by Abbey North
He gave an indulgent chuckle. “She was agog at the Dulwich Picture Gallery, and I impressed her with an observation. She accepted my invitation to tea at a nearby tearoom, and when the opportunity presented itself, I knocked her out and brought her to these rooms.”
She shuddered. “So, the women did nothing to warrant murder?” How could anyone warrant the treatment he had dispensed was beside the point. She hoped to get him to see the flaw in his actions, but she doubted he was reception to a logical discussion.
He seemed pensive for a moment. “No, I suppose not, other than bearing a strong resemblance to my mother. You look similar to her as well, Miss Bennet, and I was certain we would reach this point the very first night I saw you.”
Hoping to delay whatever he planned, she asked, “How did you trick Marie into trusting you?”
“Marie was easy enough to lure away with a trinket, and when I did not try to seduce her that first evening, she assumed I was a gentleman. The foolish girl actually believed my tale of having fallen madly in love with her upon sight, and she agreed to run away with me to elope. I would have taken her that night, but we were interrupted, and she slipped from the carriage. She was quite disappointed to discover our destination was an entirely different sort when I retrieved her the next time.”
He looked around the candlelit room, and there seemed to be a trace of affection in his expression. “It was in this very location where Miss Harris and Miss Mansfield met their ends as well. I have taken the rooms for a couple of months, but I will soon be departing London. You will likely be my last diversion in this space.”
“Murder is quite a bit more than diversion,” said Lizzy coldly.
“I can see where you might feel that way, since you have a different role to play than I do.” He appeared gently amused, as though she were being ridiculous, and he was prepared to indulge it.
“What will you do to me?” Her eyes widened with horror as she contemplated the possibilities.
“I have already said that,” he sounded impatient.
“Are you planning to violate me?” She sounded far calmer than she felt.
His expression twisted into one of disgust. “How dare you insult me in such a fashion? I would never stoop so low.”
Lizzy’s mouth dropped open in shock. He was clearly offended at the suggestion he might be a rapist, but he took being a murderer in stride. It was obvious he deserved a room in Bedlam, though she would be just as happy to see him confined to a cell at Newgate until the hangman’s noose wrapped around his neck.
As she stared at him, Lizzy was certain there was nothing she could say or do to dissuade him from his actions. He was already too skilled at them, having committed nine-and-a-half murders before, if she only gave half-credit for his sister, so he was practically an expert at this. Having never been a homicide victim before, she was a novice, but she refused to surrender easily.
Knowing he would likely cut her the moment she opened her mouth, Lizzy still drew in a deep breath and let out a shrill scream for as long as she could until the knife nicked her skin, forcing her to fall silent.
He clamped a hand over her mouth and glared down at her. “You are ruining my fun, Miss Bennet. I see now I will have to gag you, though I do enjoy a bit of conversation first.” He seemed resentful that she wasn’t performing according to his mental script.
Lizzy wanted to keep fighting, but the blade was still against her skin, the stinging pain accompanied by a rivulet of blood dripping down her neck. She didn’t think he had cut her fatally yet, but continuing to resist would likely lead to that outcome. Which did she prefer? Death by the stiletto or strangulation?
She was saved from having to make the decision by the door suddenly crashing open. She should’ve been surprised, but she wasn’t at all when Mr. Darcy burst into the room in a spray of splintered wood.
Tristan’s knife wavered for a moment, cutting her again, and she winced at the burn, but then he was pulled off her, and the two men engaged in a furious struggle. Lizzy considered trying to help, but she recalled the last time she’d interceded when Mr. Darcy was fighting with Mr. Wickham, and she’d accidentally hit him in the head with a tree branch, giving Wickham the inadvertent advantage.
She couldn’t risk allowing that to happen this time, because she had no doubt Tristan would kill her and Mr. Darcy if he got the chance. Mr. Darcy might not be his type, but he wouldn’t let that stop him.
She did scramble off the bed though, retrieving a handkerchief from her reticule he had left on the nightstand and pressing it to her bleeding wound as she watched the two men fight.
She had to concede Mr. Darcy was a skilled fighter, moving with lithe grace. She wondered if he had trained at Gentleman Jackson’s. He didn’t seem particularly vulnerable, even though she knew he had a tender spot his opponent could exploit.
There was a sudden cry of pain, and she darted forward before she could think better of it, unable to identify from whom it came for a moment as the two men slumped together. They fell to the floor, and she was certain Mr. Darcy was dead, her heart skipping a beat at the notion before pain constricted her chest to the point she could barely breathe. “Fitzwilliam, are you all right?”
“I am fine,” he said a moment later as he pushed Tristan off him. He stood up, standing over the man who had his own knife sticking out his stomach. “He has not fared so well. With medical care, he will likely survive.” Mr. Darcy sounded mournful of that idea, and he lifted his foot for a moment, it hovering over the blade of the stiletto. He seemed to be debating about whether he should push it in the rest of the way.
Lizzy, not wishing to see him reduced to that, moved forward and distracted him slightly from his thoughts, taking his hands. “You came for me.”
He turned to face her, but his gaze remained on Tristan, who was huddled on the floor in misery. “Certainly, I did. Are we not partners in this venture?” He sounded calm and confident, but there was a tremble in his tone, and it turned to a full-body shudder when he saw the handkerchief pressed against her neck. “He has cut you?”
“He did so when I screamed, and then again when the door burst open.” She pulled the handkerchief away slightly so he could see. “I do not believe it is a fatal wound, though I might need stitches.”
He was pale, and when he pulled her into his arms, Lizzy didn’t fight. Instead, she clung to him, taking warmth and comfort from his embrace. At that moment, all the things standing between them no longer seemed so important. Death had nearly cost them a chance at everything this evening, and what was pride when weighed against that?
Someone cleared his throat, and the two of them pulled apart as Mr. Kenton entered the room with a few other Runners behind him. “I assumed this might be the right place from the broken door,” said the young man in a calm tone. He moved closer to Mr. Nobles, eyeing him with disdain. “This is our murderer, I take it?”
“He is,” said Darcy confidently.
“I can attest to that,” said Lizzy. “He confessed to nine murders. Ten if you count his sister, whom he failed to rescue despite being able to when she fell through the ice. The man killed his own mother.”
Darcy paled further, likely realizing that a man who could kill his mother could kill anyone. Perhaps it reminded him how close he’d come to losing her, because his arms went around her again, pulling her against him, and he seemed uncaring that they had an audience who might disapprove of the close embrace between people who weren’t married or even engaged. Lizzy didn’t care either, and she curled closer to him, hugging tightly.
Mr. Kenton grimaced. “I suggest you see Miss Bennet home, for she is likely needing a surgeon. The lads and I can handle this. I shall need to conduct a more formal interview, but that can wait until morning.”
“I believe he belongs in Bedlam,” said Lizzy. “He seems quite mad.”
Mr. Kenton nodded. “That might be his ultimate destination, but it is for others to decide after we present the evidence.” He tou
ched the brim of his hat in a respectful fashion as Fitzwilliam led her from the room.
Lizzy was happy to leave it all behind her, and as they stepped out into the foggy night, a wave of dizziness swept over her. She collapsed against Fitzwilliam, who lifted her into his arms and held her securely as the stinging in her neck suddenly became violent pain she could no longer ignore. She whimpered in distress, and it must have been more than Mr. Darcy could bear, because he went to the nearest horse tied to a hitching post, likely one who belonged to one of the Runners, and placed her on the saddle astride it.
She clung to the horn as he mounted behind her, putting his arm around her to hold her tightly against him when he started urging the horse to move faster and faster through the streets. They were probably going too quickly with the fog, but Lizzy was beyond issuing a warning.
Instead, she was trapped in pain and misery, and the events of the evening started to settle over her. Tears came to her eyes, and she trembled as she started to sob. Only his arm kept her tethered and focused, allowing her to keep from slipping completely into reaction from the overwhelming terror the evening had brought.
13
Lizzy somewhat recalled the journey back to the Gardiners’, assuming Darcy had chosen that because it was closer than Darcy House. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find herself instilled in his home, and indeed perhaps in his room, if he hadn’t been thinking practically. A surgeon came, putting in four very painful stitches before departing, and Lizzy was left to rest, though Jane stayed with her.
She tried to fall asleep with little success, for each time she started to doze off, she was plunged into nightmares her mind conjured, various scenarios of the ways Mr. Nobles had killed his victims. When she woke from a dream where she had been trapped under the ice, pounding on it frantically as cold seeped into her body, she abandoned all attempt at sleep.
Jane was beside her in the bed, sleeping atop the covers and still in her ballgown. There was a chill in the air, so Lizzy took time to cover her sister before she left her room. She needed something to calm her nerves, and she was debating between warm milk and laudanum as she entered the sitting room.
She was afraid laudanum might trap her in the dreams, so she had discarded that notion when she drew to a halt at the sight of Mr. Darcy sprawled on the settee, his cravat loosened, his tailcoat stripped, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. He was in a state of dishabille, but there was something touching about it, and she moved closer.
She was unable to resist the compulsion to stand over him for a long moment and stare, memorizing his features. She had seen them many times before, but never in the unguarded state of sleep. It was only when she realized his eyes were pinched, and he seemed to be shifting restlessly that she grasped he might be having a nightmare as well.
Assuming he would appreciate being woken from such a state, after having been trapped in them for several hours herself, she leaned down and gently shook his shoulder. “Fitzwilliam, I believe you are having a nightmare.”
His eyes snapped open, and he sat up immediately. In the process, he managed to knock her off balance, and she landed on his lap. She gasped at the contact, but there was no chance to escape as his arms came around her. He embraced her again, his relief tangible. She could hardly deny him the comfort, especially when she appreciated it herself, and she hugged him to her.
At some point, he must’ve found the fortitude to ease her back, because he gently lifted her off his lap and put her beside him on the settee, but still closer than was appropriate. His arm remained around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest, enjoying the sound of it thumping rhythmically under her ear.
“I thought I had lost you. That was intolerable, Lizzy.”
She trembled. “I had the same thoughts, Fitzwilliam.” How easily she had fallen into using his first name, as though it had always been a privilege open to her. She lifted her head to look at him, stricken by the sadness in his face. She raised a hand to touch his cheek. “I am all right. You saved me.”
“I did not do it alone. If you had not had the courage to call out, I would not have found you in time.”
Lizzy smiled at the concession. “I suppose I did my part. I even considered helping you by hitting him on the head with something.”
His expression took on a state of mock-horror. “Never help me in that way again.” He lifted a hand to rub his head, as though recalling the injury she had given him in the past.
His actions teased a smile from her, and she said, “I reached that decision on my own. I was afraid I would be hindrance rather than help.”
“I am happy to have your assistance in many ways, but it is my duty to fight the villains on your behalf, Lizzy.”
She rolled her eyes. “I do believe I could fight a villain on my own if I had to.” Then reality returned, and she couldn’t help remembering the feel of the knife sliding through her skin, which caused the wound to twinge. She quivered, and his arms went around her again. She pressed her face to his chest, though she wasn’t crying this time. She was simply soaking up the succor he provided.
“You must know I love you, Lizzy.”
She nodded her head, unable to look up to meet his gaze. Despite the events of the evening, she still had her reservations about a future being possible between them. Having nearly been separated from him was allowing her to reconsider some of her objections, but she was still uncertain they could be happy together in the long-term.
“Will you come to Pemberley?”
She lifted her head then, surprised by the question. “What?”
“I wish for you to come stay at Pemberley when the weather turns, and you can travel easily. I would like you to spend the spring with me. Of course, your family is welcome too.”
Her eyes widened. “Even my mother?”
One of his lips curled into a slight smile, or it could have been a grimace of pain. It was difficult to discern. “Even your mother. Of course, your mother. Your sisters, your father, and the Gardiners as well, if they would like. You can bring anyone in the world you choose if it makes you feel comfortable enough to stay at Pemberley so we can get better acquainted. I would like to court you.”
Lizzy licked her lips as she considered the idea. “What if I want to bring Lord Aumley?” she asked in a teasing fashion, hoping to distract him from the seriousness of the moment.
He scowled. “Anyone but him.”
“He does not appear to be a rake,” said Lizzy, unable to resist a little bit of torment directed toward Fitzwilliam. “It was his friend who was the murderer, not him.”
“I made certain misjudgments about the young man, but he likes you far too much for my comfort. I am inviting you to Pemberley to have your undivided attention.”
Lizzy abandoned her campaign of gentle teasing. “You do have my undivided attention, Fitzwilliam. I will come to Pemberley, and I will write to my mother this very night to tell her the news. Once she knows of it, there will be no rescinding the invitation or the acceptance.”
His spine stiffened. “I shall prepare myself.”
Her lips twitched, and she was unable to resist the compulsion to lift her head and brush them lightly against his. She wasn’t certain if they could have a future together, but they definitely had a physical accord. Pemberley would allow them to see if they could build a true emotional accord as well. Though it had once seemed completely impossible, Lizzy found it probable now, and she was hopeful she could forge a future with Fitzwilliam. She was certainly willing to try.
This is the fourth book in a five-part series that needs to be read in order, just like Jane Austen’s masterpiece.
If you missed books #1 and #2, you can get “Rapacity & Rancor” or “Abduction & Acrimony” or “Extortion & Enmity” at Amazon.
Look for the final book, Book #5 of the Crime & Courtship series, “Perfidy & Promises,” coming soon.
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About the Author
Abbey is a diehard Jane Austen fan and has loved Fitzwilliam since the first time she “met” him at age thirteen upon borrowing the book from the school library. He is the ideal man, though Abbey’s husband is a close second. Abbey enjoys writing various steamy and sweet Jane Austen variations, but “Pride & Prejudice” (and Mr. Darcy) will always be her favorite.
