The man’s clothes were rough looking and wrinkled. He growled, “Hand me the boy or I’ll kill you all.” He held a knife in his hand, the blade flashing in the summer sun shining through the window.
“Stop!” Elizabeth shouted.
The man shifted his feet so he could take in the new arrival. It was then Elizabeth saw his face. He was very altered, but still recognisable. “You! What do you want? How are you even alive?”
“I am here to finish a job.”
“Is it not enough you killed my sister and ruined my family?”
“You do not seem so ruined to me, you bloody chit.” Wickham sneered. “You’ve been living on borrowed time anyway. Shame you and the boy ever survived the birth. It would have made my life so much easier.”
“Get out. You will never outrun the guards below.” She edged closer to Dorothy to put herself between Wickham and her son.
“I’m not leaving without the brat.”
“You are not laying one finger on my son.” Elizabeth paled. “It was you. You set the fire. You murdered the earl and viscount. Why?”
“Like I said, I was hired to do a job.”
~ / ~
Darcy used the knocker and waited. No one came to open the door, and he knocked again. Finally, a harried footman let him in.
Removing his hat, Darcy immediately noticed the guards’ placement on the stairs. They stood at intervals but were not moving. “Where are Mrs Carrington and Alex?”
“Upstairs, sir. There is an intruder.”
Before the words were completed Darcy was running up the stairs.
The guards tried to keep him back, but he pushed through till he reached the landing. Another guard stood half out of a doorway and Darcy moved towards him quietly. His heart was pounding in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He clenched his fists in an attempt to regain control of his emotions.
Elizabeth now stood in front of Wickham, blocking his path to her son. From her vantage point she could see Jax and Darcy through the connecting door, in her room. She reminded herself to breathe and remain calm. It would be of no use to give their presence away.
Still, something must have alerted Wickham to the men’s proximity, for he lunged for her, grabbing her so fast she did not have a chance to scream.
He held a knife to her throat. “Give me the boy.”
Elizabeth shook her head at Dorothy, begging her with her eyes to stay back.
“You are not getting out of here alive, Wickham. Certainly not with the child.” At the sound of Darcy’s voice, Wickham tensed.
“Well, well. Look who’s arrived and is trying to play hero.” Realising his chance at the boy was gone, Wickham’s only thought now was to escape. He turned Elizabeth so they were both facing Darcy and the other man.
Darcy watched as Wickham tried to smile. Scarring on one side of his face made it look more like a lopsided grimace. The reason for the beard was now obvious. It hid much of the puckered scar which ran from near one eye, across the cheek and into the patchy beard, though no hairs grew over the misshapen defect. With Wickham’s pretence at a smile, it made a gruesome sight.
“Like my new look? Courtesy of the carriage accident. Needless to say, it is not one enamoured by the ladies.” He snickered. “At least I lived.”
“I am surprised infection had not set in, with so serious a wound.”
Wickham shrugged, but clutched Elizabeth closer, “A kind soul found me down river and nursed me back to health.”
“And this is how you repay that kindness?”
Wickham ignored the comment. He grabbed Elizabeth’s breast and squeezed it, painfully. “I may just have to take you with me, see how you compare to little Lyddie. She was such a disappointment in the end. All tease, but no real passion. I’ve been watching you.” He sniffed, running his nose from her jaw up to her temple. “You, I think, will be a wildcat to bed. Luscious and hot-”
“Wickham!” Darcy’s voice roared his fury. “You have nowhere to go and you are surrounded. Let her go and give yourself up.”
Wickham just laughed. “She is my passage to freedom.” He moved the knife under Elizabeth’s chin. “I know you want her; I have seen the way you stare, practically panting for it.” He slowly manoeuvred the knife till the tip indented her skin. “If I cannot finish my job, you will have to pay for her freedom. It is the only way to ensure mine. Twenty thousand pounds and I walk away.”
