Chapter 45 #2
Swaggering around Connell, Wickham stood before them.
The man had a great too much bravado for his own good when he was a coward at heart.
Nick had seen many like him. They were the sort that talked of their bravery, their skill, and their composure in the heat of battle.
But when the first shot was fired, they could be found shaking in their boots in a dark corner calling for their mamas and making empty promises to God to spare their miserable hides. Nick despised them.
But Wickham had laid his hand on Elizabeth, and he’d attempted to weasel his way into Georgiana’s heart for his own selfish gain. Nick hated him.
“I know Darcy better than anyone,” Wickham bragged. “We grew up together at Pemberley, as close as brothers. His father loved me as his own son.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. So he knew Darcy, did he? He would flaunt the place that had rightfully belonged to Nick as his own? He tightened his arms over his chest lest he forget himself. A glance out of the side of his eyes confirmed that Darcy’s stance mirrored his own.
“Darcy despises me, but he is a gentleman through and through. He would never do me bodily harm,” Wickham stood directly in front of Darcy, as smug as a thief making off with a lady’s necklace, “unlike his roguish, lawless, pirate brother.”
Darcy looked past him to Connell. “Are ye certain ye trust this scoundrel?”
Wickham spun on his heel, pointing his finger at Darcy. “He is the man you want. He is Blackburne. I would swear my life on it.”
Again, Darcy asked Connell, “Are ye certain?”
Connell hesitated. He wasn’t a fool. He knew the risk to himself if he chose the wrong brother. But he was determined, and he was too near his goal to back down. He held up the irons and clapped them over Darcy’s wrists.
Nick thought he could hold his composure, but when Connell clicked the lock into place and the chains clanged between his brother’s hands, he simply couldn’t go through with it. “Wait!”
Darcy turned and grinned like the rogue he pretended to be. “Ye’ll not be rid of me so easy.” Another wink wink.
Connell pushed him forward and, with Wickham following triumphantly, they escorted him out to the barred carriage.
Alex and Elizabeth ran forward, flanking Nick. Alex asked, “Why’d he do that?”
Nick breathed, but there was not enough air in his lungs to reply.
Elizabeth’s voice trembled. “It was the only way.”
Mr. Gardiner joined them, speaking softly as they watched Connell shove Darcy into the back of the conveyance, “If Connell took Nick, there would have been nothing we could do. So long as they can prove Connell arrested the wrong man, they can protect Nick and free Mr. Darcy. It shall be a mistake Connell shall rue making.” He stepped in front of Alex, blocking Connell and Wickham’s view.
“You should return inside. They made no guarantee they would not arrest you.”
As though they had overheard Mr. Gardiner, the two men returned to the house with another pair of irons. “Alexandra Lafitte,” called Connell, “you shall come with us.”
She reached up to twist a curl, her fingers twitching toward the hairpiece that hid the long, thin weapon hidden in her thick tresses.
Connell snapped his fingers, holding out his palm. “Your weapons, madam.”
With a scowl, Alex pulled the dagger free of her hair and laid it across his palm.
“That is a promising start, but we all know you have more,” Connell said, shoving her dagger into his pocket.
Another deeper scowl and she pulled the dagger from a pocket Nick had never noticed before.
When she placed the weapon on Connell’s palm and he patiently waited for more, she grumbled as she fished under her skirt for her third knife.
“Is that all of them?” Connell asked.
She nodded, looking vulnerable without her knives.
“I’ll come for y-you,” Nick remembered his assumed accent just in time.
She winked at him. “Ye’d better.” With that, she marched down to the carriage and hopped in beside Darcy, as proud as if she were walking to the helm.
As they watched the carriage pull away, worry settled in Nick’s stomach. He already felt he’d given his family a great deal more trouble than he was worth … and now this?
Someone always had to pay, this Nick knew. He couldn’t let it be Alex.
“Fitzwilliam will not allow Alexandra to come to harm.” Elizabeth stood beside him, her eyes still trained on the lane down which the carriage had disappeared. “I am glad he popped Wickham a fair jab. A man as crooked as he is ought to sport a crooked nose.”
“He makes me wish I hadn’t changed me ways quite yet. If Darcy’s hurt, or Alex, because of him…” Nick couldn’t finish his sentence.
Elizabeth snapped, “It shall not come to that. Come, Nick, we must find your uncle and cousin. Wherever they may be, we shall chase them down. This is more urgent than Mrs. Finchley.” She sounded like a general, confident and two steps ahead of the enemy.
And when her uncle insisted on helping, sending messages for his workers to assist them in finding Lord Matlock, Nick was fairly overwhelmed at their unified display of loyalty.
He might’ve lost his ship, his crew, and his whole life purpose, but what he’d gained was worth more than all the gold in the world.