Darcy's Stolen Rendezvous: A Steamy Pride and Prejudice Variation

By V. L. King and Violet King

It is all fun and games between husband and wife until Elizabeth is abducted. Will passion heal their wounds?

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy enjoy meeting in secret as master and mistress. But when Elizabeth is abducted on the road to their rendezvous, can Mr. Darcy find his wife in time? And if so, will passion heal their wounds?

Find out in Darcy's Stolen Rendezvous, a steamy Pride and Prejudice variation of 11,500 words, filled with danger, romance, and sensual moments between our favorite couple, all perfect for an evening read.

Note: This is a sequel to Mrs. Darcy's Masque Seduction. Each story stands alone, but are even better together.

If you love sensual Pride & Prejudice variations, grab Darcy's Stolen Rendezvous today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pemberley Playground Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393731108

Book preview

Chapter 1

The afternoon sky hung gray and heavy over Pemberley, an ill portent for the afternoon ride to the posting inn and an excellent one for the evening with her husband. After ten days apart, Elizabeth would spend the evening tangled in Mr. Darcy’s arms as the rain pounded the posting inn’s roof.

Not that they would be together as husband and wife; tonight, she would make love to him as a mistress and he the master of her pleasure.

They had hired Mr. Grimes, a new footman, a month ago, after the birth of Elizabeth’s second daughter and when they agreed Philippa, the illegitimate child of Mr. Darcy’s cousin, would live at Pemberley for the foreseeable future. They’d taken on a new carriage and driver as well.

Driver and footman now stood in front of the carriage, their heads close in what appeared to be a serious conversation as Elizabeth approached.

Neither man appeared to notice her. The breeze carried a few words of their conversation, Are you certain—no danger —?

Elizabeth glanced at the sky again. The air smelled of rain, but she neither saw lightning nor heard thunder. An autumn storm. Inconvenient, but hardly dangerous, unless a lady rode a horse bareback in nothing but riding clothes and found herself thoroughly drenched.

Elizabeth smiled at the memory. The Darcys and Bingleys, now neighbors, shared dinner at one or the other’s home near every week. It was one of the many joys of Elizabeth’s married life.

Elizabeth said, It seems an ordinary autumn storm. Are you concerned?

No, ma’am. The driver, Mr. Carlisle, gave a start and stepped away from Mr. Grimes. Both bowed. Mr. Carlisle laughed. It sounded forced. I've a fine rain slicker from my wife, and this hat. He held out a wide-brimmed peasant hat that looked serviceable.

Mr. Grimes walked to the carriage door and held it open. Mrs. Darcy, he said. There was nothing improper in his manner, but Elizabeth disliked his gaze. His sharp gray eyes were as flat as the silver coins laid upon the dead. They narrowed as he caught her gaze.

Perhaps Mr. Grimes disapproved of her cosmetics. She had sprinkled rice powder over her face and rouged her lips and cheeks, painted a line above her lashes at Philippa's insistence. The effect, Philippa had said, was subtle, but assured Elizabeth she would catch her husband's attention.

Not that Elizabeth had any business taking advice of this sort from a fifteen-year-old girl, no matter her mother had been an Opera house singer.

If Elizabeth shared her dislike of Mr. Grimes with her husband, Mr. Darcy would send him away, but Elizabeth saw no reason to be cruel. He had done nothing. So she smiled, nodding, and accepted his help into the carriage. Elizabeth’s small trunk was loaded at the rear of the carriage with clothing to see Elizabeth through the night and morning and possibly another night should she and her husband extended their stay.

Mr. Grimes closed the door and took his place at the carriage rear with the trunk as Mr. Carlisle climbed into the driver’s seat, and they were away.

In the carriage, Elizabeth opened a slim volume of ancient eroticism titled Daphnis and Chloe, translated from the Greek, which her husband had given her to read before his departure. The pages were worn, and Elizabeth flipped through them, imagining her husband's hands on her, his mouth, and his manhood a flowering tree, sweet wine against her skin.

The story set a hot curl of desire in her core, but it did not compare to her anticipation of her husband's touch.

No, not her husband. Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth flipped through the book as she rode, the words lighting fantasies in her mind as her womanhood grew warm and slick. It was two hours to