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However, before the woman could pull the trigger, footsteps thundered at the far end of the pier. The fog concealed the identities of the newcomers, but a voice called out of the mist. “Ahoy! Darcy, are you there? Maria thought she glimpsed you. I brought her for a walk on the beach!”
Darcy cursed his bad fortune. There were many people he would have been pleased to see at that moment, primarily Richard or one of Forster’s soldiers. The prince regent was not high on that list—not on the list at all, in fact. Darcy had already sent the woman he loved to her death. Would he now be responsible for the demise of a royal prince?
The prince waddled precariously into view, causing every board on the pier to groan under his weight. Mrs. Fitzherbert held his arm, propping him into an upright position, but there was no sign of his guards. Why had the prince left them behind now?
“I even slipped away from my guards for a bit. Ahoy, Darcy and Miss…Benson!” he called to them, the picture of good cheer.
“Bennet!” Lydia corrected loudly.
“Oh yes, Bennet; forgive me!” The prince giggled as if he found his own mistake amusing.
As the man lumbered toward them, Darcy sought the words that could alert the prince to the danger—without encouraging Mrs. Forster to consider him a target.
A cleverer man might have noticed the tension in the air—or the gun in Mrs. Forster’s hand—but the prince was oblivious. “What, ho? You have two ladies now!” the prince exclaimed. “You are a sly one, Darcy!”
Mrs. Forster’s eyes were wide with shock. “Is that…?”
“No,” Darcy said quickly.
“La! It’s the prince regent!” Lydia squealed. “Now I’ve seen the prince regent! Maria Lucas will be so jealous.” She took a few steps toward the prince. “Would you please, please invite me to your next ball? I could wear my new green silk gown!”
The prince frowned at Lydia. “Was Miss Bennet not shorter? Is this a different one?”
Darcy did not bother to reply; he could not allow his attention to waver from Mrs. Forster’s pistol—which was now aimed at the prince. A nasty smile thinned her lips. “His death would be worth a lot to Napoleon…”
Darcy’s heart pounded against his ribs; this was precisely the realization he had hoped she would not have. “Mrs. Forster, do not be foolish,” he warned her. “All of England would be out for your blood. You would never escape the country.”
She had backed into the far corner of the pi
er; from there she could shoot either the prince or Darcy. “But I would be handsomely rewarded in France.” Her eyes narrowed as she trained the pistol on the prince, who was nearly within range.
“Your Highness,” Darcy yelled, “come no farther! She wants to shoot you!”
The prince squinted at Lydia. “But she doesn’t have a pistol—” His eyes swung over to Mrs. Forster. “Oh!” He drew himself up to his full height, which was not terribly impressive, and glowered at the woman. “Miss, it is a hanging offense to threaten a member of the royal family with a firearm. Cease at once!”
Mrs. Forster laughed rather maniacally but made no move to drop the weapon. Hoping to take advantage of her momentary distraction, Darcy edged closer to her location, but she immediately targeted him with the pistol. “Come no closer! I will shoot.”
Damnation! How could Darcy protect the prince, not to mention Mrs. Fitzherbert and Lydia? Success would require tackling her at precisely the right moment—and there was a high likelihood Darcy would be shot. But there was nothing for it; he would not have the prince regent’s death on his conscience.
Mrs. Forster was taking aim at the prince—her attention all too focused. Knowing he had only seconds to act, Darcy prepared to leap at her. If only her concentration could be momentarily disrupted—
Without warning, a sea monster erupted out of the water and onto the opposite corner of the pier. Dripping water and trailing a few pieces of seaweed, it grabbed the edge of the pier and pulled itself onto the weathered boards. Gaping in shock, Mrs. Forster swung the pistol in the monster’s direction. Seizing his opportunity, Darcy launched himself at her, knocking her off her feet and onto the wooden planks. The pistol discharged, but the bullet fired harmlessly into the air.
Finally grasping the danger, the prince regent fell to the wood of the pier and pulled his mistress on top of him.
Mrs. Forster struggled to escape, but Darcy kept her pinned to the pier with the weight of his body, trying not to think about how inappropriate the contact was. Unwinding his cravat, he used it to tie Mrs. Forster’s hands behind her back, ignoring her protestations and curses.
Then he turned to face the sea monster—which resolved itself into the figure of a dark-haired woman wearing a wet shift. She was dripping and panting for breath; a piece of seaweed was draped over one shoulder. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. “Elizabeth!” Darcy crossed the pier in two strides and pulled her into his arms, heedless of his clothing. “Oh, Good Lord! I thought I had lost you forever.”
Placing his hands on both sides of her head, he drew her in for a deep kiss. She kissed him back with abandon, only to pull away from him a few seconds later. “William, we are in public!”
“Yes, we are,” he agreed and kissed her again.
She had miraculously returned to him; he was not about to allow nonsensical rules of propriety prevent him from expressing his gratitude and deep abiding love.
He did take a minute to examine her, surveying her from head to foot. Her hair fell in wet clumps about her neck and shoulders, and she shivered in the cool night air. She appeared exhausted but unharmed. “Are you well?” he asked with some urgency. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook wet hair from her face. “I am well, but I must say, Mr. Darcy, that when I suggested a walk on the beach, I did not anticipate obtaining quite so much exercise.”
