Assuming the man’s abruptness was a result of Colonel Forster’s military efficiency, Mr. Gardiner simply followed him into the foyer.“Lydia will be out in a moment, Sir.” Mr. Gardiner shook hands with him once again and disappeared into the recesses of the house.
Meanwhile,Wickham instructed the servants in storing Lydia’s baggage.When the girl in question appeared, along with her aunt and uncle,Wickham helped her into the back of the hired carriage before mounting his horse. Lydia waved farewell to her family and giggled with the prospect of balls and parties and fawning soldiers.
“Colonel!” Mr. Gardiner called as the coach began to edge into traffic, and Wickham reined in the animal to hear the man’s parting words. “Mrs. Gardiner and I plan to take our niece shopping tomorrow.We will come by the Whitmore at noon. Please tell Mrs. Forster we would be pleased if she could join us.”
“I am sure my wife would take great delight in relieving me of my purse, Mr. Gardiner. I will inform Mrs. Forster of your plans.” With a tap of his crop to his hat as a parting salute, Wickham nudged the steed forward in an obvious need to be gone, and then he galloped away to catch the rapidly vanishing coach.
When she peered out the coach’s window, finding George Wickham riding beside it surprised Lydia. “Mr. Wickham!” she exclaimed after moving the drape aside and lowering the window. “What on earth are you doing here? And where is the colonel?”
Wickham offered up his most seductive smile.“Colonel Forster wanted to find a special gift for his wife before returning to the hotel. I believe the good colonel plans to woo his lovely bride this evening.” He edged the horse closer to the coach.“I assured him I would happily see you to your destination.”
Lydia dropped her eyes, blushing. “That is most kind of you, Lieutenant.”
Wickham paused, increasing the drama. “It is not so kind, Miss Lydia; I did it for very selfish reasons.”
“What type of selfish reasons, Mr.Wickham?”
“If you allow me to ride with you, Miss Lydia, I would express my deepest regard to a beautiful woman.”To emphasize his sincerity, he touched the window where her hand rested upon the opening.
“That would be a great break with propriety, Sir.”Although she was young, Lydia Bennet was well schooled in how to tempt a man and then withdraw. Unfortunately, with Wickham, her wiles on a
“I promise I have only the highest opinion of you, Miss Lydia. I would wish to express my plans for my future and my ardent admiration for one of God’s most beautiful creatures.” Such niceties never failed to make a woman let down her guard, whether she be a working-class bar maid or a lady of the realm.
Lydia bit her bottom lip, debating the sensibility of allowing a man to share her carriage. She believed she had good reason to hope for a proposal of marriage from Mr. Wickham. So she said, “As you wish, Mr.Wickham.”
Wickham called up to the coachman and reined in his horse. Dismounting, he tied the animal to the back of the coach and climbed in, seating himself across from her. Lydia settled back into the cheap seats of the letted coach. She smoothed the creases of her dress and tried to look prepared for what she hoped would happen.
Once the coach rolled again, Wickham leaned forward and took Lydia’s hand in his.As he made small circles with his fingertips along her wrists, he beckoned her to look at him. His gaze would solidify his control over the girl.“Miss Lydia,” he said slowly, giving himself time to enthrall her,“I wish to keep you with me through eternity. I would give you a love no one else can. I would welcome you into my arms nightly; we would be partners in the oldest game known to man.”With what ability to think she still possessed, Lydia envisioned balls and kisses and wedding dresses. “Instead of the Forsters, please say you will let me take you to Scotland, where we may join forever. I have a home of which you will be mistress in your own right.”
Lydia Bennet simply nodded her agreement. His eyes held her, and she could no longer generate an independent thought.Wickham enjoyed this moment, the one when his whims became his victim’s actions.Whatever he wanted would occur. He could manipulate Lydia Bennet as he chose. Wickham knew better than anyone how all humanity fed on the power of one another. Every minute of every day, people tried to
Darkness filled the windows as Wickham moved to the seat
When he sank his teeth into the spot, she flinched but then relaxed into his arms.This moment always amazed him, because as the victim’s life became his to use as he saw fit—as the fluid flowed into his innards—the stranger’s life moved through him—all their memories were now his. Lydia left him with stolen kisses behind the stable from a knock-kneed storekeeper, with games of hide-and-seek with her sisters, with the frustrations of useless music lessons, and with boisterous laughter to hide her own insecurities.
He did not drink enough to kill her outright, just enough to change Lydia Bennet forever. He did not break her neck but instead gently released her, laying the girl back along the seat. He lifted Lydia’s feet onto his lap and removed her slippers; then he absentmindedly stroked her leg from ankle to knee. Being given such liberties would sexually arouse a man, but Wickham was more interested in the texture of her skin, making sure it retained its softness. He would exchange fluids with her several more times over the next couple of days on their way to Northumberland. The lights of London faded into the distance.The coach isolated them from the outside world; he no longer heard the click and the clack of the wheels on the roadway. He sprinkled some of his home earth on the opposite seat and settled in for a long rest.The coachman was one of his followers.There would be no need to stop for food or drink. Changing horses would be the only delays. They would return to his home and wait for what Fitzwilliam Darcy would do next. By noon tomorrow, when her aunt and uncle discovered that Lydia was gone, there would be no turning back. He had instigated a last stand—a final battle with Darcy—one from which only one of them could walk away.
“What does it say, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth watched him as he read the latest report from one of the many investigators he had hired to find Wickham. It was two days after Christmas, and by silent agreement, they had not discussed Wickham or the curse since his declaration on Christmas day of wanting time away from the obsession.
He tossed the paper on the desk with disgust.The information brought his reprieve to a close. For those few hours, he had enjoyed being simply the master of Pemberley, overseeing his properties, scouring the newspapers for political pieces that would affect his tenants or his business holdings, treating Georgiana in an attentive way, and stealing romantic moments with his wife. This could be his life if not for an ancient hex, and Darcy did not want it to end. “We have news from one of Bramwell’s agents. He located Wickham’s home.”
Elizabeth moved quickly to grab the letter. “Where?” Her eyes searched the words for the answer.
“Near Chillingham.” Darcy crossed the room, putting space between him and the damnable missive. Hands resting on the sill, he took up a sentry position at the window overlooking the south lawn, where he had wrestled in
