“Well, then,” Elizabeth said brightly, placing her book back on the shelf. “I suppose we shall have to wait and see if the wagers are won—or lost.”
Darcy inclined his head, his expression inscrutable once more. “Indeed. Though, as with most wagers, the outcome is never certain.”
The side of Elizabeth’s mouth turned up. “Which means, of course, that anything can still happen.”
Darcy placed the smallvolume of poetry on the counter and withdrew the necessary coins, nodding curtly to the shopkeeper. He had intended to leave the shop moments earlier, but Elizabeth had exited ahead of him, and he found himself lingering, watching as she paused just outside the door to speak with a cluster of red-coated officers. One of them, unmistakably Wickham, was standing far too close.
Darcy’s fingers tightened around the coins as he watched Wickham’s easy manner, the way he leaned in just slightly, speaking with that polished charm Darcy knew too well. Something cold and sharp twisted in his chest. Wickham was too skilled at ingratiating himself, too adept at hiding his true nature behind a mask of affability. And Elizabeth—clever as she was—had no idea who she was dealing with.
He should not care. It was none of his business whom she spoke to, and yet, the thought of her laughing with Wickham, letting him charm her… it set his teeth on edge. No, he could not allow it.
Darcy placed the coins on the counter with a decisive clink and turned toward the door. It had barely closed behind him when Wickham’s voice reached his ears.
“Miss Bennet, might I have the honor of escorting you back to Longbourn?”
Darcy’s pulse quickened, and before he could think better of it, he closed the remaining distance between them with measured strides. “I believe that privilege has already been spoken for.”
Elizabeth turned to him, her brow lifting slightly. Wickham’s smile slipped for just a moment before he masked it with an exaggerated bow. “Of course. I would not wish to intrude.”
Darcy ignored Wickham’s too-polite tone and glanced at Elizabeth, hoping she would play along. She studied him for a beat, then offered a gracious smile. “Indeed, Mr. Darcy did ask earlier. I had quite forgot.”
Wickham’s smirk widened as he inclined his head. “Ah, Mr. Darcy, ever the gentleman. How fortunate Miss Bennet is to have such attentive company.”
Darcy’s gaze flicked to Wickham, cool and unwavering. “Indeed, fortunate timing.”
Wickham’s eyes gleamed with something sharp beneath the surface, but he merely offered another bow. “A pleasure, Miss Bennet. Perhaps another time.” He lingered for a moment before turning back toward the other officers.
Elizabeth suppressed a chuckle as they walked away. “Attentive company, Mr. Darcy? How gallant of you.”
“I merely acted in the interest of propriety. It would be unwise to walk alone with... certain company.”
“Certain company,” she repeated, amused. “How mysterious. And yet, I find myself less curious about your meaning than about what Mr. Wickham did to earn such disdain.”
Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed ahead. “He is not a man to be trusted.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, waiting for more, but none came. “Is that all? Surely you can offer something more specific.”
Darcy hesitated, then said carefully, “His reputation among those who know him well speaks for itself.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “I see,” she said lightly. “You prefer to let whispers and rumors do the talking.”
“I prefer not to speak of him at all,” Darcy replied curtly. “Save to say this—you would do well to be on your guard about him.”
Elizabeth studied him, then burst out in to a laugh so merry and sarcastic that he stopped, flushed, and stared at her. “Why, Mr. Darcy, do you honestly imagine I did not take my measure of the man within the first evening of my acquaintance with him? You think I require such warnings like a silly schoolgirl?”
His jaw hardened. “You would not be the first.”
“Spare me. When a man makes a one shilling wager with a lady and cannot pay his forfeit—and has not even make a gallant gesture in apology in the fortnight since his loss—he has little standing in this neighborhood.”
Darcy’s cheek twitched, and she could see him visibly forcing air into his lungs. “Perhaps… Meryton’s odd penchant for frivolous betting has proved a… a magnifying glass of sorts.”
“Perhaps it has, Mr. Darcy. Unless you have something particular to say about the lieutenant, I shall keep my own counsel. Now, shall we continue in silence, or would you prefer some poetry to lighten the mood?”
Darcy shot her a sharp look, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Spare me.”
“Not in the mood for conversation, I see,” she said, arching a brow. “Well, since you were so eager to join me, you may have to suffer through my company.”
Darcy resisted the urge to sigh. Her teasing always had a way of unraveling his carefully maintained composure. He caughther gaze flickering toward the small book he still carried, wrapped in paper.
