fact within. If this was what his wife meant by intuition, he was starting to put some stock in it. He only hoped the instinct that told him she yet lived was also accurate. He deeply regretted their quarrel, that their last moments together had been laced with tension and unhappiness. Dear God, if he could but hold Elizabeth safe in his arms once more, hear his name on her lips, he’d patiently listen to every far-fetched notion she cared to utter.
Cold terror clawed his chest. He had never feared for himself the way he now feared for her. Parrish was a violent man without conscience, and Elizabeth was within striking range. Common sense told him to wait for help, but he dared not allow another minute’s delay.
He cocked the pistol he had borrowed from Bingley’s desk. Bracing himself for whatever he might find on the other side, he swung wide the door and burst in.
“Mr. Darcy. I wondered when you might join us.”
Parrish calmly greeted Darcy’s dramatic entrance. Standing in the center of the chamber, he gestured with a wicked-looking dagger toward the side of the room. “As you can see, your wife has already made herself comfortable.”
Elizabeth was bound and gagged, and — Darcy’s jaw dropped — held at knifepoint by Caroline Parrish.
“Mrs. Parrish?” Darcy struggled to comprehend the scene. He could not believe Caroline would act in collusion with the ruffian.
“Put down that pistol before someone gets hurt. My wife is a most attentive hostess, I assure you.”
Darcy instead aimed the weapon at Parrish. “I know Caroline Bingley. She would not harm Elizabeth.”
“Caroline Bingley might not. But Caroline Parrish will if I ask her to. She’ll do anything I command. Imagine that — a wife who does her husband’s bidding! Perhaps yours would get into less trouble if she followed suit.”
Parrish was bluffing. Had to be. Darcy had known Caroline for more than a decade, and while she did not harbor any great affection for Elizabeth, physically harming another person was not in her nature. He held the pistol steady.
“Don’t believe me?” Parrish slowly brought his hands together and twisted his ring. “Caroline, run that blade down your own cheek.”
Caroline lifted the knife. In a motion too swift for Darcy to prevent, she scratched the side of her face. A thin ribbon of blood welled and dribbled down her cheek. She returned the blade to the base of Elizabeth’s throat.
“If a woman as vain as my wife will disfigure herself at my command, do you doubt what she’ll do to your precious Elizabeth?”
Darcy, nauseated by what he’d just witnessed, stared at Parrish. What kind of monster was he? And what sort of domination did he hold over Caroline? He looked at Parrish’s ring. He’d fingered it before issuing the vile order. Glancing back at Caroline, he noted that she still wore her own wedding ring. Was it possible that Elizabeth was right? Could the rings possess some mysterious power?
Parrish laughed, a malevolent, sickening sound. “Realization dawns on stuffy English intellect. Your wife caught on much faster than you. Now, speaking of the little lady — if you love her, put the pistol down.”
Slowly, Darcy set the pistol on the floor.
“Fool.”
“How is such a man to be worked on?”
Elizabeth ignored the lump in her throat, not daring to swallow it. The tip of Caroline’s knife pressed into her flesh. Perspiration trickled down her throat. Or was it blood?
Parrish kicked the pistol toward Caroline. “Here, darling — I think even you can figure out how to use this.” The weapon scudded across the floor, coming to rest near Elizabeth’s foot. Elizabeth, hoping to kick it under the bed, strained against the bond at her ankle, but it held fast. Caroline set her knife on the night table and picked up the gun.
“If either of them tries anything, shoot the other,” Parrish said.
Elizabeth hadn’t known such wickedness existed in the world. She dared not look at Darcy. He’d already relinquished his weapon because of her; she did not want him to see the terror she felt for him and herself. Nor did she want Parrish to know that in threatening him he’d found her greatest vulnerability.
Her mind raced, trying to devise a way to help her husband. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move… much. She tested her wrist constraints. The left secured her tightly to the chair arm, but she found the right just loose enough to allow slight movement. If she proceeded very slowly, so as not to draw Caroline’s notice, perhaps she could reach her pocket — and the housewife inside. What she hoped to accomplish with sewing notions she knew not, but attempting to reach a pin or needle seemed more useful than doing nothing.
“Parrish, there is no reason anyone has to get hurt.” Darcy held his hands before him in a show of cooperation. “Let my wife go, and we can settle this like gentlemen.”
“Like gentlemen?” Parrish snorted. “And just what does that mean? Shall we repair to the drawing room for tea? I’ve endured enough foppish English manners. I’ve got you and your wife at gunpoint, man — let’s drop the phony civility.”
Darcy straightened and took a step toward Elizabeth’s side of the room. “All right, then. Tell me what it is you want.”
Elizabeth worked her fingers closer to her pocket. They reached its edge.
“First, I want you to stop moving toward your wife. Do you think I’m stupid? There—” With the dagger, he pointed to the other side of the room, near the sputtering fire. “I want you there.”
Darcy moved where he indicated. Just a couple feet from the flames, his form cast long shadows on the floor.
To keep both eyes on Darcy, Parrish now had to stand with his body turned away from Elizabeth. She dipped her fingers inside her pocket. They brushed something, but not the expected housewife — a chain… Professor Randolph’s watch. She nearly cried in frustration. Of what possible use was that watch right now? She pawed it until it slid into her palm. Perhaps she could move it out of her way and yet reach the housewife.
“Second,” Parrish continued, “I want money. Lots of it.”
“How much?”
“How much do you have?” Parrish ran a fingertip along the flat of the blade. He cocked his head as if an idea had just occurred to him. “More to the point, how much is your wife worth? She’ll be taking a little trip with me, you see, until a generous sum finds its way to us. I’d planned to just bring Caroline — we never had a proper honeymoon, you know. But adding Elizabeth could make things far more… exciting.”
Elizabeth fought down the bile that rose in her throat at Parrish’s indecent suggestion. Darcy made no reply, but she could see from the tightening of his jaw that Parrish had baited his anger.
“I can hardly wait to find out, Darcy — is your wife as spirited by night as she is by day?”
Darcy’s gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She could read in his expression that he wanted nothing more than to silence Parrish’s offensive utterances. His hands clenched into fists. But the villain’s order to Caroline prevented action — Darcy might risk harm to himself, but never to her.
Loud footsteps clattered in the hall, heading toward the chamber. Parrish looked at the door, then back at Darcy. “I won’t be outnumbered.” He leapt toward him, dagger poised.
Darcy sprang. But not forward — back, to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker and brought it up to block Parrish’s attack. Steel struck iron as he deflected the thrust.
Caroline pointed the pistol at Darcy. Elizabeth struggled against her bonds, but to no effect. Caroline wrapped both hands around the handle and moved her finger to the trigger.
At Darcy’s parry, Parrish retreated a step. He stood between Caroline and Darcy, blocking her aim. Darcy gripped the poker in his right hand like a fencing foil, his stance
