“Always, ma’am. I keep them in my coat pocket.”
She waited expectantly, and when he kept walking and stayed silent, she huffed and said, “I have done as you asked. Give them back.”
“I hate to contradict a lady, but you have not done as I asked.”
“I beg your pardon?” she cried. In a quiet voice, she said, “I just gave you twenty-five pounds.”
“Did you think you were paying for their return? I am sorry for your misunderstanding. I wanted fifty pounds, if you recall.”
Her throat went dry. “But you agreed to twenty-five.”
“No, I said you could pay me twenty-five today,” he said calmly, as though he discussed the weather. “You still owe me another twenty-five.”
“But you know I cannot afford that!”
“Darcy is back in town, is he not?”
When she refused to answer, her breath coming shallow and quick, Wickham withdrew her journal and turned to a page. He was clearly reading the last entry to himself. An amused leer stretched his lips. “Seems like he had a reason to hurry home.”
Having her private thoughts open to his judgment made her hurtall over. She stayed silent, staring hard into Wickham’s eyes and willing him to drop dead on the pavement.
Wickham waved the journal before returning it to his pocket. “Maybe that interest in your person will convince him to increase your pin money, if he is satisfied, I mean.”
It took her a moment to realise that he meant for her to offer her body to Darcy in return for extra money. She gasped at the insult. “Am I a prostitute?”
Wickham shrugged. “There are freehearted ladies of all kinds, from the splendid madam at fifty guineas a night, down to the street girl who will resign her person for a pint of wine and a shilling. And that includes the lusty young bride who needs a better lover.”
“And I daresay you are acquainted with all of them.”
He bowed as though she gave him a compliment. “A few words from me and these lines here”—he tapped his coat pocket—“along with your pretty hair ornament, and everyone will know you cuckolded Darcy with me.”
She was attacked with a faintish sickness and swayed, and Wickham put an arm through hers to keep her on her feet. When her vision returned, she snatched her arm away. “I cannot pay you another shilling.”
“Then I will tear out this page and tell Darcy you longed for a man who could satisfy you and that you spent the fortnight he was away in my arms.”
“He won’t believe it!”
“Won’t he?” Wickham resumed walking, and she had to hurry on trembling legs to keep up with him. “He is that secure in your devotion, in your affection? That confident in the woman he wasforcedto marry?”
“He won’t believe you,” she repeated quietly.
“It will be in the papers by the end of the week, and then his feelings will not matter. The shame of it would devastate him, and his character would demand he take action.”
Would Wickham really follow through on such a vile threat? How could a man be so horrible? “Darcy could divorce me if you make your accusations public. All the world would call me an adulteress.”
He was silent as he rounded the corner and continued the stroll around Berkeley Square. He was completely unconcerned, enjoying the fine autumn day.
“Is that what you want?” she asked with a shaking voice. “You want him to be humiliated and for me to live in infamy?”
“I want twenty-five more pounds, ma’am.”
“And then you will return the aigrette and journal?”
He looked down at her with a cold look that belied his light tone. “Eventually. In the meantime, I will keep them until I have need of something else from you.”
He would slowly drain her bloodless. And the constant fear would consume her. She would never know if every letter Darcy opened contained this alleged proof of her infidelity, if every day’s gossip page accused her of faithlessness. The hint of it would ruin everything she might have had with Darcy. Her own father had implied to him that she might be unfaithful. Lady Catherine had offered to pay her to give Darcy a pretence for a divorce.
And all the worse, Darcy did not know she loved him, and how would he believe her now if she confessed it amid this scandal?
