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Darcy released his death grip on the chair, standing straighter. “I will not pay you a shilling. You have no intention of marrying Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Is that what you believe?” Wickham raised an eyebrow.
“She has no dowry to speak of, nothing to tempt you.”
Wickham did not flinch. Instead, his hand idly traced the ruffle at his cuff. “Perhaps her charms alone are enough to tempt me.”
“You want nothing other than money,” Darcy said firmly.
“Are you so certain of that?”
“Do not importune me again. This matter is closed.” Darcy stalked to the door and opened it, an unsubtle hint.
“Very well.” With a sigh, Wickham retrieved his hat and greatcoat from a nearby chair. “If that is what you choose to believe…” He sauntered toward Darcy until they were only a foot apart. “I shall make certain you receive an invitation to the wedding—”
Darcy had not planned to punch Wickham. It was as if his arm acted of its own accord. But the words, the smug expression, and the air of triumph combined to snap the reins on Darcy’s temper.
Darcy’s fist hit Wickham’s chin with a satisfying, meaty thump, and the other man slid to the floor with a cry. Ward and another footman burst into the room, but when they saw Wickham on the floor, they stayed near the doorway, gaping.
Wickham slowly climbed to his feet, cradling his chin in one hand. “I hope you found that punch satisfying, Darcy, because you just ensured that”—he eyed the footmen warily—“the thing you do not wish to happen will happen. Immediately.”
Before Darcy could reply, Wickham pushed himself between the two footmen and into the front hall. His footsteps thumped loudly on the marble floor until the front door opened and closed.
“Should we stop him, sir?” Ward inquired.
“No, the last thing I need is more Wickham in my house,” Darcy responded, cradling his right hand. Wickham had a tough jaw.
Darcy dismissed the footmen and concentrated his attention on slowing his rapid breathing and fluttering heartbeat. Striking Wickham had been wrong. It might drive Wickham to make Elizabeth an offer in a fit of pique—even if he had no intention of following through on a wedding. But he would not marry her. Wickham wanted a rich wife more than he wanted revenge on Darcy. Did he not?
Darcy hated that he could not be sure of the answer.
The drawing room door burst open, and an agitated Georgiana rushed in. “Was that Mr. Wickham leaving Darcy House?”
Darcy nodded wearily. “Yes.”
“Granger would not allow us to enter Darcy House, and then Wickham rushed out in high dudgeon!” Georgiana’s face was flushed with agitation. “He was so upset he did not even stop to leer at me.”
Darcy laughed at his sister’s joke. “I am sorry you had to see him.” Darcy enclosed his sister in an embrace. “I wanted to be rid of him before you arrived home.”
Georgiana made a disparaging noise. “I am not a china doll, William. I do not fear him; he can do nothing to me now.”
Darcy released her and walked to the sideboard where they kept a decanter of brandy. “I am glad to hear you say that, dear heart.” He poured the liquid into a crystal glass and took a bracing swallow.
“But why was he here?” Darcy did not reply immediately; there was no need to worry her about business that did not concern her. “Was it about me?” she asked in a small voice.
“No, of course not.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “It was about me! You are simply trying to protect me again.”
“No, no.” Darcy rubbed his forehead.
“Tell me what his business was, or I cannot believe your denials.” Georgiana crossed her arms.
Darcy sighed. Why not? He had nobody else to confide in. “Very well.” He sank into an armchair and gestured for her to do the same. Once they were seated, it took him a moment to order his thoughts. “George Wickham came to me with a proposition. He wanted me to pay him so that he would not propose to a certain young lady. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Not propose to…?” Georgiana’s brows knit together. “Why in the world would you pay for that?”
Darcy bit his lip. “Wickham suspects…I have an interest in the woman’s well-being.”
