Mrs. Reynolds smiled faintly. “Then I will check on Redman again.” She moved to take her leave. “I am placing Murray here in case either you or Colonel Fitzwilliam needs him. Make sure your patient does not move about.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter 23

Stafford and Worth scrambled toward where Lydia Wickham lay on the frozen ground before the stables.They bowed low to avoid detection. Worth squatted beside the enclosure, gun aimed at the stable door, using his left forearm to set his sight line and to steady the weapon. Stafford, on the other hand, scurried to the lady’s side. He turned her over gently to determine her wounds. Seeing only one obvious injury, Stafford waited no more than two heartbeats before he scooped her to him and ran in the opposite direction.

Seeing the viscount’s retreat, Worth backed carefully away, a bit shaken by the experience.

Stafford handed Lydia off to Lucas before saying to Worth, “We should stay close in case Darcy needs us.” He cocked his gun and turned again toward the structure.

“I agree.” Worth followed the viscount, but his nerves still showed.

“Hopefully, Darcy will sew things up soon.” Stafford knelt along the fence line, where he might observe when the door opened but not be in an immediate line of fire. “Wickham cannot think to escape.”

Worth knelt behind the viscount. “I do not believe Mr.Wickham capable of making such logical decisions. He will risk everything.”

“Then Darcy will have to kill the man to free his wife?” Stafford took in Worth’s inscrutable expression.

“I have no doubt of it.”


“We have another one for you,” Lucas called as he carried Lydia Wickham into the drawing room. Mrs. Reynolds followed the footman.

Cathleen scrambled up from the chaise upon which she sat to allow the man to place Mrs.Wickham down in her place. “Do you need help, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“I can always use an extra set of hands.”The woman took a pair of scissors from her box and cut away part of Lydia’s sleeve. “Let us examine the wound first, and then we will use some smelling salts to wake Mrs.Wickham. Why do you not step into the hallway and grab a few cloaks from the clothes tree.We need to warm her arms and legs so she does not suffer from the cold.”

“Certainly.” Cathleen hurried to do the woman’s bidding.When she returned with three cloaks, she asked, “Do we know what is going on?” Cathleen adjusted the outerwear over Lydia’s legs.

Mrs. Reynolds whispered softly, “Lucas says Lord Stafford and Mr.Worth rescued Mrs.Wickham from where her husband had left her. Reportedly, Mr. Wickham used his wife as protection against Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“And my cousin?” Cathleen folded a new bandage for the gunshot wound.

Mrs. Reynolds glanced quickly around the room to ensure privacy. “Lord Stafford and Mr.Worth stand guard before the stables. Mr. Darcy went in to rescue his wife, whom Mr.Wickham holds prisoner.”

“Will Mr. Darcy prevail?”

“Yes, or die trying. The Master will safeguard Mrs. Darcy’s life with his own.”


“Let her go, Wickham.” Darcy stood and stepped into the open.“It is I on whom you seek revenge.”

“I do seek revenge on you, Darcy, but I am not that milquetoast George Wickham.”

Confused by the man’s words, Darcy’s eyes locked on Elizabeth and saw that she spoke to him of the unknown—of a message she tried to relay. “I am afraid, sir, I do not know the rules of the game you play.” Keeping his gun loosely by his side, Darcy infused his words with calmness as he edged forward—only inches, but forward just the same.

“’Tis no game,” James Withey declared. “Ask your wife if you doubt my sincerity.”

This, then, was what she wanted to tell him. Elizabeth’s eyes revealed that her mind raced through a series of facts she needed to share. “Mrs. Darcy?” he spoke softly and edged still closer.

With the gun only inches from her head, Elizabeth should have been having a fit of the vapors; instead, she gave Darcy a mischievous grin before saying, “It is true, Fitzwilliam,” she asserted. “This is Mr. Withey—James Withey. It is my understanding that you have met Mr.Withey previously.”

Mystified, Darcy eyed Elizabeth. Why does she agree with the man? Darcy intuited that Elizabeth wanted to prove something to him.“I am at a loss, my Dear,” he said in an intimate tone.“I do not believe I have made Mr.Withey’s acquaintance previously.”

Elizabeth arched one eyebrow, which said, Listen to what I do not say in my words, and Darcy allowed himself to relax into a serene alertness. “I am sure, my Husband, that you have simply forgotten your interactions with Mr. Withey because of your numerous responsibilities to Pemberley, and, in reality, it has been several years since you have seen each other.”

“As you are an excellent example of reason and common sense, I suspect you are correct.” Again, he surreptitiously moved another two inches closer to Wickham and to the gun the man held on Elizabeth.

“Might we cut through all the niceties?”Withey growled.

Elizabeth swallowed hard but controlled her countenance. Any sense of self-preservation disappeared with her need to warn Darcy. “I shall speak forthrightly, my Husband. Unlike the affable Mr. Wickham, Mr. Withey prefers the reputation of a rakehell.”

Her captor interrupted, “Tell him how he paid my gambling debts three times. Remind your husband how he took the punishment when I broke the balcony window playing cricket.” Withey waved the gun about as he spoke, and Darcy considered the opening, but Elizabeth remained in danger, so he squelched his desire to strike.

With great effort, Darcy held his anger in check. “I apologize for my forgetfulness.”

Elizabeth noted the beginning of understanding in Darcy, so she tried a brazen experiment. “Mr. Withey, might I ask to speak to the gentleman with the Scottish brogue whom I met earlier?”

“MacIves?” James Withey asked disdainfully.

She prayed she had not made a mistake. Darcy crept closer and closer, and Elizabeth needed to keep Withey occupied until her husband could act. “I do not believe I caught the gentleman’s name,” she offered.

With no more than a clenching of his jaw muscles, Withey became Gregor MacIves. Before Darcy’s eyes, the man’s bearing, his natural gait and movements, his gestures, and his vocal quality transformed. “Ye missed me, Lass?” The man caught Elizabeth about the waist and pulled her against his body.

Darcy’s hands fisted at his side, but he maintained a strained control for Elizabeth’s safety.

His wife eased herself out of the man’s grasp. “Mr. MacIves.” She purposely smiled at the man, “Might I introduce my husband, Mr. Darcy.”

“I didnae realize ye had a mon, Lass.” He brought the gun to point at Darcy.“I ken relieve ye of the burden; I will kill him for ye. Tis a mon’s duty to protect his womon.”

Elizabeth gasped when he made Darcy his target, but her husband appreciated the change in the situation. It kept her safe, and that was what mattered to him.

“No, I could not ask that of you,” she insisted emphatically. A fresh chill of dread went through her as she watched Darcy stand tall, making himself a larger target. Before MacIves could follow through on his threat, Elizabeth asked, “Why do you not send Mr. Whittington to speak to us?” She had gambled before and made headway with Darcy’s understanding, so she kept to her plan to show him what he faced. Darcy still looked a bit confused; yet, she knew she had piqued his curiosity. The sharp twist of his mouth said he had what he wanted: His enemy’s attention had fallen on him. However, she wished Darcy to truly see the evil he fought.

MacIves pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Ye be ’nouncing His Young Lordship to ye husband, Lass?”

“It is what a lady does.” She bestowed a polite smile on him.

As before, a change ensued; MacIves squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them seconds later, he held himself in the stature of a young nobleman.The boy known as Peter Whittington looked down in surprise at Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, you have need of me?”

“Yes, Mr. Whittington. I believe you are acquainted with my husband.” She gestured toward Darcy.

Even though he maintained his stance, everything else about Wickham changed. No longer the rough Scottish lord of a previous century, the man standing before them was an immature aristocrat. “Of course. It has been some time since I have seen you, Darcy. Not since our first year at Eton.”

Finally, what Elizabeth wanted him to know stood blaringly clear before him. Each of these “characters” was Wickham at a pivotal moment in the man’s life. Darcy nodded his understanding, seeing how he might now get close enough to disarm his former friend. “Mr. Whittington, is it?” Darcy said, seemingly unruffled. “I nearly forgot that year was a complicated one for you. If I recall correctly, your father became quite livid regarding your responsibilities, often preferring the cane to emphasize his point. When your grades suffered, your father took it quite personally.”

Whittington muttered, “Thank you for reminding me of my shortcomings, Darcy.”

Darcy nodded. “You had some difficulty, as I recall, identifying your place. When word reached the school of my father’s furnishing your education, many thought you his by-blow, rather than his godson.”

“You turned from me that year,”Whittington accused.

“My mother took ill…there were other forces of concern in my life.”

Whittington recoiled with Darcy’s words. “I was your friend,” he insisted. “When you said nothing, they all believed the worst.”