Darcy pursed his lips. “I would have suggested you meet in Hunsford during my yearly pilgrimage to Rosings; however, I highly doubt that to be a possibility in our immediate future, if ever.”

She rose then and, situating herself upon Darcy’s lap, kissed his frowning mouth. She meant it as a passing gesture, one with which to reassure him before broaching the uncomfortable subject of his aunt Catherine, but her husband seemed to have other ideas; he captured her mouth in what quickly became an ardent kiss before she could even begin her speech. When their lips finally separated, Darcy buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing deeply while his arms held her close. “My love,” Elizabeth began but was soon silenced by his muffled words.

“Pray, do not mention that woman, Elizabeth. I care not to discuss her abhorrent behavior at this time. Only know that I cannot so easily forgive her for her disrespect of you.”

Elizabeth acknowledged his words by gently running her fingers through his hair and holding him a little tighter against her breast. “As you wish,” was all she replied.

*   *   *

The trip to Hertfordshire was uneventful. Bingley, Jane, Darcy, and Elizabeth all left London in Darcy’s carriage late Tuesday morning, stopping only for a light luncheon at an inn along the way, so they, as well as the servants and horses, might rest themselves. They arrived at Longbourn at teatime, much to Darcy’s consternation, as he had been most persistent in his insistence that they first stop at Netherfield so their party might refresh themselves somewhat after a rather tiresome journey.

He was especially concerned with Elizabeth’s comfort, worrying himself over her current state and trying to gauge whether or not she was fatigued by their journey, but Elizabeth was not of a mind to acquiesce to any particular demands to rest herself, stating she had managed to fall asleep for a while in the carriage and felt perfectly well enough to dine with her parents and sisters. Though Darcy remained skeptical, he reluctantly let it go, as she had agreed to his proposal that they stay with Bingley at Netherfield, rather than at Longbourn with her family.

Elizabeth had given in to this arrangement mostly for the sake of her husband, whom she knew would be far more inclined to be open in his cordiality to the neighborhood should he not have to share the same roof with her mother so soon after they had just parted company in Town.

Though she very much wished to accompany her brother and sister to Hertfordshire, it was decided between them that Georgiana would remain in London under the protection of Lord and Lady Matlock until their return. Neither Darcy or Elizabeth wished to risk having her meet accidentally with Wickham, should he still be in the vicinity. They soon saw their judgment proven quite sound, for, when they dined several evenings later at Lucas Lodge, many of the officers, Wickham included, happened to be among those in attendance.

For Darcy, it was a doubly trying evening as he found himself thrown into the rather unsavory company of his father’s former favorite as well as his aunt’s officious clergyman. As could be expected, he bore the insincere flattery of the latter with less than civil forbearance; the former, who leered at him with a smirk throughout the course of the entire evening, he found far more difficult to treat with indifference. Darcy found himself glaring at the man for the duration of the night, particularly when he noticed Wickham’s gaze sweeping over Elizabeth’s elegantly dressed figure. As a precaution, Darcy strayed little from her side.

The party, for the most part, was a merry one, especially with the two youngest Miss Bennets in attendance. They flirted with all the officers and called upon Mary to play lively airs so they might dance with them, as well. Both girls, but Lydia in particular, had become intimate with Colonel Forster’s young wife, Harriet, who just happened to be close, both in age and temperament, to Lydia. At one point, their laughter was so effusive it actually drew Mr. Bennet’s notice from his conversation with Colonel Forster, who, rather than sharing Mr. Bennet’s sentiments on the silliness of the young ladies, commented, instead, on his pleasure in seeing such liveliness in females, as he found it to be a welcome diversion from the oftentimes grave responsibilities he carried as a soldier in a time of war.

Toward the end of the evening, in an effort to get some much-needed fresh air and a few moments to herself, Elizabeth slipped away while Darcy was engaged in conversation with Colonel Forster and her father. She had not enjoyed above two minutes of solitude on the terrace located just outside the drawing room, when she overheard a disturbing conversation being conducted in hushed voices by Lydia and a gentleman whose voice she could not quite identify. Appalled by her sister’s total want of propriety and decorum, Elizabeth advanced several feet toward a manicured hedge and discovered her youngest sister in a most disgraceful and compromising situation with none other than Mr. Wickham.

“Lydia!” she cried, “you will return to the house immediately!”

The lovers jerked back in obvious surprise. Lydia hastily covered her exposed bosom, which Wickham had been fondling just moments before, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “La, Lizzy! Just because you are now shackled to such a dour man, it does not give you the right to spoil all the fun for the rest of us. You are hardly in charge of me just because you are now a married woman. I shall continue to do what I please with my dear Wickham, never mind what you say.”

Rage flowed through Elizabeth’s veins at Wickham’s nonchalance. “Come now, my pet,” he said in a voice that made her feel ill, “be a good girl and run along inside while I have a word with your sister. I will join you shortly.”

With a look of resentment toward her sister, Lydia kissed Wickham full on the lips before flouncing through the French doors, slamming them behind her. Elizabeth turned to follow her but found herself detained by Wickham, who was quick to circle around her, blocking her way to the house. “Well, well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with his usual air of insincerity, “or rather, I should say, Mrs. Darcy. I see we are destined to meet again, though I must confess to have been rather shocked when I heard from your sister that Darcy had actually deigned to marry you. Quite out of character for one in his station, I assure you, but I do suppose being caught in a compromising position by a clergyman must carry some weight with his conscience.”

Elizabeth turned her head away, but he only laughed. “You must have made it quite impossible for Darcy to refuse you, Mrs. Darcy.” He ogled her figure in a repugnant manner that brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Seeing her agitation obviously excited him. Wickham’s breathing became shallow and he raised his hand to touch the swell of flesh at the neckline of her gown. As in her aunt’s drawing room, Elizabeth attempted to strike him, but again, she found her wrists captured by his strong grip. He laughed. “I see not much has changed, Elizabeth. I still find you undeniably fetching, in spite of the fact your temper leads you to hasty actions you may soon find yourself sorry for… or not.”

Her eyes widened as he drew her against his body. She began to struggle in an attempt to extricate herself from his grasp, his evident arousal pressing against her stomach. “Mr. Wickham!” she exclaimed. “I beg you to reconsider your actions, sir! Surely you know my husband will happily kill you for such an insult, as would his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam!”

This seemed to sober him somewhat, for he scanned the area around them, his gaze darting to the doors leading back into the house. He soon returned it to her figure, however, and tightening his grip so it was especially painful for her, he said hoarsely, “You do make an excellent point, madam; however…”

Elizabeth held her breath, praying for some opportunity to escape. Wickham was, by now, holding her far too tightly for her to be able to free herself, and realizing this, her stomach lurched.

“Tell me,” he demanded as he lowered his head close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath, “did you scream and fight when your husband first insulted you, or did you dutifully submit to his will when he took possession of you?” Elizabeth gasped, and with one swift motion, Wickham pressed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss as he shoved her body back against the wall of the house.

She fought against him with every ounce of strength she could muster as he continued to take possession of her mouth, his lower body undulating against her hips. Just as Elizabeth thought she would become physically ill, he released her, grasping the base of her neck with one hand while he ran the fingers of his free hand along one side of her face.

“Not a word, my dear Mrs. Darcy, not a word,” he panted. “I just wanted to have a little taste of what Darcy delights in every night, although he cannot possibly appreciate such a feisty little chit in the manner he should.” Upon seeing the fear in her eyes, he murmured, “Be not alarmed, my dear. I doubt our paths shall cross again after tonight, but if they should, I daresay your loveliness shall most likely force me to claim some further basis for my comparison between you and, well, let us just say, one other young lady of my intimate acquaintance.” With one last, hungry look, Wickham released her and disappeared into the night.

Elizabeth slid to the ground, her legs finally giving way beneath her, and, holding her face in her hands, she cried for some time. Not long after she ceased, she heard lively music being played in the drawing room. Attempting some semblance of composure, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood, but not before hearing her husband’s voice raised in alarm as he questioned her sisters about her whereabouts.