Rage flowed through Elizabeth’s veins at Wickham’s nonchalance. “Come now, my pet,” he said in a voice that made her feel ill, “be a good girl and run along inside while I have a word with your sister. I will join you shortly.”
With a look of resentment toward her sister, Lydia kissed Wickham full on the lips before flouncing through the French doors, slamming them behind her. Elizabeth turned to follow her but found herself detained by Wickham, who was quick to circle around her, blocking her way to the house. “Well, well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with his usual air of insincerity, “or rather, I should say, Mrs. Darcy. I see we are destined to meet again, though I must confess to have been rather shocked when I heard from your sister that Darcy had actually deigned to marry you. Quite out of character for one in his station, I assure you, but I do suppose being caught in a compromising position by a clergyman must carry some weight with his conscience.”
Elizabeth turned her head away, but he only laughed. “You must have made it quite impossible for Darcy to refuse you, Mrs. Darcy.” He ogled her figure in a repugnant manner that brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Seeing her agitation obviously excited him. Wickham’s breathing became shallow and he raised his hand to touch the swell of flesh at the neckline of her gown. As in her aunt’s drawing room, Elizabeth attempted to strike him, but again, she found her wrists captured by his strong grip. He laughed. “I see not much has changed, Elizabeth. I still find you undeniably fetching, in spite of the fact your temper leads you to hasty actions you may soon find yourself sorry for… or not.”
Her eyes widened as he drew her against his body. She began to struggle in an attempt to extricate herself from his grasp, his evident arousal pressing against her stomach. “Mr. Wickham!” she exclaimed. “I beg you to reconsider your actions, sir! Surely you know my husband will happily kill you for such an insult, as would his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam!”
This seemed to sober him somewhat, for he scanned the area around them, his gaze darting to the doors leading back into the house. He soon returned it to her figure, however, and tightening his grip so it was especially painful for her, he said hoarsely, “You do make an excellent point, madam; however…”
Elizabeth held her breath, praying for some opportunity to escape. Wickham was, by now, holding her far too tightly for her to be able to free herself, and realizing this, her stomach lurched.
“Tell me,” he demanded as he lowered his head close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath, “did you scream and fight when your husband first insulted you, or did you dutifully submit to his will when he took possession of you?” Elizabeth gasped, and with one swift motion, Wickham pressed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss as he shoved her body back against the wall of the house.
She fought against him with every ounce of strength she could muster as he continued to take possession of her mouth, his lower body undulating against her hips. Just as Elizabeth thought she would become physically ill, he released her, grasping the base of her neck with one hand while he ran the fingers of his free hand along one side of her face.
“Not a word, my dear Mrs. Darcy, not a word,” he panted. “I just wanted to have a little taste of what Darcy delights in every night, although he cannot possibly appreciate such a feisty little chit in the manner he should.” Upon seeing the fear in her eyes, he murmured, “Be not alarmed, my dear. I doubt our paths shall cross again after tonight, but if they should, I daresay your loveliness shall most likely force me to claim some further basis for my comparison between you and, well, let us just say, one other young lady of my intimate acquaintance.” With one last, hungry look, Wickham released her and disappeared into the night.
Elizabeth slid to the ground, her legs finally giving way beneath her, and, holding her face in her hands, she cried for some time. Not long after she ceased, she heard lively music being played in the drawing room. Attempting some semblance of composure, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood, but not before hearing her husband’s voice raised in alarm as he questioned her sisters about her whereabouts.
In the next instant, Darcy threw open the French doors and strode out onto the terrace, where he found Elizabeth doubled over near the hedge, emptying the contents of her stomach. He looked at her in horror as he took in her tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips. She raised her handkerchief to her mouth, and he gasped at the angry bruises beginning to encircle both wrists.
Elizabeth found she could not meet his eyes, which held just as much pain and anguish as she suspected her own did, and felt herself sway as another wave of nausea washed over her, fear of her husband’s reaction to what had just occurred gripping her.
Darcy shut the door and, closing the distance between them, enfolded Elizabeth in his arms, where she finally collapsed, a few unshed tears escaping from her eyes. She clung to him, terrified to release him for fear of what she would see in his eyes when she pulled away.
He held her just as tightly, whispering endearments and stroking her back, all the while struggling to keep his alarm at bay, lest he add to Elizabeth’s distress. There was no doubt in his mind her discomposure had something to do with George Wickham, who Darcy noticed was conspicuously absent from the drawing room only moments earlier.
Elizabeth soon calmed, though Darcy continued to soothe her with his touch and gentle words for many minutes to follow. He was afraid to ask what she had been forced to endure at the hands of that… man and remained silent on the subject for as long as he dared before his fear for her well-being finally got the better of him. Pulling her from his breast, he said, in a tight voice, “Elizabeth, dearest, you must tell me what he has done.”
She glanced at him before averting her gaze and, placing a shaking hand over her eyes, said, “I… he has not done the absolute worst. At least not to me.”
He stared at her, his eyes fearful as he brushed a stray curl from her face with a trembling hand. “Are you certain?” he whispered.
She nodded. “Forgive me, but I cannot be concerned solely with myself right now.” She took a deep breath and told him of how she had discovered Lydia in an amorous encounter with Wickham only moments before. “After all that has occurred in the last several months, I cannot believe she is blind to the true nature of such a man! He told me our paths are not likely to cross again after tonight, but he alluded to the eventuality of… something, though I hardly know what. I cannot fathom what might be in his mind, but I am concerned. And what of Lydia? She cannot possibly marry someone like him, yet Lord only knows the liberties she has allowed him. It is in every way horrible!”
Darcy took her hands in his, his anger rising as he traced his finger along her bruised wrists. “I must speak with your father and Colonel Forster immediately, and you must come into the house. You are freezing with only a shawl.” He looked at her, his steady gaze boring into her. “Are you certain you are not… injured any more than what I can see, Elizabeth?” He nearly choked on the words.
Elizabeth noticed then that his eyes were glistening. She offered him a weak smile and cradled his face in her hands. “I am not injured,” she said softly, “I am only feeling unbelievably foolish for having gotten myself into such a dangerous predicament in the first place; though, if I had not come out for some air, I never would have discovered Lydia’s partiality to him, and God knows what would have happened to her, that is, if it has not already taken place.”