"Colonel Fitzwilliam."
The name struck its mark. Henderson's eyes sharpened and darted over him again, taking in the cut of his coat and the polish of his boots. Then recognition dawned in stages.
"Fitzwilliam," he repeated. "As in—"
"As in the Matlock Fitzwilliams," said Fitzwilliam. "The second son of the Earl, if you wish the full account."
For the first time since Darcy had entered the room, Henderson looked uncertain. He glanced around at his companions, all of whom had become suddenly interested in the content of their glasses.
"I see," he said, adjusting his cuffs and sitting straighter in his chair. "Then perhaps, Colonel, you may explain why you have chosen to interrupt my evening."
"Gladly. You will come with us."
Henderson laughed, "I think not."
Burke stepped forward and rested one hand lightly upon the back of Henderson's chair. The captain shrank back at his touch. "I should think again, Captain," he said. "You did not much enjoy our last conversation, and I was in a charitable humour then."
Henderson's face darkened, but he rose. Pride demanded that he do so slowly, as though the decision had been entirely his own. Darcy did not care. Every restrained movement, every insolent glance, every effort the man made to appear untroubled only sharpened the fury inside him.
They took him through a narrow passage to a private room at the rear of the tavern. It smelt of damp wool and cheap wine. Fitzwilliam closed the door and slid the bolt across. Burke took up a position before it, folded his arms and settled himself comfortably, as though he expected to be there some time.
Henderson looked between them. "If this is about money, I advise you to speak plainly. If it is about that bit of skirt at the Goose, I advise you to be less sentimental."
Darcy moved so quickly that Henderson had no time to retreat. He seized him by the front of his coat and drove him back against the wall hard enough to rattle the panelling.
"You will not speak of her."
Henderson's eyes widened and then narrowed again. "Ah. So it is about the little country piece."
Darcy struck him, hard. The sound of the blow cracked through the room. Henderson's head snapped sideways and blood appeared at once from his nose. Burke let out a low whistle.
"That will improve his pretty face."
Fitzwilliam shot him a look.
"What? It will."
Henderson laughed then, a low, ugly sound that sent something black and uncontrollable through Darcy's veins. "Touched a nerve, did I? Come now, Mr Darcy. You cannot expect me to believe you were so very outraged on her account. She seemed a willing enough little—"
Darcy's hands closed around his throat.
It happened before thought, before reason, before any part of him that had been trained to self-command could assert itself. One moment Henderson was speaking. The next Darcy had him pinned hard against the wall, both hands at his neck, his thumbs pressing beneath the jaw while Henderson clawed at his wrists. The man's face reddened. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. Darcy saw only Elizabeth's pale, stricken face, the way she had shrunk from his touch, the shame Henderson had planted in her like poison.
"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam barked.
He did not hear him.
Burke swore and moved at once. It took both men to drag him back. Fitzwilliam locked an arm across Darcy's chest while Burke prised one hand free, then the other. Henderson slid down the wall coughing violently, one hand clutched to his throat.
"Enough," Fitzwilliam said sharply in Darcy's ear. "Enough, or you will hang for him, and I refuse to watch you ruin your life over that."
Darcy strained once more against him before some small thread of reason returned. His breath came hard. His hands shook. Henderson remained on the floor, coughing, pale now beneath the flush of drink and fury.
Burke adjusted his cuffs with exaggerated care. "I know he deserves killing, sir. Unfortunately the law remains tiresomely pedantic on the subject."
Fitzwilliam did not release Darcy until he was certain he would not launch himself forward again. When at last he stepped back, the colonel crossed to the table and drew a folded packet from inside his coat. He laid it down with deliberate calm. "Now," he said, all trace of amusement gone. "We shall discuss your future."
Henderson dragged himself into a chair, still breathing with difficulty. "You have no authority over me."
