Swallowing, Darcy nodded.
Blue irises locked on him, Wickham continued, “I forgot I was no longer in the company of gentlemen, when I spoke of…when I offered the ten thousand pounds. I was so in debt, and to men who have no scruples, and I could see only one way out. So I offered them your money. The money I would have if they killed you.”
Darcy swallowed again, the bile in his throat a harsh mix of anger and misery.
“No scruples,” Wickham repeated on a sigh, his eyes drifting closed once more, and Darcy did not know if he meant his own, or those of the men whose company he’d kept. “And some of them thought, if Wickham has ten thousand pounds, why trouble finding and killing Mr. Darcy?”
His eyes narrowing, fresh anger sparking even through his sorrow, Darcy asked, “How did you get shot? I know you told Miss Elizabeth that you were abducted and shot trying to escape, but somehow I doubt the truth of that.”
“Miss Elizabeth?” A line marred Wickham’s brow, then cleared. “That lovely creature who found me? I thought perhaps she was a dream.”
Darcy tensed. He did not want to hear Wickham’s ramblings about Elizabeth.
A blue eye slit open, studying Darcy. “You are in love with her.”
His words hit Darcy like a blow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know you, Fitz.”
Darcy bit back a growl of, ‘Do not call me that,’ taking in the slight, smug smile that pulled at Wickham’s chalky mouth. Theman was mad. He would torment Darcy to the last. Was he even dying, or simply seeking more things to hold over Darcy’s head?
No, Wickham was not long for this world. Darcy did not need to be a doctor to see that, but despite Wickham’s state, suspicion filled Darcy. He had neither seen nor spoken to Elizabeth in days. Not since the morning she brought him to Wickham.
He’d ridden out the following day, and every other since, but had not found her waiting. He and Georgiana had called on Longbourn, but while they’d seen her sisters, mother, and Mr. Collins, they’d been informed that Elizabeth was indisposed. Bingley reported having seen her once in Meryton, walking with her sisters, but with the hours Darcy and Richard were spending in this cottage, where they went in secret, Darcy hadn’t the time to linger in Meryton hoping to encounter her. “What did you say to her?”
“So you do love her.”
Darcy met that with stony silence.
“Nothing. I said nothing. On my honor. What little I have.”
Darcy sat back, realized he had no means by which to threaten or bribe information from Wickham any longer, and reiterated, “How were you shot, then?”
“As part of their torture.” Wickham coughed, the sound weak, his chest hardly moving. “They sought the ten thousand pounds.”
“Why did you not simply tell them you would not have the funds until I died?” Darcy could not keep anger from his voice.
The slightest shake of Wickham’s head met that. “That would have set their sights on you.”
Darcy sat back, surprised. “You had already done so.”
“Yes, but so long as they thought I had the money, not you, you would be safe once I was dead.”
Scrubbing a hand over his forehead, Darcy attempted to decipher which of Wickham’s words were the truth. “And you are in Hertfordshire because?”
Wickham was silent for a long time, each breath slow and shallow. Darcy struggled not to hold his own, waiting for the next inhalation to come.
“Is Georgiana here?”
Flinching back from the question, Darcy blurted, “No.”
“I can always tell when you are lying.”
Darcy clamped his mouth closed.
“Please. Let me see her.”
“No.”
