Page 48 of The Engagement at Longbourn

The wagon entered the narrowest part of the lane.

“Forster,” Richard said.

A lantern was uncovered. Light flared across the road. “HALT!”

Wickham hauled the reins.

The horse reared.

Cole shouted.

Harris reached beneath his coat.

“Hands where I can see them!” Forster roared.

For one second everything held. Then Wickham whipped the horse.

The wagon lurched forward. Two militia riders closed from behind.

Harris fired a pistol. The shot went wild, exploding into the hedge.

A soldier seized the bridle. Another dragged Harris from the seat.

Cole jumped from the wagon and ran three strides before colliding with Richard’s horse.

Wickham leapt down on the far side.

He ran.

Richard went after him. Boots pounded frozen earth. Wickham was fast, but panic made him careless. He vaulted a low gate, landed badly, recovered, and sprinted toward an open field.

Richard followed. “Wickham!”

The man glanced back.

Recognition flashed.

He changed direction.

Richard cut the angle.

Wickham reached inside his coat.

“Do not.”

He drew a pistol anyway. Richard struck his wrist before he could aim.

The pistol fell.

Wickham swung with his other hand. Richard took the blow on his shoulder, drove forward, and put him into the frozen ground.

Wickham gasped.

Richard pinned one arm behind his back. “You always did mistake charm for intelligence.”

Wickham spat dirt. “Darcy sent you.”

“No.” Richard pulled the man’s wrists together while a sergeant approached with restraints. “A sixteen-year-old girl did.”