Darcy was rigid, the tension radiating in nearly visible waves. Lizzy could hear him taking deep breaths in an effort to regain control of his emotions and anger. For her part, Lizzy had never experienced such fear, even when facing Orman. The sensation of being utterly at the whimsical mercy of men with obvious low morals and disdain for the law was petrifying for her, but to a man of generally supreme dominance like Darcy, it was torture. The internal struggle to overcome formidable rage and equally daunting anxiety for his wife was enough to buckle him, but he fought the emotions and gradually mastered.
Mere seconds had passed; the older mounted man finally speaking, his voice identifying him as the first man Lizzy had heard and undoubtedly the leader. “Lou, check the pockets of those two,” he waved to Mr. Anders and Phillips. “They are servants, so likely have nothing, but we may get lucky. Victor,” he said as he nudged his fellow horseman, “get the jack-a-dandy's money clip and check the woman. Clyde, keep our hero in your sights. I don’t trust ’im.”
Victor dismounted, drawing his pistol and pulling a canvas sack out of his saddlebag. He approached with a swagger, grinning evilly. “Hand it over and don’t fuss. Doubt the loss will hurt you any.”
Darcy moved warily, removing his money clip, which was quite thick due to his planned evening of gaming with Rory Sitwell, and retrieved his pocket watch, placing both in the sack. Lizzy bit her lip to prevent a whine escaping. The pocket watch she knew had been a gift from his father when Darcy graduated Cambridge and was therefore dear to him.
“That's it?” Victor asked in doubt. “Thought you dandies carried all kinds of useless baubles.” He patted the pockets of Darcy's jacket and waistcoat, Lizzy nerveless with the certainty that he would discover the hidden pistol, but he did not. His search apparently focused on hidden treasures without suspecting a “dandy” would have a weapon.
“There is nearly three hundred pounds there and the watch is valuable. You have no complaints.” Darcy's voice was quiet and placid. Lizzy, however, saw the clenching jaw and thin-set lips, as well as detecting the muted iron in his tone. Victor stared into Darcy's eyes, clearly noting the same and considering it a challenge of sorts.
Peering unblinking at Darcy, he addressed Lizzy, “How's about you, pretty? Got something for me?” His tone was lecherous and not lost on Darcy, who stiffened even further and gripped Lizzy's arm so firmly she nearly yelped from the pain. Victor's leer broadened as he suddenly shot a hand out and grabbed Lizzy's left arm, yanking her forward.
She did emit a sharp cry as a tug-of-war ensued, Darcy refusing to relinquish his grip even when Victor cocked the pistol and dug the barrel end into the flesh of Darcy's forehead. “Let go or I’ll kill ya and then what good would ya do her?”
“William, please! Do as he says!” Lizzy shouted, her fear for her husband outweighing her own for the moment. The sight of a gun yet again aimed at him was more than she could take. She was trembling violently, tears cascading down her face and eyes pleading. Darcy hesitated another second then reluctantly released her arm. Lizzy let lose a sob of relief and terror.
Victor smiled smugly, meeting Darcy's murderous gaze boldly. “Don’t worry about the little wife. I’ll take very good care of her.”
“You lay one hand on her and I promise I will kill you,” Darcy replied in a tone of pure venom and conviction. Lizzy noted a glimmer of uncertainty in Victor's eyes and then it was gone, to be replaced with arrogance. He led her away a dozen paces with pistol trained on Darcy. The hold on her arm was surprisingly tender and almost caressing. Lizzy shivered in revulsion; Darcy's countenance grim and eyes anguished.
“Okay, pretty, give me those earrings and the necklace. Not particularly fine specimens, are they? Rich boy don’t share his wealth with the missus, huh? Want you for only one thing, does he, and no compensation for the job? Maybe you need a real man who will appreciate your charms.” He ran the back of one hand down her cheek, Lizzy shuddering and jerking away.
Darcy released a growl of pure animal intensity and lunged forward, only to be brought up short by Clyde's pistol in his gut. Lizzy vaguely heard a sound to her left from the direction of Phillips, but her eyes were tightly closed with tears streaming.
“Enough playing!” shouted the leader from his horse. “Get the rings, Victor. Clyde, check the carriage for anything else. This is taking too long.”
Victor scowled but obeyed. “Give me the rings, pretty. Hurry up!”
Lizzy's eyes flew open in shock, hands instinctively enfolding to her chest. “My… my rings? No, please, they are my wedding rings! You cannot…”
“I can and I will. Now hand them over!”
Lizzy cried in silence, hands shaking so badly that she barely managed to remove the rings, neither of which had ever left her finger since Darcy placed them there. With incredible difficulty she dropped them into the bag, hands instantly covering her face as she dissolved into sobs.
Glancing to Darcy's stony face and smiling insolently, Victor slid one arm around Lizzy shoulders and stroked her neck while murmuring placatingly and smirking at Darcy, “Don’t fret, pretty lady. Victor knows how to make you feel good. I’ll bring you with me and we can have some fun.” As he spoke, he moved his gun-toting hand upward and brushed his fingers over one breast.
At that precise moment, several things happened at once.
Lizzy, in an impetuous explosion of rage and abhorrence, screamed hysterically while pitching her entire upper body into Victor's. He was taken completely by surprise, flailing wildly as he vaulted backward from the force of her shove, pistol flying through the air.
Darcy was already moving toward Lizzy in manic wrath, Victor's pointing firearm inconsequential at that point, but reacted instantaneously and proficiently to her unwitting diversion. He yelled to Phillips while simultaneously drawing the hidden pistol with his right hand and lunging toward his wife. He was sidetracked, however, by the reemergence of a startled Clyde, who was just exiting from the carriage with his pistol and Lizzy's reticule in one hand and their lunch basket in the other. Darcy latched onto his neck with a strangle hold and viciously smashed the back of his head against the carriage railing, Clyde crumpling in a heap.
Meanwhile, Phillips and Mr. Anders drew their concealed weapons. Lou was distracted by the antics of Victor and Lizzy, completely unaware of the fist heading his way until Phillips, who was a big and remarkably strong man, connected with an echoing crunch to his jaw. It was an impressive hit and a weaker man would have succumbed easily. Lou, however, was hired for his brawn and not brains. He staggered but rallied quickly, rounding on the amazed Phillips with pistol ready. The tall footman had no time to bring his own gun to bear, instead choosing to rush the smaller man and grab the pistol-wielding right hand. Thus ensued a dramatic, if at times strangely humorous, wrestling match between the two mismatched men.