Pride and Proposals

“Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?” Wickham took another deliberate step forward, once again pressing against her. But when she backed away, she encountered a bookcase. There was nowhere else to go.

She took a deep breath, hoping for a commanding, forceful tone in her voice. “Mr. Wickham! You must leave at once!” If she spoke loudly enough, Grayson would hear and investigate.

“Or else … what?” Wickham smirked. “You are hardly in a position to give me orders, Sister.”

Suddenly, the drawing room door flew open, and someone entered. However, Wickham’s body blocked her view. Perhaps Grayson had heard her cries. There was a flurry of movement. Elizabeth barely had time to make sense of what she saw before Mr. Darcy was standing over the prone form of Wickham, who appeared somewhat stunned to find himself on the floor.

“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. How had he come to be there?

His eyes held a wildness she had never seen before. At that moment, she believed him capable of anything. He was breathing hard as he loomed over Wickham, undisguised contempt on his face.

He glanced up briefly. “Miss Bennet, please forgive the intrusion.” His calm, polite words were at such odds with the situation that Elizabeth fought the temptation to laugh. “I heard raised voices and I feared—”

“Your arrival was quite timely, thank you,” she assured him.

In one swift movement, Mr. Darcy swooped down and pulled Wickham up by his cravat so that the man’s feet barely touched the floor. “What villainy are you perpetrating now?” His voice was low and threatening.

Wickham’s face began to turn red, and Elizabeth feared for his safety. She had never seen Mr. Darcy quite so enraged. “He cannot answer with you strangling him,” she observed.

Mr. Darcy grunted an acknowledgement and settled Wickham on his feet but maintained a firm grip on the cravat. “This does not concern you, Darcy.” Wickham’s voice was weak and raspy.

In the past, Mr. Darcy had expressed a sense of responsibility for Wickham because of his failure to reveal the man’s true character. He also seemed to feel that the Darcy family had somehow been responsible for unleashing Wickham on the world.

So she was unprepared for Mr. Darcy’s response.

“Anything which concerns Miss Bennet concerns me,” Mr. Darcy growled, shaking Wickham a little by his cravat.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Certainly that was taking his role as adopted cousin a little far!

“Indeed?” Wickham sneered. Elizabeth very much feared he would twist Mr. Darcy’s statement into something that could be used to hurt him.

Abruptly, Mr. Darcy released his grip on the cravat, allowing Wickham to stumble backward. “Whatever scheme you have concocted to extort money from Miss Bennet will cease now. Leave her alone, or you will face my wrath!”

“I am not afraid of you!” Wickham’s cough at the end of his assertion somewhat undercut his bravado.

“Do not threaten her again, or I will have you arrested!” Mr. Darcy grabbed the front of Wickham’s coat in both hands and dragged him toward the drawing room door.

“For what?” Wickham managed a smile even as he was pulled, stumbling, across the polished wood floor. “I was simply having a conversation with my sister, my dear departed wife’s sibling. That is not against the law.”

“Stay away, Wickham, if you value your health,” Mr. Darcy snarled. He opened the door and practically threw the other man into the entrance hall at the feet of a very surprised Grayson. Mr. Darcy looked up at the butler. “Ah, Grayson, could you make sure that Mr. Wickham finds his way back to the street?” Grayson nodded, helping Wickham to his feet and guiding him to the front door with a hand under one elbow.

When Mr. Darcy turned back into the room, he spied Wickham’s walking stick sitting by the chair he had occupied. Without a pause, Mr. Darcy strode across the room, grabbed it, returned to the doorway, tossed the stick into the hallway, and closed the door.

When Mr. Darcy turned back to Elizabeth, his eyes searched her face with ferocious intensity. “Did that villain hurt you?” He crossed the room quickly, taking both of her hands in his.

“No, I assure you, I am quite well.” Her statement would have been more believable had her voice been less shaky.

Mr. Darcy guided her gently to a chaise longue. “Come, sit. Is there nothing I can get for your present relief? A glass of wine?”

“I am well, thanks to your timely intervention. You have my gratitude.”

Mr. Darcy scowled. “I should have been here earlier.”

Elizabeth arched her eyebrow. “By all means, please castigate yourself for a failure to be omniscient. I intend to.”

For a moment, Mr. Darcy seemed at a loss, staring at her. Then he burst into laughter. “Ah, Elizabeth, you always find the means of telling me when I take myself too seriously!”

Elizabeth was taken off guard. Does he even realize he used my Christian name? But he displayed no awareness.