Chapter 46
FEAR AND FIRE
Already this journey revealed to him wonders Richard never expected to see in his lifetime.
Their arrival in Egypt was beyond what the expedition had promised.
The Great Pyramids rising from the desert like monuments to eternity, the Sphinx gazing across millennia with weathered wisdom, and the temples that spoke of civilizations whose achievements still awed modern visitors.
Yet, for all the magnificence of Egypt’s wonders, Alexandria itself proved a disappointment.
The once great city that had housed the world’s greatest library was now little more than a decrepit town of approximately ten thousand residents, its former glory visible only in scattered ruins and the occasional classical column supporting some Ottoman-era building.
“To think that this place once held the sum of human knowledge,” Mrs. Bell had observed as they walked through the modest streets. “Now it struggles to sustain a proper market.”
Richard had shared her melancholy at the sight. “Perchance Professor Drye was correct, and the most precious wisdom lies hidden rather than lost.”
Now, standing in the ancient catacombs beneath the city’s ruins, Richard realized how prophetic those words had been. They had found the treasure they had traveled so far to seek. And they were about to see it burn before their very eyes. Wickham!
The acrid stench of burning papyrus and parchment filled the chamber as ancient scrolls dissolved into ash and smoke.
They were trapped underground with limited oxygen, a single blocked exit, and flames consuming their only escape route.
But his primary concern was not strategic.
He was completely focused on the woman beside him.
“Mrs. Bell,” he positioned himself between her and the thickest smoke. “Stay close to me.”
Through the chaos of Wickham’s demands and Elizabeth’s terrified screams, Richard was aware of Mrs. Bell’s every movement. When she stumbled as they moved away from the flames, his arm instinctively surrounded her.
Focus on the mission!
Every protective instinct he possessed had awakened the moment danger threatened her.
“The heat is becoming unbearable,” Mrs. Bell’s voice was already roughened by smoke inhalation.
Panic gripped him. Not the controlled alertness of a soldier under fire, but the raw terror of a man seeing someone precious to him face mortal danger.
When Wickham dragged Miss Bennet toward the collapsing entrance and his accomplices sealed their escape route, Richard’s first thought was not of duty to the Crown.
“There!” he shouted, pointing toward inconsistencies in the far wall. “That wall is not solid.”
Hurling themselves repeatedly against the ancient stones, Richard worked with frantic urgency driven by more than survival instinct. Mrs. Bell was beside him, adding her strength to their assault.
When cool air rushed through their breakthrough, carrying the promise of escape and life, Richard turned immediately to Mrs. Bell. Without thinking, he placed his palms on her shoulders, checking for injuries with the thoroughness of a man who had nearly lost everything that mattered.
“Prudence, are you hurt?” he demanded.
“I am well.”
Making their way through the narrow passage toward safety, Richard’s mind burned with fury that had nothing to do with smoke inhalation.
George Wickham! The name alone sent waves of rage through him.
For years, Richard had watched his cousin suffer the consequences of Wickham’s malice.
He had seen Darcy’s anguish when Wickham attempted to seduce Georgiana for her fortune, and had witnessed the damage done to Darcy’s reputation by Wickham’s lies and manipulations throughout Hertfordshire and beyond.
Richard had been powerless against the scoundrel then, bound by Darcy’s desire to protect his sister’s name.
But this—this destruction of irreplaceable scrolls, this kidnapping of an innocent woman for the sole purpose of tormenting Darcy—this was beyond even Wickham’s usual depravity.
Richard’s hands clenched into fists as he thought of all Wickham had done on this day. Worst of all was the image of Miss Bennet dragged into the darkness, terror written on every inch of her. Wickham, using her as a weapon against Darcy’s heart.
When I find him, Wickham will answer for every moment of pain he caused. Filled with cold determination, he vowed that justice would be served for every act of misery that dastard brought to the Fitzwilliam and Darcy families, to the Bennets, but mostly to Mrs. Bell.
“Colonel, are you well?” she asked.
Loosening his grip on her fingers, he lifted her fingers to his lips.
This woman, hurrying beside him through the ancient tunnels, had become more precious to him than his commission, his reputation, or his life. When they reached safety, he would find the courage to tell her so. If they reached safety.