she was today. Alone. Maybe it would be okay to kick back just once and go with it. It wasn't every day that she was whisked away on a plane to some surprise destination for a date with a gorgeous, wealthy man.

Part2

Elizabeth felt as if she was caught up in a whirlwind, as they sped from her apartment in a hired car toward a private airfield just outside the city. Little was said between them, as Darcy made a series of calls on his cell phone. She would have been put out by his inattention if her eavesdropping hadn't informed her that he was finalizing arrangements for their flight. But try as hard as she might, she could not figure out where they were going.

As she watched the city skyline whiz by, Elizabeth tingled with anticipation. She had never felt so spoiled before. Most of her dates had been one step above an evening of bowling and McDonalds. This was almost magical in comparison, and the thrill of it all gave even the familiar sight of her hometown a fresh appeal.

In no time, the car pulled through the gates of the airfield. A sleek jet sat patiently upon the tarmac, the slender rollaway stairs poised at the ready- waiting to lead them from the mundane world into the enchanted unknown. As the car came to a stop a short distance from the jet, Darcy opened his door and stepped out. Turning, he reached back inside and offered Elizabeth his hand. She accepted it, and stepped from the car as well. Pausing a moment before moving on to the plane, Elizabeth looked around her and wondered if Jackie O. had ever had it better.

A trim flight attendant stepped forward to greet them as they entered the cabin.

“Good afternoon,” she welcomed them with a smile, which Elizabeth endeavored to return but was quickly distracted by the subtle elegance of the plane's interior. She had never been intimate with the likes of Lear or Gulfstream, had never felt the need to drop such names at cocktail parties, but she was sure that her limited knowledge of the finer points of air travel would not diminish the major league enjoyment she was about to get out of her first experience on a private plane.

While Elizabeth walked ahead, running a hand over the buttery cream-colored leather of the oversized seats, Darcy spoke quietly with the flight attendant assuring that all was as he had ordered it. The woman confirmed that his requests were fulfilled to his specifications, then turned to secure the cabin.

“Having fun?” Darcy asked as he watched Elizabeth twirl in her chair like a little girl.

“Oh, yeah,” she smiled as she sank deeper into the leather, closing her eyes and sighing with contentment. Darcy took a seat in the next chair and turned it to face her. Feeling his gaze settle upon her, Elizabeth cracked open an eye.

“Any chance of you telling me where all this leads?”

Darcy's mind took a sudden and swift plunge into the gutter, and he choked a moment on the answer that cheekily wanted to fly from his mouth.

“Oh my god!” Elizabeth exclaimed, catching the drift of his mind in the look of his eye and snapping to attention at the edge of her chair. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He winced, because he had been caught dead to rights in a very naughty thought process. He had not been gutter surfing when he had arranged the whole evening, but her wording had caught him very much off guard and now he was going to have a hard time convincing her otherwise. But he was not one to give up too easily.

“I'm not sure yet, Elizabeth. Why don't you tell me what kind of girl you are?” He leaned toward her just a fraction. An engaging tension began to build between them as they held each other's gaze. In all honesty, Elizabeth wasn't sure exactly what kind of girl she really was right at that moment.

“International woman of intrigue. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you. And I would hate to make a mess of such a lovely plane,” she smiled and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs with a sultry slowness.

The flight attendant interrupted any further conversation to inform them that the captain was preparing for take-off.

“Is there something I should do?” Elizabeth asked, looking around herself for anything that seemed to need doing. Darcy reached out and turned Elizabeth's chair, then locked it in place for her before doing the same for himself.

“Just buckle up, James Bond,” he drawled.

The engines roared to life as the plane pushed forward down the long strip of tarmac, building the speed necessary to break free of gravity's demanding pull. A sudden bout of nerves caused Elizabeth to grip her armrest.

“Scared?” Darcy asked, covering her hand with his own.

“Take-offs just aren't my favorite. I'll be fine in a moment,” she answered. The plane surged forward, finally leaping elegantly from the earth- thumbing its multi-million-dollar nose at the ground that receded below it. Though expected, the transition still made Elizabeth's stomach drop. She grabbed Darcy's hand for support, and he wove his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. She felt herself relax as the plane gained altitude and began to level out.

“Better now?” he asked, rubbing small circles on her hand with his thumb.

“Yes, much.”

The attendant appeared again, bringing a tray of beautifully arranged tidbits and setting it upon the sleek mahogany table that was bolted before their chairs. She then went out again, and returned with a bucket of ice, a bottle of wine and two fluted glasses.

“Anything else, Mr. Darcy,” she asked crisply as she added the wine and glasses to the table.

“No,” he replied, “this is wonderful. I can take it from here.”

“I will be in the cockpit if you should need anything. The captain estimates that flight time should be around three hours.”

“Thank you,” Darcy nodded. With a smile, the attendant disappeared to the front of the plane.

“Three hours?” Elizabeth inquired. “Are you planning on telling me where we are going, or will I have to sit here and stew in suspense?”

“Would you like some wine? And here, have something to eat,” he deflected, popping open the bottle and pouring the dark liquid into each of their glasses.

“No hints even?” she prodded.

“We have three hours, Elizabeth. I'll think about it and get back to you,” he answered, smiling mischievously.

She contemplated his face as she sipped her wine, not only searching it for clues but also for deeper signs of his character and intent. He was very handsome, she liked that about him for sure. But she wasn't so shallow that looks and money would sway her into a bad decision. She really hoped there was more to him.

“So, do you own this plane?” she asked first, watching him closely for signs of the braggart. Nothing was more repulsive than a man who flaunted his wealth.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“It is beautiful. It must have cost you a fortune,” she pushed a little further.

“I found that, with the amount I travel for work, it actual saves me money in the end. It also saves the pride of many an airport employee, as I can be very irritable when faced with long queues, flight delays and body cavity searches. I've never been fond of those.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“So, I know that you have one sister- Jane. Do you have others?” he asked, beginning an inquest of his own.

“I have four sisters altogether,” she replied.

“Four? Impressive. No boys?”

“No boys.”

“Your father must have been overrun,” he laughed.

“You don't know the half of it,” she groaned.

“And you? Are you youngest? Oldest?”

“Second oldest. Jane is older. After me comes Mary, Kitty and then… Lydia,” she ended flatly.

“Trouble?”

“And how. She's all of 15 going on 30 and taking Kitty with her. Mary, well her only problem is a penchant for the eccentric.”

“And your parents? Tell me about them,” Darcy urged.

“How about I don't and say I did,” was her only reply.

“I'm sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

“No. Its just that… well, I have this theory.”

“Do tell.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her as if settling for a good story. “My theory is that God gives people parents like mine so that they don't get too comfortable at home. Its far easier to leave the nest.”

“Were they mean?” he asked carefully, not wanting to dig at a wound if one existed.

“Oh, no. Not even close. Don't get me wrong, I love them dearly. Its just that they are the kind of people you don't want to be caught out in public with,” she laughed.

“Ah,” he replied, relieved. “That bad?”

“There is a good side. Without their special brand of craziness, I would not be the independent woman I am today. But, enough about me. How about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“Yes, one. A much younger sister. Georgiana,” he said, his voice laced with fondness.

“I can tell you are fond of her. How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“And you still like her? That is a miracle,” Elizabeth teased.

“She's a sweet girl,” he answered with pride. If he had any tendency toward bragging, Elizabeth decided, then it would in this area, and she could find no fault in it.

“Your parents are lucky to have it so easy, then,” she teased once more.

Darcy's smile dropped slightly as a faint melancholy settled behind his eyes. Elizabeth caught on immediately and felt like a heel.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“No, please. You didn't know. They've been gone for several years now,” he responded, grabbing her hand to assure her she had not offended him.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed between them, which each tried to fill with bites of cheese laden crackers and sips of wine. Feeling a need to break the tension, Darcy asked about Elizabeth's work, and they soon fell back into an easy conversation. For levity, Elizabeth hinted a little about Mr. Lucas and his crazy love life- explaining the need for the gossip rags, but when Darcy tried to pin her down about the object of her employer's affection she deflected by saying it was not her story to tell.

A lapse in conversation brought them to their third uncomfortable moment of the evening, but this time the tension was more erotic in nature. During Elizabeth's tale of her boss's troubles, Darcy found that his eyes had drifted from her laughing eyes to her lips. Her easy manners, and the relaxing properties of the wine, had loosened him up a little. His eyes drifted about her face as she laughed, taking in her features and finding them more than pleasing. She was different, with her strange band, her flip remarks, and the fact that his money didn't make her knees buckle and her eyes bat. She was a good kind of different. Hell, he might even venture to say she was the best kind of different.

Sometime during his quiet speculation she had stopped talking. He hadn't noticed when exactly. What really captured his attention was the alluring way her tongue suddenly stroked her top lip. It pulled him forward from his chair like a magnet. On his knees before her he leaned into her, seeking to capture that tongue with his own. And he did, with soft, spiraling sweeps. The power of his blood, pushed through his veins with the supercharged beating of his heart, stoking him like a fire. And her response! The way her lips melted and merged with his own, her fingers darting into his hair, around his neck, pulling him into her- drove him on.

With raw nerves, his hands slipped around her hips, pulling her forward into him, the shift of her body and their connection at the lips moving him further over her. In a soft, curvy sweep, Elizabeth drew a leg over his hip and he lost it. He ran a hand over it, never leaving her mouth, reading the soft skin of her upper thigh like a blind man reads Braille. It was when his fingers hit the rough, lacy top of her thigh high stockings that he was truly undone. He growled against her lips, his blood heated beyond his control. Sitting back from her, he pulled her hips toward him again and ran his hands over the fabric of her skirt, then under it pushing it softly, slowly upward- his eyes following the progress of her hem, all the while watching for the lace. Damn but did he love a well-turned pair of stockings.

Elizabeth sat back, breath ragged with want as Darcy ran his hands over her. He was hitting all the right notes with her, and she couldn't care less at that moment how fast things were moving. This man knew where and how to touch her, and that was a rare thing indeed.

As his hands slid higher, the top of her stockings were revealed. A little further yet and her silky thigh came into view. Slowly, he bent down and kissed her upon that delicious piece of flesh. And for him, the earth moved.

It did for Elizabeth, as well.

And the attendant
And the captain.


In seconds, Darcy was sprawled on his ass on the cabin floor, wondering what hit him. Over the speakers, the captains voice rang out.

“Mr. Darcy, sir. We just lost engine two. We are going to have to go in for an emergency landing.”

Part 3

“Corfu!” Elizabeth heard Darcy growl as he left the cockpit and he pulled out his cell-phone while they rolled to a stop on what looked to be a small airstrip. “How did you overshoot England altogether?”

She began to worry a little as she watched Darcy pace back and forth from the cockpit to the kitchenette, rubbing his forehead in agitation. If he was so worried, maybe she should be as well.

“Josh, this is Darcy. We have a problem. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message,” he spoke curtly into his phone then disconnected, typed another number and shoved the phone back to his ear.

“Bingley. Hello. Not well really, we have ended up in Corfu. Corfu. Yes, the island just off Greece. I have no idea. What? We blew an engine. Wait, listen, please. I've left a message for Josh, would you please try to reach him for me as well. Yes, we are fine. Yes, tell Jane that she is fine. The plane landed safely, but we need Josh here as soon as possible. Thank you, Charles. You are a good friend. I will, thank you.”

Elizabeth watched as Darcy pocketed his cell, straightened his jacket, took a deep breath and approached her. The attempts at a comforting smile played upon his lips.

“Well,” he started tentatively, but obviously the internal script ended there, because he was left shifting his weight and running his hand through his hair.

“Well,” she replied shakily.

“I am almost of the mind that you are right. About the whole jinx thing,” he laughed uncomfortably.

“Are you now?”

“I'm very sorry. This is not at all what I had in mind. London, Les Mis, dinner- that was what I had planned. Not this.” As he spoke, he paced, tension flowing head to toe like a current. Elizabeth felt pity on him, because really this wasn't his fault. He had been planning on taking her to London for the evening. Besides Paris, what could be more romantic? And just before the cursed engine malfunction… hello, what a before! No, she would reserve judgment and give him a fair shake. So long as she could get something to eat before the night was out- and things did not get worse.

“Where did you say we are?” she asked.

“Corfu. Do you know it?” he replied.

“I've heard of it, have seen pictures. How long until help comes?”

“It all depends on when I hear back from my assistant, Josh,” he answered distractedly, his mind returning to the problems at hand.

“Are we stuck here until he calls?”

“Well, I… what do you mean? You mean go out? You want to go out?” he asked, confused.

“I've never been to Corfu,” she smiled, hoping to persuade him. Being so close to something she had never experienced before was like being a child again on Christmas morning.

“Its dark here, I don't know how much you will actually get to see,” he hesitated. There was nothing he was familiar with here, though he had visited once before in his college days.

Elizabeth stepped forward and touched his arm. “Please, William. This whole emergency landing thing has worked up my nerves. Can we just go take a look around while we wait? You have your cell with you. And besides, I'm starving.”

“Of course,” he jumped into action. Elizabeth was hungry, this he could fix. Between the attendant and the captain, the door was opened and another thin staircase was rolled into place. The warm air, tinged with the salty bite of the Ionian Sea, welcomed them as they emerged from the plane. Elizabeth breathed in deeply. She had visited the beaches of Florida growing up and was familiar with the smell of sea air, but this was different.

They were quickly ushered through a small terminal, through customs, through an interesting blend of locals and tourists until Darcy spotted the exchange counter where he quickly converted some currency. Pushing the final way out of the terminal, they were free and clear and back out in the open air. Again Elizabeth breathed heavily, knowing she wouldn't have much time to soak in the experience and wanting to make the most of it.

Once outside, Darcy's cell began to ring. It was Josh, and he was contrite. He swore that he would have a car for them at the terminal in five minutes and that dinner reservations and a hotel for the evening would soon follow. As for the plane, he could have that looked at first thing in the morning, but if that was not soon enough he could arrange seats on the first commercial flight out of there, first class of course. Darcy ran that past Elizabeth, who said “Dinner now, everything else later.”

True to his word, Josh's hired car was there within five minutes. A trim, olive-skinned man with gorgeous dark hair hopped out of the car and opened the door for them. He smiled with that special, indescribable beauty that graced the people of Greece. Elizabeth felt herself blush a little as his eyes lit upon her.

Soon they were speeding away, weaving between compact cars and mopeds, down impossibly small and crowded streets lined with gaily light eateries and night spots. Elizabeth peered out her window at the three and four storied hotels, balconies overflowing with youth laughing and yelling to one another.

“Where you go?” the driver turned and asked. His passengers tensed, sure that his inattention to the road would be the end of them.

“We need to eat,” Darcy called back.

“Oh, yes. Very nice. I know just the place,” the driver answered with exuberance.

Josh rang again as the car zipped through the crazy mélange. It seemed that all of the better hotels were booked solid, but he was able to book rooms for them at a place called the Pink Palace. Darcy savored that name like it was a mouthful of freshly squeezed lemon juice. At best, it sounded like a gay romp in the park, at worst…

As for dinner, Josh's quick arrangements were soon overridden as the car pulled up before a quaint, brightly lit restaurant that offered outdoor seating with white tablecloths and everything. The driver turned to the couple and smiled.

“Here we are. This, very good. You will like very much,” he smiled, again, in a way that made Elizabeth's face grow very hot.

“No, wait,” Darcy answered, still in discussions with Josh. “We need to go to Kato Korakiana, the Etrusco.”

“No, you eat here. Trust me!” the driver insisted.

“No, really we have reservations at the Etrusco,” Darcy stated firmly, not wanting to get into a debate with the man.

“Here is fine,” Elizabeth cut in, opening her door.

“Elizabeth?” Darcy caught at her hand, trying to pull her back into the car.

“I'm starving, and this looks great. Besides, I can probably get in there, eat and be back before you two finish fighting about it.”

“But you don't have the right money,” he argued.

Elizabeth slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a credit card. “Visa is everywhere I want to be,” she quipped and pulled away.

Darcy grumbled and groused as she walked toward the restaurant, then turned to the driver. “Here's fine. We will be done in an hour, then we need to go to the Pink Palace. Do you know it?”

“You go there?” the driver's smile widened.

“Yeees,” Darcy drawled suspiciously.

“I know it. I'll take you, no problem.”

Darcy exited the car with a sense of pending doom. That had gone way too easily.

He joined Elizabeth just as she was being approached by the waiter. They were seated outside and offered a carafe of the house wine. Where Darcy hesitated, Elizabeth jumped right in and found the offering delightful. Sweet, with a hint of apple.

Elizabeth had no idea what to order, so asked the waiter what he suggested. He seemed to know just what to bring them. She sank back into her chair, savored the wine, and settled in for some great people watching. Darcy fidgeted uncomfortably with his napkin.

“You need to relax,” she said without looking at him.

“Probably so.”

“Have some of the wine, its very good,” she said as she passed him the carafe.

“No, thank you.”

“Loosen up, Senor Snobby, and try something new. We have a whole new experience right here before us. I, for one, will be making the most of it. Goodness knows when I will ever get to do something like this again,” she smiled and lifted her glass, winking at him as she sipped.

Darcy poured some wine and tasted it. It really was not bad. Not bad at all.

“You really see it that way? Because all I see at this point is ruination of a well laid plan,” he muttered.

“Yes, I see it that way exactly. Tell me something. Why did you want to take me to London?”

“Because I wanted to share it with you,” he said quietly.

Her pulse sped up a little, and she reached out and touched his hand. “We could share this. It could be a great adventure instead of a disastrous trip,” she said seriously.

“True,” he succumbed to her optimism, taking her hand in his and holding it softly.

Dinner came in three courses, and each was made more delectable by good conversation and a renewed appreciation for the uniqueness of their surroundings.

An hour flew without notice, and soon the car pulled to the curb within sight. Darcy and Elizabeth quibbled over the bill, with him showing her that, though Visa may be accepted everywhere she had a Capital One card and that wasn't going to fly. He then threw down enough to cover dinner as well as a substantial tip. The couple was warmly thanked as they left.

They sat in comfortable silence as the car whizzed through the darkened countryside from Corfu Town to Agios Gordios. The wine and the smooth ride lulled Elizabeth, and before she knew it she out like a light.

When she finally awoke, she found they had come to a stop outside an immense, sprawling series of buildings that glowed coral and white in the light of the halogen lampposts. The driver turned. “Welcome to the Pink Palace.”

“Glorified youth hostel,” Darcy muttered under his breath as they left the check-in counter some fifteen minutes later. Elizabeth was laughing heartily, her room key swinging merrily in her hand.

“There you go again with the doom and gloom. Its just one night of your life, lighten up,” she teased. “Or do you think you are going to catch a bad case of common if you rub elbows with a few backpackers?”

Darcy was about to respond, but was cut off.

“Oh, look!” Elizabeth grabbed his arm and pointed toward the left where an open door revealed a smallish nightclub setting. Colored lights flashed erratically as a wildly pulsing beat boomed from large speakers throughout the room. A mass of bodies danced with abandon as the strains of some song circa 1970 was overlaid with a fast modern beat.

“No,” Darcy said firmly. He had his limits, after all.

“Yes,” she smiled and tugged at his arm.

“No,” he said again, grabbing her hand and pulling back.

“Oh, come on. Live a little,” she tugged again.

“Not no, Elizabeth, but Hell No,” he returned the tug.

She frowned, “Just a little dancing? A very little?”

“I don't dance.”

She grabbed his lapels and pulled him to her. “Yeah, but I do,” she drawled saucily. “What else is there to do right now? Please?”

He caved. Like a cheese soufflé.

Elizabeth pulled him onto the floor and slipped her shoes off, holding them possessively in one hand as she bounced along with the crowd around them. Darcy grimaced and looked around at the eclectic group of people surrounding them. Then the song changed.

“Is that… Sesame Street?” he shouted, trying to be heard over the raved out theme of the well-known children's television show.

“I think so,” Elizabeth laughed as a nearby group of young women hooked her arms and pulled her into an impromptu line dance. She threw Darcy a delighted look as she passed him by, and had a complete fit of giggles as she saw the girls drag him along soon after. The girl on his left told him several times to smile, in multiple languages just in case, while the girl on his right showed him how to kick his legs out in time to the music. His sad first attempts had them all in stitches, and he finally broke down and laughed at himself as well.

Just as Darcy was catching the rhythm, the song ended and an older man called for attention from the center of the room. People parted like the Red Sea and formed a large ring around one Dr. George as trays of ouzo were passed around for the taking. Elizabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders as they listened the man talk of old times, then break out into traditional dance while drinking his ouzo and tossing plates upon the floor. Everyone yelled along with his performance and drank ouzo in abundance. It was hard to fight the contagious exuberance of the crowd, so Darcy gave up trying. The sheer delight on Elizabeth's face taught him a valuable lesson that evening. With the right company, fun could be had wherever you were.

A few more songs, a few more shots of ouzo and even Elizabeth had had enough. Arm in arm they strolled languidly toward their rooms. Stepping outside the main building, they turned right toward another when a long, sleek black car pulled up not ten feet away. A swarthy youth jumped out and opened the back door, and a pair of tanned, shapely, incredibly long legs emerged from the silky darkness. Elizabeth hesitated, wanting to see, in that innate critical way that women possess, just what kind of woman would follow those legs out. It didn't take long before she got her answer. Nordic Princess.

Cool, blond, svelte, sickening. The impeccably clad, perfectly manicured goddess slipped from the car and floated on her impossibly long legs straight for them. Darcy halted, and as Elizabeth examined his face for his reaction to the blonde bombshell she saw recognition in his eyes. Self-preservation kicked in, and she stiffened and slid her arm away from his. She had no idea who this chick was, but she didn't like the way things were shaping up so far.

Without a word, and without giving Darcy a chance to say any either, the woman sidled up to him and planted on hell of a kiss upon his unprepared lips. Once satisfied, she pulled back slowly and smiled.

“Caroline!” he said in shock.

“Darling, I've come to save you,” she purred.

Darcy turned toward Elizabeth, to explain what must have looked pretty nasty from her perspective. But she was gone.

Part 4

“Save me?” Darcy snapped distractedly as he turned right and left, looking for Elizabeth.

“You are in Corfu, William. Need I say more?” Caroline watched him with interest. This was a side of Darcy she had never seen. One where his usual iron-clad composure and impeccable manners were absent. The possible reasons made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

Without a word, Darcy stalked off toward the rooms, climbed the staircase to the second floor, and following the numbers, found Elizabeth's door just two down from his own. He knocked- no answer. He tried the handle- locked. He knocked again and called her name- nothing. Looking over the railing of the open-air walkway outside the long row of doors, Darcy scanned the surrounding area from his higher vantage point. The only signs of life were a few drunken couples staggering of toward their own rooms and Caroline, who stood patiently below studying her nails under the orange tinge of the halogen street lamps.

He knocked on Elizabeth's door again but came up with the same. Frustrated, he strode back down the stairs and to Caroline.

“Problem?” she said sweetly upon his return.

“Did you see which way she went?” Darcy asked brusquely.

“Who?”

“Elizabeth?”

“Who?” Caroline repeated, raising her eyebrow in mock confusion.

“The woman that was just with me,” he barked, loosing what little patience he had left.

“I didn't see anyone,” she purred as she stepped forward and ran a hand softly down the lapel of his jacket.

Darcy pushed her hand away and rubbed his forehead in irritation.

Caroline stepped even closer to whisper in his ear. “William, you are making a fool of yourself over a nobody. Come on, I'll take you home where you belong.”

“Why are you here?” Darcy asked in irritation as he stepped back away from her once again.

“Because Charles said you were in trouble, and, well frankly William I have far more connections than your assistant does. So, while Josh is still back home trying to arrange a commercial flight for you I'm here in person with a private plane to save you from a fate worse than death,” Caroline smiled seductively.

“Fate worse than death?”

“Yes, darling. Social suicide. I can just see it now… `William Darcy seen canoodling with low rent chippie at one star hotel'. What will your Aunt Cathy say?”

“Low rent chippie?” A third voice chimed in behind William. He spun around to face the ticking time bomb that was Elizabeth.

“Another country heard from,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

“Where did you go?” he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer.

“You have the key to my room. The front desk won't give me another. May I have it, please?” Elizabeth's voice was cold and controlled as she pulled her hand away from his grasp.

“I'll walk up with you. We need to talk,” Darcy said, glad to not only have a chance to settle things with Elizabeth but to get away from Caroline as well.

“William,” Caroline interrupted sharply.

“Shut it, Caroline and go home. I don't need anymore of your help,” he snapped as he took Elizabeth's arm and began to pull her away from the scene.

“So, is this how you talk to women, 'Shut it, Caroline'?” Elizabeth snapped as well, snatching her arm away from him once again. “I'll take that key, now, and you can stay the hell away from me.”

“You should give her the key, William. The girl is obviously very upset. She's resorting to profanity,” Caroline interjected smugly.

“What?” Elizabeth cried, turning to frown at Caroline who smiled sweetly in return.

Darcy stepped between the women and reclaimed Elizabeth's attention.

“I just need a chance to explain things without the interruptions. Okay? Can we please go up and talk about this privately?” Darcy hadn't realized before that he still had Elizabeth's key, and as it was now his only bargaining chip he was not about to just hand it over.

“I've got an idea,” Elizabeth's voice dripped with sarcasm, “how about you give me that key. Then I will find my own way home, you can fly off in your nice, cushy private jet. And then we can pretend we never met. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful!” Caroline butted in, again. “Smart girl. Lets go, William.” She slipped her arm through his and pulled him toward her waiting car.

“Caroline, I swear…” he began furiously, removing himself from her grasp.

“You swear what, William?” Elizabeth prodded.

“Nothing. She just needs to stay out of this. As a matter of fact there would be no `this' if she had not come at all,” he growled in frustration.

“Oh, okay, I get it. You are done with her so she can just get right the hell out of dodge. Was she last week's girl and I'm this week's girl? Is this what I have to look forward to?” Elizabeth bit back, planting her hands firmly upon her hips.

William raised his eyes to the heavens in desperate hope of help, but God chuckled and left him to dig himself out of this hole.

“I am most certainly not `last week's girl'!” Caroline snapped indignantly, feeling the need to set the record straight with this little upstart- even if the girl was coming to her defense more often than not.

“So you go around kissing men who are obviously out with other women as a rule then?” Elizabeth said, swinging her full attention and sarcasm at the statuesque harpy.

“It just so happens that William and I are very old, very dear friends. Not that its any of your business,” Caroline smiled smugly.

“Acquaintances, Caroline. Nothing more,” Darcy interjected

“Then its just a case of bad manners,” Elizabeth gave back, ignoring Darcy entirely.

Caroline nearly choked at the allegation. “Bad manners? As if!” She barked before changing gears. “Though I'm sure you wouldn't know any other kind if they smacked you in the face.”

“Now that's enough, Caroline” Darcy tried to cut in, but he was woefully late.

Elizabeth crossed deep into Caroline's personal space. “I dare you,” she taunted. Though she was certain the haughty cow would back down, Elizabeth was so amped up that she dearly hoped that Caroline gave her a reason to take a swing.

Darcy, concerned at the tone this argument was beginning to take, stepped between the two overheated women just in time… for Caroline to send resounding slap across his right cheek. He stepped back stunned.

“Oh, William… darling! I'm so sorry,” Caroline's hands flew to her mouth, shocked and horrified by her mistake.

“Oh no you didn't!” Elizabeth cried, just as concerned that Darcy had just taken a hit for her as she was that Caroline had actually intended to slap her. Without further thought, Elizabeth dropped her shoulder and ran full-steam into Caroline's mid-section, plowing her right into the still warm parking lot. Elizabeth had the distinct advantage, as she landed atop her prey, but before she could get off a good, strong slap of her own, Darcy grabbed her hand and stopped her. With one hand around her wrist and one arm around her middle, he hoisted her from Caroline, thus leaving her wide open for attack.

Caroline, whom to many an outsider would appear to be the quintessential snob, had one advantage that Elizabeth did not possess- years of growing up with an older brother. And though Caroline's family gave the world the impression they were old money, they were in fact very new money and the majority of her youth had been spent fighting with her brother on the family's farm in Nebraska.

So, knowing a good opportunity when she saw one, Caroline went for it with a decided sucker punch to Elizabeth's solar plexus. Sadly, Darcy's arm was in the way and her blow glanced off his forearm causing him to release Elizabeth with a yelp of pain.

Poor Caroline. All those years on the farm, with her brother had not prepared her for the girl who, though she had only sisters in her immediately family, had spent her whole life amongst football player cousins who had dubbed her very early in life as “the Terminator”.

Sadly for Caroline it was on like neckbone.

In a whirl of knees and elbows, flying hair and scratching fingernails, the two women fought to the death. For one brief instant Caroline broke away and fled for her life toward the main building, ducking inside by the front desk just as Elizabeth grabbed her for round two. Helplessly, Darcy ran after them, looking for any opportunity to intervene.

Within moments, the women were pushing through the office areas and into the club, where the evening's drunken revelers slowly took note of their scrabble and formed a ring around them- hooting and hollering to egg the women on. Darcy found himself swept up in the mass of people, unable to reach the women to help.

Having gone the distance from the parking lot to center of the club's dance floor, Elizabeth and Caroline found themselves running out of steam. But both were determined not to back down.

“What's the matter, Carrie? Scared you are going to break a nail,” Elizabeth huffed and puffed, taking one pathetic swipe at a too distant Caroline.

“No body but my brother calls me that,” Caroline spat back, mimicking Elizabeth's wasted swing.

“Oh? And who is your brother? Because I'll have my little sister call him up so she can kick his ass, too!” Elizabeth wheezed as she kicked her leg out, pathetically missing again.

“That's Charles Bingley to you, you upstart. And he's way out of your family's league,” Caroline snapped back, bending over at the waist to catch her breath.

“Charles Bingley? You are Charles Bingley's sister?” Elizabeth stopped her assault and looked at her enemy in sudden awareness. Her mind flashed back to overheard conversations between Darcy and his friend and the jokes made at Caroline's expense. She began to chuckle, then guffaw, then out right belly laugh until she fell into a tired heap on the floor.

“What's so funny?” Caroline demanded with as much energy as she could muster.

“Charles… is… is dating… my sister, Jane,” Elizabeth forced out.

“Jane? You are that Elizabeth?” Caroline gasped as much from lack of air as surprise. “I love Jane!”

“She's great, huh?” Elizabeth concurred. “Your brother is wonderful, too. They are a matched set.”

“Absolutely. I had no idea that you were that Elizabeth,” Caroline sagged into a nearby chair as the now bored crowd wandered back to their drinks and partying.

“Back at you,” Elizabeth laughed again as she pushed her self up from the floor and fell into a chair next to Caroline. Catching a passing waitress, she asked Caroline's preference for drink and ordered them a round. It was there that Darcy found them, swapping stories about their siblings like long lost friends. Confused, he looked around the room hoping to locate the portal that had beamed him to the twilight zone- in hopes that he could rush back to reality before the damned thing disappeared. As fate would have it, he was too late.

Within the hour, two very battered and bruised new friends and one very sullen and confused man flew back to New York from Corfu.

Chapter 6

May 24

I am so embarrassed. If I had known Caroline was Charles' sister I could have spared a few nails… and some pride. I couldn't even look at William the whole way back. He probably hates me now. I had a freaking brawl for goodness sakes, right in front of him. Good lord, what he must think of me. There is no way I can fix this now. I hope he leaves soon, and I can just forget I ever met him. Not that I really will…

May 24

What can I say about this weekend other than maybe she was right- maybe I am a jinx. At least for her. Short of a fiery crash, there was little more that could have gone wrong. And the whole thing seemed to put her off the idea of me completely. I think I should go home, after all. This whole thing is becoming unbearable, and I've debased myself enough over someone who doesn't even seem to like me. What am I doing, really, chasing after a girl who throws down in hotel parking lots? Sadly, Caroline is right, what would Aunt Cathy say? I've really got to get out of here, before I do anything else I'll regret.


Caroline leaned back into a sea of pillows, her eyelids dropped lazily, her lips raised in a faint smile of satisfaction. Silently, she prided herself on her ability to react quickly in a tense situation. That dark haired trollop had nearly gotten the best of her in Corfu, and beyond the horror of having gotten into a rowdy brawl in front of William, the thought of losing to such a hussy would have been too much. So, retreat had been in order, and Caroline had played the part of the eager new acquaintance to the hilt. This had given her precious time to think, and strategize, and it also kept the curly-mopped pugilist away from William the entire trip home. Caroline could have won an Oscar for her performance that night, especially when she had realized that the harlot was wearing a perfectly delicious pair of Louboutins that she had been sure had been ordered for her.

Her smile grew as she stretched out languorously in her bed as her mind turned to Jane and Charles. Maybe, with the right timing, she could bring down two birds with one stone. A phone rang on the other side of her wall, bringing Caroline out of her reverie. With a quickness, she pulled a sleek stethoscope from beneath her pillow and put it in place against the wall behind her headboard. Leaning in she caught the chocolate baritone that haunted her dreams… “Hello, Josh. I need a flight home as soon as possible…”

Elizabeth awoke in a foul disposition. Jane had not answered her phone or her cell last night, which had started Elizabeth's black mood. She desperately needed to talk to her sister but had been cruelly rebuffed by fate. An Elizabeth left too long to stew in her own juices was a bitter dish. So, when her dark ruminations of the morning where interrupted by a pounding on her apartment door, she was ready to go nuclear all over whomever stood on the other side.
“What the hell…” Elizabeth began, but just as quickly ended at the sight of a distraught Jane, tears streaming down her face. In the battle between bitchy and blood, the sisterly bond won out every time. Elizabeth opened her arms silently and gave Jane a soft place to fall before leading her into the apartment. It was some time, and several cups of Earl Grey before Jane was ready to talk, but once the words started the dam crumbled and it was all Elizabeth could do to keep up. It seemed that Jane and Charles had enjoyed the complete antithesis to her own weekend, having spent Saturday in complete harmony while shopping for antiques, strolling in the park and ending a perfect day with a perfectly romantic meal at the Savoy. A strange jolt of shock ran through Elizabeth as Jane related how she had been sure Charles was going to ask her the big question that night, and she paused a moment on that thought. Jane- no longer a singular but a plural. Though Elizabeth had known her whole life it would happen sometime, the reality of it was jarring. The soft wave of paper before her face brought her out of her reverie.

“What is this?” Elizabeth asked, taking the folded cream stationary from her sister's hand.

“Read it,” Jane hiccupped with averted eyes, as though unable to speak aloud about its contents.

Elizabeth opened what now proved to be a letter and followed its flowery script to the end where she found the evidence of its author…ess. Much Love, Caroline.

They had gone back to London, en masse. New York was tiring, they had exhausted all acceptable forms of entertainment their first week there, and Charles could telecommute from home should he need to do any future work for the New York office. Dear William was most anxious that they return as soon as possible, and he would not have Charles stay another unaccompanied moment in such a place- for who knew what the sweet, gullible lad would get himself into. Though Jane herself had been a highlight of their trip, Caroline hoped dearly that she would understand that there was no place like home and that she was welcome to visit their not-so-humble abode anytime she was in the area. Elizabeth made a selfish mental note that the invitation was singular as she re-folded the letter and set it upon the coffee table. Her anger robbed her of words, her sister having been so ill used. And here she had thought Caroline had been sincere. Elizabeth now saw she had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

A deep fury ignited like a pilot light in the pit of her stomach, warming the bile into a slow simmer that became a raging boil by days end. Jane had long since been put to bed with a compress and a vodka chaser. It was eight p.m. when Elizabeth decided that enough was enough. Sneaking into the guest room where her dear sister lay crashed out as if in a true Valley of the Dolls valium haze, she left a letter of her own on the bedside table.

If William Darcy's presence had been a jinx for Elizabeth Bennet, his absence from the country was now her most timely blessing. The international counter at JFK was near empty, as was the plane she was able to board within twenty minutes of arrival. Her flight was smooth and eventless, with the subtle exception of being thirty minutes early. By ten a.m. London time she was comfortably ensconced within a fine hotel, where she promptly called back to New York, leaving a message for Mr. Lucas that she was very ill and would not be coming in that day, possibly the next. From there she began calling directory assistance, coming across the first bump in her here-to-fore easy road. One Mr. William Darcy was in possession of an unlisted number. Bollocks.

Luck returned, but her ire never ebbed, as she located his business offices in London. One Pemberley Corp. by name. Another number dialed, and affirmation was gained that he would indeed be in his office that day. After a very convincing tale of late connecting flights and unfortunate weather delays, Elizabeth was able to wrangle an unusual and highly coveted after-hours appointment with Mr. Darcy under the name… Miss Fury.

And on the seventh hour of the plot she had created, Elizabeth rested.

A four p.m. wake-up call roused her from sweet dreams of revenge, and she showered and changed, primped and polished as she created the perfect look to fit her very dark mood. Once finished she inspected herself in the finely cut mirror. Let him drool, she thought with a wicked smile. Let him drool while I roast him alive. He will be sorry he ever tried to keep Jane from the love of her life.

A gentle dusk had settled upon the London scene, and Elizabeth stepped from a smart black cab in three inch black Casadei heels. A sable trench billowed and snapped in the chill breeze around her as she looked up at the tall building that sported the name Pemberley Corporation in tasteful lettering. This was the time and now was the hour and with an electric charge Elizabeth pushed forward into the mire of battle. William Darcy may have been a bastion of power within the world of high finance, but Elizabeth was a paragon of righteous indignation on behalf of her sister- and he had better watch out.

It was after hours, and the building had settled into a sleepy quiet as Elizabeth entered the foyer in long, purposeful strides. Her heels tapped in announcement, and the lone security guard looked up at her approach, a low whistle emitting from his aged jowls as he noted her. Her trench blew open with the force of her pace, and her crisp tailored shirt strained against her chest, tight with puffed up pride and indignation. The dear old man gave her a bawdy wink as she stopped at his desk.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Darcy,” she said coolly.

“And ain't he the lucky one,” the man flirted as he handed her a laminated pass.

“Oh, I don't think he will see it as such,” she tossed back, giving the man a saucy smile on her way out.

A bank of elevators awaited her, and her adrenaline, underscored with a tingling of anticipation, bolstered her nerve. God help him, he was so going to get it.

Elizabeth looked at the pass for the floor she was destined for, and pushed the button. Her reflection stared back at her darkly as she rode the fluid contraption up and up to the top most level. Nerves and synapses snapped in time to the ringing of the elevator bell. The doors slid open, dispelling her image and bringing before her a refined office area. The pass had told her that door 432 was her destination and she followed a corridor to its location. The sleek beveled and etched glass sported his name in graceful lettering. She entered to find that he had let his secretary go home for the evening. Lucky girl.

Elizabeth pulled herself up short before his door. The moment had arrived and she had never felt so ready. This man was going down. It was one thing to mess with her, to play with her and walk away so coolly, but it was an entirely other thing to mess with her dear sweet Jane who had never hurt a person in the whole of her life. If Charles was what Jane wanted, then by God it was Charles Jane would get and no personage of the name of Darcy would say otherwise.

She gave no warning knock, instead she pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her. A richly appointed office, in dark woods and black leather, greeted her, smelling softly of woodsy cologne and wealth. She frowned to find herself its sole occupant, a momentary flagging of her spirits. But then she saw him, stepping from an attached bath, his jacket tossed away upon a sleek sofa, his tie its sole companion, his shirtsleeves rolled lazily just below his elbows. He was unaware he was being watched until she unconsciously took a sharp breath.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered. It was all he could manage.

“How dare you?” she whispered in return.

“What?” He breathed in confusion, taking an unconscious step forward.

“How dare you take away my sister's happiness,” her voice grew stronger as she, too, stepped his way.

“I don't understand what…”

“Charles! That's what I mean,” she bit into his words, leaving him nothing to say. “You brought Charles back here and out of harm's way. So he couldn't… what was the exact wording… oh here it is `dear William would not have Charles stay another unaccompanied moment in such a place- for who knows what the sweet, gullible lad would get himself into.'” Elizabeth read from the creamy stationary she had slipped gingerly from her inner coat pocket. She raised her eyes from the damning script to level him with an accusing gaze. “You deny this?”

“What is that? Where did you get it?” He asked, voice rising in confusion.

“Your beloved Caroline, dear William” she spat like venom.

“That is not what I meant at all,” he began defensively.

“So! You don't deny making Charles leave New York before he made a `mistake',” she hurled the accusation like a shot put, and her breath became ragged, her eyes shining with the joy of having cornered her quarry. The sheer exhilaration propelled her forward until she was two steps short of being in his face.

“I don't deny it, and I'm not sorry for it,” his voice dropped, low and dangerous. Tension popped and crackled as they faced off, and Darcy closed the distance between them. Suddenly overshadowed by his height, and the dark light playing behind his eyes, Elizabeth realized that he had her pinned between himself and his large mahogany desk. She bristled, far too caught up in her righteous indignation to allow his testosterone-filled attempts to cow her. In two fluid movements, Elizabeth tore off her trench then slid upon his desk and scrabbled to her knees, bringing herself to his eye level. She would be damned if she would give him the higher ground.

“Of all the low down, dirty tricks I have ever seen,” she ground out between clenched teeth as she planted her hands firmly upon her hips unconsciously popping the button holding her shirt closed across her chest. “You damned snob. What did Jane ever do to you to label her a mistake?”

Darcy's eyes slid down her face, her neck, to the newly exposed flesh and bit of lace peeking out just lower than what was proper. His eye twitched as he forced himself to leave it alone and focus.

“The mistake,” he growled as he closed the small gap between them, “was that a man should never ask a woman to marry him without a proper ring, Elizabeth. His just happens to be in his family vault here in London. Several hundred years old to be exact. I counseled Charles that if you are going to do something, you should do it right and not rush it. I mean, if she's worth it and all. Don't you agree?” he finished in her ear, his warm breath rustling the curls resting on her neck.

“I… it… right,” she finished flatly, her eyes seeming to contemplate some engrossing spot to her immediate right. She became very still under the weight of his revelation.

“Elizabeth,” he called softly, turning her chin toward him with a crooked finger. Her gaze was slow to follow, but her cheeks too quick to flush. “Are you quite finished?”

She swallowed hard once before she could speak. “Yes, well. I guess that's that then. Good advice really, and I… thank you. For Jane… she'll be… yes. Well,” she stammered to a stop, her eyes again averting his gaze. Slowly Elizabeth slid from her knees to sit fully upon his desk, but before she could slither from it and bolt for the door Darcy stopped her.

“Are you quite finished thinking the worst of me?” he caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. Softly she nodded her head. But try as she might, the moment of tender compliance and humility could not last. Sarcasm was her constant companion and would have its say.

“Well,” she began, poker face in place, “you still are a jinx. Granted, my heels have managed to survive, but I'm sure it won't be long before something happens. Robbers will mistake this for a bank and take us hostage, the building next door will be scheduled for demolition and they will take this one by mistake with us in it, or maybe…”

In one powerful sweep of his arm, Darcy reached around her and swept his desk clean. Paperweights, pens, calendar, file folders all went sailing across the room like so much dust in a wind storm. One tension traded for another as Elizabeth staunched the flow of her sarcasm vein and stilled again under his dark gaze.

Darcy leaned into her, resting his weight upon his knuckles. His eyes dropped to her lips, then washed over her face slowly, studying her under a fringe of dark lashes. A lifetime passed in that one short moment before he leaned in further still, his lips catching hers. Elizabeth was suddenly buffeted with a wave of desire, and she grabbed his neck for anchorage, pulling him closer still with the force of her grasp. Pitched forward, Darcy grabbed her waist tightly in one arm while steadying them both with the other. The shift caused her legs to be pinched between his hard thighs and the harder desk. Without thought or care she slid her legs free, and up and around his hips, instinctively pulling him closer. The added contact, the heated push and pull and the remembrance of thigh high stockings below a patch of deliciously creamy skin brought a moan of need deep from within his throat.

He lowered her softly to the cool surface of the desk and broke the contact of their lips. Elizabeth gasped softly at the loss, and beneath kiss-drugged lids she watched Darcy as he rose above her before running a large, firm hand up the thigh she still had wrapped wantonly around his hips. A sense of power, spurred on by the utter look of lust etched upon his own chiseled features, coursed hot through her veins as his lips broke into a crooked half-smile of satisfaction. She had indeed worn the stockings.

“Its coming off, Elizabeth,” his rich voice dropped to a timbre that pulsed her nerve endings into a fit of frenzied pleasure.

“The stocking?” She teased, her own voice becoming a raspy, deep tremble as her throat constricted with another surge of desire.

His answer was a calculated shake of the head, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent as his fingers slid smoothly beneath the band of her skirt, searching out the enclosure hidden at her side. A flick, a zip and his palms were pushing the fine black fabric of her skirt down her hips, which she lifted in aid. Darcy stepped back, running his hands expertly down the length of her legs, the skirt's fabric pulled in their wake, inflaming her senses as it brushed her skin.

With a firm grip on her calves, he tossed the offending bit of clothing behind him, to be thought of no more. Again his hands were on the move, sliding up now, running to her knees, which he pulled around him as he resumed his place between her thighs. Again, he found the lure of lace at her upper thigh, and he ran his fingers over the contrast of rough lace and silky skin, trapped for a moment in the sensation before his eyes and fingers twitched higher yet to another swatch of lace peeking out at her hip, just below the hem of her shirt. Slowly, he passed a finger over, then under the edge of this new delicacy, moving from the hip inward. Elizabeth gasped and trembled, her legs jerking him closer in irrepressible desire as he brushed areas long untouched. Darcy trailed his gaze up a row of buttons, suddenly annoyed by the fabric they belonged to. Seeing that yet another button was threatening to pop against the new straining of her chest, he grabbed the dual sides of fabric, one in each hand.

“And this,” he growled as he pulled, sending small circles of plastic into flight. In that one action he had exposed all of Victoria's Secrets, and he found them very pleasing.

New lands were to be discovered north of the border. Hills, valleys all fertile ground. He ran his hands, his lips everywhere his eyes delighted, and would have lost himself there had Elizabeth not brought him around with a firm tug at his curls.

“I have a little problem,” she breathed heavily as he pulled up some.

“That's alright, darling. I'll fix it,” he groaned as he swooped in, burning her neck with kisses.

“No, really William. There's something under me… here,” she pushed him off and followed him up, raising herself to sitting as she pulled a thin, silver dagger like object from beneath her hip. She held it up for his inspection.

“Is this your letter opener, Mr. Darcy,” she drawled teasingly.

“Not even close,” he growled as he took it from her hand and with a sleek twitch of his wrist threw it at the wall to his right, burying it deep within the wooden paneling without ever taking his eyes from her. His hands now free, he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, grinding the firmness of his erection against her, giving her a taste of what he was working with.

Having had enough teasing, Elizabeth grabbed him by the belt and deftly undid it, pulled it free and sent it flying. A button, a zipper and soon there was little impediment between Elizabeth's hands and their own exploration. But men being the wondrously tactile creatures they are, Darcy was not one to endure the lengthy, arduous exploration of his person that he was more than willing to bestow upon her. In seconds he had chucked off his shoes, shucked his pants, his shirt, his boxers and stood before her in the diffused lighting of his office lamps the perfect example of good DNA and an upscale club membership. Elizabeth flushed at the sight of all of him.

Darcy was heated to boiling, and the time for niceties had long passed. What was left of Elizabeth's shirt joined her skirt, with her bra soon following. With a renewed attack of her lips, he leaned back upon the desk as his hands pulled at the dainty stitching of her panties. They gave way to his insistent force and soon were a thing of memory. But the stockings, those remained unmolested as he rose above her again and grasped her firmly by the thighs once again wrapped firmly about his person. With one hand bracing her at the hip, he guided himself powerfully into her in slow, firm strokes. Elizabeth's head rolled back of its own volition as he pulled and pushed into her, all the while rubbing a finger gently in counterpoint at the juncture of her legs. The opposing sensations of his forceful thrusting and gentle stroking sent her mind wild and her arms flung out to her sides, seeking to hold her from tumbling off the world. Sadly all they found was wooden desk and hard plastic phone, knocking the latter off its hook and beeping uselessly at the odd button.

With an increased rhythm Darcy pushed on, and pushed her on as well until neither could sustain the moment any longer and both gave in to the mounting tension to fall headlong into the white-hot release with the guttural moans of pleasure. Spent and exhausted, he fell over her, resting his damp curls upon her laboring chest. Softly she ran her fingers through them, tenderly watching them spring and bounce under her touch.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he rumbled softly against her. She smiled.

“Anytime, William,” she answered sincerely.

“Anytime?” he asked softly, raising his head to look at her, a sudden boyish insecurity playing about his eyes.

“Yes,” was the simple answer, but it spoke volumes to the man who had not long ago discovered that he wanted all the time she had to give. He rested his newly flushed cheek back down upon her cool breast and breathed deeply- with contentment.

So wrapped up was the couple that neither heard the screeching coming from the unhooked receiver of his office phone.

Caroline sat upon the floor of her intensely decorated London flat, eyes glued to the caller-id on her phone, the joy of seeing his number killed by the whole of the last ten minutes playing through her mind like a horror film. The moans, the gasping, the words they had spoken to each other… the names she had heard being said… William… Elizabeth.

The neighbors would be talking for weeks about the strange wailing animal that had been heard that night, all agreeing that they hoped something had put it out of its misery.

Epilogue

Lavender and cabbage roses rested sweetly in the grip of the four giggling girls in pale green dresses lined up just inside the French doors leading out into the glorious gardens of Pemberley in Derbyshire- William Darcy's ancestral home. On the other side of those doors, rows of chairs were filled with loved ones and beyond them, one dapper gentleman and another man of the cloth stood, all waiting patiently for the emergence of a beautiful woman in white. Elizabeth stepped into the parlor where her three younger sisters and Charlotte nervously waited for their cue to begin. Beaming, she nodded to them. “Its go time.”

One by one the girls stepped through the double doors, each taking the arm of a young man smartly decked out in a dress kilt and short jacket and proceeded in stately fashion down the aisle. Elizabeth turned at a sound behind her and sighed. On her father's arm, Jane stood before her, radiant in white. A moment passed in a shared look, the last one before everything would change. Then Elizabeth turned and stepped from the room and into the glorious sunshine, a vision herself in pale green silk. The beauty and elegance of the tableau brought tears to her eyes as she felt a strong arm take hers.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Darcy's deep chocolate voice whispered in her ear.

Elizabeth couldn't keep the smile from her lips, but she made damn sure to keep her eyes straight ahead. “I'm not looking at you,” she whispered.

“And why is that?”

“Because you are wearing that kilt, and I'm sure that in some etiquette book somewhere it is highly improper for the maid of honor to jump the best man in the middle of the aisle,” she teased quietly, smiling at the guests as she and Darcy proceeded down the petal strewn path.

“Are you wearing the stockings?” he inquired lowly, nodding politely to her mother as they passed the last row.

“That's for me to know and you to find out… later,” she whispered back before pulling away from him to take her position at the altar.

The small ensemble of strings and winds made a smooth transition from their opening strains into the decided pronouncement of the Wedding March. All eyes turned, and each breath held as Mr. Thomas Bennet proudly guided his beautiful daughter Jane down the aisle to her waiting groom. Elizabeth ventured a peek at Charles and found him completely overcome with love for the woman walking toward him. A small spark of jealousy skipped in her heart, and for a moment she wished that she could inspire that kind of look in a man until her eyes involuntarily shifted right and her breath caught. For a brief shining moment, while everyone else was captivated by Jane, William and Elizabeth were alone in the world and she felt in that one look more loved and desired than she could have ever imagined.

The service was lovely, and there was not a dry eye in the house as the bride and groom exchanged their vows. And though Elizabeth and William took their duties very seriously, there was much appraising of the other's person going on behind the backs of the main event. As Elizabeth moved forward to take Jane's bouquet for the exchanging of rings, William caught a glimpse of lace at Elizabeth's thigh when her skirt shifted and as William presented Charles with the rings, Elizabeth finally gave him a good once over, admiring the gorgeous cut of his legs beneath the hem of plaid. Silently and separately, both calculated how soon they could leave the reception without seeming rude.

Too soon it was all over, and Charles and Jane were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. All were whisked back down the aisle and through one garden to another where the reception had been set. The guests marveled at the elaborate beauty of the decorations as they sampled the champagne and hors d'oeuvres while they mingled and congratulated the happy couple. William and Elizabeth were swept apart in the rush and bustle, and it wasn't until after the service of the main course, toasts, and obligatory dance with the bride and groom that the two had a moment alone.

“The boys are quite good tonight. I would have never guessed it was them,” William remarked as he swept Elizabeth up in his arms for their first dance of the evening.

“Yes, I'm as astonished as anyone,” she laughed as she looked to the stage where a very preppy Matt, Mark, Luke and John stood stiffly behind mics and instruments doing their most solemn early Beatles impression.

“You know,” she began, running a finger lazily through the curls at the nape of his neck, “its seems you are not a jinx after all.”

“Oh, and how is that exactly?” he smiled as he pulled her nearer.

“Well, the Apostles got signed to a label that night at the club, but I didn't know it until last week,” she began.

“Is that right? Congratulations!”

“Oh, no. Congrats to them, not me. They signed on with a big time manager as well, but were too scared to tell me,” she laughed.

“And you are okay with this?” he asked, bristling at the thought of Elizabeth being treated shabbily.

“Perfectly. It was a post-college fun thing. I never wanted to go mainstream, and to be truthful I never thought I'd last this long. But then again, I never thought they would last this long. Funny thing, fame.”

“True enough,” he said, giving her a light squeeze. “And is there any more redemptive proof for me?”

“Well, though the whole landing in Corfu thing was unexpected, I can't really blame you for the way things turned out, can I?” she laughed sheepishly cutting a sidelong glance at Caroline who sulked at a table full of aged relatives.

“We will just let that one slide, I think,” William smiled, twirling her around in time to the music. “But there is the matter of the shoes.”

“Yes, well, that,” Elizabeth colored at the thought of the words she was about to say.

“Go on,” William prodded, enjoying the sight of her discomfort.

“Jane said something interesting the day that happened, and I… well, I refused to believe it until recently.”

“Oh? And what was that?” he asked. He already knew the answer, as Jane and Charles had told him all about it some months ago when he had sought their advice about his own feelings regarding Elizabeth.

“She said that maybe my lucky shoes had broken because I didn't need them any more… because maybe you were…” she stammered to an embarrassed stop.

“Maybe I was what?”

“Maybe you are the one,” she finished softly.

William froze on the floor and held her firmly before him. “Am I, Elizabeth?”

She took a deep steadying breath. Serious emotional discussions had never been her strong suit, but for once she felt it was worth it to not make a joke of things.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“That's good,” he breathed out as he spun her back into action amongst the other dancers. “Because I have something for you.”

Jane nudged her new husband softly as they swayed upon the dance floor. “Look, Charles,” she said quietly, drawing his attention to their maid of honor and best man in serious discussion not ten feet away.

Charles smiled with his new bride as they saw William hold a small golden circle in the palm of his hand. Jane held her breath, because one never really knew what Elizabeth would do in any given situation. The newly married couple held very still as they watched, both rooting silently for their dear friend to get his way.

“That looks suspiciously like a ring, William,” Elizabeth tensed.

“It does go by that name in most English speaking countries,” he confirmed, suddenly very nervous.

“I don't want to read too much into this, but most girls would assume that the presence of a ring implies an offer,” Elizabeth continued, her heart practically beating its way past her ribcage.

“Well then, for clarification's sake, an offer is definitely implied.”

“And by offer you would not actually be meaning a ride in your Bentley where we would be going to say… Brighton and end up in Rome would you?” she teased, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

“You are killing me, woman,” he growled.

“Then if that means you want to marry me, my answer is yes,” she answered quietly, once again very serious.

“It means I love you more than life, and I want to marry you,” he smiled, slipping the band on her finger.

Jane and Charles breathed out a twin sigh of relief as the distant couple sealed the deal with a kiss. Turning her head to the band, Jane caught Luke's eye and gave him a decided nod.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this next song is in honor of a dear friend whom we all love and adore… some more than others,” he said with a wink at William. “For Lizzy.”

Turning to his band mates, he counted out the downbeat and a riot of sound erupted from the stage like the Manhattan Project.

“This is a little ditty we borrowed from a guy named Joey,” Luke snarled in his gloriously bad accent before he began jumping up and down with the rhythm.

Elizabeth threw her hands up in the international symbol for “Rock On” as “Beat on the Brat” pounded over the gathering like hail on a summer's day. It was not long before Jane and Charlotte where jumping at her side, propriety and frilly dresses be damned.

“What have we gotten ourselves into,” Charles yelled in William's ear as he came to stand next to his old friend.

“Not sure really, but it promises to be one hell of a ride,” he replied as they watched the women fully immerse themselves in the joy of really bad rock.

A beautiful wedding, a happy sister, one hot guy asking her to be his forever, and a tribute to the Ramones- for Elizabeth the day was almost perfection.

As the party wound down, and the newlyweds became anxious to do what all newlyweds pretend they haven't already done, the men and women separated and the traditional tossing of the bouquet took place. Elizabeth came just short of giving some biddy named Anne a black eye in her quest for the coveted prize, but she was hell-bent on winning. She needed all the good luck she could get, after all.

The gentlemen were not to be outdone, as Charles stood before them in the garden twirling a lacy garter around his finger. Eyeing up the competition, jackets were removed and sleeves rolled up in anticipation. William, not one for improper and embarrassing displays, put himself at the back of the group, sure that the dainty bit would never reach him.

But Charles had other plans. Pulling the garter's elastic like a slingshot, he aimed right at William who saw not only the puff of lace but several large men headed his way just seconds too late. Reaching up, he caught the garter but was not quick enough to dodge the oncoming horde. Stumbling backward uncontrollably, William soon found himself submerged in the Koi pond. He rose, dripping, his white shirt clinging in a sheer sheet upon his chest, he raised his hand and showed the evidence that his dunking wasn't in vain, at least. He chuckled to himself and smiled as a cheer went up amongst the assembly.

Jane and Charles waved and hugged and kissed their way through the crowd, were pelted with birdseed and sent lovingly on their way. Slowly the guests began to leave and the caterers and attendants cleared away the remnants of the day. As the last car pulled away, Elizabeth turned to William who stood uncomfortably damp in his shirt and kilt.

“That's coming off, William,” she whispered in his ear, running a hand over his chest.

“The kilt?” he asked with a saucy raise of the brow.

She shook her head and smiled wickedly.

“I hope the Master of the house has a desk in his bedroom,” she purred, grabbing his hand and leading him inside.

“I have a perfectly good bed, woman,” he responded.

“Okay, that can be second.”

Slipping off her shoes, and lifting her skirt she bolted up the wide staircase of his ancient stone home, and plummeted down the hall to his room right under the oil-painted noses of his many ancestors. Without a thought, he came chasing after.

And with that, she found perfection.

The End

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