James’s eyes sparked in sarcastic amusement. “Well, well, Mrs. Darcy. It has been a long time since we have seen each other. Actually, that is not exactly true.” He smiled greedily at her.“I have been watching you for nearly a week now. You and my old friend are quite bold in the privacy of your bedchamber. If I had known you to possess such wantonness, I might have paid you more attention.”

Lydia looked at him in confusion.“You have been here a week? Since the beginning of the storm? I thought you came today.”

James glared at her menacingly. “Did I not tell you before that you are not to speak unless I give you permission to do so?”

Elizabeth noted how her sister retreated with the man’s words, and then her eyes darted to the open passageway—the cold of the darkness filling the room with its damp chill, as well as its evil. A full blush spread up her chest and neck with the realization that their intruder likely spoke the truth. He had watched Darcy and her in the act of love—had observed their intimacies. Despite that, Elizabeth swallowed her shame; she needed to free Georgiana and needed to set them all free of the man she now hated as much as her husband did. She had never regretted as much as she did at that moment the disgrace her family had brought to Darcy’s doorstep.

She had no fear of shameful gossip spreading farther through Darcy’s means; there were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended; but at the same time there was no one from whom knowledge of a sister’s frailty she more wanted to conceal. Had Wickham and Lydia’s interactions been conducted on the most honorable terms after their marriage, Darcy might have been able to forgive the couple. But this! Quite understandably, Darcy would not forgive Wickham his invasion of Darcy’s home. Even more certainly, Darcy would not forgive Wickham for an attempt to kidnap his sister. And Darcy’s anger would not stop there. He would be furious with Lydia, young and silly Lydia. And he would be livid with her, Elizabeth. Thanks to his marriage to Elizabeth, he had an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with a man whom he so justly scorned. From such a connection she could not wonder that he would shrink at the outset. Now, there was a new and much more terrible transgression. She could not in rational expectation think that her marriage would survive such a blow.

“I will ask you again, sir, to kindly take your leave of Pemberley.” She nodded toward the open passageway, never removing her eyes from his.

“Not without Lydia,” he retorted. “She is the reason I came in the first place.”

Elizabeth reached out to capture her sister’s hand. “Lydia stays with me.” She raised her chin in defiance.

The man weighed her words—a battle of wills played before them. Finally, he spoke—a soft growl of warning. “Which sister do you choose, Mrs. Darcy? The one of your own blood or the one of your husband’s?” He tightened his hold on Georgiana. “I mean to take one of them to hold off Darcy’s vengeance. I would think the lovely Miss Darcy might serve me better.” He purposely nuzzled the side of Georgiana’s head to emphasize his meaning.

“I will go,” Lydia asserted as she stepped forward. “After all, he came for me. That is what you said; was it not?” She broke Elizabeth’s hold and moved with dignity toward the opening, picking up Georgiana’s cloak from where it laid across a chair and wrapping it about her shoulders. With a deep sigh, she stepped through the opening. “Come. Let Miss Darcy go,” she called from the darkness.

James’s smile returned, capturing the memory of his warm lips kissing the back of Elizabeth’s hand. Now, Darcy’s wife felt discomposed by his skillful ploy.“I believe I might take both sisters, after all. Darcy is likely to come after me with only Lydia for my company, but he will think twice if Miss Darcy is my traveling companion.”

He began to drag a squirming Georgiana with him. “No!” Elizabeth reached out to him. “Take me instead. Leave Georgiana; she is not to your tastes.” She began to think of ways to save Darcy’s sister. She must save Georgiana from this man! “Would you not like to know me better? You said so only moments ago. You have no need of an innocent; you need a woman of experience.” Drawing on her intuition, she blurted out, “Besides, I can offer you something Georgiana cannot. Mr. Darcy will protect me because I carry his heir. He will want nothing to happen to me.”

James Withey’s expression hardened, his eyes vibrant with anticipation. “You would go with me—willingly? You would leave this behind?” He gestured with his head to the elegant furnishings.

Elizabeth abruptly straightened before shooting him a fierce look.“I suspect when my husband realizes I have brought danger to his household, Mr. Darcy will gladly spurn my connections.” Her eyes took note of the military uniform he wore—of the boots—the same as Lieutenant Harwood and Edward. The deaths—the boot prints—came back as a nightmarish phantom.The man Georgiana had seen was Harwood—but the man she had observed in the open field that first day stood before her. Elizabeth suddenly felt the chill of the darkened hole. Sternly suppressing her apprehension, she lifted her skirt and declared,“Leave Miss Darcy here; I will go without a fight.”

James skeptically studied the emotions dancing across her face. Then he said suddenly, “The former Bennet sisters will do.” He released Georgiana’s mouth and gestured to the opening. “After you, Mrs. Darcy.”

Georgiana whispered huskily, “No, Elizabeth.”

“I will be fine, Georgiana.” She caressed the girl’s cheek with the back of her palm before stepping though the narrow opening.

James deliberately crushed the memory of Darcy’s betrayal-—of the damnable need to be something he was not. “I am afraid I must stop you from sounding the alarm so soon, my Dear.” He spun the girl away from him before striking her across the back of the head with the gun he carried in his waistband. Georgiana swayed in place for a few long seconds, but then she crumbled in an unconscious heap to the floor.

Stepping through the opening, James reached for the familiar lever to close off the passage. He heard Elizabeth Darcy gasp at the sight of Georgiana’s body lying motionless on the floor as the wall sconce swung into place. “Mr. Darcy’s sister will have a headache, but that will be the worst of it,” he asserted. He stared at her mockingly. He reached for the shuttered lantern he had left in the wall’s recessed niche. Opening the light, he ordered, “This way, ladies.” He began to traverse a narrow, damp corridor. He did not look back to see if they followed; James realized they had no idea where they were—a fact he would use to his advantage.


“George Wickham,” Darcy mumbled with recognition. “In my house—in Pemberley?” His eyes darted about the room in terror. “The deaths? Wickham caused the deaths.” The words Georgiana—lovely Georgiana echoed in his memory, and suddenly pure panic shook him. “Georgiana.” He grabbed Edward’s hand as he started toward the door. “He has been in Georgiana’s room!”

Darcy took off at a run, mounting the steps to the private quarters two at a time—Colonel Fitzwilliam and the viscount closely on his heels. He caught the arm of the footman standing post in the hallway. “My sister?” he pleaded.

“Her room, sir,” the man called to Darcy’s retreating form. “With Mrs. Darcy and the mistress’s sister.”

Darcy did not knock before entering the room; he would apologize later if he was wrong. Coming to a sudden halt, taking stock of the room, the other two men flanking him. Darcy felt a prick of alarm. “Georgiana!” he called, but was greeted only with silence. “Georgiana!” He clenched his lips together, trying not to draw conclusions.

“The footman said she was here, as were Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Wickham.”Adam Lawrence started toward the open sitting room door.

Edward walked slowly in the direction of the screen, carefully surveying every corner of the room. The eerie silence made him think of the absolute quiet before a battle, and the thought nearly shook his resolve. Finally, a low moan signaled his find. “Here!” he called as he knelt to Georgiana’s side. “Easy, Sweetling.” He turned her carefully in his embrace, not wishing to injure her further. “Easy,” he cautioned again as he cradled Georgiana’s head in his lap.

Darcy was immediately beside him—on his knees checking for other injuries besides the gaping gash behind her ear. He handed Edward his handkerchief to stop the blood. “Stafford, send a man for Mrs. Reynolds,” he snapped. He ran his hands quickly up and down his sister’s arms and legs, searching for other wounds. Other than a few obvious bruises he saw nothing else.

“Here.” Stafford thrust a glass of water into Edward’s hands.

The colonel took it, placing only a few drops on Georgiana’s swollen lip.“She is coming around.” Edward carefully pushed Georgiana’s tresses from her face. “I have you,” he whispered huskily. “Do not try to move.”

“Georgie.” Darcy caught her hand. “Can you hear us?”

Georgiana stirred again—her eyes fluttering open and then closing slowly as she fought her way to consciousness. “Fitzwilliam?” she whispered.

“I am here.” He squeezed his sister’s hand. “As is Edward.”

Georgiana’s eyes opened—searching her cousin’s face for familiarity. Her hand lifted for his mouth. “Edward,” she murmured.

“We are all here, Love,” he whispered as he caressed her jaw.

“Georgie,” Darcy’s anxious voice pleaded,“where is Elizabeth?”

His sister fought for lucidity. “Elizabeth?” She took a steadying breath.

“Yes, Sweetheart,” Darcy coaxed. “Where is Elizabeth?”

Turning her head too quickly, Georgiana cringed with pain. “She left with Mr.Wickham.”

“What do you mean?” Pure panic set Darcy ablaze.“Left where?”

“Through the wall.” Georgiana tried desperately to explain. “He was…he was in my room. I tried…tried to get away…caught me…Mrs.Wickham came…then Elizabeth…his wife agreed to go with him…said he came for her…wanted to take me, but Elizabeth…she said she would go instead…said you would not forgive her for the deaths.You will, Fitzwilliam…you will forgive her, will you not? You must bring Elizabeth back to us.”

“Tell me where!” he demanded. “I must stop him!”

“Through the wall.” Her left hand gestured toward the wall sconce. “They walked through the wall.” Georgiana pushed her way to a seated position. “Somehow through there.The wall shifts open…it is dark and cold.”

Darcy was on his feet immediately, pushing against plaster and wood, trying to move the immovable.

“There must be a secret handle or latch.” Stafford’s fingers ran along the baseboard trim and other fixtures.

Without thinking, Darcy followed the viscount’s example, searching frantically with his fingers in every crack and crevice. Deep in thought—thoughts of his brave wife and of what revenge he would exact on George Wickham—Darcy nearly missed the metal tip of the latch. “Found it!” He fumbled with the U-shaped hook, sliding his finger under it to lift it perpendicular to the wall. Then he took a step back as the brick and mortar shifted, spinning in on itself.

“Lord!” he gasped as he gaped into the blackness. “We need lanterns and men.”

“Right.” Stafford rushed out of the room as Mrs. Reynolds rushed in.

Edward lifted Georgiana from the floor. “Bring her this way, Colonel.” Mrs. Reynolds cleared a path to the adjoining room.

“Wait!” Georgiana called as her cousin caught her to him.“Fitzwilliam.” She reached for her brother.

Darcy came to her side. “What is it, Georgie?”

“He has been watching us,” Georgiana whispered. “Watched you and Elizabeth . . . alone.” Her ears pinked in discomfiture….

Darcy recognized the meaning of her embarrassed words. “I understand.”

“No, you do not. He wants her…wants Elizabeth…to take revenge on you. She went with him to ensure my safety.”

“I will get her back, Georgiana. Never fear. Today will be the last day George Wickham haunts our lives.”


She dropped the first of the swatches from her pocket when the movable door closed on Georgiana, hoping to help Darcy find them. Now, Elizabeth clung to her youngest sister. They followed the pale light as it made its way along the damp corridor. “Where are we going?” she demanded of their captor.

“You will see, Mrs. Darcy,” he mocked over his shoulder, refusing to slow down, often leaving them stumbling through the shadows. Yet, finally, he paused and waited on the women. “This way.” He gestured to the left.