Pride, Prejudice and Wicked Pleasure: Book 1

By Em Brown

A hitherto uneventful trip to visit her newly married friend turns into a steamy adventure for Elizabeth "Lizzy" Bennett when she meets Mrs. Abby Trenwith, a woman more candid and intrepid than herself. Abby offers to pair Lizzy with a mentor who will guide her through unspoken pleasures and wanton desires.

Unbeknownst to Lizzy, that mentor is...Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Relive a timeless classic in new and steam fashion with a side of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy that is wickedly delicious...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Em Brown
• Release date: Apr 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781950129515

Em Brown

After accidentally flashing an audience with her knickers, Em Brown decided that writing was a safer activity. She enjoys writing romance, particularly erotic historicals. For more about her works, visit www.EroticHistoricals.com.

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Pride, Prejudice and Wicked Pleasure - Book 1

Jane Austen and Em Brown

Wind Color Press

Copyright © 2023 by Em Brown

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-One

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Pride, Prejudice and Wicked Pleasure continues in:

Chapter One

Lizzy woke with a start, her body flushed, her heart beating in her ears, and that intimate space between her legs tingling. To her consternation, instead of the privacy of her own bedchamber at Longbourn House, she found herself bumping along inside a chaise, seated opposite Sir William Lucas and his second daughter, Maria. To Lizzy’s relief, her travelling companions were fast asleep, with Maria snoring away as loudly as her father. Had they been awake, they could not have seen into her mind, but she blushed nonetheless to think they might have witnessed her in the throes of a most unladylike dream. Winter had yet to give way to spring, but she unbuttoned her pelisse to release the warmth she felt.

Of all men to infiltrate her dreams, especially one of a most prurient nature, why him? She could not have been more rattled and vexed had she dreamt of her cousin, Mr. Collins. Nay, that would have been appalling. She chided herself for summoning such a revulsion to mind. Shuddering, she looked out the window of the chaise, desperately seeking some visual fodder—an interesting formation of rocks, a remarkably tall tree, or a shapely cloud—to replace the vision in her head.

Why could she not have dreamt of George Wickham? That would have been comprehensible. Though he presently pursued another, and her own attachment had subsided, she found him no less amiable or handsome. Their farewell had been perfectly friendly.

Instead, she had dreamt of the one man whom she disliked above all others; the one man she could do without and who, despite his intelligence and articulation, offered nothing, not even the value of amusement afforded by Mr. Collins, when she was able to put aside her exasperation of his personality and observe him with the calm à la her father; this so-called gentleman, whose absence she had enjoyed through winter and whom she was not likely to ever see again, if Caroline Bingley was to be believed that they were never to return to Netherfield; and the last individual on earth to waste her thoughts upon now that she had, at least in her mind, bid good riddance to the lot of them.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Perhaps the stress of the journey had seeped into her subconscious, though she had been in good spirits since leaving London, where they had stopped to see her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, and her sister, Jane, who was staying with them. Jane had looked well enough as to banish all fear for her health, and Mrs. Gardiner had invited Lizzy to tour the northern lakes later in the year. Lizzy was all excitement and good cheer until her dream.

The reverie had begun pleasantly enough. She was lying upon a bed in a luxurious room, a nameless young man seducing her with soft kisses upon her neck. She could feel the ache in her nether region blooming into the most beautiful of sensations. He began untying the top of her stays, then lowered his head to address his lips to the swell of her bosom. What delightful shivers attended this caress! But when he lifted his head to meet her gaze, the face of Mr. Darcy flashed before her.

It was awful. Like finding a spider in one’s pudding. Her state of arousal coupled with his physiognomy was an unnerving pairing. Like instruments playing in discordant keys, the two should never simultaneously occupy the same space. She would sooner listen to Sir William recount the wonders of his presentation and knighthood for the hundredth time or suffer the many laments of her mother for having turned down the marriage proposal of Mr. Collins, thereby sending him into the arms of Charlotte Lucas, than to have that dream reoccur.

She disdained Mr. Darcy, and she was not alone in her sentiments toward him. Though many a gentlemen had pronounced Mr. Darcy a fine figure of a man and the ladies declared him much more handsome than even Mr. Bingley, and both sexes had initially looked at him with great admiration for his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien and the report of his having ten thousand a year, his manners had quickly turned the tide of his popularity. He had been discovered to be proud, to be above his company and above being pleased. Not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance and being unworthy to be compared to his friend Bingley. Charlotte had been the only person to express his right to be proud as he was so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, and everything in his favour.

Mr. Darcy’s initial affront to Lizzy had engendered no cordial feelings toward him, but her lively, playful disposition, which delighted in the ridiculous, had compelled her to tell the story with great spirit among her friends:

Due to the scarcity of gentlemen at a ball, Lizzy had been obliged to sit down for two dances, and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who had come from the dance for a few minutes to press his friend to join it. In contrast to Darcy, Bingley was all affability and politesse.

Come, Darcy, he had said, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.

I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.

I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," Mr. Darcy had said, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet, Jane.

Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.

Which do you mean?

Turning round he had looked for a moment at Lizzy, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

His very real slight of her had produced only the briefest and most inconsequential anguish, but her most unreal dream disturbed her greatly. She shivered as if doing so could discard the awkwardness of it all before settling back into her seat. Though she had parted London wistfully, having much enjoyed the company of the Gardiners and Jane, and though it was unlikely Mr. Darcy would have ever ventured as far from Grosvenor Square as Gracechurch Street, she was glad she had not stayed in the city long enough for their paths to cross. If she did not see that man for another ten years, it would be a day too soon.

Chapter Two

When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, expecting it come into view at every turn. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side, and once more Mr. Darcy flitted unwanted through Lizzy’s thoughts for it was his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who resided at Rosings. Wickham had had little in the way of compliments for her ladyship and daughter, who was said to be as good as betrothed to Mr. Darcy. For a moment, Lizzy was struck with a premonition that she had not seen the last of that proud and disagreeable man, but Mr. Darcy was in London, and it would be too much the coincidence for him to visit Hunsford during her time.

At length they discerned the Parsonage, standing between green pales and laurel hedges. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which led by a short gravel walk to the house. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Lizzy was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her family. After pointing out the neatness of the entrance, Mr. Collins took them into the house. As soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.

Lizzy was prepared to see him in his glory, and she could not help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in having refused his hand. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, Lizzy involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush, but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in this garden was one of his most respectable pleasure, and Lizzy admired the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Mr. Collins led the way through every walk and cross walk and scarcely allowed them an interval to utter the praises he asked for. Every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every direction and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which the country or kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings. They could see the house, a handsome modern building well situated on rising ground, through an opening in the trees that bordered the park opposite the front of the Parsonage.

Lizzy learned that Mr. Collins’ patroness, Lady Catherine, was still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in, observed,

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for she has several."

Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed, added Charlotte, and a most attentive neighbor.

Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference.

The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had already been written. Afterwards, in the solitude of her chamber, Lizzy reflected upon Charlotte's degree of contentment and had to acknowledge she bore her husband very well. Lizzy climbed into bed with hopes for a deep and dreamless slumber, but her contrary and perverse mind would dwell on questions best left unasked. Though she had no desire to know the particulars of what Mr. and Mrs. Collins did behind closed doors, she could not help but wonder if matters of the bedchamber were as consonant with what she was able to observe? She wondered that any woman could be excited by Mr. Collins, but perhaps the wifely duty of submitting to a husband’s attentions was no more unbearable than the other chores one was expected to perform on a regular basis. Lizzy could not help but be saddened by such a prospect. If the corporal harmony between a man and wife should ever find easy allowance as a topic of discussion, her mother would doubtlessly dismiss with a snort the need to inquire into such a useless subject and Jane would dampen its importance beneath other qualities, such as the moral character of a husband or his level of affection for wife and family. But Lizzy had not Jane’s virtues nor Charlotte’s practical nature. Perhaps she was alone in the force of her corporal passions. For herself, she could not reconcile to a marriage that did not fulfill in all the important qualities, including what must transpire in the bedchamber.

Her hand crept beneath the hem of her nightshift, and without thought, she grazed her fingers along the softness of her inner thigh. With a sigh, she gave into the concupiscence that had taken a hold of her of late. The first stirrings of desire had come upon her at a tender age, and she had on occasion allowed the passions to overcome her better judgment—twice with a rugged young footman named Francis and once with a barrister and friend of the Lucas family. Both men, fortunately, had not stayed in Hertfordshire. She dreaded that her indiscretions should somehow come to light, not for its impact upon her but the damage it would do to her family. Thus, for the better part of recent years, she had suppressed these inauspicious cravings until coming across Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure a few months ago. She had found the illicit edition at the home of Sir William on a night when the Lucases were hosting a dinner for a number of officers from the regiment stationed at Meryton. Having a vague notion of the banned novel, she had at first been tempted to leave the book where it had fallen upon the ground in the corridor, but she could not leave it to be found by one of the Lucases’ younger children. Inquiring among the guests to see who would claim ownership would have proved too awkward, so she had picked up the story of Fanny Hill.

Compelled by curiosity and a fondness for reading, she had taken the book into the nearest room, Sir William’s library. Most of the party had gathered in the drawing-room for cards, and in the library, she was assured of solitude. Beside a lone lamp, she opened the book with every expectation of reading no further than the first few pages to confirm the worthlessness of the work and justification for the prosecution of its author, John Cleland. Instead, she found, much like Fanny Hill in her first licentious experience, that the obscenity intrigued more than disgusted her. She flushed reading the passage of that first encounter between Fanny and Phoebe, and her own body responded in the most unsettling way with that warm aggravation in her loins and moistness between her legs.

There you are!

Startled, Lizzy dropped the book and hastily retrieved it to set it, face-down, upon the table beside her, regretting that she had not checked to see that the library doors had been tightly shut.

I fear you must find the company of my regiment disappointing, George Wickham remarked.

The sparkle in his eyes made her cognizant of the weakness of her sex, and she once more admired how dashing he appeared in his bright red coat and white trousers encasing his legs in a tight fit.

Not at all! I am sorry to give that impression, Lizzy replied. I was merely replacing a book that I had found in the corridor.

Ah, that is some relief, he said, advancing toward her. There is talk of dancing. I think Sir William cannot long refuse your sisters.

For Lydia and Kitty, no party is complete without dancing.

Wickham gave a gracious smile. You are not opposed to the activity…I hope?

Her breath caught. Did he have an interest in dancing with her? He had often shown a preference for her company, and she had accepted his attentions with much agreement.

Not at all, she found herself repeating. She was happy to join Wickham but wanted a moment to calm the lust her reading had provoked. I will be in attendance shortly.

She wondered what she would do with the book. Should she leave it in the library and retrieve it later?

Allow me to replace the book for you, Wickham offered and picked up the book before she could stop him.

That won’t be necessary, she said quickly and tried to pluck the book from his hand. Their fingers brushed, and a palpitation went through her.

He did not relinquish the book but dropped his gaze to her hand, which half-covered his. In doing so, he saw the title. The surprise on his face was evident, and Lizzy felt the flush in her cheeks deepen.

This is…Sir William’s? he asked.

I think not, she confessed. I found it and—and meant to—

Read it.

No!

You appeared to be reading it when I walked in.

She dropped her hand and took a step away from him.

He took a step toward her. Please, I did not mean to offend. I find it remarkable that one of the delicate sex would dare consume the contents of such a book.

This unexpected compliment and the sincerity of his tone thawed her guard, and she was prepared to be amenable to him once more.

We are not so delicate as your sex would believe or wish, but I am not familiar with the work of Mr. Cleland, so I cannot know if courage is required to read it. I found the book in the corridor and suspect it belongs to one of your brother-in-arms?

He glanced from the book back to her and, taking her hand, placed it in her grasp. They stood with mere inches separating them. Her breath became uneven, and it seemed his did, too.

I confess I am intrigued to know your thoughts on what you have read, he said, lowering his head for his voice had become deep and husky.

She hesitated for she worried her voice would waver too much. Mr. Cleland clearly intends to titillate the reader.

And do you find he is successful in his aim?

He had lowered his head to such a degree that she could not comfortably focus upon the whole of his countenance, so she fixed her gaze upon his mouth. His nearness had scattered her thoughts, and she replied, without advanced contemplation, Yes.

The word emerged as a whisper and was the invitation he sought for he dropped his mouth to hers. That flame she had hoped to quell moments before surged inside her. He wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her into him. She required no further encouragement and returned his kiss despite the intuition that she was much less practiced than he. Book still in hand, she wound her arms about his neck. He ground his hips at her. Desire pooled low and hot within her as she felt the thickness of his cock pressing into her belly.

He swept her into his arms and laid her upon the sofa. Prudence battled for dominance, and she looked to see that the doors were fully shut this time. They ought not disrespect the home of Sir William. But when Wickham’s lips claimed hers a second time, she found her passions a formidable foe. He reached