Enid Wilson

My Darcy Mutates…

A Collection of

Pride and Prejudice-inspired

steamy short stories


All my online fans. You give me inspiration!


Apollo’s Stone

What if old Mr. Darcy was still alive…

“Explain to me, my love, how this great scheme of yours will work,” the woman asked huskily as she caressed the man’s hips.

“The spoiled brat and I will ride ahead. We will arrive here as planned. I shall endeavour to have all three unsuspecting men deep in their cups. Then I shall personally see to his retirement to the designated chamber and let him know that I have arranged for a sensual woman for his enjoyment. From the last experience, I know that he reacted most amorously when he was given this particular type of Scottish whisky.

“At the same time, a friend of mine will overturn a cart on the road to Meryton, thus delaying his father’s carriage for a few hours. Once his father arrives, some commotion will be created, and I shall bring the old goat in. You can scream about the drunkard bastard dragging you into a guest chamber and imposing on you.” The young man gave a sly grin. “The old man will pay a fortune to keep your mouth shut, once he happens upon you and his son in all your glory, with witnesses in tow.”

“Do I get to sample the magnificent body of Fitzwilliam Darcy?” she asked, and licked her lips eagerly.

The man pinched her nipple. “I am ten times more glorious than he. But if you want us to witness his dismal attempt to satisfy you, then go to it, by all means.” He rolled the woman over and thrust into her. “In fact, that is a fine idea. Let him spend his seed in you.” He pushed in and out with mechanical precision, while the lady moaned in high pitch. When he reached the moment of satisfaction, he did not pull out as he usually did, but spilled his fluid into her. “We will pass my child off as his, and the old goat will keep the money rolling in at our door.”

“Yes!” the woman cried. “Excellent idea!”


Caroline Bingley was extremely annoyed with herself. Whatever had prompted her to invite Jane Bennet to Netherfield, two days ago? On further thought, however, she told herself she should not be angry with herself but with that stupid girl. Who else would have ridden across three miles of open roads in heavy rain? Was her family truly so poor that they could not afford a carriage?

Indeed, it appeared to be true that the Bennets could not spare a carriage, because her sister Eliza had arrived on foot, as well, the day before. Why had she felt compelled to trudge around the countryside, all alone on muddy lanes for hours, just because her sister had a cold? Perhaps both of them have designs on Charles, Caroline thought. And it was past annoying that idiot brother of hers had invited both of them to stay until Miss Bennet recovered.

Her scheme would be hindered with two strangers in the house. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and his father would arrive later in the day. Perhaps I should make Miss Eliza sick, as well, to ensure that she will not get in the way. Yes, that is a brilliant idea.


When Miss Elizabeth Bennet sent word that she would not join the host family for breakfast because her sister was still rather sick, Miss Bingley was seen personally taking a tray to the sick room, around noontime.

As Miss Bennet had fallen asleep, Miss Bingley stayed on to take some refreshment with Miss Eliza. She then urged her guest to drink a cup of warm tea in which she had mixed some liquor and a drop of laudanum, observed covertly with keen eyes until her guest had finished all of the drink. To her gratified amazement, Miss Eliza seemed to become both giddy and sleepy.

Miss Bingley asked Miss Eliza if she wished to retire for the day, and the latter agreed. With wobbly legs, the guest excused herself and stumbled out of her sister’s room to walk haphazardly along the corridor, freeing Miss Bingley to start down the stairs, filled with smug contentment.

In the meantime, the dazed young lady walked on until she reached a room which she thought to be hers, whereupon she pushed the door open and toppled onto the bed almost immediately. The curtain was drawn and the room was dark.

Not caring whether Eliza was well settled or not, Caroline rushed away to make preparations for her important guests. She now believed that the problem of Miss Eliza was solved. That importunate young woman would be in no condition to interfere with her scheme.

At two in the afternoon, her other guests arrived. After they were shown to their rooms and had refreshed themselves, they joined the host family in the sitting room.

“Mr. Darcy, welcome to Netherfield.” Miss Bingley batted her lashes and greeted him in her most elegant tones. “But wherever is your esteemed father?”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley. Mr. Wickham and I rode ahead of my father’s carriage. You have met my father’s godson, George Wickham?” Darcy inquired.

“Darce, it is good to have you in Netherfield. Mr. Wickham, welcome.” Charles Bingley shook their hands warmly. “What do you think of it?”

“It is of good size. The house looks fine and the countryside pretty. You did well in leasing it,” Darcy replied whole-heartedly.

The gentlemen discussed the hunting activities in Hertfordshire for some minutes.

“Charles, perhaps you would like to retreat to the study with the gentlemen. I shall let you know when the senior Mr. Darcy’s carriage arrives,” Mrs. Louisa Hurst suggested.

“Excellent!” George Wickham agreed. He clapped the back of Mr. Hurst in a friendly manner and urged the men away.

Mr. Darcy did not care to spend time with Wickham, but his father took his duty as his godfather seriously, and so he vowed to be as polite as he could.

Caroline threw her fan on the couch and said to her sister angrily, “What was that for? Why did you urge the men out of the room so soon?”

“Caroline, you must desist. Did you not see that he is not interested in you?” Louisa replied.

“I see no such thing.” Caroline retorted. “I am smart, elegant and fashionable. Why would he not be interested in me?”

Lousia shook her head and said, “I am saying this only for your good. But if you intend to capture him while he stays here, you had better go and rest now before preparing for tonight’s dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. Perhaps the noise from the Bennet sisters gave you a restless night?”

“Do I really have black bags under the eyes? Why did you not tell me earlier? It was that impertinent country nobody, Eliza, wandering around the corridor, trying to find the library, late at night.” With that, Miss Bingley dashed out of the sitting room and retreated to her own chamber hastily, leaving her sister to shake her head once again.


Half an hour later, Mr. Darcy received a note from his father, stating that the carriage had suffered a minor accident a little distance from Meryton. His father would stretch his legs in the small town for the time being, until the carriage was sorted out. He would arrive at Netherfield in another hour.

Soon, Wickham had Mr. Darcy, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley drunk. He left Hurst and Bingley in the study and helped the tipsy Mr. Darcy up the stairs in person, not wanting Darcy’s valet to intercept him.

When Wickham arrived at the room he had shared with his lady love, it was almost pitch dark because the curtains were drawn close. A dim light that entered through a gap between the curtains was just enough for him to make out the shape of a woman under the bed sheet. She was lying on her stomach, and her hair was loosened. She certainly knows how to stay mute, Wickham thought. She is determined not to let Fitzwilliam know who she is.

Wickham started stripping Fitzwilliam of his clothes. “I have a surprise for you,” he said to the inebriated gentleman.

“What’s…it?” Darcy hiccupped.

“A sensual woman.” Turning Darcy, he pointed to the bed.

“With gorgeous… bosom?” The dazed man chuckled.

“Possibly,” Wickham said, wondering why Darcy’s cravat had to be so complicated. “You’ll have to discover that for yourself.”

“I have not gotten…laid for some years now,” Darcy lamented. “Father keeps…me close and works me hard…ever since you last…got me into mischief…”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Wickham demanded, finally getting the shirt off the half-drunk man.

“She is …willing?” Darcy staggered forward a step.

“Very.” Wickham unbuttoned Darcy’s breeches.

Darcy hesitated, swaying. “I do not sleep with… whores.”

“Her husband is dead,” Wickham lied as he stripped the drunken man naked.

“A lonely widow?”

“A most easily aroused one.”

“She wants…money from me?” Darcy asked stubbornly, not moving.

“Not at all. She only wants affection and warmth.” Blast the spoiled brat, why did he need to ask so many questions? Damn his standards of refusing to mix with fortune hunters and lowly whores.

“But…I do not…trust you.” Darcy argued. “Are you trying to…trick me? You are always up to…no good.”

Wickham swore under his breath. He had no time for Darcy’s censure. He shoved the drunkard onto the bed, walked out the door and closed it. Let her do her job!



Mr. Darcy and the woman both exclaimed as their bodies crashed onto each other.

“I beg your pardon, Madam.” He stood up and bowed awkwardly.

The woman turned over on the bed, had a look at him, laughed and asked cheerily, “Is your apology for …bumping into me or appearing without a… stitch of clothing, in my bed chamber?”

Darcy liked her sound, musical and pleasant. He smiled and looked down at himself in the muted light. “Indeed, I am in all my glory. I do not…know why.”

She sat up, brushed the wayward curls away from her eyes, and took in the sight of his strong frame with apparent curiosity. “You look like a … statue of the Greek god, Apollo,” she said, and hiccupped.

“Your bosom…rivals that of Venus.” He licked his lips and felt a sudden surge of heat rise in his body. Intending to let in some air, he walked to pull the curtains wider apart.

She cast a look at herself. Lit by the bright afternoon sun from outside, she saw that she wore no clothes, either. She remembered feeling oppressively hot, shortly after she went to the bed, scarcely able to breathe. Stifling, she had taken her dress off and then, finding little relief, had shed the rest of her garments before surrendering again to sleep. Now, abruptly awakened, she was covered by nothing but the bed sheet which was now pooled at her waist.

“Thank you, Sir, for the compliment.” She smiled, feeling giddily light-headed beneath the gaze of this handsome young man. She reclined down on the bed again and raised both hands to rub her temples. “But I am not the goddess of love, but simple Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

Mr. Darcy felt the room grow hotter yet. The lovely Elizabeth was lying on the bed, with both hands on her forehead, a gesture which pushed her gorgeous breasts higher still. She had the most vivid green eyes, a very fine pair. He wanted to worship her but was not sure whether she would welcome it. He was a gentleman and would never force himself on a woman. The temptation was so great that he felt as if his head might burst at any moment.

He raised his hand to rub his own temple.

“Are you…not feeling well, Apollo?” she asked with concern.

“I am no Apollo, just Fitzwilliam Darcy…of Pemberley.”

“Perhaps you will feel better if you lie down,” she suggested, and patted the space beside her.

It was an invitation he could not refuse. He slipped in besides her, under the bed sheet.

They stared at each other silently for a minute. Then she smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. Encouraged, he stretched out his hand and touched her, drawing delicate circles around one of her nipples.

The cherry tip peaked and she gasped for air.