Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

B last Richard! A colonel in His Majesty’s army who was an accomplished pugilist in his own right ought to know better than to distract a gentleman mid-fight! By sheer force of will, Darcy held himself upright. Gingerly, he touched his cheek. No blood. He would have a terrible bruise, but at least the skin had not broken.

“You are a difficult man to track down,” Richard complained as he rushed up to him. “I had to bribe your valet.”

Darcy grit his teeth. This was fantastic! Not only did his cousin’s unwanted interference result in a preventable injury, but now his assailants knew he had a valet and was certainly a gentleman worth assaulting. “Stop talking and raise your fists,” he hissed.

His foes snickered, and two opponents swelled back up to four. Two for him; two for Richard. Manageable.

Then he heard the slide of metal against a sheath. The square-headed brute gripped a knife. Slowly, Darcy held his hands out to the side, his palms up. The fight was over. He would defend himself with his fists, but this was no longer a superficial brawl. This was deadly. Their only hope of leaving this wicked place intact was to keep their heads level and their tongues cool.

But a chuckle at Darcy’s side made his blood freeze. “Do not do it, Rich,” he mumbled under his breath.

Richard pointed at the blade. “What is that ?” he mocked.

Darcy exhaled. The damage was done.

“Are ye blind? It’s a knife!” the man jerked the blade through the air.

“My good sir…” Richard clucked his tongue. “ That is not a knife.” He reached to his side and slowly, deliberately, pulled his favored weapon from its sheath, holding the devilishly curved blade up for their opponents to appreciate. “ This is a knife!”

Darcy clenched his jaw and his fists lest he strangle his cousin.

In a showy display, Richard slashed and twirled the scimitar in front of him.

The men had sense enough to run.

“Cowards!” Richard called after them.

Darcy grabbed him by the collar and pushed him down the passageway that led to his waiting carriage. “I do not know which will get you killed first, Rich: that stage prop you like to show off or your blasted tongue.”

“Some thanks I get for saving your sorry hide from those milling coves,” Richard grumbled as he shoved him away.

“You nearly got us killed, and you expect me to be grateful?”

Richard patted the hilt of his sword. “I have yet to meet a man daring enough to put Constance to the test.”

“Only children name their toys.”

“Connie is not a plaything. Take it back.”

Darcy would do no such thing.

“She is a genuine scimitar—reliably intimidating and always at my side—a gift to me by a man who made his fortune on the open seas.”

Darcy looked at him askance. “A pirate?”

“His morals and methods are questionable, but there is no doubting the quality of this blade.” Richard puffed his chest, self-righteous in his pride.

“Did he give you a parrot, too?”

“And risk it soiling my uniform? My batman is a good man who deserves better than the job of scraping guano off my coats.” He cast a side look at Darcy and shook his head. “It is a wonder your valet stays on with you dressing like a sailor scraped from the bottom of a ship. You smell like bilge water.”

Darcy did not doubt it, but that was beside the point. “I had the situation under control.”

“Which is why you are sporting a bloody lip and a big, purple bruise blooming around your swollen eye?— ”

“A bruise I would not have without your untimely intrusion.”

“Oh yes, because you had the situation under firm regulation. It is a wonder the watchmen do not enlist the great Fitzwilliam Darcy to rehabilitate Seven Dials. You would have all of St. Giles reformed in short order!” Richard mocked, stopping to poke him in the chest. “What were you thinking, coming here? This treasure hunt has become an obsession. It needs to stop.”

Darcy’s blood boiled; his ears rang like a tea kettle. “Do you think I am unaware of the danger? That I came here on a whim?”

“It is a painting! Dabs of oil on a canvas. Nothing worth risking your life over!”

“You call an original Rembrandt a mere painting?”

“You called my scimitar a theater prop.”

“That painting,” Darcy said through clenched teeth, “is Georgiana’s inheritance. I promised it to her.”

“Her dowry is already generous—too generous. It makes her a target. First Wickham, and you know as well as I do that he will not likely be the last.”

“All the more reason to restore Georgie’s property. It has nothing to do with her dowry and will remain hers no matter whom she marries.”

“If it is justice you seek, then leave the inspector to pursue Wickham. He will catch him in Charleston.”

Richard did not understand. The painting was a masterpiece, true, but its value went far beyond that. Darcy had promised it to Georgiana on the worst day of their lives, and nothing would prevent him from keeping his promise to her. “You would do the same if you were in my position. You would do it for Georgie.”

“I most certainly would not!”

Darcy shot him a look. In a calmer tone, Richard added, “Not the way you are going about it. I have sent messages to every acquaintance I have in the fleet about Wickham’s crossing. If he escapes the notice of the investigator, he cannot escape the Royal Navy!” Richard closed his hand around the handle of his scimitar. “If only I had caught up with him…”

If only. That same wishful thought tormented Darcy. If only he had recognized the signs sooner. If only he had suspected Wickham’s motive for calling so often went beyond appeals to Darcy for money. If only he had recognized the possibility of his own sister falling under the influence of a selfish rake of no consequence, no fortune, and no recommendation other than his excessive charm. Georgiana had been raised to expect better!

He forced his shoulders to relax and his feet to continue moving toward his carriage. The past was done, and he would waste no more time dwelling on his failures when he still had a chance to undo Wickham’s handiwork. “Have you received word from the investigator?”

“It takes time to cross the Atlantic. We cannot expect a message until my man lands. He will be there, and Wickham will have the painting.”

“It was here , Rich. The painting was here. ”

Richard sucked in a breath. “You saw it?”

“It sold yesterday.”

“You are certain? Anyone would lie about its whereabouts if they knew you would pay handsomely for information.”

Darcy did not reveal how handsomely he had paid, nor did he show Richard the overpriced alabaster scissors in his coat pocket. “I am certain. The woman said she sold it for fifty pounds.”

“Fifty pounds!” Richard coughed. “It is obscene!”

Darcy agreed. “The vendor never would have admitted her grave mistake had she known the real value of the treasure she possessed. Unlike her, Wickham knew its value, which is why he stole it after I frustrated his plans at Ramsgate. However, without Georgiana’s permission, he could not sell it in the channels which would have secured him the most money.”

“Thank God she did not give him that!”

“Once he stole it, he had to flee England before we could find him. He had little choice but to pawn it.”

“He would have been hanged as a thief.”

Darcy was not certain he could have gone through with it. It was one thing to allow Wickham to face the consequences of his actions, to suffer for them, but to end his life…

His cousin heaved a sigh. “Look, I do not expect you to stand aside and do nothing. However, your presence here is extreme. Have you no respect for your own life? Why are you alone, dressed like a sailor on leave?” He sniffed at Darcy’s shoulder. “Did you douse yourself with gin?”

“I intended to blend in.” For all the good that had done!

“Why do you not just tell her?”

Darcy stopped—his step, his breath, his very heart objected so strongly to the idea. Richard did not see the redness in Georgiana’s eyes every day or how puffy they became after she cried. Her unhappiness drove Darcy. Until he found her painting, they could not return to Pemberley. She would see the blank space on the gallery wall, and he would be unable to lie to her about it. It would break her heart to learn the depth of Wickham’s deceit. Darcy would rather stay in London and search all over the country than allow that wretched man to hurt his little sister again. “Out of the question,” he emphasized, resuming his pace. They were near the carriage now.

Richard did not insist. They continued in silence, the streets becoming cleaner and the houses more respectable.

“I received a letter from Bingley a couple days ago,” Richard said in a light tone.

Darcy appreciated the change in the subject. “How is he?”

“Very well. The estate he let is everything he could hope for, his neighbors are agreeable, and the young ladies nearby are all handsome.”

That sounded like Bingley. Finding good wherever he went was inherent to his character. It was to his credit, for his optimism was constantly tested by his pernicious sisters, who were equally determined to find fault wherever they went.

They had finally reached the carriage, and Darcy climbed inside. Richard leaned against the open door. “I hope for his sake that the ladies of Hertfordshire humble Miss Bingley. I would give a great deal to witness the grand occasion when she meets a young lady who surpasses her in wit, accomplishments, and beauty.” He rubbed his hands together and chuckled wickedly. “I mentioned Bingley’s newfound friends to Georgiana when I called yesterday, and she was delighted.”

Darcy frowned. “You called? Georgiana said nothing.”

“You were probably poking around inside a dusty pawn shop. Georgie is excited to meet them.”

Darcy motioned for Richard to either move out of the way or enter the conveyance. “I have no intention of leaving London unless it is in pursuit of her painting.”

“I knew you would say that.” Still, Richard did not budge.

“Yes, you are very intelligent. Do you need a lift to the barracks, or do you mean to walk?” If the carriage moved, it would run over Richard’s toes.

One hand planted on Constance’s hilt and the other on his hip, Richard stated, “I accepted Bingley’s invitation on your behalf.”

“You dared to speak for me?” Darcy seethed.

“Yes, you see, I am both daring and intelligent. ”

“A blasted fool is what you are!” A blasted fool with little regard for his toes. Darcy was tempted to tap the roof of his carriage to signal his coachman to go.

Richard gripped one side of the open door. “I did it for Georgiana. She needs you more than she needs that infernal painting.”

Darcy glared at Richard, a frustratingly ineffective reaction when his eye was swollen shut. Had his knuckles not been so tender, he would have punched his cousin. “You will write to Bingley immediately?—”

“No. I have given you five months to make reparation your way, and she is as miserable today―perhaps more so―than she was the day Wickham broke her heart. I am ashamed I have not acted before now.”

“We are at an impasse, then, for I refuse to leave town.”

“Which is why I accepted Bingley’s invitation for you. I knew you would never do it.”

“You do not agree with my methods, and I vehemently disapprove of yours.”

“You forget why Uncle George named me as her guardian along with you. He knew I would treat Georgie like my own sister, that I could more easily seek the counsel of my mother for these moments?—”

“You did not tell Aunt Helen?—”

Richard shook his head. “She knows nothing about Wickham, but she is observant. She is the one who suggested that a change of scenery might improve Georgie’s spirits.”

“I hate you. ”

Richard grinned and pointed at Darcy’s eye. “You will need to put a steak on that.” He looked away, adding, “Georgiana is packing as we speak and will be ready to leave at first light on the morrow.”

Tomorrow?! When he was this close to recovering her painting? This was too much. “How could you use Georgiana against me like this?”

“Leave the men you hired to find the painting. Give your attention to Georgie.”

“Blast it, Richard! It was here only yesterday! If I give up my search now, I may never find it. You know what it means to her. Curse your presumption!”

“Curse me all you want, but you will thank me one day.”

Not in a million years. Irate and fit to erupt, Darcy slammed his fist against the roof. If Richard wanted to keep his toes, he had better move them quickly. “To Darcy House!”