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It had been at least four hours since her kidnapping; the sun was starting to set. William must be frantic with worry, she thought. He would have no idea where she was or if she was all right.
Elizabeth turned her thoughts once more to the problems of her captivity, reviewing the contents of the room for anything that might help her escape. But the small room only contained two mismatched wooden chairs, a rough table, and narrow bed. The table held the remains of a simple meal they had provided, but Elizabeth’s anxiety had extinguished her appetite, and she had not touched the bread and cheese.
What did Wickham want with her? Would he demand a ransom from Darcy? Was it some plot to revenge himself on her husband? She roamed around the small room, turning these questions over in her mind again and again, but unable to guess at the answers.
Suddenly the knob turned and the narrow door was opened by Wickham himself. Elizabeth was actually happy to see him. Unlike the other men, she knew Wickham and thought it was more likely she could induce him to answer her questions.
Wickham glanced at the table. “Was the food not to your liking? I know it’s not what you have grown accustomed to at Darcy House, but it was the best we could supply on short notice.” He oozed charm and faux sincerity. It was disgusting.
“It was fine,” Elizabeth said tightly. How dare he act so nonchalant? Playing the perfect host with her under these circumstances!
He sauntered over to the table and poured two glasses of wine – she had wondered why they had provided her with another wine glass. He handed one to her as if they were sharing a simple dinner in the home’s dining room. Willing to play along, she took it and drank a sip, attempting to control the revulsion she felt toward this man; she needed to avoid provoking his anger unnecessarily. Appearing very much at home, he settled into one chair and she sat in the other.
Since Wickham did not seem inclined to start a conversation, Elizabeth decided on a direct approach. “Why have you abducted me?” She had asked him in the carriage, but he had said they would discuss it later.
“We have not abducted you. You are merely our guest for the night; we will not harm you. You will be free to leave in the morning.” His voice was silky and he smiled at her in a very intimate way that made her skin crawl.
“Why should I believe you?” She asked sharply.
“Why would I lie about that?” He countered.
Wickham was the most accomplished liar she had ever met, and his every word was suspect. If he told her it was raining, she would not believe it until she was soaking wet. “Please trust me, Elizabeth,” he leaned toward her, staring earnestly in her eyes. “I promise you will not be harmed.”
“You still have not said why you brought me here.” She tried to soften her tone so it was not too antagonistic. If Wickham believed she had relaxed her attitude toward him, he might lower his guard a little – giving her an opportunity to escape.
“Do I need a reason to crave your company?” His eyes ran lasciviously over her body; it made her want to slap him.
“There are more polite ways of getting it,” she said tartly. “For instance, you might marry my sister. Then we could
see each other at family occasions.”
A shadow crossed his face and she knew instantly she had made a mistake, but her anger over his treatment of Lydia had overcome her better judgment. “I do not want to talk about your sister,” he said with irritation. There was a silence. Toying with the stem of his wine glass, Wickham seemed to be deciding on his next move. Finally, he raised his eyes to her, giving her a gaze filled with desire. “She is but a girl. You are a woman.” Wickham’s voice was low and seductive. “A very attractive woman.”
Now we get to the heart of the matter, thought Elizabeth. Seduction is, after all, one of his specialties. She was aware that he desperately wanted to avenge himself on Darcy and seducing the woman everyone assumed was Darcy’s fiancée would be revenge indeed. The thought made her want to retch, but she had to appear cooperative or there would be no opportunity for escape.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth cast her eyes down at the floor, trying to seem flattered by the compliment. “But surely you need not go to such lengths to flatter me.”
“Not with Darcy around. He would never let me within a hundred yards of you.” Wickham stood and walked over to her chair, gazing down at her. “Not that I blame him. If you were my fiancée, I would never permit you to leave the bedroom.” Elizabeth suppressed a shudder of disgust.
With Wickham towering over her, she felt very vulnerable, so she stood as well. But now they were standing very close. Uncomfortably close. She could smell the wine on his breath – and the fact that he had not bathed in a while. Do not show your revulsion, she told herself sternly. It will not serve you.
Wickham ran his hand down her bare arm below the short sleeve her dress. Pretend you like it. “You always were my favorite, you know. I wanted Mary King for her money, but you – with you – it is desire….” He lifted her hand to his lips, but his eyes were locked on hers. “You are so very beautiful. Your eyes…so expressive…and I am sure there is no other woman with hair that is quite so lustrous.” As he touched a curl, Elizabeth schooled herself not to flinch.
Apparently unable to control himself any longer, Wickham pulled her toward him rather roughly and kissed her. She endured the kiss, thinking that if she appeared cooperative, perhaps there would be an unguarded moment when she could escape. However, she could only conceal her antipathy for so long – when Wickham grabbed her breast, her control shattered.
She pushed Wickham away and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “How dare you! You have no claim on me! No right! I am in love with Darcy. And he is searching for me! When he discovers you, you will be lucky if you do not hang for this.”
“By the time he finds you, it will be too late.” Wickham growled threateningly as he abandoned all pretext of seduction and made a lunge for her. She backed away, but quickly bumped into the wall. The room was simply too small to allow her to avoid Wickham for long. As he got closer, she slid sideways along the wall, putting the small table between them. He swept the dinner tray onto the floor with a clang and the tinkle of broken crockery – and grabbed her arm. Twisting it out of his grasp, she rushed to the door, but turned the knob in vain.
Wickham laughed. “What a shame I have the key.” He patted his coat pocket. “That door isn’t opening until you give me what I want.” She backed away as he lurched toward her, but the backs of her legs bumped up against the room’s narrow bed.
I cannot escape him in a room this small, she thought desperately. Time for a new plan. She stood still and allowed him to approach her. He grinned at her apparent acquiescence and prowled toward her like a large cat. As he pushed up against her the buttons on his waistcoat press in to the front of her dress, but she did not resist when he placed his hands on her shoulders. He bent his head down toward hers and she willed herself to stand still. “That’s right. It will be easier for you if you do not fight me.” He purred, closing his eyes for a kiss.
Now! Elizabeth stamped the heel of her shoe down hard on Wickham’s foot. As he winced in pain, she jerked her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. It connected with a satisfying jolt. Wickham doubled over with wordless shout of pain as he fell to the floor, writhing. Elizabeth’s hand darted into his jacket pocket and found the key. Before he was upright, she had unlocked the door and was fleeing down the narrow wooden stairs.
“Stop her! Beecham, Carr, you idiots! Stop her, she is getting away!” Wickham bellowed as Elizabeth flew down the second set of stairs. Now on the first floor, she glimpsed the front door of the house. Only steps away from freedom! She raced for it. Four steps – Three steps – But then one of Wickham’s burly cohorts rushed out of the front parlor and tackled her. They fell into a heap. Even as she strained to get up, he held down her arms with his big, beefy hands that might as well have been steel bands. “There, there, Missy,” he yelled. “Stop yer struggling and I won’t have ter hurt you!” The other thug arrived from the kitchen, ready to lend assistance.
I cannot escape both of them. Recognizing defeat, Elizabeth went limp. “Good girl,” the man said. Elizabeth thought he was Beecham. Then he hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a sack of grain, and carried her up to the attic room.
