Are you ready for a rip-roarin’ adventure where Mr. Darcy is a swashbuckling hero? Where Miss Elizabeth isn’t a damsel in distress but a competent woman who can defend herself?
Well, then, I have something special for you. Here’s a taste of Chapter One:
If looks could kill, Wickham would have impaled Darcy with his eyes. “Marry Miss Lydia, and you may leave for your new commission free of debts, reclaim your dignity, and be a thousand pounds richer.”
Wickham clenched his jaw and slammed his fist against the barrel. Darcy had won, and Wickham knew it. “Devil take you, Darcy. I am not in a position to refuse,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“Do we have an agreement?” Darcy folded his arms over his chest and glared down at Wickham.
Bowing his head, Wickham snarled, “You have my word. I shall marry Lydia.”
Darcy turned toward the door. Breaking glass, bawdy laughter, and angry, drunken shouts awaited him on the other side of the street. It was only a matter of time before shots were fired. Uncrossing his arms, he said, “Meet me at St. Clement’s at ten o’clock on the morrow.”
Without further leave, he departed, shoving his way through the odorous bodies, trays of rancid beef, and raised tankards. As wretched as the Thames smelled, it was a relief to breathe the night air outside the tavern.
He would order a bath the moment he returned to Darcy House. A couple of glasses of his finest brandy ought to dispel the remnants of the tavern.
Glancing cautiously about, Darcy walked swiftly to the corner, his gaze roving for a hackney to convey him far away from this unsavory neighborhood. He wished he could have brought his own carriage, but a gang of ruffians would have harmed his men and stolen his conveyance.
He rounded a corner, raising his hand when a hackney came into view, his voice catching in his throat when he heard a scuffle behind him.
Nerves on point, he turned. There was a blur of motion, then his hat flew off his head. At the same time, he heard glass shatter and felt his head part. Blurry and unbalanced, he flung out, catching his assailant with his fist.
“Pretendin’ to be a gent. Almost didn’t recognize him,” he heard in a strange man’s voice.
He felt another hand—a rough one that scratched against Darcy’s shaved cheeks—pressing something against his mouth and nose, smothering him. “Don’t forget how dangerous he be. Stay alert ‘til he sleeps.”
“Busted yer nose proper, didn’t he,” chuckled the other.
Two men. Darcy struggled, but the cloth smelled sweet, and his limbs grew heavy. He felt himself fading into the night.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered before he succumbed to the black void.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, Man of Fortune goes live October 21!
Grab your copy today, and let the adventure begin!
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/3lVLIBX
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09JMHJ5B4
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