The declarations and fits of laughter blended in her weary, stupefied mind. Lizzy sensed the tendrils of oblivion creeping over her and she reached for them eagerly. She hurt, physically and emotionally, and yearned for the relative peace that sleep would bring her. Her last memory was of a loud bang and muted scream from somewhere far away, but she could not muster the curiosity needed to maintain a grip on her reason. Blackness again consumed her.

The ride from Grosvenor Square to the remote hunting lodge in Surrey, near the village of Oxshott, was uneventful. The twelve men on horseback drove their mounts hard, not bothering to talk, and crossed the distance in record time. Nonetheless, to Darcy it felt like an eternity. Only a few hours had passed since the suspected time of the kidnapping, fewer still since he had been interrupted with the news at Angelo’s, but it was more than enough time for any number of gruesome punishments to have befallen his wife and child. No matter how hard he tried to squelch the visions, they occurred with alarming frequency. It was only the driving will to rescue them that preserved his sanity.

The calm, military proficiency of Colonel Fitzwilliam was a soothing balm at this time. Even in the midst of his turmoil, Darcy was consciously appreciative that he had such a man on his side. It would not be until much later, however, that he would be able to think back on his cousin’s sapient leadership with the full amount of pride and awe it deserved. For the present, he could only focus on holding his wife and son in his arms, and putting this nightmare behind them. Luckily, he did have enough clarity and good sense to hearken to Richard’s decrees.

They did not slow their galloping pace until they neared the narrow weald bordering the unkempt expanse surrounding the house. The colonel signaled a halt amongst the concealing woods. Each of the ten men he had circumspectly chosen for this mission dismounted in complete silence. They tied their horses to the trees, gathering around their commander in hunkering positions without crunching a single dried leaf. With a combination of gestures and pointed words spoken in hushed tones that were nevertheless crisp and comprehendible, their plan of attack was laid out.

Richard signaled Darcy, the only nonmilitary man in their company, to stay close to his side. Darcy nodded, knowing that this was as much to be sure the emotionally charged man did not do something stupid as it was to be sure he was front-and-center to the final rescue.

The other men fanned out in a rough semicircle between the trunks of oak, wild cherry, and birch. They crept silently, low to the ground, eyes scanning through the faint illumination of dusk, edging ever closer to the boundary of the concealing forest. Once the house was within easy sight, they halted again. More faint whispers and gestured commands were given. Darcy only understood about half of the communication, but then, his eyes were riveted to the lodge beyond the weedy, dilapidated yard.

It was not large, strictly being a temporary resting place for menfolk to lay their heads in relative comfort while hunting the plentiful game that inhabited the surrounding woodland. Fashioned from roughly carved logs and timber, it almost reminded Darcy of drawings he had seen of cabins in the American frontier. Although the current pressing point was to spy the land and collect necessary intelligence, Darcy did spare a moment’s curious inventory of the architecture, grudgingly admitting that the rustic design was appealing. Moreover, on a practical level, it made this venture easy to delineate.

The land in between where they hid among the underbrush and the house was level, only some thirty yards wide, and conveniently dotted with wildly overgrown hazel, green hound’s-tongue, herb Paris, and a number of other bushes and small trees. The house was dark with glimmers of light showing from one first floor window on the far corner and a group of windows on the second story. They waited, watching, unbelievably coming to suspect that there were no guards or servants in the vicinity, when an armed man walked around the corner.

Richard snorted in disgust, nudging Darcy with his elbow, and leaning for a murmured commentary. “Look at how he is holding his shotgun. Pathetic. Not looking around or alert. Oh, this is almost no fun at all.” He signaled to one of his associates, Colonel Roland Artois, older brother to Kitty’s husband Randall Artois, who nodded curtly, rose, and almost instantly seemed to disappear!

Darcy blinked in astonishment, as he would several times in the next few minutes, finally espying the enormous soldier with bulging muscles that looked to burst through the strained fabric of his lightweight jacket. He was melting into the darkness cast by the foliage, his hulking body appearing to magically fade as he furtively grew closer and closer to the unsuspecting sentry. The man stood nonchalantly by the wall, puffing on a glowing pipe, the shotgun negligently slung over his shoulder.

It was a thing of beauty. One moment he was there, in full view, and the next he was dropped to the ground. It happened so fast that if their angle did not allow the scene to play before his eyes, Darcy may have thought the man evaporated! In one smooth motion, the brawny warrior emerged behind the watchman, his arms and hands circling with a knifing twist and jerking clasp. The unfortunate man instantly went limp, Colonel Artois lowering them both gracefully to the ground amid the concealing bushes and shadows.

Darcy gasped. Richard grinned, delivering a wink to his cousin. “Do not fear. All the men have been instructed not to kill unless absolutely necessary.” He shrugged. “Generally it is not necessary. There are ways to subdue and leave for future questioning. Can help when you need information, keeps down the mess and boring questions later, and gives the courts and lawyers something to prove their worth in this world.”

Richard delivered another wink before growing serious and motioning to more of his assistants. Four more slunk away, two in each direction. “They will approach the house from the back and side, take care of any other guards,” he emphasized with derision, “and stand watch around the perimeter. Ah, there is the signal.”

The bulky figure of Roland Artois came into view from amid the brush, nodding at the colonel.

“Come. It’s time to retrieve your family!”

The next span of minutes, again seemingly agonizing in their slowness, was rather exhilarating. If the stakes were not so high and Darcy’s insides were not in a twisted knot of tension, he may have welcomed the thrill of the hunt. He was eager to confront Wickham and Orman, more than hoping there would be some resistance merely for the delight in dispensing some well-deserved physical pain! The awareness of his zealous barbarism elicited a sad smile, knowing that Elizabeth would scold him for the train of his thoughts while secretly swelling with pride.

Be strong, my love, his thoughts pleaded, I am coming for you and our son, and all will be well.

It was late in the evening, and although the setting sun still cast rays through the surrounding trees, inside the two-story lodge it was dim. No lamps were lit in the lower level chambers except for a glow from far down the hall in what they discovered was the empty kitchen. The only obvious illumination in the upper story came from the chamber at the top of the stairs and another further down the corridor. It was eerie, but certainly made stealthy reconnoitering easy.

Entering the house, investigating the empty rooms, and gathering before the dark stairway leading to the upper floor was accomplished expeditiously. The four soldiers assuredly secured the exterior and then, per the colonel’s instructions, remained posted outside the house. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they would provide safeguarding in a far superior manner than Orman’s dismal protectors, all three of whom had been efficiently incapacitated.

The murmur of voices and movement could be detected from above as they cautiously ascended the long staircase leading to the upper floor, hugging the shadows against the wall. Richard was in the front of the line with Darcy on the next lower step and six soldiers bringing up the rear. Halfway up the steps the voices grew clearer, with words distinguishable and distinct.

“How badly do you want her now? Hmmm? Ready to take her this instant?”

At Orman’s repellent words, uttered with a sickly humorous tone, Darcy stiffened and took an involuntary step forward. It was only Richard’s steely grip on his right upper arm, fingertips digging in so harshly that he would note bruises on the morrow, along with a chary but determined push into the wall, which kept the enraged man from leaping forward into the room.