Page 50

Elizabeth looked out across the dance floor, scanning the room for the absent Colonel Fitzwilliam.

It was odd indeed, for he was rather late for their dance, and it was not like the colonel to keep a lady waiting.

For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if this might be a demonstration of resentment for her refusal of his proposals after all — but no.

The colonel would never act so discourteously.

The next moment relieved her mind greatly, for she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam’s red coat and wolf mask rapidly approaching her. When he was near enough, he bowed and reached out his hand for her to take.

“I was beginning to think you were not coming, Colonel,” Elizabeth said with a light laugh. He only chuckled and shook his head. That was rather odd, but perhaps he had not known what to say in response to her teasing.

More strangely still, he remained silent as he led her out to the dance floor.

They neared the lineup of dancers, but as she was about to take her spot at the end of the line of ladies, she felt her arm tugged gently, out toward the balcony.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she asked, her heart fluttering uncontrollably.

“Where are we going? Are we not going to dance?”

By the time she pulled his hand out of his, they were well away from the dancers, almost to the balcony at the far end of the room.

Still, he said nothing. She planted her hands on her hips.

“What is this about, Colonel?” A small voice inside her told Elizabeth that there was something wrong.

“Why will you not speak to me?” she asked.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward, clamping a hand around her wrist. To Elizabeth’s shock, he tried to pull her out of the room and into the moonlit night. “Release me this instant! Colonel, what has got into you?” she protested.

“Come along, Miss Bennet. Please, I only want to speak to you in private,” Colonel Fitzwilliam finally spoke. But it was not his voice. She knew that voice. Mr Wickham!

Elizabeth ripped her hand free, moving back a few steps.

“Mr Wickham! What are you doing with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mask?

” she asked, appalled that he had nearly duped her.

She ought to have known it was not the colonel, for the buttons on his red uniform bore the tarnish of Mr Wickham’s carelessness.

Mr Wickham grabbed her wrist again, this time with more force than she could wrest out of. “Come with me, Elizabeth, please. You are promised to me, after all. You gave your word at the tea shop —”

“I did no such thing!” she cried.

“You must marry me, my darling, and quickly,” Mr Wickham said. He had succeeded in dragging her out to the balcony, and he quickly shut the door.

Elizabeth’s heart raced in her desperation to get away from him.

Would he really compromise her right there on the balcony of the assembly rooms?

She struggled with all her might, trying to get free.

He wrapped his arms around her, trapping her arms next to her sides.

He leaned in to kiss her, but Elizabeth turned her head away.

“Come now, you like me, do you not? You were half in love with me before we left Meryton,” Mr Wickham cajoled her. “Come now, Elizabeth, do not be so stubborn. You belong to me!”

Fear coiled in her stomach as she fought.

But he was too strong for her. “Let me go!” she cried desperately.

She was finally able to get her arms in between herself and his chest and pushed with all her might, suddenly breaking free.

Mr Wickham gave her a look of shock, as though he had not expected such determined resistance.

“You are a fortune hunter and a cad!” Elizabeth spat. “I assure you, Mr Wickham, you are the last man on earth I could ever be prevailed upon to marry! Surely you cannot now still wish to marry me.”

Mr Wickham shrugged. “I want you and your money. Is there something so wrong about that?” he asked.

“You admit it then? Your interest in me has never been for myself, but for my inheritance?” The conclusion was not surprising, but that he would admit it openly was as unexpected as it was insulting.

“People marry for money and position all the time, Elizabeth,” Mr Wickham said baldly, raising his chin. “I have done nothing out of the ordinary in suggesting that we marry. You need protection and security — I need money. We would have a delightful life together, I can promise you that.”

Elizabeth very much doubted it. She turned to leave, but Mr Wickham hurried to block the door. Elizabeth took a deep breath, feeling her panic rise. But it would not do to let him see her fear. “Let me pass,” she said coldly.

“Just listen for a moment, my dearest Elizabeth. You are acting quite irrationally. Do allow me to talk you into better sense, before you do something we shall both regret,” he said with a smile, as though he were trying to argue with a petulant child.

But Elizabeth was no child, and Mr Wickham could no longer hide his true character.

“I will not listen. And I have nothing more to say to you, Mr Wickham. Now, let me return to my aunt and uncle.” Elizabeth desperately tried to think of a plan, knowing her options were all too few.

The essential point was to save her reputation — but if she screamed, anyone who came in answer would only see her and Mr Wickham alone on the balcony.

She would be compromised, exactly as Mr Wickham had wished, for who would believe it was all against her will?

And Mr Wickham seemed to know it. He smiled at her triumphantly, prowling closer. Elizabeth closed her eyes, hating the smug look he wore. Everything proclaimed he would enjoy his victory.

Grimly, Elizabeth made her decision. Anything would be better than to let Mr Wickham touch her.

She would scream loud enough to call all the ballroom to her — and if it cost her reputation, it would still be better than marriage to a man would seek to force her.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“That is quite enough,” a voice said coldly. Elizabeth startled. Mr Wickham looked quite different now, his smug triumph all turned to petulant frustration.

“Let her go, Wickham,” Mr Darcy continued. Elizabeth turned quickly. Her heart soared to see the look of fury on his face, all turned on Mr Wickham. He had taken off his mask and was advancing on Mr Wickham with a steadiness that made all the fear fly away.

Mr Darcy did not even look at her, but walked to stand as a blockade between her and Mr Wickham. Her assailant took off the wolf mask and let his arm fall to his side. “What are you doing here, Darcy?”

“I have come to aid my friend.” He took a stride toward him.

“You are a scoundrel, Wickham. You knew perfectly well that Miss Bennet has long since wished to leave your company. And you are a coward, for I do not doubt that you acted knowing she could not afford to make a scene.” He turned to Elizabeth.

“Stand in the shadows past the door, Miss Bennet, where you cannot be seen,” he urged her gently. Elizabeth hurried to obey.

Mr Darcy stepped forward and opened the balcony door, light from the ballroom flooding the darkened space.

He gestured to the doorway. “Leave, Wickham. I should prefer not to incite violence in front of a lady, but if you remain another moment, my desire to chastise your misdeeds will be too strong to resist.”

Mr Wickham blanched. “There is no need —”

“I am glad to hear it,” Mr Darcy said, his voice deadly cold. “If there is no need, then go, before I think better of allowing it. Hear this, Wickham. My patience is at an end. If one more word about your misdeeds reaches my ears, I shall not be so merciful again. Your creditors are many.”

“You would not tell them how to find me, surely?”

“It is much less than you deserve,” Mr Darcy told him, implacably stern. Elizabeth caught her breath at seeing him so commanding. Mr Wickham seemed to find the sight equally impressive, for he dropped the wolf mask and ran from the balcony without another word.

All in an instant, Mr Darcy’s air of hauteur and command disappeared. He turned to her with tender concern, reaching out as though to steady her and stopping just short of touching her arm. “Are you well, Miss Bennet? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, half dizzy with shock and the effects of his nearness.

“I am unharmed,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Thanks to you.” She looked up at him, every feeling she had tried to push away coming back to the surface.

It was torture to be so close to him one last time and not be able to tell him how she truly felt.

It was not just gratitude, she knew that now. But so much more.

“How did you know I needed help?” Elizabeth asked. It was the first thing that came to her mind, now that the ordeal was past. “I was about to scream, cost me what it might, but you came just in time.”

“I met up with Fitzwilliam, and he told me that someone had stolen his mask. It only took me a moment to put two and two together. They were both in military uniform this evening. Having stolen the mask, it was all too easy for Wickham to disguise himself.”

Elizabeth sighed. “It is a wonder you were willing to come and help me, after the way I have treated you.”

Mr Darcy cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow. “How so?”

“When you confessed your love to me —” she halted, feeling like a fool for bringing it back up.

She looked down at her hands, but felt his piercing gaze on her even still.

“I rejected your love, and I have treated you with nothing but ill-deserved coldness. Though even then, you were attempting to save me from that contemptible man.”