No, I'm sorry, but no.
The whole 202 pages worth was like listening to your favorite song sung in the worst possible way. On repeat.
I did read the whole book, which tempted me to give it two starts instead of one, but I just really couldn't, because I actually wish I would have stopped the book while I was ahead and recycled the paper immediately. The main reason I finished the book was because it was so thin, barely more than a novella, and the other reason I finished was because, I admit, there were some sweet scenes near the beginning that weren't horribly written that did make me smile.
However, the above is all I have good to say about this "book" that is nothing more than glorified, erotic, poorly-written fan-fiction. I mean, sure, I enjoy fan-fictions as much as the next fangirl [in fact, I probably enjoy it more than most], but those are the fluffy, silly, not-true-to-their-characters stories one might read online. NOT pay money for.
At the start of the book [as in, the first 2-3 chapters maybe] the author obviously tried her hardest to both write in a regency style, and to keep the story as close to Jane Austen's as possible. After, oh, 40, maybe 50, pages, however, she gave up, and her writing gradually changed to something definitely NOT Austen-esque.
At first, it was sweet to see Darcy's struggles and to see a more emotional side of Elizabeth as she fell in love with him. Then we got introduced to Darcy's dreams, that he apparently has every night, and suddenly, rather than being one of the greatest love stories of all time, it became one of the most shocking lust stories of all time.
I mean, really? Darcy? Lusting after Elizabeth and imagining doing all kinds of things to her in his bed? That's... NO. NO! Never, ever, ever! Darcy would never even let such a single thought enter his mind. In fact, it would be SO FAR from his mind, that nothing of the sort would ever occur to him, and it rather disgusted me in "Without Reserve," whose title is more fitting than you would believe.
As I said before, your favorite song, sung in the worst possible way, on repeat, as the impropriety only increases drastically in its meager 202 pages.
I imagined a short book with story and character and tension building throughout most of its pages, and ending with perhaps one or two kissing scenes. Instead, I have a 50-60 page kissing buildup, followed by 140-150 pages of kissing scenes.
Trying to associate the Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet in this "book" with the Darcy and Elizabeth I know, is pure torture that sends mortified shivers across my skin.
Trust me, dear review reader, if you are a fan of Jane Austen in any way, whether it be her books only, her movies only, or both, you will not enjoy this book. It will rot your mind and destroy your soul, and leave you dismayed and appalled and desperately trying to scrub yourself free of the images you have just force-fed your poor brain.