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I will not allow him to provoke me. Darcy took a deep breath as if he could inhale patience. “You have one minute to tell me what you want before I throw you out of Darcy House.”
Wickham huffed. “No chewing over fond old memories?” He clutched his heart theatrically. “You wound me!”
“Wickham,” Darcy growled as he advanced menacingly toward the man.
“Very well.” Wickham sat upright on the sofa, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I came to make you an offer.”
“I am not interested.”
“You have not heard the offer.”
“I am not interest—”
“Even if it concerns Elizabeth Bennet?”
Damn the man! Just the sound of her name made Darcy’s heart beat faster. “You could not possibly have any interest in Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy scoffed, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
Wickham gave him a sly smile. “But I do, I assure you. I have a business proposition which concerns her deeply.”
Darcy walked away from Wickham—away from the temptation to strike him—positioning himself so a chair stood between them. He grasped the back of the chair so tightly that his fingers turned white. “A business proposition?”
“Indeed.” Wickham stood. They were almost of a height, putting him at Darcy’s eye level. “I will agree not to make Elizabeth Bennet an offer of marriage if you will pay off my gambling debts.”
“You bastard.” It was amazing how quickly anger could turn to fear. Darcy’s breath came in ragged gasps, and his hands were slick with perspiration against the wood of the chair. “Elizabeth would not accept a marriage proposal from you.” He intended to toss the words out with force and scorn, but with such uneven breath behind
them, they sounded weak and strangled.
Wickham laughed. “Shall I test that assertion?”
Darcy’s trembling fingers clutched the chair more forcefully. Wickham had visited the Gardiners’ house twice in five days. He had danced with Elizabeth at the Marlowes’ ball and kissed her there. He had kissed her under the oak tree…
Have I already lost Elizabeth? My Elizabeth?
Darcy teetered on the edge of a precipice, in danger of falling into complete despair.
“I kissed her…and more…” Wickham’s voice drawled suggestively. “Yesterday, in the Gardiners’ drawing room when we were alone for a few minutes. She smiled at me…such a sweet smile…”
As the other man spoke, Darcy could envision it all too easily: Wickham’s head bent over Elizabeth’s, his hand under her chin. Her head raised to receive his kiss…
“Stop!” Darcy cried, provoking a knowing smirk from Wickham. “You should not speak so disrespectfully about a well-bred lady.”
Wickham spread his arms wide. “It is but the truth.”
“And you are a proficient liar.”
“I do not lie about everything.”
With no easy response to this, Darcy stared at the floor, silent for a long minute. Hopefully his breaths were not as loud to Wickham as they seemed to him. “How much?” Darcy finally asked in a voice that seemed scraped over rocks.
“Fifteen thousand.”
“Fifteen thousand!” Darcy’s head jerked up. Wickham grinned lazily. “You could not possibly have accumulated so much in debts.”
The other man shrugged. “I gamble frequently.” No doubt Wickham intended to realize a tidy profit from this scheme.
I could do it, but it would hurt. It would mean delaying plans for improvements to the western cottages at Pemberley, halting construction of the new bridge, canceling the gift of Georgiana’s pianoforte…
Wickham was still smirking at him, pleased to have him at a disadvantage. The officer had no plans to make Elizabeth an offer, Darcy realized. He wanted to extort money to prevent an action he never planned to take. A pretty scheme indeed.
