Elizabeth almost laughed, a sharp, bitter thing that she barely swallowed down. Talk? About what? She knew nothing useful to them. If they thought she could reveal some great secret about Darcy or his uncle, they would be sorely disappointed.
But they did not know that.
And worse… if they thought she was withholding information, would they try to force it from her? Her stomach clenched.
“What if she refuses? Do we…” Whatever the French phrase was that followed this, Elizabeth did not understand it. Nor was she certain she wanted to.
The Frenchman spoke again, voice thoughtful. “Then we show Monsieur Darcy what we have. He will surely havesomethingto say. Enough, perhaps, to keep Matlock leashed.”
A chill ran through her, but she tried to force herself to think rationally. For now, they seemed to believe she was more valuable alive than dead. It meant she had time.
But it also meant they would not let her go.
A chair scraped acrossthe floor in the next room, followed by the low murmur of voices. Elizabeth remained still, her body stiff on the hard floor where they had left her. Their conversation had reached her through the thin, splintered partition of the adjoining space, the flickering light of their lanterns casting dim shadows beneath the gap at the bottom of the door.
But now, the door creaked open. Footsteps entered, and the air shifted. A shadow passed over her closed lids. Elizabeth forced herself to stay limp, her breaths shallow and even.
“Do not play games, mademoiselle.” A boot nudged her side—firm, not brutal. Testing. “You are awake. Sit up.”
She did not move.
The boot nudged her again, this time with less patience. A sigh followed, and then the soft click of a pistol being primed. “We can do this another way if you prefer.”
Elizabeth’s lashes fluttered. Her heart pounded, but she let her body react as though she were only just rousing. A small intake of breath. A slow, unsteady shift of her limbs. Then, blinking sluggishly, she lifted her head and took in her present surroundings for the first time.
Indeed, she was no longer in the damp storeroom where they had first thrown her. This was another space—still dark, still reeking of salt and rot—but with a small, scarred table at its center and a single flickering lantern hanging from a low ceiling beam. Wooden crateswere stacked against the far wall, some branded with markings she did not recognize. A single lantern burned on a hook, casting flickering shadows.
Three men stood before her.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, pushing herself upright. The room swayed slightly around her, though she did not know whether it was from the residual effects of whatever they had done to her or the simple knowledge that she was in more danger now than she had been before.
“If this is how you treat all unexpected guests,” she sighed, “I cannot imagine you receive many visitors.”
The younger man’s mouth turned into a smirk, but the scarred one scowled. The well-dressed man ignored the remark entirely. “You are Elizabeth Bennet,” he said.
It was not a question.
Elizabeth sat up fully, brushing the dust from her skirts. “And you are?”
A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “That is not your concern.”
“No, I suppose it is not,” she allowed. “Though I must say, I do not appreciate being kidnapped.”
The scarred man stepped forward, but the leader raised a hand, stopping him without a word. His eyes remained on Elizabeth. “You probably know by now that we did not intend to take you,” he admitted. “But now that we have you, I suggest you listen carefully.”
She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. “I am listening.”
The leader stepped forward, watching her as one might watch a chessboard. “You are under the protection of Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
It was not a question. Elizabeth did not react.
“And Darcy is under the protection of the Earl of Matlock,” he continued. “Which means you are far from useless, Miss Bennet.”
“Protection?” she scoffed lightly. “That is a strong word. We are mere acquaintances.”
The leader’s mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. “Let us not insult each other’s intelligence.”
Elizabeth tilted her chin up. “Then I would ask you to extend me the same courtesy and tell me plainly what it is you want.”
