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Still, she said nothing.
“Will you at least give me the satisfaction of knowing of what I am accused?” His voice took on a pleading tone. “What has Darcy told you?”
Elizabeth stopped to examine a holly bush, heavy with berries; its branches would be very useful for Christmas decorating. “I do not discuss you much with Mr. Darcy,” she said to Mr. Wickham with a negligent air. “We usually prefer pleasanter subjects of conversation.”
The insult did not register with the man. “Come, you must have discussed me with Darcy!”
Elizabeth shook her head as she resumed walking. “Only a little. On the other hand, Miss Darcy was an excellent source of information about you.”
Mr. Wickham’s face turned a satisfying shade of purple. “M-Miss Darcy is in town?” he stammered. “I thought she was at Pemberley.”
“I had a most illuminating conversation with her.” Elizabeth tapped her lip thoughtfully. “You had told me she was arrogant and proud, but I found her most amiable and pleasant.”
A muscle in the man’s jaw twitched. “You cannot trust the words of the sister any more than you can trust those of the brother.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched into fists. Miss Darcy was far too sweet to be maligned so casually. “I find it curious how many people lie about you, Mr. Wickham. Such a coincidence.”
“They do lie. I am telling the truth,” he said through gritted teeth.
She shrugged. “Perhaps we shall simply have to agree to disagree on that point, Mr. Wickham.” He was a good two feet away, and yet it was too close. Her entire body twitched with nervous energy, eager to flee his presence. “I do not believe I have anything further to say to you. Good day, sir.” Turning on her heel, she set a brisk pace for the house.
She listened but heard no scuff of boots on the stone pathway—which is why she was taken by surprise when his hand grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him. “Do not walk away from me!” he hissed fiercely. “You agreed to be mine, Elizabeth Bennet! Not his!”
With those words, he pulled her toward him and mashed his lips on top of hers.
Elizabeth struggled, but his hands held her upper arms like iron bands. Kissing him was nothing like kissing Mr. Darcy. His tongue was cool and slimy as it forced her lips open and invaded her mouth. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and he was too close for her to kick him effectively.
That leaves me only one choice.
She bit down as hard as she could on his tongue.
Mr. Wickham shrieked and tore himself away from her. Blood dotted his lips. Good. “You bit me, you chit! You trollop!”
Elizabeth backed away down the path. There was no hope she could outrun him in her skirts, but perhaps if she also called for help… The garden was so large. Would anyone hear her?
The man advanced on her. “I will make you pay for that!” The words were distorted by his swollen tongue. She gathered her skirts in preparation for running, not wanting to take her eyes off her attacker until the last minute.
One minute he was advancing on her; the next something had pulled him from behind, dragging him off the path. A dark figure punched Mr. Wickham, who flew backward and fell like a sack of potatoes, sprawling in the dirt. Now Elizabeth had an unobstructed view of her defender.
“Mr. Darcy!” she cried.
He watched Mr. Wickham warily. “Elizabeth, please call me William.”
She could not help laughing.
Apparently satisfied that Mr. Wickham would not move, William lifted his eyes to hers and smiled.
Stepping over Mr. Wickham’s prostrate form, he scanned Elizabeth from head to toe for injury. “Are you well?” In two strides, he had enclosed her in his arms.
“Y-Yes,” she sobbed into his waistcoat. “I am p-perfectly f-fine.”
“I did not arrive too late?” he asked.
“N-No. Your arrival was quite timely.” Peering around his arm, Elizabeth reassured herself that Mr. Wickham was still unconscious.
“Thank God,” William murmured, stroking her hair soothingly.
She settled thankfully into his arms, wondering how she could have ever doubted the man. Why have I not accepted his proposal? Delay felt ridiculous to her at this point. She peered up at him, refusing to release her grip on his waistcoat. “I should just tell—”
