Play & Perturbation: A Steamy Pride & Prejudice Variation

By Cady West and K.D. West

Oh, no! Newlyweds Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy are pulled apart once more!

A steamy follow-up to Cady West's Darcy & Desire

St Valentine's is around the corner, and Lizzy and Darcy are accompanying Georgiana as she begins to dare the London Season — when Lizzy is called away to Longbourn.

Through this witty, passionate correspondence, follow our dear couple as they combat overwrought parents, wayward sisters, and more longing than they can bear!

Preview:

My dearest Darcy —

I am writing this by the light of a single candle while Florry bustles about, packing my warmest clothes.

Mrs Martin woke me as the bells of St George’s were ringing four o’clock, scarcely three hours after we had reached our bed, and less than that since we had finished warming ourselves so pleasantly and so thoroughly. Mr Hill had ridden through the night the twenty-four miles from Longbourn to Mayfair to deliver from Jane the news that our father is ill — gravely so, she fears — and that Mama needs my assistance. Knowing that we had got to bed late, Mrs Martin sensibly chose to wake me, rather than the both of us. And I, knowing how dear Georgiana relies upon her brother, and how uncertain the enterprise of her coming out currently stands, knew that I must depart without you.

And looking upon you, sleeping soundly in the bed in which we have so thoroughly and so recently pleased and enjoyed one another, I could not bear to wake you.

Forgive me, husband. I believe that I love you not wisely, but too well; yet rather than the Moor’s jealous passion, I am jealous of your rest. I fear too that if I once wake you, I should never be capable of leaving you.

(20,000 words — Sequel to Darcy & Desire, steamy epistolary romance)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stillpoint/Aphrodite
• Release date: Dec 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781938808609

Book preview

Prologue — Sweet Sorrow

Berkeley Square, London

As Florry padded silently out the door with Lizzy’s reticule, Darcy stirred in the bed, a hand wiping bleer from his eyes. Lizzy, he croaked, come to bed.

She wanted nothing more in the world. She had got scarcely two hours of sleep before Mrs. Martin had woken her with the awful summons, and the idea of throwing off the hastily put-on clothes and curling up once more against his warm body on this cold London morning — of him curling himself within her — was almost more tempting than Lizzy could bear. I cannot, my love. Jane has written — Papa is gravely ill, and Mama wishes me to come to Longbourn with all haste.

Her husband was suddenly awake. I shall come with you.

No, love, sighed Lizzy, though that was currently her second greatest temptation, my mother may likely be overstating my father’s illness, and in any case, one of us must stay here with Georgiana. Georgiana and her friend Augustina Giniver had just made their first forays into the Season. While Mrs Annesly served as a fine chaperone, Georgiana would not be willing to stay alone in Berkeley Square — she would either wish to come with them, or would flee to Pemberley. It would not be wise or fair to withdraw the youngest Darcy from London just when she was beginning to overcome her fear of the social whirl. Stay with her, my love. I shall hope to be back soon enough.

A wide hand once more passed over Darcy’s shadowed face. I… Yes. I see. He rose from the bed, and the sight of his naked form nearly destroyed Lizzy’s will: lean, mottled with sleep, and still stained with some marks of the passion they had shared after returning from the ball the previous night (or rather, early that morning). He shivered at the winter morning chill, and her resolve broke: she ran to him, and wrapped herself around him; just to warm him, she told herself, not to —

And then he kissed her, and all thoughts of leaving, of the snow-choked roads and of Papa’s illness left her mind. All thought left, and was replaced by heat, a heat that was all too familiar, and all too welcome, and she found herself wishing away all of the layers of clothing that Florry had just helped her to put on against the chill of the carriage ride to come, wishing that her form were as naked as his, and that they could warm each other —

He pulled back from the kiss, and though his expression was serious as ever, his eyes held a sad warmth that Lizzy knew well. "As much as we should both enjoy further exploring our concept of conception, I would not keep you from your parents. For while we may hope that your father is soon recovered, yet your mother needs your aid while he is ill."

Yes, she sighed into his chest. I know that you are right. And yet I do not wish to leave you.

He embraced her and gave a low, rumbling laugh. "No. Nor do I wish you gone. Yet we have survived a separation before now, my dearest Mrs. Darcy — my only Mrs Darcy — and we shall survive this one as well."

She kissed him again. Yes. Then she pouted, her lips turning down against his. This is why I did not wish to stir you — because I knew that if you were awake, I could not stand to leave.

‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ he quoted, and his lips turned up against hers.

It certainly is, and I think Romeo, there in warm Verona, could scarcely know how sore a temptation it is simply to stand here, wrapping myself in you and ‘say goodnight till it be morrow.’

Go, my love. He kissed her again, and then slipped away toward where a heavy dressing gown hung from the painted screen. And write to me.

She forced herself to smile, and gestured toward her pillow, where a packet of folded foolscap lay in her stead. "I have already done so, my dearest Darcy." And then she left, before second thoughts could draw her back to her husband, and away from whatever dread news awaited her in Hertfordshire.

1 - What Other Name than Sorrow

From Elizabeth Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy

Berkeley Square, London, February 9

My dearest Darcy —

I am writing this by the light of a single candle while Florry bustles about, packing my warmest clothes.

Mrs Martin woke me as the bells of St George’s were ringing four o’clock, scarcely three hours after we had reached our bed, and less than that since we had finished warming ourselves so pleasantly and so thoroughly. Mr Hill had ridden through the night the twenty-four miles from Longbourn to Mayfair to deliver from Jane the news that our father is ill — gravely so, she fears — and that Mama needs my assistance. Knowing that we had got to bed late, Mrs Martin sensibly chose to wake me, rather than the both of us. And I, knowing how dear Georgiana relies upon her brother, and how uncertain the enterprise of her coming out currently stands, knew that I must depart without you.

And looking upon you, sleeping soundly in the bed in which we have so thoroughly and so recently pleased and enjoyed one another, I could not bear to wake you.

Forgive me, husband. I believe that I love you not wisely, but too well; yet rather than the Moor’s jealous passion, I am jealous of your rest. I fear too that if I once wake you, I should never be capable of leaving you.

It is a queer thing: I spent nearly a month dreading our first separation this summer, yet the two weeks flew by, among the sweetest of my many sweet memories of our time together (Lady Malkin’s bout of