“Naturally.” He smiled thinly, leaned near to place one more intimate kiss under the edge of her jaw, then retreated from the balcony. Amália turned to face the river once more, her white fingers gripping the railing of the portico. She rebuffed him more often than not, but he had clearly been growing less and less patient with her excuses. He desired a son—or rather his father desired an heir—and it was her duty to provide one.
Mustnotthinkofher. Must not!
Darcy was no longer permitted the freedom of movement about his chamber. He bore a shackle now about his leg, allowing only a step or two in either direction from his cot. What this restraint caused him to suffer physically—a limitation on his activity and some necessary concessions regarding his sanitary preferences—was nothing to the agitation it caused his mind.
For so many years he had been master of his own person, his affairs, and nearly every other with whom he had contact, that it had become a habit of course to assume his liberty could never be snatched away. Oh, there had been times when he had railed internally against the restrictions of Society; the demands of his station, and the duties he owed his family. So many days he had felt trapped, when his own desires had been at odds with the honour of his situation in life.
What he would give now to laugh at that artificial prison, defying its invisible walls by acting on his heart! Given another opportunity to visit Hertfordshire for the first time, he would have danced every dance at the Assembly with Elizabeth Bennet or one of her silly sisters, just to please her. He would have smiled and talked nonsense with everyone about, exerting all his charm for her family—without fear of the gossips, because the prize he sought merited every personal exposure and petty indulgence. He would have called at Longbourn the very next morning, and every morning after that, until at last he had either won her or driven her to send him away as a nuisance. If he had only known how the cool reserve he had once thought perfectly sensible would set into motion such a chain of misery for him!
Scowling, he kicked his shackled foot in frustration, but not so hard that he could bruise his leg further. Such a presumptuous ass he had been! Yet with each biting regret came the sweet knowledge that love had taught him grace, and grace had made him—at least for a time—a better man. Oh, yes, even without Elizabeth’s hand, he might have lived out his bitterly opulent existence, knowing that somewhere in the world there was one whose pleasure was dearer to him than his own—even more precious than Georgiana’s happiness….
No!He pounded his brow with a fist. It was permissible to think on Elizabeth, whose family and circumstances were safe from his own danger, but he mustnotallow his mind to wander to Georgie. Her very security in the wake of his presumed death placed her squarely within the wolf’s teeth, and he was but a man, as vulnerable as any to the torments of his captors. Thus far he had remained mute to their questions, but one day his body or his courage would break, and he would tell them how to find her vulnerable. His only hope was to willfully banish Georgie from his mind, to forget Pemberley and all that he was. If he could only flood his mind so thoroughly with other thoughts, perhaps what he cried out in his moments of desperation might not jeopardise his family!
The door to his chamber rattled. Cell—call it what it is!Darcy’s brow and chest burned in a cold sweat, conditioned now by terror. He lifted his head, unconsciously flashing a look of helpless appeal that, in former days, he would have found permissible only in the most deeply afflicted of persons.
The same man—Pereira—entered the room, flanked by four others. Two were his assistants, little more than cruel muscle. A third was a young dandy whose face was new to him, and the fourth was Vasconcelos himself.
“Senhor Darcy,” Vasconcelos bowed, a mocking half-smile twisting his face. “I hope your sleep has improved your memory.”
A number of salty retorts came to Darcy’s mind, but he merely shifted silently back on his cot, his eyes on the coarse bag dangling from one man’s hand. His heart began to pound.
Vasconcelos seemed perversely satisfied at Darcy’s symptoms of fear, despite the civil speech that followed. “Senhor, this need not continue so. I am a reasonable man, as are you. You force me to order such vile measures by your refusal to cooperate.”
He shook his head like a simpleton, his breath already coming in short little gasps. “No reasonable man would stoop as you have done!”
“I ask only for information, Senhor. Come, tell me what I must know, and once I have what I need, you will be free to go. Think how happy Senhorita Darcy will be to see you returned from the grave!”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, even as his gaze drifted to some neutral point on the ground.Georgie….No! His frame snapped taut with resolve. “I know nothing!” he cried heatedly. “Anything you extract from me would be sheer falsehood on my part, availing you nothing! Why do you persist in asking the same each day?”
Vasconcelos shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Wealthy men do havesomany secrets, and are often loath to give them up. I did remind you that I would release youafterI have my deed, though I do appreciate your delicacy in warning me of potential falsehoods. Such might cost us both a deal more time and trouble. Come, Senhor, surely a man as well acquainted with his family history and estate as you ought to know each sheaf of paper and every private cache in the whole of his domain. Certainly, you would prefer to remember it on your own than for Senhorita Darcy to be compelled to find it.”
A rush of courage boiled to the surface, and Darcy stood at last, bracing his fists. “You have no power over her! She is too well defended. You may have found me in a moment of isolation, but her guardian will refuse to leave her side!”
“Ah, yes, the good Colonel. My son Miguel knows him by reputation; do you not?” He turned a derisive chuckle toward the younger man, then looked back to Darcy. “Is it so impossible, Senhor, that one you trusted might betray you?”
Darcy narrowed his eyes in disgust. “Say what you will, I shall not doubt my cousin’s fidelity.”
“No? So few of us can claim loyal companions when such ready wealth and power are at hand. The last word I had from my contact avers that the faithful colonel is expected soon to marry his ward, granting him independence at last. What hardships are the lot of second sons! Happy indeed is the man upon whom Fortune smiles.”
Darcy’s breath came ragged now in horror. “How dare you accuse any of my relations of treachery! You, who masquerade in your fine clothing then descend here to torture and abuse at your pleasure, you have no right to cast such abominations at the feet of true gentility!”
Vasconcelos shook his head wryly. “Gentility is a lie, Senhor—a cloak invented as a barrier to suspicion. Surely you know this by now, but if you choose not to make yourself agreeable today, I have little other alternative.” He gestured to Pereira.
Pereira and the other two closed around him as Darcy wheeled against the wall in dread. His manacled foot kicked helplessly at the hard mattress and an involuntary cry of terror escaped him as they grabbed him and forced the brown sack over his head. Whether Vasconcelos and the younger man remained in the room or not he could not have told, for all his senses now focused on the rough hands seizing his arms, the sound of the water bucket sloshing toward him.
He thrashed violently, shaking his head and flailing his hands until they were lashed together behind his back. The worst was his blindness, for even helpless as they now held him, to not know what lay before him stripped even his mind of the last vestiges of control. There could be no way to prepare, no bracing or drawing of breath, to protect himself from what was to come.
Fierce hands now pushed him down—some roughly collaring his neck and head, the others propelling him forward. Desperately as he fought backward, they overpowered him. He attempted one last gasp of air, but before he had quite drawn it, his head was submerged.
He tried to kick, to shake off the hands, to scream, but his strength failed. They pinned him until long after he thought his lungs would explode, and then held him longer. He tried to hold his breath, but his body demanded air and he could not prevent his lungs from inhaling great gulps of water. Even then, when his frame seized with his attempts to cough, the men held him for merciless seconds longer, until just before he would have gone limp in surrender.
They released him then, not pulling him back or assisting his flight in any way, so it was with a lethargic sort of panic that he pushed himself back. He collapsed, coughing interminably. Every burning gasp was accompanied by more torturous liquid in his airways, and he could not draw breath but that he nearly drowned in the water he could not cough out. Slowly, excruciatingly, he gagged up the inhaled water, and after several minutes lay weak, sputtering, and dazed.
Before he could even exert himself to discern whether he had been left alone or the real discomfort was about to begin, he found himself forcibly lifted into a chair. Still coughing, he instinctively wished to double over with each spasm from his lungs, but his torso was rapidly bound to the chair and his tied hands wrenched painfully behind his back.
“Now, Senhor Darcy,” Vasconcelos was speaking from some distance away. “I wish to know about your estate. It all falls to Senhorita Darcy, this I know, but as my former ally has betrayed my own interests, I must seek another. A name, sir. I must have the name of one other than the colonel, whom neither of us should trust. It must be someone who knows intimately all the workings of your estate, and whose face may be known by Senhorita Darcy.”
Darcy sagged against his restraints, breathless and still coughing. He shook his head weakly, though he could not see his inquisitor. There was some pause, but he did not take it for a respite. He continued tossing his head as he could, longing to detect what happened around him. If he could only see! No matter what traumas inflicted during these sessions, the horror was always multiplied by his blindness.
