Page 150 of Near Pemberley

Wickham possessed only fury.

Darcy blocked the wild right hand, drove his shoulder forward, and struck twice in quick succession.

Before Wickham could regain his balance, Darcy struck him again. Darcy drove one fist into Wickham’s mouth, and before he could recover, a second blow folded him over.

His right hand had begun to ache. He scarcely noticed until he struck again. As Wickham struggled to straighten, the third ended the fight. The last blow sent him sprawling onto the floorboards.

Wickham did not move for a few moments. Only the sound of harsh breathing filled the room.

Darcy bent slowly, picked up one of the scattered receipts from the floor and folded it carefully.

Wickham tried to rise, but Darcy caught him by the coat and hauled him upright.

“You are a piece of dirt.” He had to stop to breathe heavily. Every breath stabbed beneath his ribs.

Blood trickled from Wickham’s mouth.

Darcy, still catching his breath, shook his head. “You never understood what was in your hands.”

Wickham said weakly. “Enlighten me.”

“You believed Miss Lydia your easiest conquest.”

“She was.”

“No. She was your greatest opportunity. Had you stayed with Miss Lydia when honour demanded it…” Darcy released him and stood. “I would have secured you a respectable living.”

Wickham stared up at him. For perhaps the first time since Darcy had entered the room, he appeared genuinely astonished. “What?”

“Yes. I would have done almost anything to repair the injury done to her family.”

He stared at Darcy. “You would have rewarded me?”

The two men looked at each other.

“No.” Darcy’s voice remained perfectly calm. “I would have protected Miss Lydia from the consequences of trusting you.”

His voice hardened. “But you abandoned her. You proved yourself not merely weak…” A pause. “… but dishonourable.”

Wickham sank back against the wall.

Darcy looked down at him. “You have spent your life believing honour to be a fool’s luxury.” He nodded towards the scattered receipts. “Today you discover its price.”

He turned to the men. “You may take him.”

As they stepped forward, Wickham managed one final bitter smile.

“You always did have to win.”

Darcy paused at the door. He brushed dust from his sleeve. He picked up his cravat. Without looking back, he replied, “No. It was never about winning. It was about ensuring that, for once in your life, you did not escape.”

Wickham looked from Darcy to the two men. “This is absurd. Darcy, I can still marry the chit.”

“I would not make her endure even a minute in your company.”

Neither man moved. They were waiting for Darcy.

He nodded to them.