Page 1 of Mr. Darcy's Storm of Temptation

1

The sky had been threateningall afternoon, dark clouds massing on the horizon as the carriage rolled through the Derbyshire countryside. Elizabeth Bennet shifted on the worn leather seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position while her aunt dozed peacefully beside her. Mr. Gardiner sat opposite, engrossed in his correspondence despite the increasing roughness of the road.

"We should reach the inn within the hour," Mr. Gardiner announced, glancing up from his papers. "Though I confess, this weather concerns me."

Elizabeth peered through the window at the ominous sky. They had departed Lambton after a pleasant morning of shopping, and she had been lost in thought. Specifically, she dwelt on thoughts of a certain estate they had visited just the day before. Pemberley. The very name sent an unexpected warmth pooling in her stomach.

Stop this foolishness, she commanded herself.

Yet her traitorous mind returned again and again to Mr. Darcy's transformed demeanor, to the way his eyes had softened when he looked at her, and perhaps a hint of returned interest in his gaze?

But more than that, she thought of his letter. That horrible, wonderful letter that had shattered every certainty she held about him. For weeks after reading it, she had been unable to think of anything else. She could still recall the weight of it in her hands that morning at Hunsford, how her fingers had shaken as she broke the seal. His words about Jane, about Mr. Wickham, and about his own failings haunted her still.

"I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle."The humility in that admission had shocked her. She had read those words so many times she had them memorized. Each reading had peeled away another layer of her prejudice, revealing truths she had been too proud to see.

Yesterday, seeing him again, witnessing his kindness to his servants, his devotion to Georgiana, the way he had looked at her with such unguarded longing when he thought she was not watching had confirmed what the letter had begun, she had not only forgiven his imagined faults, but she had grown to hold him in high affection. No, more than that. It had confirmed a passion she had been denying for months, knowing it was impossible after her harsh rejection of him.

She pressed her palm against the cool window glass, trying to calm the flutter beneath her ribs. The truth terrified her. How could she want a man she had so despised? Yet the evidence was undeniable. Her heart raced when she thought of him, and she had felt alive when their eyes met across the drawing room at Pemberley. He had offered them Pemberley's hospitality at anytime during their visit to Derbyshire. Had that been more than politeness?

The first fat drops of rain struck the carriage roof like warning shots. Within moments, the scattered drops became a deluge. Thunder cracked overhead, so sudden and violent that Mrs. Gardiner started awake with a cry.

"Merciful heavens!" she exclaimed, clutching at her husband's arm.

The horses whinnied in terror. Elizabeth's stomach lurched as the carriage tilted sickeningly to one side, and the driver shouted something unintelligible over the storm's fury. Another thunderclap sounded, closer this time, and the horses bolted.

"Hold on!" Mr. Gardiner commanded, bracing himself against the wall.

The world became chaos. Elizabeth's body slammed against the window, her shoulder screaming in protest. The carriage careened wildly, and she tasted copper. She had bitten her tongue. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the leather seat, nails digging in desperately. She heard the sharp crack of splintering wood, felt the world tilt further, her body lifting momentarily from the seat, and then they stopped.

For a moment, no one moved. Rain hammered against the carriage roof. Elizabeth's heart pounded as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she could feel a warm trickle where the window's edge had cut her palm.

"Is anyone hurt?" Mr. Gardiner's voice cut through her shock.

"No, no, I think not," Mrs. Gardiner managed, though her face was pale as parchment.

Elizabeth shook her head, unable to trust her voice. She became suddenly, horribly aware of her state. The window beside her had cracked during their wild ride, allowing rain to pour in. Her muslin dress was soaked through on one side, the thin fabric clinging to her body in a way that made her skin burn with mortification. She could feel every curve outlined, her stays visible through the transparent material. Her hair hung in wet ropes around her face, pins scattered and lost.

Mr. Gardiner pushed open the door, fighting against the wind. "Driver! What is the damage?"

The cold air that rushed in made her nipples tighten visibly beneath the wet fabric. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks flaming despite the chill.

Please, let no one come until I can settle myself and find some semblance of dignity.

But the sound of approaching hoofbeats shattered that hope. Her pulse skittered wildly. Brigands? In this storm? The rider who materialized through the rain sat his mount with commanding authority, his broad shoulders unmistakable even through the downpour.

No. Oh goodness, no.

Mr. Darcy.

Every nerve in Elizabeth's body screamed with conflicting emotions. Mortification at her state warred with a shocking thrill at seeing him. The man who had occupied her thoughts, who had written her that soul-baring letter would now see her like this.

Yet beneath the shame, something else stirred. A dark, thrilling voice whispered:What if the fire I thought I saw in his gaze was not my own imaginings?

"Mr. Gardiner!" Mr. Darcy's voice carried over the storm, rich with concern rather than the cold reserve she remembered from Hertfordshire. "What has happened? Are you injured?"

"Mr. Darcy!" Her uncle sounded relieved. "No injuries, sir, but our wheel is damaged. We are quite stranded, I fear."

Through the cracked window, Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy examine the wheel, his powerful frame moving with intention despite the rain soaking through his greatcoat. Water ran in rivulets down his face, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. When he turned back toward the carriage, their eyes met through the glass.