Because You Are Mine, Lizzy

By Emma Berkeley

Fitzwilliam Darcy has been charmed by Elizabeth Bennet for a long time and has made many an attempt to make his intentions known to her. However, she seems uninterested in his advances. You can imagine his ire when he attends the ball and sees the woman he wants, more than any other in all of England, dancing with that blunderbuss of a man called George Wickham.

Is it too late for Darcy to convince Elizabeth that she is all he ever wanted and that she should be his?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short read is a Regency variation and has sensual scenes for Our Dear Couple (ODC).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Berkeley
• Release date: Jan 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393191148

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.

© January, 2020. Emma Berkeley

Part One

Darcy

He was used to getting what he wanted. Oftentimes, things came easily to him, and for whatever reason, that meant women, as well. That usually involved women looking at him with their large eyes that caught the bright lights and batting their lashes at him, while he could do nothing but smile at them in return. Women were sweet to him most of the time – even when he was not sweet in return.

But Lizzy?

She was much more focused on snubbing him. Her back was literally turned to him as she spoke to Wickham.

He felt his eyes narrow at the sight of the man. Wickham looked at her in a way that made him want to step in between the two of them, his hands on his chest as he pushed him away. That fantasy usually ended with her pillowy lips pressed against his own, her sensual body undulating beneath him, for him, as he pressed her against his bed.

God, he wanted her in his life, his bed. With him. With her dress off and her body bare and her eyes filled with lust. He wanted to feel her warm, silky-soft skin under him while she whined. Squealed his name. Not Wickham’s name.