a narrow bed. Wickham closed the door firmly on the sight, turning to see Orman staring at him with derision.
“Do not make me retch,” the Marquis said scornfully. “Does seeing the brat in such a state injure your tender heart?”
“Hardly. I am more concerned over him dying too soon, that is all.”
Orman cackled. “He will recover enough to be conscious and crying out to his papa when we slit his throat. Ah, the look on Darcy’s face while he watches his precious son and wife die! The joy, Wickham, the incredible joy!”
“Well,” Wickham interrupted what he knew could easily bloom into a full-fledged manic tirade, “I shall allow you that task. I will take care of Mrs. Darcy in the way that best satisfies me. We shall both have our revenge before he dies.”
“You are a fool,” Lizzy rasped through clattering teeth, “if you truly believe you will get away with any of this. Fitzwilliam will not fall for your pathetic ruse or be taken so easily. He is stronger than you, Wickham, and always has been. This you know and you are afraid.”
Wickham smiled confidently, only a glimmer of nervousness showing in the depths of his eyes. “How touching,” he drawled. “The faith you have. All the more reason why taking you while your hero watches powerless to intervene will be so extremely pleasurable, for me anyway.” He leered, one hand rubbing vulgarly over his crotch while lecherously scanning over her body.
He sat again onto the sofa, pulling Lizzy’s lower legs and feet onto his lap and commencing a lazy caress over her bare shins.
Lizzy jerked her legs from his offensive touch, kicked powerfully with every ounce of her strength into his jaw, and watched his head snap backward as blood spurt from between split lips in a gushing stream along with teeth.
At least that was what she imagined doing. That was what her mind desired to happen. But her muscles and nerves betrayed her, refusing to obey the brain’s command. Instead she cringed and quailed, her stomach threatening to again disgorge, and her weeps of anguish caught in her chest.
Wickham and Orman talked on, with glee, about the plans they had laid. How Darcy would be, even at that moment, collecting the funds to retrieve his wife and child, funds that they would enjoy, but were only a diversion. How he was probably agonizing over the loss to his fortune while also agonizing over the fate of his loved ones. How he would suffer all through the long night and all the next day before he received his instructions. How they would drop vague hints of Lizzy and Alexander’s torment designed to torture him. How they would lure him with promises of a safe return, only to capture him when he played to their directives like a marionette. How they would follow through with the final monstrous assaults to Lizzy and an innocent child, ending their heinous campaign with Orman killing Darcy.
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
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