As Darcy lay in the narrow bunk, he braced himself against the cabin wall when the ship pitched violently to starboard, sending everything not nailed down sliding across the floor with a tremendous crash. Fear clawed at him with icy fingers. The storm had been raging for nearly twelve hours, and he could hear the ominous sounds of the ship’s timbers groaning under its relentless assault. Vital equipment had given way in the rigging hours ago. He had heard the sharp crack followed by shouts from the crew. Afterwards, theMeridian’smotion had grown increasingly erratic.
Richard appeared in the doorway, soaked to the skin and gripping the frame for support as the ship lurched again. Water streamed from his coat.
“How bad is it?” Darcy asked.
“Bad enough. We’ve lost the mizzen topsail and part of the rigging. Captain Shanklin is doing his best to keep us off the rocks, but…” He shook his head, water droplets flying from his sodden hair.
Standing, Darcy could see nothing but a wall of gray water and driving rain through the small window. Somewhere in this maritime hell, theMary Catherinewas sailing.The thought of Elizabeth facing these same mountainous seas made his blood run cold. Had they been fortunate enough to reach Gibraltar before the storm struck? Or were they, too, fighting for survival somewhere in these treacherous waters? The image of her trapped in a cabin like this one, terrified and helpless as the elements battered her ship, filled him with anguish. If anything happened to her, if he never had the chance to tell her how deeply he loved her, how sorry he was for his past pride…
The storm raged on through the night and well into the following day, each hour stretching into an eternity. Darcy stayed in their room, not wanting to get in the way of the crew and grateful there were no witnesses to his sickness from the violent motion. His thoughts were consumed with Elizabeth. Her safety. Her fear. The possibility that he might never see her bright eyes or hear her laugh again.
When the winds began to subside and the waves gradually grew less restless, theMeridianlimped toward Gibraltar like a wounded animal seeking shelter. Darcy’s first glimpse of the famous Rock informed him more than words that they had accomplished a monumental task. As they drew closer to the harbor and he came up to the deck, he surveyed the damage to their vessel withalarm. The mast hung at a drunken angle, supported only by a tangle of rope and canvas. The railings were smashed in several places, and he could see crew members working desperately to pump water from the hold.
“She will need extensive repairs,” Captain Shanklin informed them as they made fast to the harbor wall. “Could be weeks before she’s seaworthy again.”
The comment hit Darcy like a physical blow. There would be weeks of delay while Elizabeth and her father continued without them?weeks stranded in Gibraltar while the woman he loved sailed farther from his reach.
First, he had to know if she was safe.
Once the gangway was secured, Darcy went ashore, his legs unsteady from days of violent motion. Despite his shakiness, his attention immediately sought theMary Catherine.
His cousin followed, looking as battered and exhausted as Darcy. “There.” Richard pointed toward the far side of the harbor. “Is that not her?”
Darcy’s heart leapt at the sight of the familiar vessel but then immediately plummeted. TheMary Catherineshowed clear signs of storm damage. Her foremast was shorter than it should be, and her hull bore the scars of her battle with the elements. She had not escaped the storm after all, but she was here.
“At least the ship made it to port.” He was desperate to see Elizabeth. To offer comfort from any lingering fears.
The British garrison was a welcome sight after their ordeal. The two men hurriedly made their way through Gibraltar’s bustling streets, knowing that British officers and civilians would be gathered there to exchange newsand seek assistance. Richard spotted an officer he knew and lingered behind while Darcy continued forward, searching for a glimpse of Elizabeth’s distinctive figure.
At last, he found her in the main courtyard. Seeing her alive and apparently unharmed sent a wave of relief through him. She was speaking animatedly with a group of officers and a gentleman, her cheeks pink with excitement as she recounted what was undoubtedly the tale of their storm-tossed voyage.
When Darcy moved closer, his relief gave way to deep concern hedged with fear. Standing beside Elizabeth, reaching for her arm, was George Wickham. The sight of the man who had tried to elope with Georgiana and brought nothing but pain and scandal to everyone he touched, standing so close to Elizabeth, filled Darcy with cold rage.He certainly is not a gentleman!
As he stood frozen in shock and fury, Wickham looked up, and their gazes locked. The scoundrel’s smile became predatory and triumphant, making it apparent that this meeting was no coincidence. In the space of a few short days, somehow Wickham had positioned himself where he could do the most damage.
The storm at sea had been terrifying, but this—Elizabeth under Wickham’s influence, his enemy’s calculated charm working its venom—this was infinitely worse. He strode toward Wickham with purpose.
15
“Do not touch her,” Darcy growled, his command carrying across the courtyard with such menace that several officers stepped back. The words escaped before he could stop them, driven by a possessiveness and protectiveness that overrode every consideration of propriety or social convention.
Wickham’s hand arrested mid-gesture and then dropped to his side. His smile never wavered. If anything, it grew more satisfied, as if he had intended to provoke Darcy into that exact reaction. “Darcy.” His greeting was said with surprised pleasure for the benefit of their audience. “Old friend, your manners are as lacking as ever.” His calculated comment was delivered with enough wounded dignity to make Darcy appear the aggressor.
Elizabeth drew back, each syllable controlled. “While it is reassuring to see that you arrived safely despite the storm, Mr. Darcy, your attitude is most unexpected.”
The formality in her tone was like a knife to Darcy’sheart. But then he noticed her confusion, the questions forming in her intelligent eyes.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, restraining his desire to tear her away from Wickham’s vicinity. “I must speak with you. Privately. It is a matter of utmost importance.”
“I hardly think that is appropriate.” Wickham positioned himself subtly between Darcy and Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet has endured a terrible ordeal at sea. Surely any business you have can wait until she has had time to recover.”
The protective concern was masterfully performed, and Darcy could see its effect on the assembled officers. They were viewing him as an unreasonable brute disturbing a lady’s well-deserved peace.
“Mr. Wickham is correct,” Elizabeth said, though Darcy caught her uncertainty. “Iamfatigued from our crossing, and?”
“Elizabeth.” Darcy abandoned all pretense of proper manners. The use of her Christian name visibly shocked her, and he seized her attention with the intensity of a drowning man. “You do not know who this man is or what he is capable of.”
“Really, Darcy.” Wickham laughed, the sound rich with apparent amusement. “Your jealousy is showing, I am afraid. The lady is perfectly capable of judging character for herself.”
