Darcy was alive.
And still—nothing in her body would stop shaking.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
June 1, 1812
“Thiswasadevilishfine trap,” Colonel Fitzwilliam muttered, tugging on his gloves as he surveyed the wreckage of the ruined cottage. “You drew Maddox out so we could kill him. We questioned the survivor—before he died, that is—and have the names of the ones funding them that happened to line up with our suspicions. All in one night.”
Elizabeth turned toward him, her body aching, her mind still reeling from the terror of the night. Her feet were bandaged, her legs raw from cuts, and her hands… Good heavens, did she have any body parts that were not bleeding?
“Atrap?“ she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. “We did notplanthis. We were running! Hiding—trying to keep innocent people from being shot with us! We had no idea anyone followed us. Mr. Darcy was so cautious!”
Fitzwilliam glanced sideways at her. “Darcy may have let you believe that, but he was no fool. He knew that letter to St. Albans did no more than buy you a day or two to take the fight elsewhere.”
Elizabeth sniffed and crossed her bloodied forearms, blinking against the sting of tears. “You are not saying he… hemeantto fight them? That he drew them here on purpose?”
The colonel drew a long sigh, making an almost painful effort at schooling his features to explain the matter patiently. “How long could you have kept running and hiding, Lady Elizabeth? Like enough, the only thing that protected you so long in Hertfordshire was the fact that you were constantly surrounded by a group of other females. Three or four gently bred ladies gunned down in broad daylight does cause talk. From what I gather, the house was too set in the open, so they probably could not get close enough to set fire to your bedroom again. But make no mistake, they would have found their moment soon enough. And this—” he gestured about the shattered cabin— “it worked. Maddox thought he had you cornered but he had no idea we were just behind him. Bloody good show of it, if you ask me.”
Elizabeth looked away, throat tightening. That was not victory. Not to her. Good heavens, what of the Bennets? Maddox had to have had some way of following them from Longbourn. Was there any chance the Bennets had been attacked as well? Tortured to make them reveal her whereabouts? Her breath came in sharp stabs of panic, and her knees began shaking again, so hard that she had to sag against the door—the one where she had first kissed Darcy.
Fitzwilliam crouched beside the body of the man they had taken alive—apparently he was no longer so—and murmured instructions to one of his soldiers. His jaw was set, eyes hard. Whatever confession they had extracted, it was enough to move him.
“Cunningham’s in Northumberland,” he told her, standing again. “If I do not get to him before word of this spreads, we risk losing him.”
“What ofhim?“ she demanded, gesturing to Darcy lying half-conscious on the cot—head bleeding and chest bare while one of the colonel’s men bandaged his many wounds. “You mean to just leave us here alone?”
The colonel dragged in a heavy sigh as he watched his cousin flinching and groaning, even in his delirium, as the officer probed the paths of the bullets—two, at least, perhaps more. “No, Lady Elizabeth. Quite the opposite, in fact. You must get him to Carlton House at once.”
Elizabeth’s eyes rounded. “How?He should not even be moved! You cannot put him on a horse all the way to London!”
“I had a thought to that. We have a carriage waiting, though I had not expected to have to put Darcy in it. I’m afraid it is the only way. It is no good me running to Northumberland to take a peer of the realm into custody without His Highness’s knowledge and consent. That is for Darcy to secure, and with all haste.”
“But…” Elizabeth swallowed. “Are you sure he can even make the journey? What am I to do if the bleeding does not stop?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned and stepped to the cot to look over his bloodied cousin. He spoke a few low words to the soldier dressing his wounds, then returned to Elizabeth.
“He will not mistake this for a pleasure tour, but yes, he will survive. Keep him still. That wound at the base of his neck was almost through the artery—Heaven only knows how he kept from bleeding out at once. The shoulder wound will be the one that causes him the most pain, though. The ball tore clean through a deal of muscle, and I fear a fever. Keep pressure on the wounds. Change the bandages if they soak through. We shall send a poultice and whiskey in the satchel. If he stirs, talk to him—I daresay your voice will keep him in this sphere rather than the next.”
She nodded quickly. “What about the wound on his head?”
“Looks far worse than it is. That one is probably why he was knocked out, but we got the bleeding stopped. He’ll have the very devil of a headache when he wakes, but that one is the least of his worries.”
Theircarriagewaswaitinga few yards down the track—plain, dark, and unmarked. A traveling chariot, small and swift, with shuttered windows and a single driver handpicked by the colonel. It took some trouble and three men to move Darcy’s body, but by the time another quarter hour had passed, the men were back on their horses, and a mostly unconscious Darcy was lodged inside.
Elizabeth had no choice but to climb in after him, but she leaned out before the door was closed behind her. “Where do you expect us to go once we reach London? Surely we will have to wait for an audience. Should I go to my father’s house? Will Mr. Darcy go to Matlock House?”
“No!” Fitzwilliam said sharply. “You must go nowhere. Stop for nothing—not for fresh clothing, not to rest, not even to wash your wounds. I mean it. Drive straight to Carlton House. No detours. No delays. Do you understand?”
She blanched. “But we are covered in blood—we look like highwaymen! I am in no state to be seen by royalty.”
“His Highness started this business,” Fitzwilliam growled. “You are not there to impress him. You are there to end this. The driver has orders not to stop for anyone, but if something forces it…” The colonel extended a pistol. Darcy’s pistol. “Do you know how to shoot, my lady?”
Elizabeth took the cold weight into her hand with a shuddering sigh. “My father treated me more like a son than a daughter.”
The colonel grunted. “Well, that will have to do.”
“Anything else?”
