Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(63)

But it was too late. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet began screaming, and elsewhere in the house Lizzie heard a stampede of footsteps that indicated Jane, Kitty, and Mary—and if this kept up, it would surely rouse Mr. Bennet from his study.

The idea of her family coming to harm was more terrifying than having a firearm pointed at her. “Don’t hurt anyone!” Lizzie pleaded just as Darcy held up both hands and said:

“Don’t do anything stupid, Wickham!”

Wickham, for his part, seemed very calm indeed. “Stand back! I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if you don’t let us through!”

“I’ll go with you—just don’t hurt anyone,” Lizzie said. She attempted to look up at Wickham, but he pulled her arm back even harder, and she saw stars at the edges of her vision.

Darcy pushed back a hysterical Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, placing himself between the ladies and Wickham and Lizzie. “You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk it out.”

“Is your carriage outside?”

Darcy nodded and locked eyes with Lizzie. She knew that Wickham meant to take her with him, but the idea of leaving the house without Darcy made her tremble. “Wickham, leave my family out of this. This is between us and Darcy—”

“Quiet!” he barked, twisting her arm again. Lizzie gasped in pain as the stars returned.

“Don’t hurt her!” Darcy shouted.

“Don’t force me to!” was Wickham’s equally loud response.

He propelled Lizzie down the hall and out the door into the damp night. The streetlamps offered a meager light, but enough that when Wickham pointed his firearm at Alan and barked, “Move!” the driver all but fell off his perch. Wickham hoisted Lizzie up and leapt up next to her in a breath. She caught a glimpse of Darcy rushing out of her house before Wickham jostled the reins, and they were off into the dark evening, bound for a destination unknown.





Seventeen


In Which Lizzie Realizes Her Misconceptions



IT WAS THE SECOND time in a week that Lizzie had been forced into a carriage against her will, but the first time at gunpoint, and she did not appreciate the escalation. She clutched at her seat as Wickham prodded the horses into a trot and then sought to increase their pace.

Fear was a vise around her throat, but she didn’t want to be one of those ladies who swooned at danger. She had to say something, do something—so she spoke the first words that came to mind. “I know you don’t like Darcy, but this is rather much.”

“You’re wrong about that. I hate him.”

“Yes, but kidnapping, Wickham? I mean, really.” This was mad—she was bantering with him as if this were a social visit.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m afraid I left it back in the drawing room.”

“Pity.” He flicked the reins, spurring the horses along faster. They reached the end of Gracechurch Street, and he steered the horses west. The streets were still wet from the earlier rain, and Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was her overactive imagination or if she really did feel the wheels skid on the turn.

She tried to keep a cool head, but their speed alone was cause for alarm. “This is grand larceny, you know.”

Wickham laughed. “Criminal charges are the least of my worries.”

Lizzie flinched as they narrowly missed a flower seller’s cart, and Wickham allowed the horses to slow just a bit as they turned left and navigated down a tight, dim street. That was when she heard the sound of hooves and wheels rattling behind them. She twisted in her seat to peer around the back of the carriage and caught sight of a hired chaise—lighter, with only one horse, but faster than Darcy’s grand carriage with four horses, gaining on them.

Wickham noticed her movement and turned as well. “That’ll be Darcy, I wager. Mad that I stole his carriage. Then again, maybe it’s you he’s concerned about.”

The anger in his voice disturbed her, as if Lizzie were just another prize to be won. He’s played me, she realized with horror. Her head spun in an attempt to pay attention to where they were going and also piece together Wickham’s connection with this case. If he was the one who broke into Pemberley, then he was likely responsible for Abigail’s death as well.

And Lizzie had led him right to her.

“Please, stop. We can still work this out, without anyone else getting hurt.”

Wickham laughed darkly and made an abrupt turn that nearly sent Lizzie flying from her seat. “No, we really can’t. It’s time for you to stop meddling and do what you’re told.”

The side street they’d turned onto was familiar to Lizzie and even narrower than the thoroughfare from which they’d come. During the day, it was packed with people and children playing. This time of night, it was empty, but it was dark and Lizzie could scarcely breathe through her fear that the horses would stumble or run over some poor soul.

“We don’t have to involve the law,” she tried again, although she didn’t really mean it. Wickham deserved to go to prison, and Abigail deserved justice. “I’m sure there are other means of settling this!”

“I’ve tried that already. Darcy wanted to shoot at me instead.”

“You’re the one he dueled?” Lizzie couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it earlier. “But you said you didn’t know who—”