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The smirk on Wickham’s face clearly irritated the count. “Do not talk of my wife in that manner. I assure you, it is not appreciated.”

Wickham sobered. He only intended to annoy the count, not make him angry. His breath quickened at the fire in the count’s evil, green eyes. “I apologise. My jest was inappropriate. Forgive me.”

The count studied him for a long moment. “The imbecile I hired has no earthly idea where to find her.”

“You are still of a mind that she is alive?”

“Of course. I feel it here.” He pounded on his chest. “If my Elizabeth were dead, I would know for certain.”

Wickham could not keep from smiling. “I, too, believe she is alive, and I have a good idea where she may be found.”

The count bounded to his feet. “Tell me! I must go to her.”

“No. At least not right away. We must come to an understanding first.”

The count sat back down, slowly reaching down to open a small drawer where he kept a loaded pistol and taking it out without any notice. “Are you trifling with me, Wickham?”

“I assure you that I am not. It is only that the place where I believe she is staying is a fortress. There is no way she can be taken from there against her will. The only hope of recovering her is for someone she trusts to convince her to leave. Afterwards, I shall have her under my control.”

“And you are not going to tell me where she is?”

“I suppose it can do no harm. I believe she is at Pemberley.”

“I have heard of it, the Darcy’s estate in Derbyshire?’

“The very one.”

“Why would he be involved?” The count’s enquiry was quickly interrupted.

“He is the friend of Charles Bingley, Jane Bennet’s husband.”

“I see,” the count said, a look of distaste crossing his features. “And what evidence do you have to lead you to believe that she is there? At Pemberley?”

“My spies tell me that a woman—a cousin has moved there in the last few months with her aunt. The cousin fits the description of Elizabeth Bennet. Conveniently, her name is Elizabeth as well, though they say her surname is Lawrence. Also, I had my man ply the currier, the one who delivers the post, with ale, rendering him very drunk. From him we learned that there have been many posts exchanged between Netherfield and Pemberley during the same time period.”

“Is this Darcy in love with my Elizabeth? He must be; otherwise, why should he offer her shelter? She could only be a liability to him as a single man.”

“That, I can neither confirm nor deny, but it does not matter. If you want her back, I can deliver her to you for twenty thousand pounds.”

“Twenty thousand!” Stefano shouted, rising to his feet. “My Lord! Why would you think I would pay such an extravagant amount to you? I could always capture her myself.”

“Not if you want to succeed. If you try to march into Pemberley and take her, you will die. Pemberley is a veritable fortress, with outposts and guards surrounding every square foot. I, however, cannot fail. I grew up at Pemberley, as my father was steward there, and I still have friends among the servants. Also, I have an associate, a woman, who is acquainted with your Elizabeth. She has agreed to help me deceive her into leaving the estate for half the money. So you see, I am not being too greedy.”

The count seemed to consider the situation. His frown lightened just a bit and seeing this, Wickham continued.

“You can have a ship standing ready at Liverpool. I can deliver her to you there, as it is the nearest port to Pemberley. I do not believe they would look for you to sail from that port, even if they learn of our plans, since it is on the west coast. You could be on your way to Italy before Darcy learns she is missing. Of course, we would want to act while he is away, preferably in London. Once in Italy, I imagine that you can disappear. Only this time, you shall have your beloved wife with you.”

There was no reply for some time, and Wickham became nervous as he watched the count shift from one foot to the other. Stefano clutched even tighter the small pistol he had slipped into his pocket. Finally, he lifted his cold, dead eyes to meet Wickham’s.

“I will pay your price for my Elizabeth. BUT, if you try to betray me, be assured that I will hunt you down and kill you. Do we understand each other?”

Wickham let go of the breath he had been holding, swallowing hard. “I shall contact you the moment I know with certainty that everything is in place. You need to be ready to sail at a moment’s notice.”

“With my father’s shipping business, that is not a problem. He is aware that I plan to return to Italy shortly, and though we do not see eye-to-eye, he would never deny me the chance to escape from England, especially if my life was at risk. His vessels sail out of Liverpool every week, not just from London.”

“Good. Good. Now, if you will excuse me. I need to meet with my contact, who I shall instruct to depart for Pemberley promptly. She will need to convince Miss Lawrence that it would be in her best interest to leave Darcy’s estate. I imagine if she cites tales of your anger at discovering her hideout, that shall suffice.”

The green eyes turned dark. “You may invoke my name if it convinces her to leave. But know this—I do not like to be reminded of my past failures in regard to Elizabeth. You are treading on dangerous ground.”